I, searching
I, absurd
Am, the wind
Am, contradiction
You, the world
You, salvation
Are, absurd
Are, searching
C.W. settled down on the running board of the Twenty-eight black Chevy wrecker. The cool shade of the square two seater cab fell across his shoulders, in stark contrast as C.W. tilted his face to the warm morning sun. He gave a burdened sigh, unable to escape the image of the woman in the trunk of the car on the hook at the back of the Wrecker. He thought about her life, about her death and about the man who might have killed her. The thought left him far colder than the sun could possibly warm him.
There was only so much he could tell about the woman. She’d been dead about a week, as near as he could tell. There was a fair amount of guessing in that estimate. Time, the creek nd the elements had seen to whatever beauty she possessed. In such a state it was difficult to surmise her age to any safe degree. By the tone of her slender calve C.W. thought she was in her Twenties, but anything beyond that was pure speculation.
In the still humid air the sickly-sweetness of decomposition was inescapable. It was evident right from the start, chasing the owner of the tow truck up the road a ways, leaving C.W. alone to discover the body. Her hands and ankles had been tied with long strips of cloth. A robe was wrapped tightly around the woman’s throat, enough that her blackened, swollen tongue protruded grotesquely from her lips. The eyes, now dark plastic pools were open wide.
It was difficult to remember the last time anyone had seen a murder around in Emmetsburg, or the county. Murder was something that happened far away. It was the product of a frustrated soul who could see no other way. It was the product of a weakened and selfish soul who lacked the will of muscling through and the culture of getting by. Murder was, in the end, a lack of commitment to God and the community for the believers, and humanity and civilization for the non-believer. It was a rare thing for folks in these parts to fail at a commitment. Like bad harvests, cruel winters and broken hearts, they somehow found the strength to weather through the toughest times.
A car approached from Emmetsburg. C.W. looked up, recognizing George Bremer’s dark Ford instantly. It cleared a rise, bouncing almost comically as it came down the other side. Inside Bremer’s elbows, the hands wrapped tightly around the wheel, flapped like clipped wings on a goose. C.W. stood, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. Bremer pulled to a stop across from the Wrecker, partly off the road. Climbing out, George managed a respectful smile. He met C.W. in the road with a handshake, the smell of death drawing his attention instantly.
“Came as quick as I could,” said Bremer.
“Wish it was under better circumstances.”
The two met in the middle of the road with a warm handshake. Still holding firmly to C.W.,s strong calloused hand, George looked back along the road to the tow truck driver. George knew him from St. Mary’s, knew him to be a good family man with two small girls. He seemed terribly upset by all this. Wasn’t a regular thing for a murder to happen here. He was standing up a ways, far enough to keep away from that awful smell. A cigarette burned away in the man’s trembling fingers. He nodded sharply to George and looked off across the fields.
“He find the body?” asked George.
“Said he knew something was amiss the moment he got out of his truck. He hauled the car out of the creek, but I found the body.”
“Looks pretty shook up.”
“I’d say so,” C.W. agreed.
Bremer laid a hand on C.W.’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You holding up okay? Heard about that mess at Bert Himmel’s place.”
C.W. thought a moment, squinted through the bright sunlight. “Trying to be mindful of folks through these inspections. Tell ya, George, got my own misgivings about those tests.”
“Can see that. Think a lot of folks do.”
“Getting out of hand, though. Think this’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“Can’t have a bunch of rabble-rousers putting you off your sworn appointments either. The law is the law. Pay a lot of smarter people than us to make ‘em.”
“Trying not to start a war here, George.”
Bremer agreed, twisting his mouth trying to figure all the permutations. “If it was me, I’d stop this cold, C.W.”
“How so?”
“Bring up a bunch of State police bruisers, and if this keeps up, give ‘em what for.”
“Violence.”
“I’ll bet there’s a couple stirring things up, like this fella, Avery Lysander, who was stoking things in town the other night.”
“Pegged old Avery right.”
“Maybe someone ought to go havea look at his place.”
“Reckon?”
“Show of overwhelming force and most of ‘em will run from Lysander,” said Bremer. “Then you put the fear of god into him.”
“Coming your way next with these inspections.”
