Angus and Melanie's First Adventure

"Say, you know that song, the one in the cartoons? I think I had to learn the title in my college music appreciation class. What is it? Hmmm…It's on the tip of my tongue. 'In the Hall of the Mountain King!' That's it! I knew I'd remember it. Do you know it?" The small man's eyes lit up as he heard the tune in his head. He began to wave his arms in the air, as if he were conducting the orchestra. "I'll tell you this. Every time I think on it, I feel like I should creep around on tip toe. Skulking, I think. I like to think I might be skulking around on tip toe." He spoke animatedly, and I could just catch his distorted reflection, his hair a shocking bright orange, in the side of the diner's eight-slice toaster. He sat next to me, but I didn't want to be someone obviously eavesdropping on his conversation and contented myself with the image in my line of sight.

I finished a cup of very hot coffee. As a rule, I hated coffee, but it did the job of giving me a little extra push in the mornings. I turned my head slightly to take a surreptitious glance at the little man and his companion. Strangely, though, he had no companion. He was speaking either to me or to no one. Since I knew I wasn't engaged in a conversation, I deduced he must be reminiscing and talking to himself. I turned my head back toward front and center, hoping he didn't notice the movement in either direction.

I must have failed, though, for I felt a light elbow tap to the ribs, and turned more fully toward the little man. "Yes? Do you need something?" I signaled the waitress for a refill by holding my coffee cup aloft. She gave me a nod, and the look on her face seemed to ask if the man was bothering me. I smiled.

"Miss, I asked if you knew 'In the Hall of the Mountain King.' Did you not hear me before?" He seemed to sit up straighter. When I took in his face, I realized what I'd seen in the side of the toaster was a poor representation of the man beside me. He was, indeed, a small man. He couldn't be more than five and a quarter feet. He was built like a race horse jockey. Small, slight, and lean. He was also much younger than I had initially thought.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were speaking to me, sir. You didn't address me or catch my attention in a formal way." I apologized. I always apologized.

"Do you know the song?" He began to vocalize the tune.

"Why, yes. I do know the tune." I smiled. He smiled.

"Would you like to get into a bit of misadventure?"

I thought about it. Misadventure? What kind of misadventure?

"What kind of misadventure?" I asked.

His eyes were the bright blue of an Easter bonnet. He wore a long tweed coat, under which he wore a thick black fisherman's turtleneck sweater, paired with khaki pants and scuffed up brogues. Everything he wore spoke of quality. Since I was going strictly off first impressions, he seemed all right. Of course, looking back, he could have been anyone. He could have been a serial killer or involved in human trafficking or something—but it was a different time when we met and I was invited on a day of misadventure.

He smiled again, more deeply, and I saw his dimples pop in his cheeks. He seemed delighted when he withdrew a sheet of folded paper from the interior breast pocket of his coat. He carefully unfolded it, spreading it out on the counter in front of us, and with precision, he smoothed it enough to remove the wrinkles and fold lines for me to be able to read his writing.

As I read his list, I could feel my eyes going wider and wider. "You think we can do all these things in a day?"

"We will have to do some skulking, I believe, but if we begin with alacrity, it's entirely possible to knock out the full list today. Will you join me?" He seemed to bounce on his stool with each passing second as his eyes scanned between my face and the writing on the list in front of me. "If we don't finish everything today, we can continue tomorrow or the next day or the next…or, really, whenever is suitable."

We locked gazes. "All right. Let's go." I paid my bill, and the little man and I left the diner. It should be noted the man was small, but I was smaller. We seemed to be a matched set. Where his hair was bright as the sun, mine was brown. Nothing special. Just the brown of, perhaps, tree bark. Where his complexion was rosy, mine was alabaster pale, and my eyes were golden brown, the most unusual thing about me.

The first item on the list was to find the worst person I knew. We were going to visit the worst person in my personal acquaintance. It was an easy choice. The ex-husband of a friend of mine. The problem, though, was we would have to go from New York to North Carolina. This would surely have a negative impact on our ability to get through the list in just a day.

"What will we do when we find him? He's a terrible person."

"We're going to visit. We're going to tell him he's a terrible person."

"That's it?"

"That's it." My companion answered me with finality. "And, don't you think we should know each other's names? We're going to be traveling quite a bit, I imagine."

"I'm Melanie." I offered my hand. He took it between both his hands, and held it for a moment, warming me from my toes all the way to the ends of each strand of my hair.

"I'm Angus." And that was that. While Angus held my hand, he asked me to close my eyes and think of the song, just a few stanzas. I did as asked, and when I opened my eyes, we were standing on a sidewalk in front of a white picket fence enclosing a verdant and healthy lawn. And there was the worst person I knew. He was sitting on the porch with his second wife, drinking a beer in the middle of the morning. He had the face of a pig. I don't know how he managed to charm my best friend, but he'd left her with three small children, a very large house payment, and a pile of bills before he had high-tailed it to North Carolina where he had a brand new start, new wife, new home, no bills, no creditors, and the peace and quiet of a life without his children.

