The Death of Redemption

By William E. Johnson

PART ONE.  

            Four days after his father’s funeral, Harold Clemmons walked north on 38th Street toward the docks, indifferent to the early morning rain that blackened the streets and washed remnants of yesterday down the gutters that bordered the brick-lined sidewalks of the old harbor district.

            His destination was the same as on every other occasion but he never traveled the same path twice and he never drove his automobile.  He was careful that way, always taking the subway to the library and walking from there to the train station where he would take a cab north through the financial district to where the container ship warehouses began but not any closer.  He would walk the rest of the way, never talking to shopkeepers or passersby and always dressing in the same attire of boots, jeans and CPO jackets as the longshoremen who worked the docks and lived in the rooming houses that lined the waterfront.

            For each visit, he chose the route carefully and he always avoided cab rides to the same location.  This morning the cab dropped him off on 36th Street, east of the barge terminals.  Last week, before his father’s death, the ride ended on 40th.  The only thing he ever did the same way, every time, was to dress as he did knowing that once on the docks, he would blend in with a reassuring anonymity where no one knew who he was and cared nothing about who he wasn’t.

            Although the calendar said it was spring, it was cold and the constant piercing wind coupled with the rain laden skies made it seem even colder.  He walked with his hands thrust into the cloth pockets of his longshoreman’s jacket, cursing himself for not planning properly and foreseeing the need for a good pair of warm gloves.  With all of the painstaking attention to detail over the years, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten such an important item and knew that his father would have disapproved of the oversight, citing lessons unlearned and admonishing an apprenticeship discontinued so many years ago.

            At the unanticipated thought of his father, Harold’s mind instantly became painfully blank as though it were a book suddenly slammed shut.  His body shook with an involuntary palsy causing a perceptible change in his gait and interrupting the scripted manner in which he walked.  On each visit to the harbor, he was always so conscious of where he was going and why he was going there that he took each step with a deliberation so intense that even the very act of walking had ultimately evolved into part of the ritual.  But this stumble was a serious breach of his invisible protocol.  He immediately grasped at the key in his right jacket pocket and held it tight until the palsy began to ebb, moving his left arm in the manner of one looking at his watch to check the time while momentarily slowing the pace of his stride, all intended as some explanation to the accidental observer for the stutter in his step.  He had to be very cautious.  He knew this was going to be his last visit and he wasn’t going to take any chances especially after the meeting with his late father’s attorneys.

            In the days following his father’s death, Harold was advised as to the decisions that needed to be made regarding his father’s estate.  The senior Clemmons had prepared a rather detailed estate plan, son was told that there were important issues outstanding and discussions went forward, per his father’s testamentary instructions, as to how Harold could best manage his share of his father’s bequest and also how to assist in managing certain trust funds left for the care of his mother.  Alzheimer’s disease had taken her mind eight years ago and his father’s cancer, coupled with his relentless refusal to allow anything or anybody to interfere with company business, had rendered him incapable of providing any semblance of care for his wife of fifty-one years.  Harold had returned home at the onset of his mother’s illness, a decision repeatedly referred to by the senior Clemmons as an eventuality despite the mother’s condition, but regardless of Harold’s presence and his total dedication to the needs of his mother, a 24-hour nursing service was hired by his father to assist in the care of the mother who no longer knew him and, until eight days ago, to ultimately provide hospice care for the father who never did.