Bremer nodded agreeably, “I’ve already been on the phone with the governor. He talked to Hoover himself, n they’re both inclined to send down the National Guard.”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Emmetsburg: Forty-two
Silk Black. The crunch of shovels offended the midnight peace behind Avery Lysander’s barn. The air was scented with newly disturbed earth, diesel and the sickly musk of the dead calf still chained to the back of Avery’s tractor. It was the second of his cows to die in as many months. Not far away the first grave was conspicuous by hay and some rusting farm implements strewn to appear random upon the rectangular patch of barren earth.
Avery paused with a shovel full of dirt and loose stone and warily tried to gauge what might be running through the minds of Ernie Vogel, Myron Himmel. The men were at the far end of the hole, curiously quiet. They were a good three feet into the dark earth. The moon was just coming up, filling the hole with silk black shadow, so that it appeared the three men were wading in some nocturnal pool. Empty fields and hills swallowed the sound of their work, long before it might have been heard. The nearest farm was the better part of a mile away. Myron lifted another shovel full of dirt and paused.
“Government really run by Communists like you say, Mister Lysander?” Myron threw another hovel full of dirt onto the growing pile beside the hole.
“Communists in the government,” said Avery, “bank-rolled by the Jews who own the banks.” He wiped line of sweat from his brow.
“Can’t imagine they own all the banks,” Ernie Vogel scoffed a bit, pulling another shovel full.”
“Awe, don’t listen to that sap, Myron. What do you think this whole cow scare is all about, huh? It ain’t about some sick cows. It’s about money, pure and simple.”
“How’d ya figure?” asked Myron.
“Simple, boy. Can’t ya see what is staring you in the eyes?”
Vogel spit into the would-be grave and leaned heavily on his shovel. He’d been ruminating over a thought all night. Fatigue and the late our only served to encourage it. “Cows got the bug, Avery.”
“Because two come up sick,” Avery shot back bitterly, “don’t mean they’re all sick.”
“Got to admit, there’s a pretty good chance…”
“Just have to get the rest to slaughter. One more week, that’s all.”
“What if it makes someone sick, that meat,” offered Myron, “like Sherriff Saunders said?”
Avery let the shovel fall. It hit the ground with a combined metallic wood sound. He went to Myron and Ernie, folding his arms and looking upon them as if he was about to recite a sermon. The building rage in his expression drew both men to a wrapped and humbled silence.
“Boys, its all nonsense! We’ve all been around sick animals all our lives. The tuberculosis has come and gone before. Any of us ever come up sick? Anyone we know? Don’t buy all this crud. We don’t look out for one another against the Jews and Communists in the government, who will?”
Avery knew. He knew that to rule meant to divide and sub-divide the world into simple parts pitted against one another, and then to carefully manage those divisions. It is a simple thing, as that is simple heart’s singular weakness. The door to that heart was fear and ignorance masquerading as anger. It wanted to rush through that door and rampage in the world as an orgy of self interest. Avery looked into the wavering souls before him and threw open their doors fully. If that failed there was always the law.
“I don’t know,” Myron shook his head, staring into the ground.
Ernie Vogel was staring at the dead cow a few yards away. “Got to go with the kid on this one, Avery.”
“And what do you think’s gonna happen if someone gets a whiff about my two,” he emphasized two, “my two cows when they hear you fellas helped me bury the evidence? You don’t think those inspectors’ll be at your door like yesterday?”
The boy looked to Vogel, who gave a heavy sigh. Crime and secrets were the scoundrels surest road to guaranteeing obedience among the weaker willed..
“Myron,” Avery continued, his voice firm but sympathetic, “you went from a man overnight. Didn’t even let you catch your breath and that Commie sympathizer Sheriff brings the government right to your door! They pick on the weak and all alone. I mean, we all know them tests don’t work, but what do you suppose would happen if them inspectors didn’t find a single sick cow? What’s some young kid and his widowed mom gonna say when they condemn your whole herd, huh? Nothing, that’s what! A holy man without a congregation is just talking to the walls. A Jew is poor like an honest Catholic without someone else’s money, and a Communist from the government takes power by enslaving the working man. Only way for folks like us to keep what we worked and fought and bled for it to stick together.”
Vogel wasn’t entirely convinced. “Don’t know, Avery. Besides, bunch of poor farmers can’t fight the federal government.”
“Know what?” Avery was indignant. “Don’t want anybody in this fight who doesn’t have the stomach for it. No half way here, boys. Think the founding fathers of this great land, fighting for the freedom of all of us, went half way? God no! They risked everything, their lives, their families, their fortunes. They stood together.”
