Death and a Salesman

Arthur was most decidedly not a good man—in any sense of the word, really. He was the furthest thing from it. A grammarian would undoubtedly call him something nasty, like an antonym. Arthur lied and cheated. He swindled and stole—and did many other things I don’t care to put down on paper. Or anywhere else for that matter.

The problem with all of this—at least one of the problems and perhaps the worst of them all—was that Arthur didn’t realize he was a downright awful human being. He thought he was actually a pretty good person—a decent enough fellow that anyone would realize if they ever got to know him.

But why wouldn’t he think that? Arthur, a downright awful human being, had convinced himself that he was a pretty good person. Why would he ever think he wasn’t? Even if he woke up and looked in the mirror-glass of self-reflection every morning, he wouldn’t see anything to convince him otherwise.

Oftentimes, that sort of thing must be pointed out to us—otherwise, we’ll never know what we’re supposed to be seeing other than our reflections in the mirror-glass.

Oh, Arthur knew he could be abrasive at times and perhaps a little underhanded in his business deals—or, as he called it, “clever”—but he told himself that was all just part of the job. A haughty disposition—which others saw as “sleazy”—simply came with the territory. It was just the way things were done. Acting like that was the only way for someone like him to make a name for himself in this trade.

That was how Arthur had been raised and taught to think, and now he thought nothing of it. He simply went about his business as he usually did—which is all to say that he conducted his business in a nasty, cutthroat manner. After all, he wasn’t here to make friends in the market square. He was here to sell camels.

You read that right. Camels.

Arthur was the city of Haleg’s top camel salesman for the past fourteen years running—begrudgingly voted as such by the Better Business Bureau of Haleg—against the community’s vehement protests. The problem was the criteria for the award. All that mattered were the results, not how they were achieved.

Sure, Arthur was perhaps one of the nastiest camel salesmen they’d ever come in contact with, but there was no question about it—the man could sell camels like nobody’s business. No other camel salesman even came close to Arthur’s numbers. Probably because there weren’t any other camel salesmen in Haleg. Makes you wonder why they even had an award for it, really. See, Arthur didn’t just have a corner on the camel-selling market—he had a monopoly on the whole thing. Young and old, new and used, secondhand, you name it—Arthur sold them all.

As I already suggested, I really don’t think Arthur would ever realize on his own what a deplorable human being he was. Even if he took a good look in the mirror-glass, he’d most likely shrug and assure himself that he was looking pretty good for a single, 54-year-old camel salesman who could count all his friends without ever making it to number one.

Sometimes, external intervention is needed—I’ve found that it’s often an absolute necessity for cases such as Arthur’s. He needed an intervention. Sadly, he had no friends to hold an intervention for him, and besides, he frankly didn’t care what anybody else thought about him. But Arthur would be given an intervention all the same—whether he wanted one or not.

On a day late in Summer, Death paid Arthur a visit—as a favor to someone else. Death had been observing Arthur for some time now, in that same cold and indifferent manner with which he observes all people. Arthur didn’t see him, of course. No one ever does until their time has come or if Death lets them see him. Generally, most people only ever see him once—and that’s enough.

But again, Death owed someone a favor, and so he was willing to make an exception for the camel salesman. Death came up to him in the market square just as the last rays of the departing sun stretched thin across the cobblestone streets.

Arthur looked up from closing down his booth and yelped in surprise. His reaction wasn’t unexpected. That was how most people reacted to seeing Death—with surprise. Death didn’t so much sneak up on Arthur as he did catch him unprepared. Again, that wasn’t unusual.

How did Arthur know this was Death, you ask? That’s a good question.

See, Death wasn’t dressed as you might expect. He wasn’t wearing his hooded black cloak— what with it being summer and all. Can you imagine the heatstroke? Not that Death could get heatstroke—he couldn’t feel the heat for one thing, and for another, he had no heart—but still.

Instead, Death wore a fine, linen suit—black as pitch. It was always someone’s funeral wherever Death went, after all. In one neatly manicured hand, he loosely held an ebony cane with a finely carved ivory head, shaped like a skull. I suppose you thought he’d be carrying a scythe, didn’t you? But that wouldn’t go with the rest of his attire at all.

