Rhys-Michael Silverlocke


2750 WORDS
Legacy

They all sat around and gabbed-- all of them, the vultures, the
bone-pickers. Billy looked around for Mara, but knew the other
relatives would never have permitted her to attend no matter what
the old man's wishes might have been.
Grandpa had been right as usual, Billy concluded with a most
adult snort towards his other relatives.
On the platform a man dressed as a priest gave a recitation and
spoke with great emotion about the soul of the man being laid to
rest. The others-- nieces, nephews, the long-lost relations in
search of a possible fortune, the bickering aunts (Clarisse and
Clothilde) Billy's parents-- all whispered quietly in low tones.
Billy suspected he was the only one actually listening to the
eulogy.
"A man who was loved by all who knew him, who contributed to
his community and always put those in need before his own
concerns..." Father Dodd continued.
Billy snorted again; it was obvious the priest had never met
Grandpa. Grandpa cared for those he loved (a very small number)
but always thought the rest of the world could go hang itself.
They could have his money when he died, and not a minute sooner.
"He'd have taken it all with him if he could," muttered one of
the Aunt's within earshot. To which the other agreed and added,
"I wonder who gets that lovely crystal set in the foyer?" These
may have been their first words to each other in decades.
Grandpa had been dying for years-- with some of the relatives
long past whispering hints and actually demanding to know when
the old goat would finally get around to doing it. Billy could
not recall a time when it had been different.
It was no great secret how they all felt. Even Grandpa had
known it and never missed out on an opportunity to joke about it
and make the others uncomfortable. At family dinners once or
twice a year the old man would say, "Don't open the chateau-this-
or-that, I'm saving it for the hilarity of my wake..." But to
Billy there always came that sideways wink; Grandpa knew he had
at least one relative who didn't sit around wishing him ill.
Billy had spent nearly all of last summer there with Grandpa,
and Mara. His parents had thrown a major fit about it, but let
him go in the end. They didn't like Mara, thought she was ugly
and couldn't understand why Grandpa continued to keep her around.
But in the end they concluded the old man might look more kindly
upon them in his Will if he felt more of a connection to them
than the other takers. Since no one in the family could stand
the old man and Billy seemed so amenable they were content to use
their child for that purpose.
Grandpa's last words had been that Mara should be present
today, but clearly there were limits to how far the old man's
instructions would be obeyed once he had died-- even with the
lure of money in the offing.
Then again, Mara would not have felt welcome here. She would
have drawn stares and been the butt of many whispered insults.
Billy had gotten to know Mara very well during that last
summer, and he also became the only other member of the Crumb
family that Mara would speak to. Mara had nothing but contempt
for the rest of the family, and she showed that freely. He
didn't hold that against her.
Since they a short ways away by bicycle, Billy was a regular
guest at Grandpa's for dinner and weekends. But on larger
occasions when the whole family gathered Mara refused to speak a
word or even acknowledge their presence. She would saunter out
of the room without a word the moment they arrived and remain
outside until the last of them had left.
Looking around the room at those gathered, Billy could well
understand the way she felt. He might only be eleven, but that
did not mean reality somehow eluded him. He knew how many "beans
make five" as Grandpa always said. Used to say.
The priest droned on from the stage; Billy's father shifted
uncomfortably in his seat; a few rows behind his cousins fussed
and kicked each other and giggled. His mother had already
entered between the bickering aunts to put her dibs in on the old
man's silver tea-service.
Billy caught his mother's eye and she flashed a guilty look at
him; he had heard her and she knew it. The body barely cold, not
yet laid to earth, and already she was dividing the spoils.
Grandpa had not been the only one to predict that; Mara had told
Billy as much months ago.
"She judges by appearance, Billy, you know that. That's why
she can't even stand to look at me! She knows the price of
everything and the value of nothing. With someone like that, too
much is never enough."
That made sense to Billy; his mother in a nutshell. Mara was
so wise, so clear in her meanings. Mara never said things she
didn't believe or mean, and never talked over his head as his
parents and most adults did. But then Grandpa always said Mara
had been alive forever and that she knew just how to talk to a
person.
Mara was also right about Billy's mother not being able to look
at her. Mara had lost an eye years and years ago, and did not
believe in surgery or prosthetics or other new-fangled inventions
of man. She saw no reason to cosmetically correct the situation