Avery picked up the shovels and held them out, begging and daring each to reach for one. In doing so Avery could count that he held them fully. Myron was first. Ernie Vogel bowed his head and looked away. Avery sneered and shook his head. He tossed the shovel on the grass beside Vogel and went back to work with Myron. Ernie stood and picked up the shovel. He studied it in his hands a moment before joining the others.
Avery paused with a shovel full of dirt and loose stone and warily tried to gauge what might be running through the minds of Ernie Vogel, Myron Himmel. The men were at the far end of the hole, curiously quiet. They were a good three feet into the dark earth. The moon was just coming up, filling the hole with silk black shadow, so that it appeared the three men were wading in some nocturnal pool. Empty fields and hills swallowed the sound of their work, long before it might have been heard. The nearest farm was the better part of a mile away. Myron lifted another shovel full of dirt and paused.
“Government really run by Communists like you say, Mister Lysander?” Myron threw another hovel full of dirt onto the growing pile beside the hole.
“Communists in the government,” said Avery, “bank-rolled by the Jews who own the banks.” He wiped line of sweat from his brow.
“Can’t imagine they own all the banks,” Ernie Vogel scoffed a bit, pulling another shovel full.”
“Awe, don’t listen to that sap, Myron. What do you think this whole cow scare is all about, huh? It ain’t about some sick cows. It’s about money, pure and simple.”
“How’d ya figure?” asked Myron.
“Simple, boy. Can’t ya see what is staring you in the eyes?”
Vogel spit into the would-be grave and leaned heavily on his shovel. He’d been ruminating over a thought all night. Fatigue and the late our only served to encourage it. “Cows got the bug, Avery.”
“Because two come up sick,” Avery shot back bitterly, “don’t mean they’re all sick.”
“Got to admit, there’s a pretty good chance…”
“Just have to get the rest to slaughter. One more week, that’s all.”
“What if it makes someone sick, that meat,” offered Myron, “like Sherriff Saunders said?”
Avery let the shovel fall. It hit the ground with a combined metallic wood sound. He went to Myron and Ernie, folding his arms and looking upon them as if he was about to recite a sermon. The building rage in his expression drew both men to a wrapped and humbled silence.
“Boys, its all nonsense! We’ve all been around sick animals all our lives. The tuberculosis has come and gone before. Any of us ever come up sick? Anyone we know? Don’t buy all this crud. We don’t look out for one another against the Jews and Communists in the government, who will?”
Avery knew. He knew that to rule meant to divide and sub-divide the world into simple parts pitted against one another, and then to carefully manage those divisions. It is a simple thing, as that is simple heart’s singular weakness. The door to that heart was fear and ignorance masquerading as anger. It wanted to rush through that door and rampage in the world as an orgy of self interest. Avery looked into the wavering souls before him and threw open their doors fully. If that failed there was always the law.
“I don’t know,” Myron shook his head, staring into the ground.
Ernie Vogel was staring at the dead cow a few yards away. “Got to go with the kid on this one, Avery.”
“And what do you think’s gonna happen if someone gets a whiff about my two,” he emphasized two, “my two cows when they hear you fellas helped me bury the evidence? You don’t think those inspectors’ll be at your door like yesterday?”
The boy looked to Vogel, who gave a heavy sigh. Crime and secrets were the scoundrels surest road to guaranteeing obedience among the weaker willed..
“Myron,” Avery continued, his voice firm but sympathetic, “you went from a man overnight. Didn’t even let you catch your breath and that Commie sympathizer Sheriff brings the government right to your door! They pick on the weak and all alone. I mean, we all know them tests don’t work, but what do you suppose would happen if them inspectors didn’t find a single sick cow? What’s some young kid and his widowed mom gonna say when they condemn your whole herd, huh? Nothing, that’s what! A holy man without a congregation is just talking to the walls. A Jew is poor like an honest Catholic without someone else’s money, and a Communist from the government takes power by enslaving the working man. Only way for folks like us to keep what we worked and fought and bled for it to stick together.”
Vogel wasn’t entirely convinced. “Don’t know, Avery. Besides, bunch of poor farmers can’t fight the federal government.”
“Know what?” Avery was indignant. “Don’t want anybody in this fight who doesn’t have the stomach for it. No half way here, boys. Think the founding fathers of this great land, fighting for the freedom of all of us, went half way? God no! They risked everything, their lives, their families, their fortunes. They stood together.”
