Baggage from the Past: The Life That Wouldn't Die

By L. W. Dee

This is the story of charles candy a mislabelled ‘prodigy’ who suffers the agonies of rejction for being tagged ‘different’ but is saved by the loving intervention of an angel incarnate.
Later, on getting lost he finds himself and abandons the security of his well planned life to experience the ups and downs of the real world, alone.
Along the way he is helped by a variety of souls both living and dead, each on their own unique journey to find meaning in the spiritual wasterland of modern society and reconnect with love and life.
He encounters the bliss of heaven and the heat of hell, life death and resurection but is saved from the abyss by the mediation of a compassionate doctor who finally persuades him that in order to be free of all that holds him back spiritually he must return and relive it.
Due to the brutal conditions prevelant on earth many fall by the wayside, overpowerd by the daily struggle to survive while others end it by their own hand, yet despite the dispair a new light dawning as humanity, no longer satisfied with the distractions of bread and circuses and crass materialism, searchs for a more spiritually fulfilling existance, seek and ye shall find.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781496993977

L. W. Dee

Born in Scotland from his earliest days he has been the consummate observer witness and recorder of all that happened to him and around him. In his teens, while dabbling with yoga he had an out of body experience which was so scary it put an end to to any further interest in the subject but later, another spontaneous repeat rekindled his interest sparking a life long fascination with what is commonly called the 'occult ' then when a friend was murdered he went looking for answers and found them at the Spiritualist church where he received irrefutable proof of the continuance of life after death by very down to earth mediums. Taking up Kendo, primarily to lose weight, he soon became such an enthusiast that he decided to go to Japan for three years where, during Kendo practice he experienced states of altered consciousness that would have been ridiculed in the west but were openly accepted in the east, it was also in Japan that some very vivid prophetic dreams he'd experienced years before became reality. When he met his wife Hideko, an experienced yoga practitioner, she was able to explain and clarify the various stages of altered consciousness which are the natural effects of the different stages of meditation. Five minutes experience is better than a lifetime of academic or philosophical ponderings and from the years of cumulative study and actual experience he has come to 'know' without a doubt we are not in our essence human beings but immortal spiritual beings who inhabit a human body for a certain period of time in order to experience physical reality.

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© 2014 L. W. Dee. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  10/08/2018

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9396-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9397-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9926-4 (hc)

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CONTENTS

Charles Candy

Beginnings

A Hobby … And Then Some

The Antetiam Incident

Harvard

Beauty From Across The Pond

Confessions Of A Fake

Coming Clean

Fate

Reflections

Forewarned Is Forearmed

Life After Harvard

The Real World

Getting Rid Of Old Junk

Making Up For Lost Time

The Law Of Three

Travelling The Vastness

A Strange Encounter

Back To Work

A Trick Of The Light

In The Thick Of Battle

Reunion

Chas’s Crossing

The Miracle Man

A New Life

An Audience With The King

The Audition

The First Date

Dreaming

Opening Night

The Inverted Proposal

Meeting The Media

The Arrival Of The King

The Price Of Fame

An Encounter With The Past

Dark Dreams

Aftermath

Tyingt The Knot

A Reception To Remember

Married

Till Death Do Us Part

A Call In The Night

Forclosure

The Final Farewell

The Way Out

If At First You Don’t Succeed

Third Time Lucky

Old Boys Reunion

Gentle John

Any Port In A Storm

Contact

The Psychic Industry

Coming Back For More

Reading The Scriptures

The Gold Plated Mad House

Dutch Kate

Conversations In The Night

Life Death And Ressurection

Sniffing Around

Enlightenment

The Big Day

The Final Straw

All Or Nothing

Almost There

The Last Act

Going Back

De’ja’vu … … The Grand Finale

What Became Of Them

About The Author

Much of this book was not so much written by me as through me, often when I was writing I had no idea what was coming next and as I wrote I was reading for the first time.

It is dedicated to two of the most amazing people it has been my privilege to know, first poet and author Christy Nolan who never spoke a word in his life yet whose life spoke volumes, words cannot express my respect and admiration for all he achieved despite everything life threw at him, he triumphed over every obstacle and I feel blessed for having known him go for it he told me and gone for it I have, ‘thank you Christy.’

Secondly, my wife Hideko, ‘Mo Anam Cara’ my soul mate whose unconditional love and acceptance brought light to all the deep dark places that had been missed first time around … ‘healed my soul and made me whole.’ I love her beyond expression and owe her more than can ever be repaid.