for the comfort of others. Mara accepted herself, Josiah, Billy,
the world in fact, as they were; Billy thought she looked cool.
She'd often told Billy, "The only thing you can REALLY change
is you. So get on with it..." Grandpa agreed and told Billy
that she had often told him that as a child.
The priest said, "A man who devoted himself to providing a
better life for his loved ones..." and Billy laughed to see his
assembled relatives defining themselves by those words. Those
words did not apply to any of them. Himself, yes. Mara,
definitely. But the others? No way!
"The thing about getting old," Grandpa told him once, "is that
everyone around you suddenly starts to act like you're retarded
or something. They speak slowly and repeat themselves. When you
close even one eye to blink, they assume you've passed out or
gone comatose and start talking like you're not even in the room.
But I heard them; I know what they really think of me. I don't
miss much..." Billy was certain of that.
Billy also had a private knowledge that would have shocked and
dismayed the others in the room-- might have even cleared the
room. But he didn't bother to tell them; they'd find out soon
enough. Besides, it might spoil Grandpa's joke.
When the service concluded, the supposed mourners went out to
the grave-site and waited for the coffin to be conveyed there for
burial. Of all, only Billy shed tears. Somewhere, he knew Mara
also cried. They, at least, had loved the old scoundrel.
Billy had no idea how much money there actually was, but he
knew it was a lot. Enough to get his two aunts together in the
same room after twenty years. But they thought only of the
money, and not the spirit of being brought together by tragedy.
The service by the grave-side ended soon and the others
shuffled to their rented limos. Billy's parents had not rented a
car and arrived and left in their family wagon. His mother had
said, "He's dead already; he won't notice what kind of car we
come in so why spend the money?" Billy would have argued that it
was a sign of respect, but knew how useless that would be on his
mother.
So he said nothing.
When they all arrived at Grandpa's house for the apres he
disdained the gathering downstairs and went to comfort Mara. He
found her in the attic. She had been crying, and her one good
eye was all red and blurry. He took out the hanky his father
always made him carry and which he had never used and wiped at
her eye.
"They're down there..." she asked and stated at the same time,
with a dismal undertone.
"Yes."
"He wouldn't have wanted most of them in his house," she said
as Billy took back the hanky.
"I know."
She attempted a smile, "Any surprises?"
And Billy started to cry again. Uncontrollable tears flowed
and Mara came closer and almost circled herself around him to
comfort him. When he could speak again he told her, "Nope.
Grandpa got it just right."
"You knew he would, the old bugger. Never could stand to be
wrong," she reminisced.
"Even Aunt Cloe showed up," Billy told her with a sniff, wiping
his nose as he always did on his sleeve.
"Clothilde and Clarisse in the same room? That would have
tickled him. Wait until they find out it was all for nothing!"
she added with a triumphant half-smirk.
That made Billy smile too.
"Pity they never paid more attention to me. I did all the
investing and made all the decisions. I even do the books. All
your grandfather ever did was write down what I told him and sign
in the right places. If they really wanted money..."
Billy laughed aloud and then looked around to make sure no one
was near. "They would never believe that."
"I know..." she giggled with him, "silly, aren't they?"
"I like Grandpa's word better. Reper... reprer..." he trailed
off.
"Oh the public word. Reprehensible is what you're looking for.
He had another word, but that was for private," and she arched a
brow at him.
Billy laughed again; he had heard that one too.
"Reprehensible," he repeated sounding it out carefully, "that's
them all right. And greedy, and dumber than dirt."
Mara stopped him there, "They are what they are, and will
likely remain so. This is not their day-- though I doubt you
could convince them of that. It's your Grandpa's day and you
should think about him."
Billy looked like he would cry again and she added, "Though I
think you're probably out of water for the moment. You might
want to go eat something and have something to drink to replenish
your supplies."
Billy nodded. "Besides, they'll come looking for me if I'm
gone too long." That was not normally true as his parents barely
seemed to notice whether he was home or not, but in the case of
Billy and Mara they would certainly be alert to his whereabouts.
"Go on down. We'll talk again tomorrow-- you'll come and see
me."
He kissed her and gave her a big squeeze and headed downstairs
with his head hanging.
Almost as an afterthought she quietly called, "Don't worry.
Your grandfather had more than just one surprise up his sleeve.
Everything will be all right and you and I will spend lots of
time together..."
He turned as if to take a last look at Mara, for he doubted her
wisdom this time. His parents would do all they could to keep
Mara away from him at all costs.