Avery picked up the shovels and held them out, begging and daring each to reach for one. In doing so Avery could count that he held them fully. Myron was first. Ernie Vogel bowed his head and looked away. Avery sneered and shook his head. He tossed the shovel on the grass beside Vogel and went back to work with Myron. Ernie stood and picked up the shovel. He studied it in his hands a moment before joining the others.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Emmetsburg: Forty-one
John lay in bed, still clothed, staring at the ceiling. Anna was sitting beside him, her legs curled under her buttocks. The long hair fell down across one shoulder and over the breast. Leaning on one hand, she gently stroked his stomach. John frowned out of frustration of not knowing where to begin, and feeling the fool for ever considering any aspect of all this. He finally looked over, feeling even more foolish for her sympathetic smile.
“You must think I’m losing my mind,” he said.
“I think maybe we should call someone.”
“Whom?”
“Someone who can better care for Louis,” she replied. “It’s all too much for us, with your hand, and God forbid he hurts himself or someone else.”
John’s brow furled in thought. He took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling again. He was quiet, struggling with a thought, and then struggling with the words.
“If,” he paused again, “if something happened to me, what would you…”
She cut him off quickly, quite upset at even the suggestion.. “John, I won’t hear another word.”
John’s eyes moved wildly, searching the air, fighting thoughts and emotions not easily framed by mere words. He tried to think of Anna without him, and he tried not to think of such things. Both threatened to tear the heart from his chest. His mouth fell open in a silent lament. He took a deep breath and forced tears back, then looked to Anna again.
“I would want you to be happy if…”
“John, where is all this coming from?” She stroked his chest reassuringly. It tortured her to see him this way. “John, I intend to grow very old with you, whether you like it or not. We can’t predict what will happen today or tomorrow or five years from now, but I love you and while we are together on this earth that isn’t going to change.”
He nodded, though hardly satisfied with the answer. John chose not to press it any further. It only made him feel more foolish at believing any of this. As Anna laid her head upon his chest a single tear escaped. It ran from the corner of one eye, cool and slick, and into his hair. John closed his eyes tight, glad she couldn’t see any of this. He stroked her back and shoulders and gave a long deep sigh that drained away his heartache. Anna was already asleep against him. John held her close and kissed her hair, breathing her in as if his very life depended upon it.
“You must think I’m losing my mind,” he said.
“I think maybe we should call someone.”
“Whom?”
“Someone who can better care for Louis,” she replied. “It’s all too much for us, with your hand, and God forbid he hurts himself or someone else.”
John’s brow furled in thought. He took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling again. He was quiet, struggling with a thought, and then struggling with the words.
“If,” he paused again, “if something happened to me, what would you…”
She cut him off quickly, quite upset at even the suggestion.. “John, I won’t hear another word.”
John’s eyes moved wildly, searching the air, fighting thoughts and emotions not easily framed by mere words. He tried to think of Anna without him, and he tried not to think of such things. Both threatened to tear the heart from his chest. His mouth fell open in a silent lament. He took a deep breath and forced tears back, then looked to Anna again.
“I would want you to be happy if…”
“John, where is all this coming from?” She stroked his chest reassuringly. It tortured her to see him this way. “John, I intend to grow very old with you, whether you like it or not. We can’t predict what will happen today or tomorrow or five years from now, but I love you and while we are together on this earth that isn’t going to change.”
He nodded, though hardly satisfied with the answer. John chose not to press it any further. It only made him feel more foolish at believing any of this. As Anna laid her head upon his chest a single tear escaped. It ran from the corner of one eye, cool and slick, and into his hair. John closed his eyes tight, glad she couldn’t see any of this. He stroked her back and shoulders and gave a long deep sigh that drained away his heartache. Anna was already asleep against him. John held her close and kissed her hair, breathing her in as if his very life depended upon it.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Emmetsburg: Forty
“Jesus!” John exclaimed. Anna recoiled, finding, for just a moment, the strangest expression she'd ever seen in John. It was the way he looked at her, as though he hardly recognized her. Believing she had imagined the whole thing Anna reach to him again, but John threw up a hand, as if protecting himself.
“John?” she said. He seemed to snap out of the moment. Instead of coming to her he sat in the grass, washing a hand through his hair.
“I'm sorry,” she shook his head. His thoughts spun wildly. He recalled Louis' words, that Anna would get along without him, that she would find another love and marry again. John knew it was all foolish, but couldn't help himself.
“John, are you...?”
“I'm...its just...” he looked up at her, almost in judgment. Suddenly he felt so foolish and ashamed for it. “You'll help me get Louis back to bed?”
