The Guardian

“Can you keep a secret?” Old Klay said through the phone feebly. He was dying, I was pretty sure. Right away I knew he had something important and urgent to tell me. The way he whispered it as if someone might overhear him. But of course, he made it clear that he had a secret to entrust to me.

I would surely have hung up on him if he weren't my only friend in the past twenty years, Such a congenial companion especially when we went hunting. I would do everything within my capability for him, really. But there was no way I was going to keep a secret for him. I couldn’t even bear the notion of hiding something for myself, let alone hiding it for others. It was a gratuitous burden, to put it mildly. Sometimes it might get you killed, like what they showed in the blockbuster movies.

So I told him no. Very sincerely. I told him I was sorry that I wouldn’t be able to be his confidant. 

“Jim, I’m dying, can’t you tell?” he said.

“I know, and darn if I am not awfully sad,” I said somewhat impatiently. Declining people was not one of my fortes, as it required, I often observed, some kind of determination, even arrogance too. Yet I tried anyway, and said, “But see, I can’t keep a secret, and I bet it means a lot to you. And I am not going to be the guy that spoils it, honestly.”

“Jim, you’re the guy I trust the most, and that’s why I turn to you. Just promise me, okay? It’s not even that important like the Da Vinci Code or things like that. I won’t hold you accountable even if you somehow let the cat out of the bag. Because if anyone is entitled to the secret, it’s you.” That killed me. The air of nonchalance he had when talking something definitely serious. Now I couldn’t even refuse him. People always had a way of making themselves seem unconcerned when they talked to you like that. The subtle emphasis. It was overwhelming.

“Come on, Klay,” iI said desperately. My last chance to fend him off. I told you I was lousy at refusing others. I became fluttered, even disconcerted.

“Please,” he pleaded. If there was one word I hated, it got to be please. Such a cheesy word that you couldn’t ignore it.

At the end I gave in, though. I regretted at once when he told me the secret.

Old Klay had stowed a fortune in the Appalachian Mountains several years ago, when a fancy suddenly seized him and prompted him to venture in the mountains. After he hid away what I was told many treasures, some ancient and precious, he had posted the news to the world, drawing thousands of treasure hunters to the Applachia. His clues had been studied and analyzed, yet no one found it. At first Old Klay wasn’t worried. People just didn’t get the clues, and he knew he had many more years to wait for someone to discover his living legacy. He was a sound and robust dude. Old Klay was actually glad that no one had found it. The hunters’ frustration, threats, and messages just added to his pleasure and complacency.

Yet ten years flew  by, and no one had found it. It shouldn’t be that of a big deal for Old Klay though, at least until he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He shouldn’t worry still, however. Problem was, he didn’t want the exact location lost. The chase could go on forever if no one figured the clues out, and so he needed a guardian to pass down the exact location lest the fortune should be permanently lost. Of course the guardian couldn’t reveal the secret to any until he was dying and had to pass it down. That was Old Klay’s presumption, though. A secret could never stay too long in my opinion.

∞

Old Klay died a few days after he told me the secret, and at once I felt the burden now weighing upon me. No one else knew that I was the guardian, obviously. While Old Klay had announced to the world that he had confided the location to an intimate friend of his, he hadn’t disclosed the name. I was somewhat relieved yet haunted by that. On one hand, I didn’t want to have my house burned down or searched by some maniacal hunter, yet on the other hand I couldn’t help feeling stressed by the knowledge that I was the only, the sole guardian of the secret. Put it more plainly, I was privy, entitled to the vast fortune of Old Klay, the collector of antiques and treasures. 

Entitled, I suddenly realized. An evil yet self-justifying thought occurred. If I just took the fortune, then wouldn’t it solve the problem at once? Didn’t Old Klay say I was entitled to the secret, and therefore the fortune. And the secret wouldn’t be let out, because I wouldn’t tell anyone the secret, since it would no longer be a secret. It was not selfishness on my part, believe me, I was helping everyone! Old Klay would be ecstatic if he knew from heaven that it was I who unearthed his hoard! I didn’t let out the secret as well. The plan was perfect!

I didn’t want any of you to think that I was an ungrateful, dirty old man who capitalized on others’ trust. Quite to the contrary, my friends. The fortune I eventually found, and I had used it rather wisely. It was not even that big of a sum as Old Klay had suggested. Some hundreds of thousand and with tax it actually cost me quite a fortune. I didn’t even want to sell the hoard if it weren’t so hard for me to keep. 

Didn’t I tell you keeping secrets wasn’t my forte? I couldn’t help telling you the whole story. I was sorry for Old Klay, but at least he knew someone had found the fortune in the end. My friend would rest in peace, I knew. I had done a great job being his guardian.