CHARLES CANDY

‘E CCENTRIC’ was the word that sprang to most minds on first sight simply because it seemed to fit as perfectly as his quaint old fashioned clothes but for those who knew the man beneath the nineteenth century garb, ‘Matchless’ ‘Unique’ or ‘Unrivalled" were far more accurate descriptions.

He was appreciated for his charm his manners and a quiet unassuming modesty despite a seemingly infinite knowledge on every subject under the sun, yet his most endearing quality was the old-fashioned air he exuded of an era long past when the pace of life was slower and humanity was not enslaved by the modern mindless rush of today, an age where propriety and honour were an integral part of daily life.

He had two distinguishing physical features which despite being obvious for some curious and mystifying reason usually went completely unnoticed, sometimes for years.

The first was his height, he was only five foot six and he often wished he had a dollar for every time some old friend would suddenly notice and blurt out the customary exclamations of astonishment and surprise, ‘I didn’t realize you were quite so short Charles … have you always been so … er tall?’ Yet despite his stunted stature he had never developed a complex about it, five six was his normal self and as much a part of him as his clear blue eyes.

His other prominent feature was a beautifully manicured reddish brown moustache, a thick thatch he tended trimmed and anointed with a mysterious concoction called Cowboy Tache Wax while below all was balanced and embellished by a matching goatee, a wonderfully hooked question mark that he teased and tugged especially when worried.

His moustache and goatee though plainly evident remained as inconspicuous as his height but in time they too would be detected and he’d smile his gentle smile at the same old well worn expressions of astonishment.

His old-world style and accompanying antique manners were no mere fad of some oddball eccentric but a natural and spontaneous declaration of who he was and though he appeared as if from a bygone age, he was most definitely a man of the present.

He had one other peculiarity that while generally accepted as rare is in fact considered by science to be ‘an impossibility’ but there are always exceptions, and Charles Candy was one of them.

He had been born with a photographic memory but from painful experience he’d learned to keep it concealed as the rest of him was self-evident, it was a boon and a burden all at once, a crown to wear and a cross to bear and the source of all the rejection he’d endured in every school he’d attended.

As a result he had developed a persona of invisibility where hidden in plain sight he could sit in perfect unobserved stillness, blending into his surroundings with all the natural camouflage of anything found in nature.

BEGINNINGS

H E WAS BORN IN LEAFY New York State the youngest son of Christopher and Cynthia Candy’s three children, the only anomaly in an otherwise predictable middle class upbringing the enmity of Christopher his older brother whose intense resentment was put down to the fact that he’d been usurped as the only son.

His saviour was his sister Coleen a wild vivacious tomboy whose camaraderie more than made up for his brother’s cold hostility, no matter where they went havoc followed and while Coleen would often end up bruised and bandaged from their skateboarding adventures Charles seemed to lead a life of charmed invulnerability.

He also demonstrated the same uncanny immunity when it came to the usual childhood illnesses and had never been inside a doctor’s office or a hospital in his life, which led mother to christen him ‘the healthiest boy on the planet.’

His parents had met in Harvard when they were both studying law and after graduating they had tied the knot firmly and forever, she had been impressed by his unwavering determination while he had fallen for her gentle femininity, sharp intellect and unwavering loyalty.

It was an unusual union since they were from such diverse backgrounds; mother had been raised in a conventional middle class family and had followed in her father’s footsteps on entering Harvard to study law whereas her husband had been born on the other side of the tracks. Dirt poor his family had lived from hand to mouth then when his pa died his ma had no option but to send him and his three sisters to a state orphanage where for years he was at the mercy of those who had none.

The trauma of his family being torn apart for want of a few miserable bucks seared itself deep into his psyche and forged in him an iron resolve to succeed at any cost and slaving day and night at every crummy job available he had put himself through college, driven on by his burning ambition.

The end result was a young man with a warm smile, a cold heart and a legal mind as sharp as any razor, a ruthless predator who used his legal expertise as an animal uses its fangs and claws. He started out more like a venture capitalist than a lawyer, taking over faltering businesses or the occasional out-of-date law firm and after bringing them up to par he’d sell them off to move on to bigger prey. His quick kill business methods soon brought him to the attention of various interested parties who hired him as a tax consultant to advise on how to meet all applicable requirements with the minimum of exposure or loss and how to structure transactions to minimize either scrutiny or potential payment due, all entirely ethical of course.