“John, what's going on. I'm getting scared?” she fell to his side, stroking his hair.
He searched her eyes, finding the world and eternity in them. More than that he found truth and love. He reached for her cheek feeling like a child before her decency and beauty. He supreme commodity of that moment, that simple touch rushed through him like warm electricity. The precious nature of that moment, one that would not again be repeated in all eternity filled him with a sudden sense of light and loss all at once.
“I'll explain everything inside,” he said. He could not keep any of this to himself any longer, yet he had no clue to what he might say to Anna.
Anna lifted Louis to a sitting position. He was limp and peaceful, as though he was in a very deep sleep. John knelt beside him and stretched one of Louis’ arms across his shoulders. With a slight groan John hauled the man across his back and stood. They went into the house and up the stairs. The crickets returned in their wake, filling the noght with their eternal song of summer.
“John?” she said. He seemed to snap out of the moment. Instead of coming to her he sat in the grass, washing a hand through his hair.
“I'm sorry,” she shook his head. His thoughts spun wildly. He recalled Louis' words, that Anna would get along without him, that she would find another love and marry again. John knew it was all foolish, but couldn't help himself.
“John, are you...?”
“I'm...its just...” he looked up at her, almost in judgment. Suddenly he felt so foolish and ashamed for it. “You'll help me get Louis back to bed?”
“John, what's going on. I'm getting scared?” she fell to his side, stroking his hair.
He searched her eyes, finding the world and eternity in them. More than that he found truth and love. He reached for her cheek feeling like a child before her decency and beauty. He supreme commodity of that moment, that simple touch rushed through him like warm electricity. The precious nature of that moment, one that would not again be repeated in all eternity filled him with a sudden sense of light and loss all at once.
“I'll explain everything inside,” he said. He could not keep any of this to himself any longer, yet he had no clue to what he might say to Anna.
Anna lifted Louis to a sitting position. He was limp and peaceful, as though he was in a very deep sleep. John knelt beside him and stretched one of Louis’ arms across his shoulders. With a slight groan John hauled the man across his back and stood. They went into the house and up the stairs. The crickets returned in their wake, filling the noght with their eternal song of summer.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Emmetsburg: Thirty-nine
John knelt in the damp cool grass, With his good hand he gripped Louis by the collar. Instantly Louis took hold of John’s arm, using it as leverage to pull himself close. Taken aback John tried to pull free, but again Louis and that impossible strength held him fast.
“Poor babies, John,” he sobbed in that far away voice, “All burned up. All burned up.”
“Who?, what are you talking about.”
“Them three pretty little girls up at Spirit Lake,” said Louis. “Nothing to be done, John. Nothing to be done. All burned up...” his words trailed away.
John shook him hard, feeling himself at the end of his patience. He growled, fighting emotion and not wanting to worry Anna, still standing in the door. “What the hell are you?”
“You'll be next, John. Go to meet your maker. Anna will get on. Be all right. All for the good.”
“What's for the good? I don't understand.”
“World goes on without us John,” said Louis. “Fills in the gaps. Sun rises and the sun sets. A new day comes. The dead are forgotten, but their actions and deeds live on in all the rest.”
John shook Louis again. He felt pushed to the edge. The blood charged madly through his veins, exploding in his temples.
“What if I break your neck?”
“You'll go, John Perkins.”
“Go where?”
“You'll go to save that boy. You'll go for Anna. You'll go.”
“To die?”
“Of course, John!”
“When? How?”
“One week's time, no more. You'll go, John Perkins, shot by your own hand.”
Louis released him and went limp, as if someone had simply flipped a switch. John pushed away, coming to his feet and backing away to regard Louis Stanton from a distance. He was sleeping, though John might have wished far worse for the man at that moment.
This was all so absurd, he thought. Either he was had or Louis was. Maybe both of them were mad. A shiver ran through him for just a moment as he entertained the thought that all this was true. He shook the thought away instantly. John was still languishing in the aftermath of that dark thought when a hand upon his shoulder startled him.
“Poor babies, John,” he sobbed in that far away voice, “All burned up. All burned up.”
“Who?, what are you talking about.”
“Them three pretty little girls up at Spirit Lake,” said Louis. “Nothing to be done, John. Nothing to be done. All burned up...” his words trailed away.
John shook him hard, feeling himself at the end of his patience. He growled, fighting emotion and not wanting to worry Anna, still standing in the door. “What the hell are you?”
