The Ferryman by Leslie Thompson (black male authors TXT) 📖

if I did.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
Charon ground his teeth at Walter’s smug expression. “Gimme that scarf!”
“Not on your life!”
Seething, Charon flung the pole aside and retrieved a jar from the floorboards. He leaned over the side of the boat and scooped out some of the cloudy water from the Lethe. He held it out to the remaining souls as he spoke.
“It has already been determined that those of you who are still here will continue to be what you are, and there is nothing anyone in Heaven or Hell can do to change that. Therefore, Judgement has already been passed and your fates decided. Now it is necessary for you to forget your lives and concentrate on the hereafter. Drink.”
The woman and two of the men drank eagerly, but the last man hesitated.
“Drink it or be drowned in it,” Charon warned. Frightened, the man drank deeply. Next, with some help from Walter, the children drank the waters of Forgetfulness. Soon, they forgot their lost lives and could not remember why they should be afraid. After a moment the children were laughing and playing quietly at Walter’s side.
“I don’t have anything to forget?” Walter asked as Charon set the far of water aside.
“You’ll get it later,” Charon answered. “I’m not ready for you to become a dithering idiot yet.”
After a few moments of a thoughtful silence, Charon began to talk. He told Walter about working for Hades and his affection for Persephone. They both laughed as Charon told stories of Hercules’ antics that didn’t survive the storytellers or the passage of time, and both fell into melancholy when Charon related the tragedy of the loss of Pompeii.
Then, Charon spoke of the Almighty’s decision to assume all the management responsibilities of the Underworld and Heaven, and the havoc it had created. Charon recounted the day when the Son had entered the Land of the Dead and easily conquered Hades when he refused to acknowledge his sovereignty over him. He left with all the souls occupying the realm, leaving chaos and fear in his wake for those like Charon.
Charon complained of the new responsibilities thrust upon him in this new order. Technically, his duties were no different than the days when Hades had command. But more and more often, he found himself solving petty problems and making important decisions that should have gone to stronger shoulders. Worst of all was the paper work he had to fill out in order to justify his reasoning every time he did something new. The Ferryman noted that the reports hadn’t been required until Confucius died. Charon had dire plans for that man, should he ever lay hands on him.
Through it all, Walter listened. Sometimes he was thoughtful, other times he was sympathetic. But always he made some useful and intelligent comment that always felt like the right words at the right moment. By the time the boat was crossing the boundary into the Phlegethon, the River of Fire that burns but does not consume, Charon realized that he liked Walter. He would miss the old man from the moment he stepped off the boat and went on his way.
The water turned to acid and burst into flames in large patches at random points throughout the river. The longer the boat was in the water, the fiercer the fires grew until it all burned in a hellish blaze. In these wretched currents, the irredeemable souls were sent straight to Hell for Lucifer to begin their punishment. Happily, the amnesiac effects of the Lethe waters made disposing the rapists, murders, and genocidal maniacs easier to dispose of. The souls could not remember anything and so they jumped eagerly into the fire when Charon told them to.
The children cried in despair and Walter stared in horror at the men and woman who drifted, screaming in agony, into the small tributaries that led to the Pit. The old man did his best to comfort the small spirits, and stared bleakly at his shoes. Happily, the Phlegethon is a short river and the ferry was through it quickly.
The clean, clear waters of the true Styx led straight to the paths to Heaven. Charon glimpsed these golden roads many times, but knew that such a realm was not meant for the likes of him. This was a place of peace and joy, two concepts that Charon had no real knowledge of, but wished to experience. Most times he could ignore the impulse to plea for acceptance as he plunked another human soul at the shining gates, but there were times when he had to bite his tongue bloody.
“Hail Ferryman!” came the proud booming voice of one of the Almighty’s favorite dead mortals.
“It would be you the Lord sent today,” Charon sighed miserably. For any other Apostle, the Ferryman would have responded with the traditional reply and behaved politely. But Peter was self-righteous, and didn’t have a qualm about flaunting his role as favorite.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I caste the demons out of the children of a Roman governor?” Peter asked haughtily.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I kicked a prince into the Phlegethon, just for sneezing?” Charon snapped back. He turned his back on Peter as the mortal rolled his eyes and snorted in disbelief. Charon handed Walter the remaining Lethe waters.
“It is time for you to move on,” he said quietly. Walter took the jar and drank it empty.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“It has been awhile since we last conversed on the subject of the Lord,” Peter called as Walter helped the children climb out of the ferry.
“I know he’s there. I don’t need to discuss it with you,” Charon growled.
“But do you know his love?” Peter asked snidely. Charon bristled at the implied insult. Peter enjoyed reminding the Ferryman of his low standing in the celestial state of things. His retort was stopped by the annoyed and astounded look on Walter’s face.
“Sir, you should be more respectful,” Walter told Peter firmly. “He works hard to complete his duties, and he has a good deal of nonsense to endure with out you adding to his misery.” He turned back to the ferry and dropped something from his pocket into the tip jar. Charon saw a silver money clip gleam through the dirty glass. “Thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome,” Charon said, stunned. No one had ever expressed gratitude before. Usually, they were too eager to get away from him to say anything at all. It felt strange to feel so good about two simple words.
Peter had gathered the children and was calling for Walter to join them. For a moment it looked to Charon as if the old man might refuse and stay on the boat with him instead. Charon would be grateful for the company.
“Goodnight,” Walter said, offering his hand. Charon shook it briefly and gave him a respectful nod. As he watched, the old man’s eyes glazed over from the amnesiac effects of the Lethe, and the worst of Walter’s mortal life slowly slipped away from him. Charon memorized the quiet grace and firm dignity of the old man and murmured gently as Walter crossed through the Heavenly Gates.
“Godspeed, Mr. Cronkite.”
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Publication Date: 08-08-2011

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