‘Gentlemen, it is a question often asked, and today I put it to you, and let us see if you know the answer. What is it that makes a man great? Some will point to wealth. Others to strength of character. Some will say it is a great man who never loses his temper. Some that it is one who is fervent in his worship of the Lord. But I am here to tell you precisely what it is which makes a man great, and I hope that you will listen to my words on this day, and that you will adopt them into your hearts and souls, and that you will understand my meaning. For yes! I wish to bestow greatness upon you.’ He nodded, and held up a hand, in appreciation at his phantom applause. I took a step closer to him and leveled my blade at his face. I knew I should kill him while I had the chance but I wanted to hear what he had to say. He lowered his hand and took a long drink of his cigar. This upset the ash, which fell into the bath with a hiss; he splashed the water with his fingertips where he imagined the ash had landed. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you, thank you.’ He paused, sucking in a chestful of air. Now he spoke with emphasis, and loudly. ‘A great man is one who can pinpoint a vacuity in the material world and inject into this blank space an essence of himself ! A great man is one who can create good fortune in a place where there previously was none through sheer force of will! A great man, then, is one who can make something from nothing! And the world around you, assembled gentlemen, believe me when I say it is just that—nothing!’
In one quick movement I was upon him. Casting the plug blade to the ground I pressed down on his shoulders so that his head dropped beneath the surface of the water. He began at once to splash and flail; he coughed and choked and made a noise that sounded like ‘Hesch, hesch, hesch!’ This reverberated against the walls of the bathtub and I felt it tickling through my legs and up into my trunk. The Commodore’s life instinct was awakened and his struggling became ever more fierce, but I had all my weight upon him and he was pinned and could not move. I felt very strong, and correct, and nothing in the world could have prevented me from seeing the job through.
His washcloth had fallen away from his face and he stared up at me through the water, and though I did not want to look at him I thought it would not have been proper otherwise and I matched his eyes with mine. I was surprised by what I saw, because he was only afraid, just like all the others who had died. He recognized me, but that was it. I suppose I had wanted him to see me and lament that he had not shown me the proper respect, but there was no time for that. Speaking practically, I thought there was perhaps an explosion of colors in his mind, then a limitless void, like a night, or all nights stirred together.
The Commodore died. After this I pulled him up so that his head was only halfway submerged, to make it look as though he had drunkenly drowned himself. His hair was pasted over his forehead and his cigar floated near his face and there was nothing dignified about his closing setting. I left through the front door and rode back to Charlie’s and my shack, where I found him asleep and in no mood for travel. Despite his protestations I roused him and tied him to Nimble and we rode in the direction of Mother’s.
Epilogue
There was silver in the dawn, and heavy dewdrops weighed down the stalks of tall grass. Charlie had finished his morphine and lay snoring on Nimble’s broad back as we rode up the trail to the property. I had not seen the house in years and wondered if it might be in ruins, and what I would do if Mother was not there. When the house came into view I saw that it was newly painted, and that a room had been added to the rear; there was an orderly vegetable garden with a scarecrow, and the scarecrow looked familiar to me. I recognized it was wearing an old coat of my father’s, and also his hat and pants. I dismounted Morris’s horse and approached the visage to check its pockets. There was nothing in them but a single spent match. I put this into my own pocket and stepped to the front door. I was too nervous to knock and so for a time merely watched it. But my mother had heard me walk up and met me at the door in her nightgown. She looked at me with not a trace of surprise, and over my shoulder.
‘What happened with him?’ she asked.
‘He has injured his hand, and is tired about it.’
She scowled, and asked me to wait on the porch for a moment, explaining that she did not like for people to see her climbing into bed. But I already knew this and told her, ‘I will come when you call for me, Mother.’ She walked away and I sat on the railing, swinging my leg and looking all around at the house’s every detail. I was feeling tenderhearted and aching about it. Looking at Charlie, slack on his horse, I thought of the times we had had there. ‘They were not all bad,’ I said to him. My mother called my name and I walked through the house and into the back, the added room, where she lay in her tall bed of brass and soft cotton. She patted her hands over top of the blanket. ‘Where are my glasses?’ she asked.
‘They are in your hair.’
‘What? Oh, here. Yes.’ She put them on and looked at me. ‘There you are,’ she concluded. Her face broke into a frown and she asked, ‘What happened to Charlie’s hand?’
‘He had an accident and lost it.’
‘Misplaced it, did he?’ She shook her head and muttered, ‘As though it is only a trifle or inconvenience.’
‘It is no trifle to me or him, either.’
‘How did he lose it?’
‘It was burned, and then infected. The doctor said it would kill his heart if Charlie forwent the surgery.’
‘Kill his heart?’
‘That is what the doctor said.’
‘He used those exact words?’
‘Words to that effect.’
‘Hmm. And was the operation very painful?’
‘He was unconscious for the actual cutting. He says now there is a burning, and that the stump itself itches, but he is taking morphine, which helps. I should think he will be healed soon. The color has returned to his face, I noticed.’
She cleared her throat, and then again. Her head began to tick and tock, as though she were weighing her words; I implored her to speak her mind and she said, ‘Well, it’s not that I am not happy to see you, Eli, because I am. But could you tell me just what prompted your visiting me after all this time?’
‘I felt a need to be near you,’ I told her. ‘It was very strong, and it overcame me.’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘And would you explain to me, please, just what in the world you are talking about?’
This made me laugh, but then I could see she was serious, and I made an attempt to answer honestly: ‘What I mean is, all of the sudden, at the end of a long and difficult piece of work, I didn’t understand why we should not be near each other, when we were always so close before, you and I, and even Charlie.’
She did not appear to think very much of this answer; or perhaps she did not believe it. As though to change the subject, she asked, ‘How have you been in terms of your temper?’