One of his favourite saying was ‘your best buddy’s a buck in the bank’ and when Charles was young they would play a game where he would suddenly ask,’ who’s your best buddy m’ boy’ and Charles would squeak like a trained parrot, ‘A boy’s best buddy’s a buck in the bank’ and father would laugh and reward him with a dollar.

Determined that his sons would have a better start in life than he’d had he unashamedly groomed them for their future careers, ‘the law is the very foundation and fabric of society’ he would spout ‘and a good lawyer is the power behind every throne, study it till you know it inside out, make it your life, live it breathe it and you’ll have the world at your finger tips and your future will be assured.’

Like many parents he meant well only wanting for his children all the opportunities he’d been denied and the idea that they might not have an interest in or an aptitude for their chosen profession never entered his head, and it never entered Christopher’s or Charles’s either as they unquestioningly absorbed his systematic programming.

His relentless ambition meant that the family were constantly on the move but when he finally secured a partnership in a well respected ‘Full Service law firm in New York it marked the triumphant conclusion of a lifetime of hard work and single minded determination.

With his itinerant existence finally at an end Charles basked in the idea of having a permanent home and being able to make real and lasting friendships, buddies who would know nothing of his past which meant he’d never have to enter his ‘Safe Place’ ever again.

In the recall of his perfect memory his childhood was a forsaken friendless affair, father was never home, Christopher ignored him and mother was often out at the tennis court or attending some Church meeting and if it had not been for Coleen life would not have been worth living.

From his earliest days he had displayed an unusual sense of pride and politeness, standing up if a lady entered the room and always addressing them as ‘Mam’ and if anybody dared call him Charlie his eyes would flash with fire, ‘my name is ‘Charles,’ he would announce with dignity.

No matter what school he attended he was always the perfect pupil, every teacher’s dream child, the mannerly little prodigy who never made a mistake but before they had time to take credit he’d be gone, another school and more adoring teachers. He was always top of the class simply because whatever he’d read, heard or seen he could recall in perfect detail and in his innocence he blithely assumed everybody else could do the same. Like all who are born gifted he accepted his talent without a second’s thought and considered himself no different from anybody else then when he was around seven or eight his secure little world began coming came apart.

It started with an abrupt chilling in the attitude of his classmates who began reacting to his every utterance with open derision, calling him ‘know all’ and ‘smart ass,’ and before he knew it he was an outcast, abandoned and alone.

Their rejection pierced him to the core triggering an internal mechanism that created a space in his mind where he could withdraw in detached indifference, the ‘Safe Place’ he called it, a psychological refuge where he was untouched and untouchable until the long hate filled day was over.

When he began experimenting with this novel state of mind he discovered that if he imagined hard enough he could transform the pain of one reality into the pleasure of another but there was a price to pay, there is always a price to pay.

Maintaining the necessary concentration created such internal pressure it felt like being slowly crushed to death but despite the terrible strain he persevered until eventually he was able to bear the mind bending burden for longer and longer.

No matter where they set up house Dad made sure he attend the local school since he did not want him to end up another spoiled middle class brat, ‘there’s no better place to build strength of character than the rough and tumble of a regular school’ he would spout, having no idea just how familiar his son was with the harsh realities of the rough and tumble of regular schools.

From his first rejection his reputation as a ‘smart ass’ had preceded him, passed on by a well oiled grapevine until he dreaded each new school and the horrors of the now painfully familiar rebuttal, ‘this time it will be different’ he told himself ‘I’ve come from so far way nobody will know me’ but as soon as he walked through the gate his hopes were dashed by a sea of taunting faces just as his inner mechanism kicked in to blunt the cutting remarks and vilifying voices.

The crowd that faced him were not in the habit of mincing words or of taking prisoners, street wise and old before their time they were the roughest and toughest he’d come across so far and they gave ‘the genius’ a taste of their savage contempt, ‘hey, it’s Einstein the boy wonder’ he heard from far away, ‘get an eyeful of smart ass’ another remote voice laughed, but their contempt was too late for the smart assed wonder-boy was now insulated deep within the protection of his safe grey cloud.

God works in mysterious ways and as he’d thrown him to the wolves yet again to soften the blow he placed him in the class of the best teacher in the school, a gentle dolphin faced lady with a permanent smile and the only person who could silence a whole class of mayhem with nothing more than a tilt of the head a raised eyebrow and a hurt look. Her name was Miss Angela Macadam and she loved them all unconditionally, from the brightest to the dullest.

