Tell me what you think:
Jack Smith of the Lantern
and
the Devil that Made Him So
by
Andrea Moreau
It was the first night of Autumn that Jack wound his threadbare scarf around his neck and put up the collar on his tweed. As Jack stumbled toward home, he happened upon a dark figure in the road. Jack was not afraid of anyone or anything except maybe his Mum, but she was dead. So he approached it, fully intending to walk around it or even step over it. But curiosity, for once, overcame him. He approached the rumpled heap and hesitated briefly wanting to kick it. Hands in his trouser pockets, he clutched the silver cross he always kept on him. It was his Mum’s and she was a good God-fearing woman who went to church every day of her life. It wasn’t the fear and comfort of God he kept in his pocket but the memory of his dear ol’ Mum.
But at that moment, the heap moved. Jack heard laughing. The heap was laughing. The laugh was a deep, throaty, scratchy, maddening laugh. Jack’s sunken, slitty eyes reflected his abandoned curiosity for full out surprise and then squinted with irritation. Then the coughing came. The heap coughed. It coughed a horrible, wet, raspy cough that screamed disease and Jack turned to be moving on. Bloody bum. Jack had no time to fool with vagrants especially ones with tuberculosis.
“Oy, there!” The heap rasped. “Can ye spare a topper for a friend?”
Jack turned halfway so as not to fully face the impertinent beggar. A creature of habit and not one to chat easily with others, Jack was already put out enough. “Get on with yerself. I haven’t the time nor the money.” He added, “And get yerself off the street, would ya. It’s the middle of the night.”
“I meant no harm . . . Jack,” said the heap. Again, Jack’s eyes grew from wide and bulgy and back to little slits as he tried to size up the hobo.
“How is it I know ya? Show your face,” Jack said slowly and suspiciously, turning for a confrontation.
“Oh, I’ve known ya yer whole life, Jack,” said the heap, rising from its pile into the figure of a man. “I’ve known ye and watched ye and I know what kind of person ye are. I see yer headed home but I think you should join me in a drink and a bit o’ conversation.”
Jack considered this. Not because of the dubious person in front of him saying that he knew him and wanted to talk. He considered this because the heap-man wanted to drink. Jack was always up for a drink. It didn’t matter much that he’d already drunk his stout for the day. However, this man had referred to him by name; said he’d known him his whole life. What could he want? What was his scheme? I’ll teach him to scheme. No one pulls the wool over my eyes. I can see a trick coming a mile away. Jack couldn’t see the eyes of the heap-man. But he didn’t want to go closer to the man. He didn’t want to appear too curious either. Turn and go. “Jack.” Lucky guess.
“Off with ya. Don’t know ye. Name’s not Jack anyhow.”
“Oh, Jack. I think ya’d want ta come have a pint with me. What’s ta fear in a pub? Ya spend all yer days in the pub.”
Jack considered this once again. They were only around the corner from the Duck. Then he could find out what this crazy wanted from him. Maybe a loan. Maybe a big one. That’s what he wanted. This fellow must know my business and has spoken to someone at t’ pub. That’s how old Jack made his money and though this was not a conventional way of asking for a loan, he could listen and count his interest to himself while he listened to another sad story.
“A’right, then.” Jack said decidedly. “Come on and I don’t want to be out all night so let’s be getting’ on with it.”
They walked in silence down the cobblestone street of Devyn, one of the smallest villages in Ireland. Jack hunched his shoulders, as the chill was getting to him. He again felt the warmth of the cross in his trouser pocket and clutched it absentmindedly while he walked briskly, head down, not caring if his company was to the side of him or behind him or whether he was there anymore at all. Jack didn’t feel like making much conversation. He wasn’t a conversationalist by any means and was strictly about the business, whatever that may be, at hand. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can be getting’ home, he thought.
Jack grasped the handle of the short wooden door and felt the surprising warmth of the place as he ducked in. The stranger was indeed still behind him because he heard the door being pulled to. Jack looked around for a quiet table rather than sitting at the bar. He’d need a bit of privacy if he was to talk business with this man. He walked over to a table very near the fireplace and began removing his tattered scarf. As he sat, he looked up to the stranger and finally saw his face . . . and his eyes.
The man was quite well-dressed for these parts. He looked neither very old nor very young. It was difficult to put an age to him. He didn’t have a wrinkle but his skin looked rough like it had seen a lot of the sun. Baked really. Aged prematurely, maybe?
“Jack, what I have to say won’t take long. It’s time. You don’t have any more of it. And you have to come with me. Drink yer drink. It’s on me. It’ll be yer last though,” said the man heap.
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know what yer gettin’ at. How much of a loan do ya need? I don’t have all night to be playin’ games and tellin’ jokes. Just tell me what you need and I’ll tell you the terms,”said Jack at first a bit perturbed and then unflinchingly back to the business at hand.
The man shifted in his chair to lean forward a bit so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice. “Jack, listen to me. I’m not playin’ with ya. I have to tell you who I am. Take my arm.” The man offered his arm to Jack across the table.
“I don’t have time for this. I don’t know who you are or what you’re doin’ but I’m a businessman. If you don’t need a loan, off with ya. You want to play, look around,” Jack pushed his chair back and waved off the waitress. “There’s plenty of silly people in this town to play with. Good night.” Jack turned from the table and put the collar back up on his coat.
Stupid bum, a-wasting my time. I don’t need to be playing games. I need to rest. I’m too old for that nonsense. Jack didn’t bother acknowledging anyone in the bar on his way out though several people nodded in his direction. Everyone saw Jack as an old curmudgeon but not endearingly so. Jack was just sort of a staple in the town. Everyone knew him but no one really knew him.
Jack pulled the door to the pub closed, looked up at the night sky, and once again began his way home.
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