Just a Man

Thomas, James Marshall Gunther’s butler, knows things are about to change.

I’ve always wanted to know more about the character of Thomas who is Gunther’s butler. Why does he bring the coffee with the poison? What happens to him? Is he a bad guy too?

Everything is about to come apart in the next few hours. James Marshall Gunther’s empire is about to topple into dust. He think that I do not know this. He believes that I, his lowly butler, am too stupid to understand the import of what he does.

Little does he know that we have all known of some time of what he is—a viper ready to strike and kill any who stand in his way. But because we , his servants, remain silent and doing our jobs, he believes we do not have ears to hear or eyes to see or mouths to speak.

Mr. Bates is doomed. I know this as I bring in the coffee tray. I can see it in Mr. Gunther’s eyes. A shame really because Mr. Bates is always polite to the staff, considerate even. He acknowledges our presence when he enters the house and Mr. Gunther is nowhere to be found.

Josefa is near tears when I return to the kitchen.

“What will become of us?” she asks, her eyes filled with tears that refuse to fall. “Will they send us all to jail, Thomas?”

“No,” I tell her. I don’t know if that is true or not, but I will make sure that none of us take the fall for Mr. Gunther as others have done in the past. I look at the powder Mr. Gunther had given me earlier, the powder he instructed me to put into the sugar bowl.

I shouldn’t have put it in. I know this. I know that I am complicit in the death of Mr. Bates. But I am Mr. Gunther’s servant. I know what has happened to those who have disobeyed his orders in the past. I know of people who have disappeared– a personal secretary, an accountant, a maid. My mother would be ashamed of me.

“Thomas,” she would have said. “You must make the right choices even if others around you are choosing the wrong ones.”

I am ashamed of myself. I acted in fear. We heard of the shooting of the policeman in Bay City—hundreds of miles away. He is still alive. I heard Mr. Gunther speak of him earlier. Of course, Mr. Bates is to blame. Mr. Gunther believes he, himself, is above mistakes. This time, however, I think he will find he is not as Godlike as he thinks.

I’m glad. I hope he continues to live if only to spite Mr. Gunther.

“Find Alvaro and Chu Hua,” I tell her. “Bring them to the kitchen. When the police come, you will have nothing to fear.”

Josefa looks at the table where she had begun to prepare a pheasant. Then she nods once, twice, and throws it in the garbage.

She smiles at me, her teeth white against the brown gold of her skin. “He never did want to eat the best food,” she says.

Mr. Gunther dined on pheasant and lobster and rabbit, while Josefa, Chu Hua, Alvaro and I ate the meals Josefa had learned at her mother’s knee: pozole, homemade tortillas, oxtail beef stew, other dishes I never learned the names of. Chu Hua made dumplings with bits of pork and vegetables, and I would attempt my mother’s recipes for rice and peas and one time, curried goat when Josefa was able to buy some at the market. Mr. Gunther never would know the pleasure of a meal shared with friends, with family.

I smile back and make a shooing motion with my hands. We don’t have much time.

I answer the telephone in the hall. It is Mr. Gunther’s lawyer asking me to relay the message that the other detective Mr. Gunther tried to kill is on his way with a warrant for Mr. Gunther’s arrest.

I stand outside the door, on the steps, and wait. Three police cars come up the drive—their lights are on, but there are no sirens. I wish they would have turned them on, shattered the quiet stillness of the estate.

A tall, blond man is out of the first car before it is completely stopped. He walks across the lawn, heedless of Alvaro’s neat work. He must be the shot policeman’s partner. He is a man on a mission, his gaze clear and his mouth set in stern lines.

When he speaks to me, his voice is surprisingly soft. “I have a warrant for the arrest of James Marshall Gunther. Tell him Detective Kenneth Hutchinson is here.”

I nod. “Yes, Detective. I’ll show you in.”

I walk ahead of him, aware he is letting me do this. I think he wants to let Mr. Gunther sweat a little. I can hear him breathing behind me. When I stop at the door, his breath catches.

I look back at him. He has one hand against the antique Chippendale table and his head is bowed as if he is praying. Maybe he is.

I let Mr. Gunther know Detective Hutchinson has arrived and out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Bates in a chair, twisted, his face in a grotesque smile of death. I say my own little prayer and then go to the kitchen.

Other policemen wait outside as I lead out Chu Hua, Alvaro, and Josefa. We stand on the steps and they allow us this. They are silent as are we.

Detective Hutchinson comes out not too long after. Mr. Gunther is in handcuffs and for the first time, I see him for what he truly is– a pathetic old man who thinks he can bully everyone into doing his bidding.

He looks at us as he passes. He thinks we are there to watch him go and mourn our loss. He thinks he is that important to us.

Chu Hua smiles at the detective and bows her head in respect to him, not Mr. Gunther. Alvaro turns his back, and Josefa says something that I think is a curse but I’m not sure.

Mr. Gunther says my name. “Thomas.”

“You are not worth my honor,” I tell him. “You have no power over me.”

The detective raises one blond eyebrow at that and I see the faintest smile grace his lips. He hands off Gunther to two of the policemen and turns to face all of us.

“We will testify against him,” I say. My arm sweeps out to encompass all of four of us.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’d like to know your names.”

We tell him and he repeats each of our names softly—as if they mean something to him and we are people, not just servants. He gestures for one of the other policemen to come over.

“This is Captain Olvera,” he says. “He’ll explain what will happen next.”

We nod and the detective is gone in the first car. We watch as the black and white car drives down the lane with Mr. Gunther in the back seat. And for the first time in a long time, I can imagine a future free of fear.