The Ferryman

by Amy Neftzger

  “What’s his name?” Karen asked Fate, her eyes still trained on the man zooming down the hill.

  “Scott.”

  The wheelchair reached the bottom of the bridge and smashed into a guardrail, throwing the ghost from the chair and crumpling his form into a spineless, transparent blob. Karen felt herself cringing, even though she knew that the man couldn’t possibly hurt himself. The chair had flipped onto one side, but the wheels were still spinning through the air. It reminded Karen of the way her childhood dog ran in his dreams, going nowhere while caught in a deep slumber. Two arms reached out of the ghostly blob and pushed the chair upright. Karen studied the translucent bones in the ghost’s hand and couldn’t help but to admire the architecture of the human skeleton. One of the things she enjoyed about robbing old graves was the ability to marvel at the intricate mechanics of a corpse’s bone structure. She suddenly missed the graveyard and its earthy fragrance.

  As the ghost continued to move Karen cleared her head and concentrated on the scene in front of her as she studied the ghost’s movements. The chair rocked from side to side a few times before settling. Scott pulled himself back into the chair and began wheeling himself back up to the top of the bridge.

  “How many times has he raced down this thing?” Karen asked. She turned towards Fate, who was well dressed, as usual. Karen admired the fitted pale gray suit that gently hugged Fate’s trim, muscular body. It wasn’t too tight, but it was fitted enough to show that Fate did not store extra fat. The fabric had a herringbone pattern in the weave that reminded Karen of tiny tire tracks. Fate was also wearing a freshwater pearl necklace and matching earrings that were the same hue as the white of her blouse. The beret on her head was tilted slightly to one side, showing off the maroon trim. Karen wondered how Fate managed to add life to even the drabbest color, radiating with elegance and posture. She even smelled fresh.

  “How should I know?” Fate asked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and kicked a medium sized stone with her leather boot. Karen noticed that the rock didn’t leave a scuff mark. She wondered if anything left a mark on Fate. “I have better things to do than keep tabs on his joy rides.”

  “Isn’t he your responsibility?” Karen asked.

  “Mine? How could you even think that? He’s your responsibility. Your assignment.”

  “Isn’t his condition a product of destiny?” There was a brief moment of silence after Karen’s question. Fate took a deep breath as she narrowed her eyes.

  “You don’t even know how he got into the chair. You think that all bad things come from me?” Fate said as she stared down her nose at Karen. “Do you believe that evil and tragedy are always planned? You don’t think Fortune has anything to do with it?”

  Karen paused to think. She had previously used terms referring to fate and fortune interchangeably, but she was beginning to see that these were completely different forces. She had only recently learned that Fate and Fortune were married, but she had never seen Fortune. She was curious about him, but this was the first time that Fate had mentioned his name.

  “I don’t know enough about it,” Karen replied confidently. She was about to pursue the conversation further when she abruptly decided it was best to stay focused on her job and allow Fate to introduce the topic when she was ready. There was no need for Karen to pursue a conflict when she was already at a disadvantage. It would be better to do the job she was bound to complete until she could find her way to freedom, and so she turned the conversation towards the task at hand. “What happens to Scott when I send him on his way?” Karen asked.

  “That’s not your concern,” Fate snapped back immediately.

  “I’m not comfortable with playing God.” Karen replied as she thought back to her last assignment when she had naively convinced two souls to enter eternal torment. She had no idea what would happen when she facilitated their journey, but the memory of their suffering as they left had given Karen many sleepless nights.

  “Technically, you’re not playing God or judging anyone — you’re simply arranging the final meeting.”

  “If I’m responsible for sending him to Hell, then I’m playing God.”

  “Don’t be arrogant. You don’t have the power to determine anyone’s afterlife. Those matters are decided well before you get involved.”

  “Yes, but — ”

  “But nothing. Get to work,” Fate retorted and then vanished abruptly, as she always did. It appeared as if Fate had condensed to a single point of light before snuffing herself out. It felt jarring, like the earth had just moved for a fraction of a second.

  Karen stood for a moment to collect herself. She’d had nightmares about the last couple she had moved into the afterlife, and it continued to bother Karen each time she thought about the sound of their screams when they finally let go of their earthly lives. She bit her lip and wiped away a tear, realizing that she didn’t have a choice. She was bound to do this work until she could find a way out of it. She’d been thinking about it and researching her situation as much as she could, but there really weren’t very many scientific facts about the afterlife.

  She sighed as she thought about her son Claude. Since she’d pawned the gold coins she found in Jerome’s grave she certainly had money to live on for several months, and she could pay for Claude’s medical bills. But then what? Even if Fate paid her more money, Karen would continue to hate this job more than any other she’d ever had, and she wanted out of it. However, like Alice on her Journey through Wonderland, it occurred to Karen that the only way out was through. So she turned to look at Scott.

  During the time that Karen was standing there, Scott had gone up and down the bridge several times. He was headed back down the side closest to her, so Karen pulled herself together and began walking towards the place where she knew that Scott’s wheelchair would crash when he reached the bottom.

