A Block of Broken Houses

Justice (Part One)

The sky was a clear ocean of blue that rolled far beyond the grand semi-circle of severe mountains in the distance, so clear it was radiantly optimistic—holy, even—and I thought then of how ignorant that sky must be to the countless events unfolding beneath its endless umbrella...and following that, the realization of just how insignificant we all are. The only interruptions I could make out through the sun's glare were the dark, thin arches of restless crows circling above us, their swooping lines simply enhancing the clean, screaming backdrop of blue. In that moment I wanted to join them—to carry myself far beyond the mountains and leave this entire mess behind—but the burden I had asked for was much too heavy; it alone would have weighed me down, stolen flight from me. From start to finish the thought was nothing more than a desperate fool's wish.

I felt their judgement upon me—countless sets of bright and anxious eyes—and turned toward them: the entire town. I could barely hear the whisper of their rolling, incoherent murmurs above my thumping heart, and underneath it all was the uneasy shift of their feet on the dusty hardpan. Their necks were cocked at an angle that spoke of either puzzlement or wonder (I still can't say which), and although they scrutinized my every move I knew they were concentrating more on Elmore's jerky reactions to them. In their hands they held stones. I saw a few—the teens, mostly, but there were others—who had stockpiled more at their feet, as if getting ready for war. And then, as if someone had motioned for them to be quiet (for all I know Father Harper had done just that—I hadn't been watching him), the crowd was still and silent, their eyes wide and white and blazing with an odd mixture of excitement and horror. Since that day I've never seen a crowd gathered quite the same way. Only a few of them—the elders—truly understood what they were about to witness.

My focus narrowed just then (I don't think I could have managed my way to the end of it all had I not done that), and Elmore and I were the only two people for miles. The moment's intimacy had suddenly contracted, it seemed—like a massive intake of air from a god I was beginning to question—and I refused to allow anyone to interrupt it...all gods included, forgive me.

I approached him, the rope rough and uncomfortable in my hands, and Elmore grinned as I slipped the noose over his feverish head. His grin was forced, however, controlled, far from wild, and I knew that deep down he didn't mean it. He was sickly pale under the hot licks of the high sun, and his face was twisted in a squint from its brilliance. I held his wet and questioning eyes, only how I held them I've never been sure of. I cinched the noose as tight as I dared, and each time the rope shifted against the stiff stubble on his slick neck it cursed me in low, burdened whispers. I could feel my arthritic hands threatening to shake but I painfully managed to hold them still.

"Why?" Elmore asked suddenly, and although I can't quite remember I'm nearly certain I jumped. His cracked lips were thin and pale, his voice raspy from two days' worth of hysterical pleading. His quivering bottom lip told me he was on the verge of tears and I couldn't stand to hold it against him; in his shoes I would have done the same.

"You know why, Elmore," I answered, annoyed, because although his question had startled me it was an unintelligent one. I swallowed deeply. If I had said much more the words would have hitched dead in my mouth, giving away more than I wanted him to know without speaking a word. As much as I hated this man, the pang of guilt rising in my throat told a more detailed story; the eye-for-an-eye rule somehow seemed too wrong to ever be right.

I then thought of Helena and how I would only ever see her in my dreams, my nightmares, and suddenly it felt as though Elmore dying three times over—and painfully—would not be enough.

It had gone on this way for the last seventeen days—loathing the man to no sane end and then tipping my opinion like a seesaw, wondering how a hate so strong could ever exist within me. Standing before him, however, his hands and feet bound tightly, I was familiar—almost comfortable—with this back-and-forth game my emotions were playing, and magically embraced it, rode it.

"No," he said, whispering now because that's all he could manage. Or perhaps he was only saving his voice for when the trap let go. He shook his head once, a shake so slight I'm sure no one else saw. "Why you?"

A large part of me wanted to rob him of any explanation I could offer, but a small slice from within knew that I needed this as much as he did. I cleared my throat and opened my mouth, and when nothing came out I snapped it shut and looked away from him. I would come to regret that later because I had promised myself to lock eyes with this man for every single one of his remaining living moments. Looking back, my heart had simply needed the break.

I turned back toward him and quickly cleared my throat. I tried again and managed: "Because I volunteered for it."

There. It was out. No taking any of it back now. My words were peppered with an anger I had not intended and at them Elmore pulled his head back (as far as the noose would allow, anyway), as if each syllable I'd spoken had grown teeth and bitten him. We had been neighbours—still were, technically, for the next few minutes or so—and I thought that, and that alone, explained his shocked reaction. Our families had shared countless moments—barbeques, fireworks, birthday celebrations—some on our land, some on theirs.

After he raped and murdered my eldest daughter, however, we weren't so neighbourly.

"Oh," he muttered, licking his lips, which were now so tight and thin they were nearly gone. The forced grin that had been stuck to his face like some absurd, imitation moustache had disappeared. He now looked more puzzled than ashamed, and I was amazed how little he understood of what he'd done.

Without wanting to picture Helena—her battling against this man I used to know and losing—I did picture her, and the urge to ask him why he'd done it was once again heavy in my heart, close to my tongue.

(CONTINUED IN PART TWO)