Death’s dark hair was slicked back, and his gaunt face was handsome—in a cold and cruel sort of way. This was the mask Death wore whilst walking among mankind. His true face he kept hidden—to keep people from fleeing in terror at his passing. Death didn’t care much for chasing after people. He didn’t like running. Every now and then, though, Death would allow people to see his true face—if just for a momentary glimpse. Any longer, and they’d be scared dead.

That was what he did that made Arthur realize he was looking Death in the face. And looking Death in the face, his true face, was horrifying.

Death didn’t give him time to recover from his shock. “Relax,” Death said, as comforting as he could be. “It isn’t your time.”

The camel salesman looked at him with a mixture of relief and wariness. He didn’t look fully convinced. Perhaps this was Death’s trick to catch him off-guard. “Er, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here then?” he said. “I’m a busy man, you see. These camels won’t sell themselves!”

Arthur let out a nervous, shaky laugh. “You’re not here to buy one, are you?”

Death glanced past him at the camels clumped together in the corral behind the salesman’s booth. He shook his head. “No, but I’ll be back for the one soon enough all the same.”

Arthur looked back as well. His eyes fell on one of the older camels, and he scowled. Maybe he could sell the creature before that happened. He turned back to Death. “Why are you here, then?”

Death leaned against the camel salesman’s wooden booth, forearms resting in a casual pose on the counter. He had a seemingly pleasant smile on his face. “I’m here to talk to you.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. That was unexpected. Almost as unexpected as seeing Death face-to-face and not immediately dying. The camel salesman shrugged and went back to closing down his booth, trying to appear more collected than he actually was. “Alright,” he said. “I’m listening.”

The smile hadn’t left Death’s face, but it never reached his eyes. It was a cold, dispassionate smile. It was, after all, Death’s smile. “I’m going to say what I came here to say, and you’re going to listen to me very carefully, Arthur. Very carefully means that I expect your full attention.”

There was something about those last two words; something in Death’s tone that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine, despite the heat of the dwindling summer sun. Not to mention the fact that Death had called him by name. He knew who he was. He stopped closing down his booth and turned to look at Death.

A horsefly buzzed around Death’s head; he paid it no mind. The bug landed on his suit jacket briefly and then fell to the booth’s wooden counter, lifeless.

Death’s expression never changed. His dark eyes remained locked on Arthur’s. Then, he abruptly broke eye contact and stared down at the dead fly on the counter. He sighed and gently picked it up with his thumb and index finger. Studying it, Death spoke casually, as if conversing with an old friend—which would be absurd because Death didn’t have any friends.

“You might think that because of what I am, I don’t care what people do here on this earth. That they can treat each other as well—or as poorly—as they like for all I care. After all, I’m not one to compare or judge—that’s not my job. All are equal in my eyes.”

At that, he set the dead fly gently on the booth’s counter in front of Arthur and looked back up at the camel salesman. He leaned in closer to the poor man. A bead of sweat trickled down Arthur’s face.

Death whispered, “You’d be wrong. I do care.”

He grimaced, no longer smiling. “I don’t normally enjoy what I do. But when I’m called to collect someone who has spent their time here on this earth actively making life miserable for those around them, well,” Death shrugged. “Let’s just say that assignment doesn’t bother me as much. But I’ll say this—it usually bothers them.”

Death smiled again with grim satisfaction. “I don’t hide my true face from them in those moments.”

At that, he let his mask slip again—just for a second before covering his face once more—reminding Arthur with whom he was talking.

Arthur paled visibly. The sight of Death’s true face terrified him. He had no desire to see it ever again. “Why are you telling me all of this?” Arthur’s voice shook a little. Which, considering the circumstances, was understandable. As a camel salesman, he may have been used to making high-stakes deals and having conversations under a great deal of pressure and stress, but this was Death he was talking with.

Death met his eyes. “You know, Arthur, I’ve been watching you for a while now. And do you know what I’ve found? You’re not a very good person. Oh, sure, you could argue that there are plenty of people out there who are far worse than you, but I’m not talking to them right now, am I? I’m talking to you.”

Arthur opened his mouth to object—he really wasn’t that bad of a person—but Death held up a finger, forestalling him.