  “That was some ride,” she commented to the crumpled heap of Scott when she reached his side.

  “Oh, yeah!” he said with satisfaction as his arms reached out from the disorganized ethereal mess of his ghostly existence and grabbed the side of the chair. With a hard jerk, he flipped the chair upright. The metal made a loud crunching noise as the chair settled.

  “You like going fast?” Karen asked as she watched Scott pulling himself into the chair. As he did so, his legs separated from the blob and unfolded, stretching out from his torso as he settled back into the chair. Karen watched his knee joints flex and release until he was sitting.

  “Oh, yeah!”

  “Is that what you did your whole life? Go fast?”

  “No!” he shouted. “Hell, no. Everyone was always telling me to take it easy.” He continued in a mocking tone, “‘Don’t strain yourself,’ they said, ‘It’s not good for you.’”

  “Wasn’t it good for you to take care of yourself?”

  “How should they know?”

  “Who were they?”

  “Family. Mostly my mom — and the doctors.”

  “I’d think your doctors would know something about your physical condition.”

  “They don’t know shit about life. What’s the good of having a body if all you do is preserve it and never really live?”

  Karen didn’t respond because she didn’t know what to say. The point was valid and she felt the sharpness of it. Who was she to argue with someone who had lived with physical limitations? She’d never experienced anything similar. She’d always been healthy. However, the comment left a sizable sting because she immediately thought about Claude. Karen was always telling him to slow down and take it easy so that he didn’t wind up in the emergency room with an asthma attack. He wasn’t allowed to play sports or do most of the things that the other children his age were doing.

  “Are you alive?” Scott asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” Karen responded in a distracted manner.

  “I mean really alive,” he continued. “You look solid enough, but I really don’t think that has anythin
g to do with it. I’m more alive now that I’m dead because I’m free. No one tells me what to do now.” Karen wondered if Claude would feel the same way at the end of his life.

  “Were there particular things you wanted to do that they wouldn’t let you do?” she asked, thinking about how she had kept Claude home from a recent field trip to the town’s botanical garden because she was afraid he would have an attack while hiking with his class.

  “Of course!”

  “Like what?”

  “Going fast. Other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “You’re very nosy,” he said suspiciously. “Did my doctors send you here?”

  “Your doctors specialized in keeping you alive. They’re not concerned with you now, but I am. I’d like to help.”

  “Why?” The suspicion was still evident in his tone as he wheeled himself in a tight circle.

  “I have a son, and I’m wondering if I’ve kept him from experiencing life. If I help you, maybe I can learn more about how to help him.”

  Scott stopped turning circles and moved the chair to face Karen. He looked her over as he tilted his head to one side.

  “How old is your boy?”

  “Ten.”

  “Okay,” he replied in a more relaxed tone as he swiftly pushed the chair backwards a few paces.

  “So what other stuff were you unable to do when you were alive — besides going fast?”

  “I don’t know. There were lots of things. Every day there was something I couldn’t do. I once told my mom that I only wanted the word ‘No’ on my tombstone because it would best describe my life.”

  “Have you made a list?” Karen asked.

  “No.” He laughed at his response. “That’s my epitaph!”

  “Well, let’s start there. We’ll make a bucket list of things you didn’t get to do in life that you really wish you could have done.”

  “Are you serious? I’m dead. Bucket lists are for things you want to do before you die.”

  “Well, a post-bucket list then. It doesn’t matter what we call it, but let’s make one and start working through it. I’ll help you do all of them.”

  “Anything I want?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to walk again.” As he spoke Karen felt as if gravity had increased enough to pull her heart through her feet.

  “I can’t do that. I’m human,” she said. She placed both her hands over her heart as she continued to speak. “But there are no doctors or family members here, and I’m not going to worry about your safety. I can also help pay for or get the things you need to do what you’ve always wanted to do. I can’t do magic, but I can help you live.” Once he had lived, Karen thought, he might be ready to die. She dropped her hands as she waited for his answer.

  “As many things as I want?”

  “Let’s say five. Pick your top five things that you wished you could do — but make them things that I could help you to do. Be realistic. Don’t ask to fly an airplane or climb Mount Everest, and I’ll arrange it.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked after he had paused to study Karen’s face for a moment. He examined her eyes and scanned her sincere expression.

  “Karen.”

  “Nice to meet you Karen,” he said, putting out his hand. “My name is Scott. Got a place to write down my top five?”

  Karen shook his hand and nodded, smiling. His grip was damp and chilled, but she clenched her teeth to steady herself and she maintained her composure. Karen took out her phone and typed up the list as Scott dictated.

  The first few items were fairly easy to accomplish. She bought him all the foods he wasn’t allowed to eat because the doctors were worried about his cholesterol level in conjunction with his inactivity. Steak, lobster, cakes, pies, milkshakes, and buttered rolls. He particularly enjoyed the rolls with real butter.

