Mr. Fost

Sitting at my desk at home, I was thinking about my life. Half of it had gone and I had achieved nothing: small salary, old car, pathetic job. For the past ten years, I had never been promoted; even if I stepped up the ladder of my career tomorrow, it would still not help my current situation.

My old friends from university, had already acquired all the delights of life. They were sitting on the decks of their yachts, drinking champagne and remotely managing their successful companies, while secretly laughing at me and thinking that I was a loser.

I stopped seeing them; maybe because I was jealous, or maybe because it was too painful to hear their taunting at the parties where I sometimes met them. I wanted revenge. Quite often I dreamt about how I would invite my friends to the party held on my new yacht and quietly watch their envy eating them from inside.

I started to walk around the room, nervously clutching a pencil in my fingers as if it was the pencil’s fault I could not get a promotion. I was so restless and my steps were so heavy that the bookcase—filled with books, waiting to be read—started to shake.

I never liked to read; I always thought it was a waste of time. The books were there just for show, so guests would think how smart I was. The frustration with my failed career was tearing me apart.

I picked up one of the books and sat back in my chair. It happened to be Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus. I had heard about this story—something about a soul and a devil—but what was it really about, I did not have a clue. I opened the book on a random page and saw several lines written in Latin.

Great, I thought, once in ten years I want to read something and it happens to be in Latin.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard thunder.

Strange, I thought, it shouldn’t rain today.

To ease my boredom, I started to read the Latin text aloud without understanding a word of it. My reading was interrupted by the doorbell.

Probably a delivery, I thought. Once again Helen has ordered something.

I heard the front door opening, and a few moments later my wife shouted: “John, someone here to see you!”

An elegant man, in a black vicuna suit, bow tie, and a wooden walking cane with a golden knob, entered my room.

“My name is Mr. Tophilis,” said the man, “but you can call me simply, ‘Mephis’. I came personally in response to your call.”

“You must be mistaken,” I replied, “I did not call anyone and, quite frankly, I do not know who you are.”

“Nevertheless, you have summoned me.”

“Are you selling something? If the answer is yes then I am not interested.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Mephis, “I am here to buy. For that, I have changed my appearance to hide my ugliness; I know that you would ask me to do that anyway. Please read the next line or two in your book.”

I glanced at the open page and just after the Latin text that I recited a minute ago, with a hint of surprise, I read:

I charge thee to return and change thy shape;

Thou art too ugly to attend on me.

“Who are you?” I asked.

Once again, I heard thunder in the clear sky—this time it was much closer. I felt a slight tremor in my hands.

“I am known as Mephistophilis, minister of Lucifer, and I am here to serve you. Please continue to read and you will figure everything out. Please, skip a few lines—yes, right there.”

I continued to read:

I charge thee wait upon me whilst I live,

To do whatever Faustus shall command,

Be it to make the moon drop from her sphere

Or the ocean to overwhelm the world.

“Is this a joke? My friends probably sent you to have a good laugh at me.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Mephis. He reached into thin air, pulled out a large book with a beautiful gold-embossed cover, and handed it to me. “Here is the book of charms. It is yours. I want to dispel all your doubts and prove that all of this is quite genuine. For example: Reading these lines will bring you gold.”

I suspiciously read the lines pointed out by Mephis, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a tiny ingot of gold appeared on my desk.

“The gold is yours to keep,” said Mephis. “I hope you are convinced now?”

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“Nothing special. You just need to sign this contract and for the next twenty-four years I will be your servant, fulfilling all your desires. It is a standard contract, but I took the liberty to simplify it for you.”

I picked up the contract with my trembling hands and began to read:

1. Mephistophilis shall be Mr. John Fost’s servant and at his command;

2. Mephistophilis shall do for Mr. John Fost and bring him whatsoever;

3. Mephistophilis shall be near Mr. John Fost invisible at all times, until Mr. John Fost summons him;

I, John Fost of London, by these presents do give both body and soul to Lucifer, prince of the east, and his minister Mephistophilis, and furthermore grant unto them that, 24 (twenty-four) years being expired, full power to fetch or carry my body and soul, into their habitation wheresoever.

Date:

Signature:

I took a pen from my desk and wrote the date, after which Mr. Tophilis stopped me.

“Signing this contract using your pen will render it void, I am afraid. These kinds of contracts can only come into force if signed with blood.”

Mr. Tophilis pulled a small box out from his pocket, opened the lid, and took out a small lancet.

“The procedure is simple. I push this lancet into your finger and then, instead of your signature, you validate the contract with a drop of your blood by pressing on it with your pierced finger. It won’t hurt; I am sure you have already had this elementary procedure previously.”

I was holding my hand above the contract, but couldn't bring myself to press my finger against the paper.

“Why only twenty-four years?” I asked. “That is not enough. I am still quite young and don’t want to lose the golden years of my old age.”

“Marlowe’s original manuscript states twenty-four,” replied Mephis. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

“I want to make an amendment; I want this contract to end when I read the last line of the Doctor Faustus story, or I won’t sign.”

