I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, dodging my workplace, when I saw Him come in. I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing first because, well, this is San Francisco, and you are liable to see almost anything here. He was wearing the equivalent of a long ragged cloak, stained with age and reeking of an unspeakable odor.
It was the scent of a recently opened grave, and while I had not been near one in a while, I had put a dead racoon in my garbage can once and left it there for a week in the hot sun. Worst thing I have ever smelled. I was only too happy when the garbage man came. It was worse than that. No one else seemed to notice.
His cloak hid is face but it was safe to assume I didn't really want to look too deep in there anyway. He was carrying a pole with a strange watermark on it and two runnels near the top. His hands were strong looking, like a weightlifter's with veins running through them. I could not see much else of him but he was big, much bigger than I imagined him to be.
See, I figured this had to be the Boatman of the River Styx.
"Cappuccino." he said with a scary baritone.
"Four seventy five, please."
"Are you serious?" was his response.
"Uh. Yes."
He reached into his pocket and put pennies on the counter. Lots of Pennies.
"Sir, we can't take those."
"They're currency aren't they?"
"Sir, they're pennies."
"I get paid in pennies."
"Excuse me, miss, I will take care of this." I found myself reaching into my pocket and paying with a five.
"Keep the change." The crowd was getting kind of hostile and I wasn't sure what might happen if he got pissed off. He looks at her. Reaches across the counter with his large, ham-like hand and touches her chin.
"Rebecca Montez, angry boyfriend, six years from now, lamp. Unfortunate." She looks at him as if he were crazy but does not move. Almost as if she were under a spell.
He turns to me and says, "Thank you, Daniel Simmons."
"How do you know my name?" I already knew the answer.
"I know all of your names." That voice was really starting to work me. The rhythm of the shop resumed and people went back to typing.
"What are they seeing? How is it only I can see you?"
"Cappuccino, up."
"Uh, that's you."
"Let's sit and talk, Daniel Simmons."
"Okaaaaay." Didn't like where this was going.
I sit down at the table and try to hide my face behind the screen of my laptop so I could resist the temptation to look into his cowl. He reached across the table and closed my laptop, gently.
"So, Charon, what brings you up for coffee? And why is it no one else can see you?"
"Mmmmm. Good cappuccino. Very nice." The cup disappeared into his cowl and did not come back out.
"No one can see me because to them, I am some unfortunate hobo having coffee with an overdress preppy. That would be you. As to why I am here? I need a guide and since you can see me, you are volunteered."
What could I know about that he would need a guide for?
"I am looking to franchise my business."
"Excuse me?"
"Earth is very busy these days, lots of dying and you guys keep making new ways to kill each other off. I can't keep up. Look at this bicep." He pulls back his sleeve and shows me this massive arm that would not have look out of place on the Incredible Hulk. "Go on, touch it."
"Um, no thanks."
"I used to be scraps of bone and flesh, now I have biceps from pushing that thing." He points outside the window.
For a moment I saw a flash of a large gondola-like boat, about the size of an eighteen wheeler. Off in the distance, I could see people, thousands of them, tens of thousands, standing patiently wearing clothing from what looked like medieval times. Then the street returned to its mundane appearance.
"Yes, I just cleared the backlog from the Black Plague last week. But I still have the Civil War, the Spanish Flu, World War's I and II, and Korea. Do you know how many Russians died out there?" He was starting to sound a little hysterical.
"Uh, what about other death-oriented entities like yourself? Aren't there others out there harvesting the dead?"
"Valkyries are still working, but they only want the valiant dead, so they swoop in and pluck one guy out of thousands, put him on their flying horse and their gone. I've tried shouting out, 'hey, you could grab a few more' but they keep mentioning something about Vahalla having a quality assurance clause and then they're gone. When I complained to the Niflheim Residency Committee, they indicated they aren't responsible for all of these people. They closed their doors when the last of the Vikings bought the farm. Something about Niflheim having a purity standard."
"There are certainly other death agents, yes?"
"Heaven only takes devout Christians. Lets just say that number isn't going up. Same with their other sects. People don't seem to have a desire for really rigid religious structures anymore, so most of those places are closing their doors, or waiting for a management decision from on High. Hell, well its just overflowing. They even changed the sign. Used to say 'Abandon hope all ye who entered here'. Now it says, 'Abandon hope all ye who thought to enter here. Entry denied due to overcrowding.' So, I keep going, moving the Dead into their afterlife of Last Resort. But I am starting to fall behind, so I hoped someone here might have some idea how to franchise this operation."
"So you're hoping to find people willing to help you ferry the Dead, for a fee. What kind of benefits would you be offering, you need a good benefit package if you are trying to recruit these days."
"I am not trying to enter into Management. I do not want to take responsibility for their work. I want to hand off a section of the workload to other interested parties."
"That's the problem. Who's going to be interested in buying into a business where your job is to move the Dead across the River Styx into the Afterlife of Last Resort? What do they get out of the deal?"
"As long as they work for the Company, they can avoid dying of anything, as long as they manage their company effectively. If I have to pick up their slack, I will carry them across the Threshold myself. I am not interested in who they hire, as long as they get the job done."
"Effectively immortal, long term job security, open hours, free hand in hiring, no micromanaging. I think I am going to quit my job. Okay, what's the cost to buy into this program?"
"2 pennies." Charon voice had begun to grow on me.
"Okay, the first thing we are going to have to do if we are going to work together is to increase the cost of dying. How can you run a business on 2 pennies a soul? Haven't you ever heard of inflation?"
A Cappuccino with Charon © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved
Comments