With the passage of time most adults have long forgotten the days of their childhood with its unspoken rules and regulations but Miss Macadam hadn’t, she knew the world her kids inhabited, so near yet so far from that of the grown ups.

Every kid in her class was aware of her uniqueness and of how lucky they were to have her as their teacher and the love she radiated was returned as naturally and spontaneously as the sun’s reflection in a stilled pond, such was the respect she generated all it took to chastise the worst offenders was the well known tilt of the head, the raised eyebrow and the hurt expression. Wherever she went she was surrounded by an entourage of devotees who clung to her like limpets and fought each other fiercely for the privilege of holding her hand.

She had arranged the desks in descending ability with the smartest at the back and the not-so-smart at the front and Charles found himself in the back row beside a gaggle of bespectacled bucktoothed boys who studiously ignored him, they were known as the ‘nerd herd’ an isolated bunch who kept themselves to themselves and conversed in the solemn and mysterious language of math and science.

Being snubbed by the regular kids was to be expected but to be rejected by the rejects was the last straw and when he thought of the long years of isolation that lay ahead he knew he’d have to take matters into his own hands, he would take his case to Miss Macadam explain his predicament and ask for her help.

When he went looking for her after school he found her still at her desk marking papers and despite his nervousness he walked in and took a stand directly in front and waited to be noticed, ‘ah, Charles’ she smiled, looking up, ‘what brings you here looking so desperately sad and how can I help.’

‘M…Miss Macadam,’ he began, ‘I… I’m wondering if you, if you can help me’ … … then, realising that stammering and stuttering were getting him nowhere he took a deep breath and exploded in a flash flood of all his worries, and when the torrent of terrors had finally spent itself he was left gasping for breath, exhausted but relieved.

She sat in silence throughout his dam burst gazing intently into his face with a concerned frown creasing her brow, ‘why do you think they dislike you so much’ she asked.

He hung his head reluctant to mention his secret, ‘because … because they say I’m a genius, but I’m not’ he countered quickly ‘I’m just good at remembering things and for that they call me names and nobody will come near me.’

‘Your report card tells a different story’ she smiled,’ and I don’t meant the one your parents see’ she added confidentially, ‘I mean the other one, that’s for the eyes of the school authorities only.’ Tears started streaking unashamedly down his cheeks and though normally he would have been mortified at such unmanly behaviour, Miss Macadam was different, she understood.

‘I’m not a genius’ he choked,’ I’m just a regular kid and no different from anybody else and I want everybody to know it.’

She sat gazing at him with her soulful brown eyes aglow in understanding,

‘I know what it’s like to be different’ she smiled, tapping her long nose, ‘Pinocchio they used to call me in school.’

‘I’m wonder-boy’ he replied, ‘I’m even rejected by the rejects; the nerd heard that everybody shuns.’

‘The world is full of rejection’ she smiled sadly, ‘they fear anything or anybody that is different and despite all their Sunday sermons about love, compassion and tolerance, you’ll find it’s usually those who preach the loudest who are the first to condemn and persecute you simply for being who you are, but don’t worry’ she winked, ‘your predicament is easily fixed.’

He didn’t know how but if Miss Macadam said it would be fixed that was good enough for him and as he gazed into the depth of her soulful brown eyes he saw what she had just mentioned, ‘Love and Compassion.’

Without warning he was engulfed in a surge of acceptance that coursed through him in a cascade of shivering rapture, ‘this is the love and compassion she spoke of’ a gentle voice in his head told him,’ and she’s sharing it with you.’

There was a pained sadness in her gaze that more than recognised the loneliness of the outcast, of those who are different, evoking in him a sort of ecstasy far beyond simple happiness yet at the same time making him feel so very small and humble.

Experiencing the pure Love that flowed between them on that day was the highlight of his young life and it kept him on a natural high long after everything was settled.

‘Tomorrow we’ll have a quiz’ she began eagerly, ‘and when I ask you a question just give the wrong answer, that way they’ll see you’re not as smart as they thought and in no time you’ll have all the friends you want, I guarantee it.’

Caught up in her enthusiasm he’d agreed with alacrity, amazed that everything could be settled so quickly and after thanking her as he never thanked anybody before he floated out of the classroom on cloud nine.

True to her word the next afternoon she announced a general knowledge quiz which was met with noisy approval since they knew whoever got the most points would get a reward, usually candy, but today it would be different type of Candy who would reap the reward.

She always started with easy questions, to give the slower ones a chance, ‘what’s the tallest mountain in the world" she asked, starting a quick march from one side of the room to the other as hands shot up all round.