Mephis thought for a while and then said, “OK, deal.”

The contract miraculously changed, and instead of “24 (twenty-four) years being expired”, I could read: “upon the last line of Doctor Faustus story being read”.

By the time we finished haggling, the blood had clotted.

“Never mind,” said Mr. Tophilis. He moved his hand under my finger, opened his palm—revealing a small lump of coal, burning with a tiny flame—and the clot immediately cleared. I pressed my trembling finger on the paper.

The next morning, I caught the bus to go to my much-hated work.

Oh, bother, I am late again, I thought. I will probably get the usual admonishment from my manager. But, on the other hand, that is trivial now—providing Mephis has not played a prank on me. I just cannot believe that Mr. Tophilis is so naïve. At last, I really got the best deal in the world—besides the money, I will probably get immortality. I will never read that book! Never! In fact, I might buy every single copy of it in every possible language and destroy them all, so Mr. Tophilis will serve me for eternity.

After these thoughts, the only thing missing was a sinister laugh; but the bus was crowded, so I refrained from the pleasure of doing this. For the first time in many years, I was happy; I was anticipating that something should happen very soon.

As soon as I entered the office, Mrs. Milward—the director’s secretary, a pretty woman with a short haircut—rushed to me with the words, “The director wants to see you as soon as possible. He has important things to discuss with you.”

The director greeted me with warmth and even offered me a chair, which he usually never does.

“Mr. Fost,” said the director, “I am glad to see you. How are you doing?”

“Thanks, I am fine. Though, I was late today, I am—”

“Never mind,” interrupted the director, “yesterday, a role of senior manager became vacant. I thought, you have not had a promotion for a long time, would you like to take it?”

Hmm, I thought, Mephis works very quickly. But out loud I said, “That is rather unexpected, though… I accept.”

“Then, that is settled,” said the director, picking up the phone. “Mrs. Milward will show you to your new office. Make yourself comfortable there.”

At home, I told Helen about my promotion—concealing the fact that I had sold my soul, of course.

“Oh, John!” exclaimed Helen, “at last, we can afford a proper holiday; and I want to move out from this hovel as soon as possible.”

“Wait, darling, I need a respectable car first. A senior manager driving an old Ford?! What will people say.”

“Quite right, quite right, John.”

After supper, I locked myself in my small room and summoned Mr. Tophilis.

“Mephis,” I said, “I am impressed; you work very quickly. However, this is not what I had in mind. I want real money and real power.”

“Everything in its own time,” replied Mephis. “We want to be realistic, don’t we. If you become super rich overnight, people might have some questions, and we don’t want that, right.”

“What do you intend to do?” I asked.

“Well,” Mephis leaned back in his chair, “in a few days, you will ask your boss for a company loan. Trust me, he will be glad to give it to you. My broker will buy you some shares of the company you work for; this will make you a shareholder. Then, I will force the price of shares up, and you will be accepted onto the board of directors. This will open all doors for you and within a very short period of time, you will be the richest man on earth.”

He was right. A couple of months later, I was accepted to the board of directors and the company threw a lavish corporate dinner. My speech was scheduled at the beginning of the evening. It was my first invitation to such an extravagant event and I did not know what to say. I was hesitant to ask anyone in the company for help, so I decided to keep it in the family, and ask Helen to write my speech, to which she gladly agreed.

On the date of the event, Helen and I arrived at The Dorchester hotel. I was wearing an expensive suit, custom-made from the most expensive material. Helen was in a Coco Chanel dress, bought in Harrods.

After the official ceremony, I was invited to the stage. I had never been on stage before; the light was bright; I was hot and very nervous. In a few moments, the applause died down, my eyes adjusted to the bright light, and I saw Mephis sitting next to my Helen. I found it a bit strange; though both of them waved their hands to cheer me up, and I quickly got my confidence back.

“Ladies and Gentlemen…” I started.

My dear reader, I do not want to bore you with this speech that my wife had written for me. Though the speech was beautiful and eloquent, it was this speech that brought me to my miserable downfall. My ephemeral success, my dreams, my aspirations, my so much desired rich life was coming to an end.

“…and in conclusion I want to thank all my friends, colleagues and family that helped me ‘To practise more than heavenly power permits’.”

Applause… gradually turned into a standing ovation.

Back at my table, I sat between Helen and Mephis.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Mephis, “you are supposed to be invisible, unless I summon you.”

“Not anymore,” replied Mephis. “My job is done; your soul is mine.”

“You must be kidding me; I haven’t read the last line yet.”

“You really had to read more, when you had the chance,” said Mephis, “but you thought it was waste of time.”

He put a book in front of me, opened the last page and said, “Please read the last line.”

“Never!” I exclaimed.

“It does not matter anymore,” said Mephis, “you have already read it, in your speech.”

I looked at the open book. The last line was: “To practise more than heavenly power permits.”

The very last thing I ever saw in my life, was Mephis and my Helen leaving the hall hand in hand.