A Simple Debt

A beige 1965 GMC pulled into the circular gravel drive. A barrel in the back sprouted rakes and hoes and shovels like a pin cushion, their handles swaying gently as the truck maneuvered over and around holes and dips in the driveway. Stenciled on the doors in faded and cracked black paint were the words Harvesters Gardening Services, Est. 1914, for All Your Lawn and Garden Needs. The truck ground to a halt in front of the steps to an old house with a wrap-around porch. A tall thin man in a dark black suit opened the driver’s side door and slid out, planting his boot clad feet together firmly into the dry and dusty gravel before closing the door behind him.

“You’re late,” said a middle aged man, leaning back in a rocking chair beside the front door of the house. He wore overalls over a once-white t-shirt and worn white tennis shoes. His hands rested in his lap, a large thick-walled coffee mug in his left hand.

“Yes,” said the thin man, approaching the steps, “but you’ve asked me to do something I really can’t.” The man appeared to be in his early thirties but in flickering moments much younger and much older. His face was exceedingly plain with a chin neither too sharp nor recessed, a face neither too long nor too round. His eyes were not widely spaced but they were not too close together. His face bore this plainness like a mantle and such was its exceptional unremarkability that it bordered on invisibility.

“Bullshit.” Said the man in the chair, plainly and simply. “You owe me and I’m calling in the marker.”

The tall man stood on the lower step and sighed. “It isn’t that simple, William.”

“Yes it is. I did you a favor. A rather important favor, if I remember correctly. One for which you said, and I quote, ‘I will be eternally grateful.’ Isn’t that right? –“

“It isn’t –“

“Eternally grateful, you said, my good man. Eternally. Grateful. I’m not asking for eternity. I’m asking for one small thing and we’ll be quits. You’ll be paid in full. Scratch that little bothersome itch off your ledger. You’ll never have to see me again… well, hopefully not for a while at least.”

The man smiled as he said this last.

“It isn’t as simple as that. I cannot do what you have asked.”

“Again, bullshit. You’re a God. Capital ‘G’ God. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“You must understand, even with all my power I do not operate in a vacuum. There are rules by which I must abide. My obligation to you does not supersede or negate my greater responsibility.”

“Then we have a problem, don’t we, Mot?” William said flatly, leaning forward in the chair. The thin man frowned, a pained expression washed across his face.

“William, I want to help. Not just because of my debt, but because you are a good and just man and I call you friend. But there is simply no way to do what you ask. The laws are not arbitrary and they are not philosophical. The laws of physics do not bend at will and whim nor do they break for debt or onus.”

William sat quietly, staring at the thin man, a pleading look creeping through the stoic mask of his face.

“Truly, friend, I would do this thing if I were able.”

“How long have we known each other, Mot?” William asked quietly.

“Thirty or more years.”

“And in all that time, what have I asked you for?”

“I cannot do what you ask!” The thin man’s voice raised on the last.

“You are a solicitor! A barrister! You are THE lawyer. The ultimate counselor. There must be a way.”

Silence from the man in black. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Several minutes passed in silence.

“I cannot unbalance the scales.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with judgment.”

“Not those scales. The grander scales. I cannot bring back without taking. I am not Eileithyia.”

“Then take someone! You take people every day, every second of every day!”

“Because it is their time. Their passing does not tilt the grand scales.”

“Then take someone else!”

Mot’s face grew dark and derisive. “Who? Who, William? What parent will you take away from what children? What child from a parent? Who would you sacrifice on this alter of your sorrow?”

William looked away, shame and desperation twisting his features. The thin man stood quietly. William looked around him slowly taking in the porch and the house. His hands moved purposefully over the worn arm rests of the chair. “If I choose someone, you will do it? You’ll take them and bring back...”

“It would not touch the scales and it is within my power to do so. It would break my own laws, but we’ve seen our share of that, haven’t we old friend?” His intonation made it known that it would disgust him, that he was losing respect for this man by the moment.

“And if I demand it, you’ll have to do it?”

“No, William. There is very little I have to do. But I will, to end this debt. I would not be associated with a man who would do such a thing any longer.”

William looked away and nodded sadly. “Then I choose me. Take me.”

Mot tilted his head and stared at the man. “William…what would be the point? If you are gone…”

“It isn’t about me.”

“But William, she would be a baby, who would care for her?”

“You will.”

The thin man visibly balked and put up his hands, palms out.

“No,” said William, “not like that. You’ll find someone. A child. Someone who needs her as much as she will need them. As much as I needed her. I’ve got insurance, all the information is in a folder in my bedside drawer. It isn’t much, but it will be enough to cover any expenses. “ He paused, his eyes pleading. “Please… do this for me. For her.”

“This is madness, friend.”

“Yes, probably. But it is my choice and you were wrong, you CAN do it.”

“I can.”

“And you will.”

A pause. “I will.”

“Thank you, friend.” Said the man, and a both sad and ecstatic smile bloomed on his face.