‘George Williams’ she called.

‘Mount Everest’ ‘Correct, one point to George.’

‘What’s the capital of France, Sara Cummings.’

‘Paris!’ ‘Correct one point to Sara.’

‘The name of the biggest Pyramid, Rosario Callas.’

‘Giza! ‘Correct, one to Rosario.’

And so it continued one quick-fire question after another then, ‘who was the first president of the United States of America, Charles Candy.’ ‘Davy Crockett!’

The class erupted, hooting and yelling but she ignored the hilarity and only nodded to another eager face, ‘George Washington!’

‘Correct one point to Roland Smith.’

‘Where is the Empire state building, Charles Candy.’

‘New Orleans’ he screeched. The class exploded again, laughing so loudly she had to pause to let them recover, ‘can anybody tell him’ she asked.

‘New York!!’ they yelled in unison and for the first time he detected doubting voices, ‘hey, I thought he was supposed to be a smart ass, he’s as dumb as they come’ and as his eyes swept the room he noted that the customary scowls had now been replaced by smiles, ‘maybe he’s okay; you think we got it wrong‘he heard, making his heart soar at the first signs of friendship.

After a few more hilarious blunders he knew his foot was in the door and when he muffed the final question, he was in. ‘What’s the national sport of the United States of America?’

‘Rodeo!’ he yelled, without being asked.

The class fell apart and when they’d recovered his accomplice rolled her eyes in theatrical exasperation, ‘all that glitters is not gold’ she sighed, ‘but his baseball’s good.’

Her last utterance silenced the whole room and as inquisitive heads swivelled in his direction his heart sang with joy, later as they were filing out a few hands reached out to pat him on the back, ‘well done’ somebody laughed, ‘looks like wonder-boy ain’t no wonder after all, hey let’s play ball, what d’ ya say.’

‘Yeah, sure’ he replied nonchalantly stunned at the sudden change, less then an hour ago he was an outcast now he was being invited to play ball, ‘home, home at last’ he screamed in soundless elation as he fumbled head deep in his satchel to hide the hot tears that fell in splashes of salty bliss, ‘thank you Miss magnificent Macadam, thank you my saviour, thank you, the most treasured person in the whole wide world.’

He’d felt like a drowning man who had run out of straws and just as he was sinking Miss Macadam had hauled him back to life, ‘how can I repay such a debt’ he wondered, ‘I will somehow, someday I promise.’

From then on he waked on air his usual blank indifference replaced with a permanent smile and though he knew his ‘safe place’ was always there should he ever need it, now that he was one of the guys it could be left untenanted.

The only time he had played ball was with Colleen but his determination to be accepted was such that in no time he was considered one of the best on the team, the kid who sat with the nerds in the back row but played ball with the regular guys in the front.

After pondering how best to show his gratitude to Miss Macadam he came up with the idea of writing her a letter where he could express the full extent of his appreciation but not knowing where she lived he decided to follow her home on his bike after school.

She always left late and after doing some shopping at the local store she was met by a guy who waited outside but as they always drove away too fast for him to follow, he decided to bring him in on his secret.

The next night when he saw him waiting outside the store he walked up and was just about to explain his predicament when he noticed that it was not a man as he’d supposed but a woman, dressed in a man’s leather jacket and jeans.

The shock froze him where he stood then turning on his heel he ran; overwhelmed by panic and a terrible sense of intrusion, as if he’d suddenly stumbled into a place he had no right to be and jumping on his bike he took off like the wind.

A few days later she found his letter on her desk and by the tears that glistened in her eyes he knew his sincerity had touched her and as their eyes met she mouthed him a silent ‘thank you,’ which made him happy, knowing she was too.

The old memories of rejection occasionally gate crashed his consciousness but their influence was weakened by the strengths of his new friendships and though he still kept a low profile there were a couple of incidents that brought him inadvertently under the cold eye of the dreaded public gaze.

Roscoe Shaw was a tall skinny bleached blond kid one gene short of an albino while his best buddy Joe Walsh, was as black as the other was glaringly white and as fat as Roscoe was thin; Joe’s nickname was ‘Jelly Belly’ while Roscoe was known simply as ‘Trouble.’

Roscoe’s party piece was running up behind kids in the yard and punching them hard on the back and just as they’d pick themselves up Joe ‘Jelly belly’ would come rolling along and down they’d go again.

