The Torment of Hatred

The End

"You say you just found him there?"

"Yes, sprawled on the stoop as though he'd fainted."

"Well, I'm not surprised, after doing something like that. No matter how evil the soul is, murder is hard for any heart to take."

"He seemed such a gentleman too, I prayed with him over my daughter once. Can you believe I let that monster into my house? Dios perdoname. I had no idea."

"What do you suppose would drive a man like himself to kill his wife in cold blood? They appeared to be such a joyful couple, a match made in Heaven, I used to say."

"Perhaps he was drunk, or they were fighting. But I think he must have had it out for her for a long time. Did you see all that blood? You can't just destroy someone out of quick anger. That was the product of burning hatred."

"Si, I believe you're right. As the good book says, anyone who hates is as a murderer in his heart..."

...

My eyes found the light of day as the throbbing of my head forced them open. The first thing I did was roll over to kiss the warm forehead of the woman I loved sleeping beside me, but was greeted only with the cobwebs decorating the stone wall adjacent to me. The nightmares of last night came flooding into me like a torrential storm. Was she really dead? Did I really slaughter that man? Where was I now? My eyes focused on my surroundings; rusted bars and a small, yellowing sink and toilet were the only things that registered. I was in a cell and once I sat up, a voice called out from beyond my prison. "Father Hernandez? Can you hear me?" I heard him just fine, but couldn't find words inside myself to let him know that, so I simply nodded.

I kept my eyes to the floor and didn't recognize the voice. "Father, I've come to give you your last rights. What you've done requires great forgiveness, but the Lord is capable of such forgiveness, even murder of your wife. Confess your sins to me, and may God have mercy on your soul."

Murder of my wife?

"I didn't... I didn't kill her." My voice stumbled out of my mouth like an old man, weary and dry.

"Now, Father, lying is not going to secure your place in Heaven. You were found covered in blood on the steps of your house, and your wife was brutally murdered. How did she die, if not by your hand? Surely an animal didn't pick up a knife and tear her flesh away."

I opened my mouth to tell him of the man, the one who stole her away from me, but stopped. He would ask where that man was. He would ask what happened to him, what he looked like. I didn't kill her, but I killed him. I couldn't let it be known throughout the village what I had done; I was a man of God. How could I have done such a thing? God, how could I ever ask your forgiveness? Is murder ever justified? I am as Cain, the first murderer, cursed by land and people. But what was I to do? He had been from the slums, I could tell from his clothes and smell, the very people I dedicated my life to help, and he would dare come and steal my wife, my home, my treasures, my...

"Um, Father? Please try to cooperate, there isn't much time. I only want your soul to be clean before you come before the Almighty. It's for your own good."

"No, no I didn't kill her, I didn't kill her, it wasn't me..." I trailed off as a cry choked my words off. They thought I killed her. But I couldn't tell them who did. I could only cry out to God to have mercy on me. He knew I didn't kill her, right? I didn't kill her... right?

"Senor, I'm sorry, my time is up. May God have mercy on your soul." He bent his head in a silent prayer and turned and left. A few men, some I recognized but couldn't remember their names, came and took me from the cell. They led me outside and marched me down the dirt road, towards the direction of the rising sun. I knew where the final destination was. The gallows, the place I had prayed over many condemned, and now I stood in their shoes. My eyes found many I knew in the crowd; Nina's adoptive parents. My own brother. Pauline. Anita beside her, clutching the rosary I had given her, praying with it over and over again. They all diverted their eyes when I found theirs, ashamed of me. I kept whispering, "It wasn't me, I swear I didn't kill her. I didn't kill her. I couldn't ever kill her."

No one listened.

The gallows came into view. Those towering, pitiless omens that had claimed so many, and were now bent on separating my own wretched soul from body. I almost welcomed the sight.

The last words and prayers were said over me; I couldn't understand them. I could barely feel the rope over my neck, even as it was tightened. My lips continued to move, "God! God, I am a worm, not a man! You know my heart! This tormented worm couldn't kill h-"

The quick drop of the rope and a sharp snap of a neck echoed throughout the town center. A small boy, somewhere far off, nestled in the foot of the mountain, began crying...

EL FIN