After the reading of the Will, Billy knew Mara had been right
as usual. He composed his features so as not to laugh as his
parents stormed out of the lawyer's office without bothering to
note whether their son followed.
"Nothing!" his father swore getting into the car. "Not a God
damned thing! All these years and for what???" His mother cried
bitter tears; Billy had never seen her so upset.
"Pity those tears weren't there for Grandpa," he thought, and
also, "Serves her right..."
The other relatives were already filing out as Billy's father
drove his wife and son out of the lot. Not surprising; there
could not have been anything to discuss with Grandpa's lawyer.
Some of the relatives (Billy's parents included) were already
making plans to get their own lawyers in to try and break the
terms of Grandpa's Will. Billy still wanted to laugh.
The lawyer had made things clear in the first few minutes. The
estate (valued at just over three million dollars!) would be sold
in its entirety. All properties, items, jewelry, and fixtures
sold at auction.
All monies raised from this liquidation to go to the American
Heart Disease Foundation, the American Cancer Society, and the
A.I.D.S. Research program in equal thirds with only one small
exception. A Trust of one hundred thousand dollars had been
established for all living relatives. Any recognized member of
the Crumb family could draw up to one hundred dollars a month
from that Trust for a grand total of twelve hundred a year.
The Trust was non-renewing and once drained it would be gone
forever. The lawyer also read the special provision which
applied only to Billy's parents.
"To my Grandson William Thomas Crumb I leave sole custody and
possession of..." and Billy had laughed aloud when he heard the
terms. His father looked about to strike him and his mother
groaned aloud. But if they wanted even a meager stipend from the
estate they must abide by the terms of the Trust.

Some months later, after all the hub-bub had died down things
seemed to be returning to normal. The family lawyers had not
been able to break Grandpa's Will-- but not for lack of
harassment. Billy almost felt sorry for Grandpa's lawyer.
Mara had long since moved in; the parents were not happy about
that either. But no Mara, no money.
Grandpa had been nasty to do that, Billy conceded, but then
there was no alternative. If allowed to run things their own
way, Billy's parents would have made sure he never saw Mara
again.
Thanks to Grandpa's foresight, Mara sat in his room while he
played with his new balsa-wood glider and asked him, "So what do
you know about upgradable software systems?"
"Umm, nothing. What should I know?"
"Hmmm. Well, probably not a lot at your age. But I was
thinking it might be a good investment for you. You get your
hundred a month like the rest..." she paused, then suddenly
asked, "You didn't sign that form your mother wanted you to, did
you?"
"Not after you told me what it was," he agreed.
Mara smiled relief, "Good. Then it's yours to do with as you
like. I think we should start with software. After that we'll
move on to grain futures-- seems to be a dry-spell heading for
the wheat-belt this year-- then after that... well, there's time.
"You don't want to be a millionaire right away, do you? You
can wait until you're at least twenty or so, can't you? It's
better to take these sorts of things slowly and be certain," Mara
told him.
"Hmmm? Yeah, okay, whatever. Sounds good," Billy replied,
paying more attention to the glider than to Mara's financial
wizardry.
She smiled to see him. Of course he didn't understand it all
yet. No reason that he should. Billy didn't even know what a
million dollars was yet, nor what it could buy or do for him if
used wisely. There was plenty of time for that later. All the
time in the world it seemed.

But downstairs things were not so happy and relaxed. The trip
to the lawyer's (and from there to the bank) completed yet again
and the argument began anew as it probably would until the Trust
ran out entirely.
"He's laughing at us from the grave!" Billy's mother said.
"Twelve hundred dollars a year. The old bastard had MILLIONS!
And to get even that much we have to keep his moth-eaten old one-
eyed cat too!"
"I can't stand that thing. I wish it would just die already,"
his wife agreed. "I don't like to see Billy playing with it.
It's disgusting..."
And they stared at each other long and hard, each knowing the
other would never give up something as precious as money for
something as frivolous as honor, dignity, or even to preserve
their sense of personal choice. Slavery takes many forms and
this was theirs.
It might have improved their mood to know that the cat in
question was presently lecturing their son about the varied
interest rates of Certificate of Deposit accounts, and certainly
not playing with bits of string or dead mice.