One day as the nerd herd stood in their tight little cluster Charles watched Roscoe run up and smash one of them on the back, scattering the rest like skittles and just as they reformed Joe Jelly Belly struck from the other side, bowling them over like nine pins.

Roscoe was just preparing for his second strike when Charles suddenly stepped in front of him, freezing him on the spot with his fist drawn back for another shattering blow, ‘Leave them alone’ he hissed.’

The twisted screw of glee of Roscoe’s floury face fell flat when he saw Charles ominous gaze, an opaque stare devoid of pupils and illuminated as if within that his buddies had christened his ‘psycho eyes’ since it was guaranteed to freak out all opposition, on or off the baseball field.

‘But they’re nerds,’ Roscoe whined, as if Charles was interfering with his moral duty to eliminate all vermin, ‘let them be’ he hissed, ‘you should be nice to them Roscoe cos some day one of ‘em might be your boss, it takes one to know one, like attracts like’ he continued, ‘birds of a feather flock together.’

Roscoe, unable to hold the unyielding eyeless gaze unfolded himself from his frozen pose and with fat Joe jelly Belly in tow trooped off in ignominious defeat.

His buddies couldn’t believe their eyes that Roscoe had been stopped dead in his tracks by a little runt half his size and for days after the grapevine hummed of nothing else.

Throughout the whole face-off the nerd herd had stood mute and immobile and when it was over, not one word of thanks, but Charles didn’t mind, they were nerds after all and he was no longer ‘One of Them’ but ‘One of Us.’

The other time he inadvertently drew attention to himself was when he fell in love, her name was Irene Shannon a beautiful black girl who was the love of his life, for some strange reason he had always found coloured girls much more attractive and he would gaze at her with such intensity it always made her smile.

It happened one day as they were leaving school when he suddenly heard a chorus strike up with the old song, ‘Shenandoah’ and turning to see the cause he noticed they were being followed by a band of would-be troubadours, hell bent of mischief. ‘Oh don’t mind them’ Irene smiled ‘they’re always singing that at me.’

But names hurt, they hurt bad and nobody knew it better than himself and the fact that they were taunting his Irene made him so mad that without a word he turned and marched back to confront them.

When they saw his cold faced determination their smiles dropped quicker than a condemned man through a trapdoor and they backed off, all except one bigger guy who stood his ground in sneering defiance, ‘I’ll wipe that damned smirk off your face, as God’s my judge I will’ an indignant voice roared and as the would-be hero raced back to join his pals he realized that the enraged utterance had come from his own lips.

‘What movie did you get those lines from’ Irene asked when they resumed their stroll, and when he told her they’d been totally spontaneous he could see she didn’t believe him, ‘at time I suspect you’re slightly ‘Gone with The Wind, but in the nicest possible way’ she added ‘there aren’t many gentlemen around nowadays who would defend a lady’s honour.’

He was known as a quiet guy who never looked for trouble but if it came his way he’d first try reason and if that failed his baleful Psycho eyes usually settled things, he seemed to possess a wisdom way beyond his years especially when it came to settling disputes, ‘don’t indulge in hatred or violence’ he would often spout, ‘for what you fight you become.’

A HOBBY … AND THEN SOME

H IS INTEREST IN BOOKS HAD started at an early age and though he had read widely his main subject was the American Civil War and his vast collection was not only a constant source of knowledge but of spiritual sustenance too, especially in the days when he was friendless and alone.

His mind was like some insatiable black hole and mother often watched in quiet amusement as he’d finish one book and without break or pause pick up the next, when she put them away she always imagined she’d find the pages wiped clean by his concentrated scouring the contents safely stored away for future recall, at other times when he’d pour over his collection of old photographs she would often hear him mutter, ‘oh those brave boys, those brave boys’ but she did not enquire any further in case it upset him.

Father unashamedly indulge him, partly due to his guilt at not being at home as often as he should and also as further grooming for his future career for beside his Civil War interests he made sure he was well supplied with all the relevant Law books.

No matter where they lived his bedroom was a treasure trove of memorabilia with portraits of the adversaries arranged in such a way that General Robert E. Lee stood shoulder to shoulder with Ulysses S. Grant, Stonewall Jackson gazed with Biblical severity at the timid General George McClellan while President Lincoln eyed Jefferson Davis as a father might look upon a wayward son, and while other kids played computer games Charles, with dad’s blessing and limitless funds, added more treasures to his collection.