Angus and I stood in front of the fence. Eddie saw us standing there, still as statues, and I still heard the song in my head. "Melanie, is that you? What are you doing here?" Eddie didn't seem to be happy to see me. I wasn't happy to see him either, but Angus and I had a list to work through. I half-expected Eddie to oink like a pig when he raised his heft from his porch chair. He didn't invite us in, didn't introduce his new wife, didn't ask about his children he'd left behind.

Angus leaned toward my ear, "When he gets to the fence, you can tell him. Then close your eyes again, think of the song, and hold my hand."

I smiled at Angus. "You're a little forward with the hand holding, aren't you?"

When Eddie reached us on the sidewalk, I leaned in very close and took in his eyes. I wanted to look as deeply as I could to see what might lie beyond the irises and pupils. I wanted to see what exactly it was to make a man leave behind his wife, his home, his debts, and most importantly, his children; but I saw nothing but my reflection. He seemed taken aback at my proximity and stepped away. I curled my finger toward him, beckoning him near, and I whispered, "You're a terrible person." I like to think my voice reverberated like the feedback loop on a gong until the sound died away, but in reality, it was a simple sentence. Declarative. Before I closed my eyes and filled my mind with the song of the mountain king, Eddie dropped in front of me, slackening to the ground in a heap, but before I could make sense of everything, I found myself holding steadfastly to Angus's hand, and we were once again standing in front of the diner.

"What are we doing, Angus?"

"We are balancing the scales, Melanie. We are righting wrongs. We are the judge and jury. We are the hand of God, if you will. We have been chosen."

"We have?"

Angus nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I've been the sword for just over 100 years (which is hard for me to believe sometimes), and I don't know how I was selected, but I was. My mentor, Seamus, retired, and I was directed to you."

"Why on earth would I believe this? I mean, you might just be a hallucination. Why would I be selected as a sword of justice? I'm just a regular person."

"And maybe that's exactly why you're perfect." Angus's eyes were alight with wonder, and I think he may have been slightly shocked by the reality and finality of the scene with Eddie. It had to be something different than his usual day at work, since he had to recruit me and witness Eddie's end.

"Have you ever taken someone with a list to a perfect stranger before in order to settle a score?" I really wanted to know. I had to be the first. I mean, this didn't seem like a situation meriting a lot of candidates and interviews. The actual mechanics, though, bewildered me. It didn't make sense. We lived in modern times. We had a justice system. We had rules. Then I thought about everyone who skirted the rules, the people who turned their noses up, the people who just didn't give a fig. These were the people who weren't on the radar of the justice system; apparently, though, they were on the radar of Justice.

"I can read your thoughts." Angus smiled at me, still holding my hand. His hair was such a brilliant orange, I had to turn my attention toward my feet. Without my maintaining prolonged eye contact, he continued to speak without even faltering. "Even though we have a certain civility, do you have any idea how many people live outside the realms of civility? It's not something endemic to third world countries. I've spent the last 100 years thinning the herd in first world countries of people whose aim is to profiteer at the expense of everyone in their immediate and far-flung spheres of influence."

"Am I your first recruit?" I surely couldn't have been the first choice, but of course, I knew my knowledge was far from perfect. I wasn't even sure we had accomplished what we had set out to accomplish. Angus smiled and nodded.

The next item on the list was to find the obituaries office. They published obituaries all day, every day, for the entire country. We located the obituaries office near the South Street Seaport. It was a small affair. We were escorted into the office, and looked at obituaries for North Carolina, and there in black and white print was Eddie's obituary. He suffered heart failure and dropped on the sidewalk near his home. He was simply retrieving his mail, and his heart gave out. That was the end.

Angus turned me toward him, taking both my hands in his. "Melanie, do you see? Do you understand what we did today? We meted out just a tiny bit of justice."

Gravely, I shook my head in agreement. We left the obituaries office.

"What are we doing next? Do you have the list handy? Do we have a quota?"

Angus's pupils dilated. He was pleased with my enthusiasm. When he didn't say anything, I noticed the laughter and happiness in his eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"When I took this job all those years ago, I thought I would spend my life alone. When it was just Seamus and me, it seemed like a solitary existence. And for many years, it was. Seamus wasn't one who enjoyed talking or sparking a lively debate. I spent a lot of time in my head." He stopped speaking for a moment, a thoughtful look crossed his face, and he closed his eyes briefly. "Today, here, now, I think I've received my reward for my service. I think we're meant to serve together, and, perhaps, there may be more to our story."

I didn't understand what he was saying and gave probably what was a confused look. Then I felt heat racing up my neck toward my face as the pieces fell into place, as I understood what Angus was saying. "I think you're meant to be my partner until it's my time to move on. I think we are meant to be together."

I pondered the idea of a divine fixup. It seemed completely out of the ordinary, but today had been anything but ordinary. Anything at all. Angus and I would balance the scales as a partnership, or maybe something more. Angus reached for my hands, and I gave both to him, muttering quietly, "Who are you?"

"I told you, Melanie. I'm Angus. We're about to have an adventure."

And I swore, in my head I heard it, or maybe the sound was coming from somewhere not so far away, but I heard the very faintest echoes of "In the Hall of the Mountain King."