Five Months Later

A beige 1965 GMC pulled into the carefully maintained driveway of a generic suburban home. The red and yellow flowers carefully planted around the tastefully bricked mailbox swayed gently as the truck pulled in and parked behind a late model gray Honda. A tall thin man in a black suit slid out of the driver’s seat and planted his boot clad feet together on the smooth asphalt of the driveway before reaching behind him and firmly closing the door. He gasped a clip-board with several sheets of paper firmly in his left hand and held a pen purposefully in his right. The paper was blank. He adopted a demeanor of rigid yet engaging professionalism, took a deep breath and approached the door of the home.

He knocked briskly, three times. Sounds of activity could be heard as people moved to answer. The door opened and a young man in his mid-twenties stood expectantly.

“May I help you?” He asked.

“Mr. Evans?” The thin man asked, appearing to reference his clip board. “This is 203 Spooner Street, yes?”

“Yes, what can I help you with?” Mr. Evans asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“Mr. Evans, my name is Kisin Muut. I represent Children of Castello, a private organization dedicated to providing companionship and support to those with disabilities.”

“Yes?” said Mr. Evans.

“Your daughter, sir. She is ‘on the spectrum’ as they say?”

“Listen, we didn’t sign up for any…”

“Sir, you could not have. We do not accept applications. As I said, our organization is private. Exceedingly so.”

“Who is it, honey?” said a female voice as a young woman walked up behind Mr. Evans.

“Ah, Mrs. Evans, I presume. I was just informing your husband, I represent a private organization that provides companionship and support to children such as yours. Your family has been selected from a pool of …”

“Dog.” Interrupted a small voice devoid of inflection.

The thin man looked down as a young girl of seven or eight peered out from between her parent’s legs. When he looked back up Mr. and Mrs. Evans were staring at each other, pale and mouths agape.

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans? Are you ok?” He asked, knowing perfectly well why they were reacting this way. Claire, their daughter, was non-verbal. Had, indeed, never spoken a coherent word.

“She…” Mr. Evans sputtered before both of them crouched down to their knees to look at their daughter. Claire looked past them, to a spot behind and to the right of the thin man. He looked over his shoulder.

“Ah, yes, to the point then. Evans family, allow me to introduce Sophie.”

A young puppy, having climbed out of the open window of the truck, ambled across the yard toward the front door. It was gray and mottled with medium length fur, it’s prominent ears wobbled as it navigated purposely through the grass.

“Dog.” Said Claire again. Both of her parents were weeping quietly with surprise and confusion. They each touched their daughter as if to clarify and prove the reality of what was happening.

Sophie had reached the group. She ambled up to Claire and sat down directly in front of her, looking up expectantly into the child’s face.

“Yes, well, I can see you are all somewhat overwhelmed at the moment so I will dispense with the detailed formalities. There will be, of course, no untoward expense to you. Sophie is of a mixed heritage carefully selected for our…”, he hesitated, “our second chance program. “ He smiled slightly to himself, pleased with the veiled truth. “She is not trained, per se, and will require extensive service dog training. You will find in this packet,” here he produced a manila envelope from below the clipboard. “ the location of the training facility to be used, along with a local veterinarian that has been vetted and approved by the organization. You will also find a bank card to be used for all things related to Sophie’s care. Training, food, medical care, bedding, etc. Please be aware that while this service is provided free of charge, that is not to say there are not ‘strings’ as it were. I, personally, will periodically stop by to check on Sophie’s status and health. If at any time you find yourselves in a position which prevents you from providing her reasonable care you are prohibited from transferring guardianship to any other individual or organization.”

Mr. and Mrs. Evans had listened to this while staring at their daughter, their hands still on her shoulders. Sophie sat perfectly still, staring up at Claire who looked down, just as still, at the puppy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Evens?”

They started and looked up at him.

“Yes?” Mr. Evans whisperd.

“Do you understand these provisions as I have relayed them?”

“What? I. Yes. Yes we understand.”

“Yes, well then. Good. That’s done. “ The thin man then crouched suddenly in front of Claire.

“Claire.”

The young girl looked up at him.

“Do you see me Claire?”

Claire stared.

“Do you really see me?”

Claire stared.

“This dog.”

“Sof.” Claire said and her parents gasped again.

“Yes, ‘Sophie’. Sophie is no ordinary dog, Claire. No dog is, but this one in particular.” The man swallowed visibly. “She was entrusted to me… to my organization, “ he corrected, glancing at the parents, “by a very dear friend of mine at an extremely high cost. The greatest of costs, one could say. She is your dog now. Your responsibility. But more importantly, she is your friend. And I’ll tell you a secret Claire, a secret that most people know but very few understand.” The thin man dropped his voice to a whisper. “Dogs, particularly dogs like Sophie, make the very best friends.”

“Sofeee.” Said Claire, and the thin man smiled a warm smile for the first time in a very long time.

“Yes.” He said, standing. “Well, that’s it then. My onus abated. Good day to you all. Sophie.” He said, and the puppy glanced over her shoulder for a moment and then turned its head, staring back up at the young girl.

The thin man walked with a slight spring in his step back across the lawn to his truck.