“I’m not here to listen to your pathetic excuses, Arthur. You’ve lied. You’ve swindled and stolen. You’ve cheated people out of their money. You’ve sold camels for more than they’re worth—don’t try to claim otherwise. You know what you’ve done. And so do I. As I said, I’ve been watching you, Arthur. And that’s just what I’ve seen over the past few days.”

Death stopped leaning against the booth and straightened. He readjusted the knot of his tie and looked at Arthur, studying him. “You still have time, you know,” he said shortly.

“That time is precious. Life here on this earth is a gift. My advice? Shape up, Arthur. The next time we meet—and we will—it won’t be to talk. I promise you that. For your sake, I hope that I won’t enjoy meeting you again.”

With that, Death left the visibly shaken camel salesman standing at his half-closed booth. Arthur stood there for a long time. Other vendors in the market square closed down their booths and trickled back to their homes or taverns. The sun dipped below the western horizon, and darkness fell upon the earth. All the while, Arthur stood there, thinking. Thinking about his brief encounter with Death.

In another part of the city of Haleg, Death sat in a tavern at the bar. There were few patrons in this particular establishment, but Death didn’t mind. He was quite pleased with himself about how his conversation with Arthur went. He’d had similar conversations with other individuals in the past that didn’t go so well, but Death had high hopes for the outcome of this one.

“Are you sure you didn’t scare him too much?” the young woman sitting next to Death at the bar spoke up.

Death didn’t look over at her. “I’m sure.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

The woman at the bar laughed pleasantly. “Yes, I suppose he is. Maybe now, he’ll learn what it actually means to live.”

Death looked over at the woman now. She had fair features, and her hair flowed around her shoulders as if tossed by the wind. She wore a plain, white dress. Her eyes held such warmth and light; a smile seemed in a perpetual dance across her face. She was such a contrast to Death—she was everything he was not.

“Hopefully I scared him enough to nudge him in the right direction.” Death shrugged. “If not, well, I’ve done what I can do.”

The woman smiled. “You’ve done more than enough, Death. It’s up to Morality, now. Thank you.”

Death shrugged again and finished the rest of his drink. “I owed you a favor, Life. You’re welcome. If you ever need me to speak to someone again, you know where you can usually find me—wherever you’re not.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. I’m sure you do as well.” With that, Death walked toward the door and exited the tavern, stepping back into the growing dark of the night.

As for Arthur, well, he was still standing next to his booth in the dark. He stared at the lifeless fly on his booth’s counter, perhaps left there by Death as a reminder. Arthur thought back on his life—the things he’d said and done.

Arthur was looking in that mirror-glass of self-reflection. For the first time, he was beginning to see what other people saw of him—what he had refused to see of himself. He didn’t like what he saw. Death’s words echoed in his mind. You still have time. That time is precious. Life here on this earth is a gift. My advice? Shape up.

From that day forward, Arthur did.

A change took place in the camel salesman’s life. It didn’t happen all at once. It took place slowly over time. Arthur’s way of conducting his business was transformed, little by little. He no longer lied about his merchandise; he sold his camels for a fair and decent price—even if he didn’t make as much profit. He made no underhanded deals, no sales under false pretenses.

Arthur was upright and honest in his dealings with the people in the city of Haleg. He even became an upstanding member of society. He donated much of his time and money to help those citizens less privileged than him.

To his surprise and theirs, the community’s attitude toward Arthur changed as well. Fellow vendors in the market square invited him out for drinks in the taverns or even to their homes for supper. For the first time in his life, Arthur had friends who cared about him and whom he cared about as well. The Better Business Bureau of Haleg took great pride in presenting him with the “Top Camel Salesman” Award each and every year. Arthur would accept it with humility—honored and overwhelmed by the love and kindness they showed him.

When people who had known him beforehand asked what had happened—what had changed in him—Arthur would just smile and shrug. Vaguely, he would tell them that he started to see life a bit differently after a near-death experience. He’d leave it at that. He didn’t think people would believe the true story.

Sometimes, it doesn’t take much for people to see life differently than they did before. Other times, it takes a brush with Death—or even just a conversation—to change their perspective on life. As for Arthur, well, he hoped he wouldn’t see Death again for many, many more years. But when he did, he was glad he’d be able to thank him.

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