The following is an untold account of an incident pertaining to
my father and his friend Tommy Burns. It was in the summer of 1970 and
it was an unusually dreadful year for my father as his health was
progressively deteriorating and he was hastily realizing that death
would soon come knocking at his door in the near future. In view of the
fact that I was married and had a family of my own, I lived at a
distance from my parents and by no means could spend as much time with
them as I would have desired.
It was a quiet evening when Tommy
came knocking at our door and declared that he had just arrived in town
and sought to visit with us. This did not present a dilemma in view of
the fact that I had known Tommy for numerous years. My father had always
been an admirable and honest man, and the affectionate familiarity
which he expressed in Mr. Burns was to me satisfactory verification that
Tommy was in every way creditable and of high regard. It was at
breakfast the following morning when Tommy related to us a strange and
unusual pact that was formed. He stated that it had been soberly
established among my father and him that the one who died first would
attempt to communicate with the other from beyond the confines of the
grave, a concurrence that was comparable to that arrangement between the
great magician Houdini and his wife upon his death.
A few weeks
after our dialogue in which Mr. Burns spoke of this alleged agreement, I
met him walking gradually down High Street in Millville, apparently
preoccupied in deep contemplation, as he greeted me impersonally
providing a skimpy nod of his head and continued on his way while I in
absolute puzzlement was left standing on the sidewalk, staggered and as
you may well expect somewhat irritated. The following day I encountered
Tommy again, this time in the City hall office as I was paying my yearly
taxes, and seeing him about to duplicate yesterday's unpleasant
performance I intercepted him in the entrance hallway with a gracious
acknowledgment, and directly requested an explanation of his behavior.
He hesitated for an instant then looking me forthright in the eye and
said.
"I do not foresee that I may relate to you as a friend any
further in view of the fact that your father has dissolved our
friendship even though I know not why he has elected to do so." I
quickly protested, "I have not heard from my father recently so I can
not respond to your comments concerning his behavior."
"You have
not heard from your father". he repeated, with evident astonishment.
"Why, he is here in Millville. I encountered him yesterday only a mere
ten minutes prior to meeting you. I met him for a second time not even a
quarter of an hour ago, and I might add his manner was precisely the
same as previously, he merely nodded and passes on."
At this point
I would like to enlighten you, my reader that for all practical
purposes I shall explain at once that my father was now dead. He had
died in the Millville hospital four days prior to this conversation.
Calling on Mr. Burns, I informed him of my father's demise, presenting
him the commentary as it appeared in the Millville Daily Newspaper
announcing the calamity. "It seems incredible", he said, following a
period of reflection. "I suppose I must have erroneously approached
someone else mistaking them for your father, and that accounts for the
icy welcome I received. It was purely a stranger's response to someone
they didn't know. I now remember, yes indeed, he lacked your fathers'
usual mustache."
"Doubtless it was another man," I assented and
the subject was never subsequently mentioned between us. But I had in my
pocket a photograph of my father which had been provided from his
remains attended to by my mother. It had been taken a week before his
death, and was in fact without a mustache.
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