He was a regular visitor at the numerous Civil War auctions where he displayed an uncanny knack of finding overlooked treasures so that over time he had amassed everything that providence could provide and money could buy, many of them museum pieces worth a fortune on the collectors market but to him priceless in terms of heritage and history.

His Collection was his way of honouring the memory of the brave men who had fought and died in the epic struggle and he regarded their artefacts as holier than any saintly relics.

One of his greatest treasures was a green Berdan sharpshooter’s uniform he’d found lying at the bottom of an old barrel at a country auction and on the same auspicious day he’d outbid the field for a cavalry sabre with the words To General Nathan Bedford Forrest from the daughters of the South. Tennessee 1863 engraved on the notched blade.

Books on every aspect of the conflict overflowed his room in a tidal wave of bloody history, they spurted out of bookcases dripped from cupboards, lay congealed in stacks and were buried under beds… and still there were more, he rarely bothered with modern gadgetry except his computer which he used solely for checking the latest auctions even at night he read by the light of an old Confederate oil lamp and when mother asked why, ‘it’s nice and homey’ he replied.

THE ANTETIAM INCIDENT

O VER TIME HE HAD VISITED most of the major battlefields but on a trip to the old Antietam battlefield in Maryland North Virginia an incident took place which scared mother so much all further outings were cancelled.

It happened at the sunken road that later became known as ‘bloody lane’ where the Confederates had repelled repeated union attacks before finally being enfiladed and wiped out. As he stood gazing on the old depression he suddenly became transfixed, his eyes wide and staring and his face struck with horror then without warning he suddenly began chanting a strange mantra that gradually increased in volume, scattering the other visitors and sending mother running to him in alarm.

Initially she thought he was having some kind of seizure as he kept repeating the same unintelligible gibberish over and over, ‘Faugh-a-ballaugh, Faugh-a ballaugh’ and despite her own terror she shook him till his weird chant ended and he came back to the present, bewildered and confused.

All he could remember was an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu and when he next looked the sunken road was heaped with the twisted corpses of Confederate dead, the sight and stench made him gag but the most terrifying part was the reality of it all as on the periphery of his vision he could see union soldiers picking over the dead as they discussed the battle.

It was only later when he overheard mother telling father what had happened did he realise how much it had shaken her, she was convinced that the battlefield excursions were affecting his psychological well being.

A few days later when she was going over the Antietam brochure she came across an article about the famous Irish brigade, who on charging into battle on that fateful day had yelled the same strange words, ‘Faugh-a-ballaugh’ Irish Gaelic for ‘Clear the way.’

By his late teens his knowledge of the ‘War between the States’ as he called it was such that he could have lectured at any college in the land but his passion was a private affair and not for public consumption.

School days were drawing to a close when he started growing his moustache and goatee and he suffered stoically under his buddies wisecracks but the girls liked his new look, since it added to his old world charm.

Graduation meant the parting of the ways but he’d never forget them, especially Miss Macadam and though he didn’t know it then he was destined to meet only two of them ever again, one he would try to goad into killing him and fail, while the other would succeed, but those days were of the future which must remain hidden since in the knowing of what awaits us some might be tempted to cheat their destiny.

It was not long after graduation that an idea took root in his mind that he was a complete fake and that all the acclaim and recognition was due solely to his uncanny ability to regurgitated facts at will, and as the seed gradually blossomed into full blown conviction it consumed him till he was filled with self-loathing but as always he soldiered on in stoic silence.

His next port of academic call was Harvard his parent’s old Alma-Mater but the idea of being accepted for everything they thought he was and he knew he wasn’t only reinforced his feeling of self repugnance not helped by the unexpected and chilling realization that he had no interest in ever becoming a lawyer, despite a lifetime of conditioning.

The immensity of this new revelation made him tremble especially when he contemplated father’s reaction on seeing all his hopes and dreams vanish on the whim of an ungrateful brat, he would consider such cold blooded treachery the most unforgivable of sins.

‘This is tantamount to suicide’ he thought grimly, ‘one way or another there will be blood over this, my blood most likely,’ yet despite what lay ahead he was filled with a steely determination to see it through no matter the consequences.

Like all who are plagued with a conscience he paid the price by being cast into the darkest of depressions until in the end he decided to postpone the day of reckoning until after graduation, it offered a respite of sorts but only added to his belief that he was nothing but a base gutless coward.

HARVARD

H ARVARD UNIVERSITY WAS ESTABLISHED IN 1636 ‘by the vote of the Great and General court of the Massachusetts Bay Company’ and is named after its benefactor John Harvard a young minister who left his library and half of his estate to the new institution.