  “So simple and so fabulous,” he said as he stuffed another roll in his mouth. “They wouldn’t let me eat them because they thought it was too fattening, but this is like poetry,” he said, his mouth full. “You should eat one.” Karen already knew they were good. She had gotten them from her favorite bakery.

  “I’ve had them before,” she said.

  “But you haven’t had them with me,” he said. “These are one of the joys of life. No one should be denied a hot buttered roll.” Karen took half a roll, and Scott smiled broadly as he watched her take a bite.

  “Where are you putting all this food?” Karen asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “When you’re dead I don’t think you ever have to worry about getting full.”

  He also had never been allowed to drink alcohol because of the interaction with his medications. Karen drove him to a liquor store and he picked out red and white wines, as well as an assortment of tiny bottles of hard liquors because he wanted to try a little of everything. As he pointed to the bottles on the shelves Karen placed them in her shopping cart and then made the purchase. It appeared to everyone else in the store as if she was shopping alone.

  “These bottles are so cute, there’s no way they could be harmful,” he said. “Like hamsters. Those little guys are cute and harmless.” The comment made Karen laugh.

  “Is any of this going to your head?” Karen asked as she later studied the pile of bottles at his feet.

  “Technically, I don’t have a head for this to go to,” he said. “So, I don’t think I could get drunk.”

  “Can you urinate?” she asked. “Because one of the things you want to do is pee off the roof of a tall building.”

  “I’ll work it up,” he said, and he did. Karen had to help him stand because his legs couldn’t bear any weight, but luckily, ghosts aren’t heavy. She helped him into an elevator and took him to the roof of the tallest building in town, which was only twenty stories, but that was high enough. Karen supported Scott as he stood on the edge shouting obscenities at his doctors and peeing in the breeze. Karen watched the ghostly droplets drift into the wind. Some of the droplets joined the water vapor of the clouds above, while some slowly fell downward. It wasn’t quite like it would have been if a live person had urinated over the side of the building, but Scott was satisfied, and that’s all that mattered.

  “Did you see those drops that went into the clouds?” he asked with excitement as they were riding the elevator back down to the exit.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve never seen that before.”

  “Me neither,” he said with satisfaction. “Next time it rains I’ll be pissing on the heads of everyone in town.” Karen laughed. As far as ghosts were, Scott was quite agreeable. If all ghosts were like him her job might be easier, but she was still worried about how it would end. If he didn’t go to heaven she would hate herself for helping him to get there. He seemed too nice to go anywhere else, but Karen also understood that she didn’t know Scott’s whole story. It could be complicated. It usually was.

  Next she took him downtown to play in traffic. He hadn’t been allowed to cross busy streets by himself because his mother had worried that he would be hit by a car that didn’t see him. Karen thought about how sheltered Scott had been. Nothing he wanted to do was really all that dangerous. It seemed as if his family had been overprotective. She wondered if she was too protective of Claude and whether or not he felt stifled by her.

  Scott rolled through busy intersections regardless of the traffic lights. The cars didn’t see him at all, and he screamed with pleasure as each one passed through his body. He turned in circles and popped wheelies as cars passed though him, sometimes jostling him like a pinball in traffic.

  “Why did some cars pass right through you while others made some kind of an impact on you? They knocked you back and forth, but they didn’t hurt you,” Karen commented as she drove a rented Ferrari to the outside of town. The rental process had been more difficult than a regular car, but after a few administrative hurdles and a security check, they had given Karen the keys. She had the car for twenty four hours, because at the
top of Scott’s list was “Driving a Ferrari.” This had been the most difficult item to fulfill, and it had taken the longest for her to arrange.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It doesn’t matter. All I know is that it was fun, and I don’t care. I got hit by a car and I lived. I really lived.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she said as she drove down the interstate exit and onto a country road.

  “Do you want to drive it?” she asked as she pulled over on the deserted road. It was a very flat stretch of road with little traffic.

  “Hell, yes!” he said. “And I’m not going to wear a seatbelt.”

  Karen helped him into the driver’s seat and then fastened herself in next to him. The interior wasn’t exactly spacious, but it didn’t matter. Scott wanted to drive really fast in a red Ferrari convertible. It wasn’t an inexpensive activity, but Karen decided it was part of the cost of doing business because she knew how important it was to him.

  Scott took off quickly and kept accelerating. The wind whipped Karen’s hair in different directions, and she wished that she had tied it back as she felt it slapping her face.

  Scott shouted much the same way he did when he was going down the bridge in his wheelchair. He had some difficulty shifting gears, but he managed without help. Once the car was in the top gear he simply accelerated. Karen checked her seatbelt. The incredible speed was both thrilling and terrifying, and she felt the excitement. The speeding car was kicking up the road dust, so much so that Karen could smell it along with the scent of oil coming off the hot engine. She was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself.

  The wind roared as it rushed over them and Karen couldn’t hear very much, but she could see the joy on Scott’s face. He was screaming ecstatically.

  “This is living!” he screamed. Karen smiled and nodded as she pulled her hair back from her face with one hand. “Why couldn’t I have died in a Ferrari? This would be a great way to go!” he said.