If Earth Was Heaven (a short story)

If Earth Was Heaven
(A Vignette))



His words could not fade, would not fade, once spoken and directed to you. How miserable to be the one, spoken to by William Witchlow, so often reiterated by so many.
If earth was heaven, William might have considered his gift Godly sent, but on earth, upon recognition, people in general (in particular those who knew him) avoided him, and those others, the ones I called—in general, if they heard about him, or had seen his name in the newspapers, also avoided him.
“He’s kind of scary,” exclaimed Judge Henry Brown, of Sparrow Ville, a quiet and small Midwestern town in Southern Minnesota, in the early 1960s.
“He recently talked to me,” said Peter, the town’s Chief County Attorney, shaking his head as if to empty it, “I still can’t get that sentence he spoke to me out of my head; I shall never feel quite comfortable until I do!” he said annoyingly to the Judge.
They both now saw William Witchlow, approaching them, having been some moments talking to a stranger, a young lady, evidently no one he knew, it had looked as if he was giving directions, his back to the Judge and County Attorney. As he approached, it was as if he had heard—overheard—their remarks or something else was on his mind—contemplating. William was a wealthy and middle-aged man, with the confidence that goes along with it; indeed he was not careless with his fortunes, and often needed a lawyer, and at times Peter had given him advise, if anything. In actuality, William looked more the artist type, and dressed similar, than he did the aristocrat.
He had been told— by the judge never to greet him, lest he be jailed for disturbing the peace, with such a bizarre and single effect he had on people and especially the Judge, William understood, took no offence to his request. These lasting effects were not brief, evidently, it struck each person differently. For the Judge, it was profound, and lasting. For the County Attorney, they lasted several weeks, and then would fade into oblivion.
By and large, William had gratified the Judge’s wishes, and spoke not one word to him ever since they had had that conversation, some several years now.
Thoughtfully, William approached Peter Manning, said in the hastiest voice, as he walked by—with only a pause in his footsteps, “You must not lose this opportunity,” and then continued on with his walk.
“He must mean to represent him in some appropriate action,” said the Judge to Peter, adding: “go ask him what he meant?
“He wasn’t speaking to me,” said Peter to the Judge—“even though he was looking towards me when he said what he said, he actually nodded towards you.”
It was the Judge’s choice to proceed with asking William what he meant by what he said, and that nod of his head towards him. But he didn’t. He left well enough alone. His wife died later that afternoon, in the hospital, alone.


No: 684 (9-29-2010)