“You'll be next, John. Go to meet your maker. Anna will get on. Be all right. All for the good.”
“What's for the good? I don't understand.”
“World goes on without us John,” said Louis. “Fills in the gaps. Sun rises and the sun sets. A new day comes. The dead are forgotten, but their actions and deeds live on in all the rest.”
John shook Louis again. He felt pushed to the edge. The blood charged madly through his veins, exploding in his temples.
“What if I break your neck?”
“You'll go, John Perkins.”
“Go where?”
“You'll go to save that boy. You'll go for Anna. You'll go.”
“To die?”
“Of course, John!”
“When? How?”
“One week's time, no more. You'll go, John Perkins, shot by your own hand.”
Louis released him and went limp, as if someone had simply flipped a switch. John pushed away, coming to his feet and backing away to regard Louis Stanton from a distance. He was sleeping, though John might have wished far worse for the man at that moment.
This was all so absurd, he thought. Either he was had or Louis was. Maybe both of them were mad. A shiver ran through him for just a moment as he entertained the thought that all this was true. He shook the thought away instantly. John was still languishing in the aftermath of that dark thought when a hand upon his shoulder startled him.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Emmetsburg: Thirty-eight
Green. Sins. These sins that echo constantly in the soul, like a whisper in the night. How many lifetimes would it take to outlast those echoes? Are they a fair burden, the price exacted for pain and treachery inflicted upon others? They accumulate like locusts on the wind, eventually devouring everything good and redeemable. These sins, small and large, the negotiations with ravenous egos piloting the soul to ruin.
And is religion and the permutations of fleeting morality, bled through the prism of ramshackle ethics, the means of escaping these sins? Not as an absolution by God, but as merely a cloak spread upon that blighted ground. The ground beneath remains ravaged and blighted, but must it remain that way forever? Is there any redemption, any return to the beauty and purity (if it was ever pure) of that original heart? Was God the redeemer, was choice, or is it death(or insanity)?
John weighed that question as he stood at the top of the trench, hidden from snipers by the glare of the setting sun. He looked back across the no man's land. He wasn't sick or exhausted or in pain any more. He was numb and empty. His brow was a ragged line, his eyes fixed upon movement in the distance, a figure moving near the German lines. The German stumbled towards his trench cradling that injured arm. At the edge he turned and looked back for John before disappeared forever.
Were sins something that could be weighed in the balance? For instance, what was a life worth? He hadn't killed the German, though it would have been an easy thing to do. No man would have judged him. War erases all pretentions of humanity and crumbles any construction of civilization. But a man's life was not his to take. It wasn't anyone's to take, which perhaps defined murder as a sin. In that regard, no sin could be undone. The only thing remaining was atonement. As John climbed back into the trench there was much he needed to atone for.
And is religion and the permutations of fleeting morality, bled through the prism of ramshackle ethics, the means of escaping these sins? Not as an absolution by God, but as merely a cloak spread upon that blighted ground. The ground beneath remains ravaged and blighted, but must it remain that way forever? Is there any redemption, any return to the beauty and purity (if it was ever pure) of that original heart? Was God the redeemer, was choice, or is it death(or insanity)?
John weighed that question as he stood at the top of the trench, hidden from snipers by the glare of the setting sun. He looked back across the no man's land. He wasn't sick or exhausted or in pain any more. He was numb and empty. His brow was a ragged line, his eyes fixed upon movement in the distance, a figure moving near the German lines. The German stumbled towards his trench cradling that injured arm. At the edge he turned and looked back for John before disappeared forever.
Were sins something that could be weighed in the balance? For instance, what was a life worth? He hadn't killed the German, though it would have been an easy thing to do. No man would have judged him. War erases all pretentions of humanity and crumbles any construction of civilization. But a man's life was not his to take. It wasn't anyone's to take, which perhaps defined murder as a sin. In that regard, no sin could be undone. The only thing remaining was atonement. As John climbed back into the trench there was much he needed to atone for.
Emmetsburg: Thirty-seven
A moan awakened him. It was long and low, trailing to a pathetic whimper, not unlike that of a small child. John awake3ned with a start, believing for a moment that it had come from him. His body was a conspiracy of knots and bruises, his painfully empty stomach twisting with dysentery. Mud had hardened on his face and hands, tightening the flesh there. He sweltered, dripping with sweat as the caked earth and heavy wool uniform became an oven beneath the afternoon sun.