It is the oldest institution of high learning in the United States and boasts over half a dozen presidents more than forty Nobel Prize Laureates dozens of Pulitzer Prize winners and scores of famous scholars as its former graduates, its prestige reverberates around the globe and is synonymous with all that is illustrious dignified and majestic in a country that is in love with learning yet despite its prominence nothing impressed him more than the Cathedral like Memorial Hall which was built and dedicated to honour those who fell fighting for the union.

The memorial transept contained twenty eight white marble tablets bearing the names of the one hundred and thirty six Harvard associates who had made the ultimate sacrifice, the youngest Sumner Paine, who fell at Gettysburg on July third, eighteen sixty three.

The Memorial Hall was to him what the holy land is to a devout Christian or Mecca to a pious Moslem, a hallowed place of the deepest veneration and as he gazed on the tablets of remembrance for the first time his eyes filled with tears.

He loved Harvard for the way it accepted him as no different from anybody else since over the long years some of the best and brightest had passed through its hallowed halls.

Not wanting to live close at hand he decided to find a place as far from the madding crowd as possible and so one quiet morning as he came pacing heedlessly along with his face buried in a map he crashed straight into a young man who was carrying boxes from a dilapidated van into a nearby house, the collision felled them both followed by the tinkle of breaking glass and the powerful smell of pine cologne, a smell he would always associate with that auspicious morning.

Charles scrambled to his feet in a fluster of apology only to find the young man laid out on the sidewalk with his hands folded behind his head gazing idly at the blue sky, ‘nice day for it,’ he smiled dreamily.

‘I’m so sorry my fault entirely’ he began then as his eye caught the wording on a fallen cookie tin; ‘hey that’s my name’ he laughed. The young man turned his head and squinted down at the tin, ‘your name’s Christmas’ he asked incredulously.

Charles looked again, ‘No, it’s Candy, the cookie tin says Christmas Candy and my name’s Candy, which is always good for a few wisecracks.’

He smiled down at the prone figure waiting for the usual trite witticisms but to his surprise he did not comment, ‘what’s your fist name’ he asked, squinting up at him.

‘Charles’ he replied, extending his hand.

He was expecting him to rise but he only removed one hand from behind his head and gripped his in a wincing crush, and as their eyes met, ‘I’m going to like this guy’ he thought. ‘I’m a Charles too,’ he said, ‘and I’ve been blessed with the name of Cays, and just like you I’ve heard them all, hard case,’ he began wearily, ‘suitcase, psychiatric case, brief case, packing case, nut case, etc. etc. ad nauseam, Cays and Candy’ he mused, ‘sounds like a law firm.’

He rose with effortless grace and stared into Charles eyes with just the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

‘It could have been much worse’ Charles suggested.

‘You mean crashing into each other like that?’

‘No, your name, they could have called you Justin.’

‘Justin Cays’ he roared, ‘hey that’s a new one, and I thought I’d heard them all.’

Without making it too obvious Charles gave him a quick once over and liked what he saw, late twenties about six four with the physique of a lean body builder dark hair and a matching Lincolnesque beard that gave him the air of a demented sea captain, hunting for his whale.

‘My friends call me Chas’ he said as he began gathering the strew of books that had fanned out across the sidewalk, when Charles noticed some of the titles, ‘are you doing law’ he asked.

‘I am indeed, you too?’

‘Yeah, but right now out looking for some quiet place that I can call home for a few years.’

‘Then search no more my friend for you have just crashed into the right man at the right place and the right time, my aunt died a while back and left me this house and just as I was moving in providence blinded me by a high sided box while destiny stuck your face in a map.’

It was an old rickety place from a bygone age with two large bedrooms upstairs a smaller one downstairs and a spacious front parlour, the garden was an unkempt tangle of weeds that was boxed in by a peeling picket fence and as they carried his things inside he gave Charles a brief account of his history and his plans to sell after graduation.

He was a carpenter by trade but a lawyer at heart who had saved enough to put himself through college and had single handedly converted the old place into a student’s rooming-house and though Charles was impressed he said nothing since guys like Chas only made him feel more of a phoney.

The house was vacant at present and after a quick inspection Charles opted for one of the large top rooms opposite Chas, the only drawback being that the slightest movement made the old house creak so much it could be heard throughout.

He offered a year’s rent in advance but to his surprise Chas refused, ‘we’re friendly enough now but what if we fall out or