John's mind spun, fighting to grasp hold of the world once more. Had John fallen asleep, or had he slipped into unconsciousness. It seemed a subtle distinction, and one that John wasn't sure he could answer.
The crater was drenched in deep shadow, mostly. The white gold disk of the sun fell oblique across the shoulder of the crater, carving the far rim in bright day light. That light retreated steadily as the sun teased the crater's edge. Something in that disk drew John's attention. He squinted into it, struggling to make out something moving it its light. Undefined and barely discernable it fluttered and moved excitedly, hovering in that light like an angel. John's mouth opened partly in disbelief and partly that he felt compelled to say something. The angel grew and came nearer until he could make out the blurred and still undefined motion of the wings. His heart rose to meet it, as though it was being rescued from the misery of the crater and the war. When it set down upon the rim of the crater as a small sparrow it was almost too much for John to take.
Each man has his limit and his precipice. Each man has a load beyond which he cannot bear. It is a crushing moment when that limit has been reached, for nothing so defines the soul as that limit. Indeed, nothing defines a soul as much as the way a man comes to that limit. The catalyst plunging a man over the edge may be miniscule or profound. The supreme disappointment that the bird was not an angel come to same him drove Kohn to the very edge of sanity.
The moan returned, this time louder and more sustained. It was all John could do to lift his head to discover the origin. The muscles of his neck had grown stiff, pulling at the back of his skull and sending burning tides of pain through his head. Behind the muddy little wall John had constructed, Roddy writhed and dug at the mud with his fingers, as though that might divert or stem the terrible pain from which he prayed to almighty God for relief or for death. Roddy’s moan evolved into a cry that John knew for certain would bring the Germans down upon them. John pushed himself to a kneeling position, still leaning on his arms and mustered the strength to reach Roddy.
Suddenly the man arched his head skyward and gave the most unholy and painful cry John had ever heard. Roddy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body shuddered unnaturally. With that he began to thrash and sob, repeating again and again, “Kill me!”
John fell upon him, turning him over and clamping a hand across the man's mouth. But Roddy twisted and convulsed so hard, biting down hard enough on John's hand to draw blood, that it became impossible. Frantic and terrified, fully expecting German soldiers to appear at any second, John drew a rag from his pocket and quickly stuffed into Roddy's mouth to quiet him.
There was no doubt the German's had heard Roddy's wailing. The air had stilled. The sound would carry to both lines. John drew back the hammer on the revolver with one hand, and with the other covered Roddy's nose and mouth. John leaned over the suffering man, pressing down with his entire weight.
A German soldier appeared at the lip of the crater. John leveled the revolver and put a bullet neatly through the man's neck, killing him instantly. Another appeared, and John shot him too. A third appeared. John fired again, but the German, a towering powerhouse of a man rolled under it, coming up again with his rifle and bayonet within thrusting distance.
John was ready, and parried away the bayonet with the pistol. In the mud and slope of the crater wall both men lost their balance, abandoning their weapons and ending up in a heap on the far side of the pit. They were instantly teasing and slugging at one another.
John was clearly outclassed against the German. He was nimble and quick despite his size. John was stunned by the man's strength, and the man seemed almost to delight in even the best placed of John's punches. For a minute, as they grappled half submerged in the pool at the bottom of the crater, John almost thought the guy was toying with him. As if to make that point, he turned john around and hook an arm around his neck to strangle him. The fight was running away from him. John had reached his precipice. He'd gone over the edge, clinging to the world by a tenuous hand hold.
John dropped his chin as the German hooked the arm around his neck and bit down. The man's flesh stretched under his bite, then broke gushing warm into his mouth. The man screamed and clawed at Johns eyes, the ragged finger nails drawing deep troughs across John's cheeks and forehead. Finding bone john twisted until part of the man's arm came loose in his mouth.
With that the German pulled away stumbling backwards and falling over Roddy, now still and lifeless. The man froze, a horrified expression coming to him as John rose over him and spit out a piece of the man's arm, blood dripping from his lips. It wasn't fear of death, but more that John had crossed some threshold. It was as though john had uttered some forbidden obscenity beyond what the so-called civilized conventions of warfare allowed. John had become a demon, and that was fully reflected in the German soldier's expression. For him that was the precipice; that was the limit. As John picked up the trench knife the man shook his head once, as if asking the demon to reconsider. John fell to his knees straddling the man's legs and grabbed him hard by the collar. The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside.
John's mind spun, fighting to grasp hold of the world once more. Had John fallen asleep, or had he slipped into unconsciousness. It seemed a subtle distinction, and one that John wasn't sure he could answer.
The crater was drenched in deep shadow, mostly. The white gold disk of the sun fell oblique across the shoulder of the crater, carving the far rim in bright day light. That light retreated steadily as the sun teased the crater's edge. Something in that disk drew John's attention. He squinted into it, struggling to make out something moving it its light. Undefined and barely discernable it fluttered and moved excitedly, hovering in that light like an angel. John's mouth opened partly in disbelief and partly that he felt compelled to say something. The angel grew and came nearer until he could make out the blurred and still undefined motion of the wings. His heart rose to meet it, as though it was being rescued from the misery of the crater and the war. When it set down upon the rim of the crater as a small sparrow it was almost too much for John to take.
Each man has his limit and his precipice. Each man has a load beyond which he cannot bear. It is a crushing moment when that limit has been reached, for nothing so defines the soul as that limit. Indeed, nothing defines a soul as much as the way a man comes to that limit. The catalyst plunging a man over the edge may be miniscule or profound. The supreme disappointment that the bird was not an angel come to same him drove Kohn to the very edge of sanity.
The moan returned, this time louder and more sustained. It was all John could do to lift his head to discover the origin. The muscles of his neck had grown stiff, pulling at the back of his skull and sending burning tides of pain through his head. Behind the muddy little wall John had constructed, Roddy writhed and dug at the mud with his fingers, as though that might divert or stem the terrible pain from which he prayed to almighty God for relief or for death. Roddy’s moan evolved into a cry that John knew for certain would bring the Germans down upon them. John pushed himself to a kneeling position, still leaning on his arms and mustered the strength to reach Roddy.
Suddenly the man arched his head skyward and gave the most unholy and painful cry John had ever heard. Roddy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body shuddered unnaturally. With that he began to thrash and sob, repeating again and again, “Kill me!”
John fell upon him, turning him over and clamping a hand across the man's mouth. But Roddy twisted and convulsed so hard, biting down hard enough on John's hand to draw blood, that it became impossible. Frantic and terrified, fully expecting German soldiers to appear at any second, John drew a rag from his pocket and quickly stuffed into Roddy's mouth to quiet him.
There was no doubt the German's had heard Roddy's wailing. The air had stilled. The sound would carry to both lines. John drew back the hammer on the revolver with one hand, and with the other covered Roddy's nose and mouth. John leaned over the suffering man, pressing down with his entire weight.
A German soldier appeared at the lip of the crater. John leveled the revolver and put a bullet neatly through the man's neck, killing him instantly. Another appeared, and John shot him too. A third appeared. John fired again, but the German, a towering powerhouse of a man rolled under it, coming up again with his rifle and bayonet within thrusting distance.
John was ready, and parried away the bayonet with the pistol. In the mud and slope of the crater wall both men lost their balance, abandoning their weapons and ending up in a heap on the far side of the pit. They were instantly teasing and slugging at one another.
John was clearly outclassed against the German. He was nimble and quick despite his size. John was stunned by the man's strength, and the man seemed almost to delight in even the best placed of John's punches. For a minute, as they grappled half submerged in the pool at the bottom of the crater, John almost thought the guy was toying with him. As if to make that point, he turned john around and hook an arm around his neck to strangle him. The fight was running away from him. John had reached his precipice. He'd gone over the edge, clinging to the world by a tenuous hand hold.
John dropped his chin as the German hooked the arm around his neck and bit down. The man's flesh stretched under his bite, then broke gushing warm into his mouth. The man screamed and clawed at Johns eyes, the ragged finger nails drawing deep troughs across John's cheeks and forehead. Finding bone john twisted until part of the man's arm came loose in his mouth.
With that the German pulled away stumbling backwards and falling over Roddy, now still and lifeless. The man froze, a horrified expression coming to him as John rose over him and spit out a piece of the man's arm, blood dripping from his lips. It wasn't fear of death, but more that John had crossed some threshold. It was as though john had uttered some forbidden obscenity beyond what the so-called civilized conventions of warfare allowed. John had become a demon, and that was fully reflected in the German soldier's expression. For him that was the precipice; that was the limit. As John picked up the trench knife the man shook his head once, as if asking the demon to reconsider. John fell to his knees straddling the man's legs and grabbed him hard by the collar. The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside.
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