I hung the painting,
A creation of the dead man by the sea,
And gazed for hours at the strokes.
I can't describe what it all meant to me
Or the voices that called out my name.
They said "Don't just drive through
Stop and look around."
But I can't do it alone;
I'm not strong enough.
You can't get blood from a stone,
But you can pound it from my bones,
And take your place in my memories,
As they puddle on the ground.
While the waves crash around me,
Hang my painting on the wall
Then listen to my voice
Call out your name.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Sunday, March 17, 2013
The Coffin Maker's Song
Grady awoke to the morning sun pouring into his cell, the shout of an executioner, and the volley of gunfire. Pulling at the long, heavy chains that shackled him to the wall, he hauled himself to an upright position so that he sat in the midst of his burlap bedding and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
The roll of the drum began, and even though Grady couldn't see it, he knew that the soldiers were carrying another brother-in-arms to the coffin he made for him and all the others who preceded him in death. Pulling himself up to his feet and feeling the full weight of his chains, he offered a prayer for the departed.
"Good-bye Trig. May God welcome you on the other side, my friend."
His skill with woodworking was the only thing staying his execution. Every week brought the task of building another coffin and the carving another name on a stone to mark where a friend, brother, fellow soldier lay at rest. Most weeks he finished early and was granted permission to continue work on the coffin that, he supposed, would carry him into eternity. The planks were tightly fitted, just like the others; but lately, he began to carve ornate patterns containing the names of each of those who died in the camp; hoping that their ghosts would appreciate the gesture and not torment him for not taking his proper turn in death.
Moments pass until he hears the morning activity begin for the prisoners. Two inmates were chosen to go cell to cell with buckets; one to collect excrement and the other to haul frigid water from the cisterns and splash on each prisoner for their only drink of water. Once finished, they were led away and replaced by a soldier pitching in bread broken from a stale loaf and a piece of hard, molded cheese.
His door finally swung open, and before his eyes could adjust to the burst of light, the icy-cold deluge came from the bucket, taking his breath away and causing him to choke and sputter on the water he accidentally inhaled from the shock. After gathering his wits about him, he sucked what moisture he could from the tattered remnants of the britches hanging from his decimated body and watched a huddled mass look to the corner where he normally moved his bowels and collected what little was to be found there before scampering out the door.
The door swung back and forth for a few moments before the a soldier appeared with his bag full of stale contents and threw Grady's breakfast to him. "Be ready in an hour for work."
"Any chance the coffin might be for me this time?" Every time he heard himself speak, Grady reminded himself of his grandmother who had passed several years before the war. He missed the masculine strength of his voice weakend through malnutrition and dehydration.
The smile on his captor's face was sardonic. "Not a chance. Still much work for you to do." With that, he disappeared back from the door and secured it. Grady spent the next hour or so sitting with his back to the jagged, stone wall listening to the conversations of the soldiers outside talking about home, their exploits, and rumors of the battlefront. While listening to all of this, Grady reminisced about similar conversations he had with his friends and plans they had for after the war. Those fine men were gone now; buried in the wooden boxes fashioned with his own hands.
It was far more than an hour by Grady's estimation before the soldier came for him. The light had passed from beaming through his barred window and was high in the sky. "You're a little late," Grady said as he sat up and extended his shackled hands towards the uniformed man so that he could detach the chain that held him fast to the wall.
"Why? You have somewhere to be?" The man released the chain and hauled the weak prisoner to his feet. "There has been another order placed for a coffin. You have two to make this week."
"The young boys still a bit skittish about shooting a man?" Grady asked. The common method of execution of war prisoners was the use of gallows; however, this prison camp employed the use of the firing squad "to put steel in the arms and the eyes" of the young boys being sent into the battlefield. For a time, prisoners in their diminished capacity were released like pheasants for the boys shot at as they ran for freedom, but because they lacked marksmanship and good rifles, they would have to round up the prisoners and release them time and time again until they had no energy or will left. Finally, once the futility of running settled in, they simply fell to their hands and knees before the young soldiers and begged for the mercy that finally met them with a gunshot wound to the skull. Now, prisoners were simply fastened to a post without a hood, and their last view before departing the earth was of clumsy child-soldiers taking aim with shaky arms and watery eyes.
"No. The General's wife is on her deathbed and he has heard about your skill. He is waiting for us in the workshop."
Grady was somewhat annoyed by this as it would prevent him from carving a memorial to Trig on his own coffin. No doubt the General would require more than a simple box for his wife; looking for something more on the level of the casket Grady was crafting for himself. This would take every ounce of time and energy he could muster.
A stroll through the courtyard in the high, hot sun led both captor and prisoner to the doorway, and then the the shade of the woodworking shop. Grady strained through sun washed eyes untill he was able to see the General standing in front of his casket and admiring the intricate detail carved into the wood, tracing the elaborate filigree with a finger.
"General, sir. This is our coffin-maker."
The general turned his head while his finger still touched the ornate wood and regarded Grady for a moment before returning his focus back to the prisoners coffin. He then withdrew his finger and placed the naked hand into its glove as he stepped back, giving the casket one last look before turning to face its maker.
"I have viewed your work, sir, and see you are a man of considerable talent. I will not trouble you with specifications for a new project," the General motioned with his hand to Grady's casket in the corner, "as this one far exceeds any that I had drawn up in my mind. This one will do."
Grady was struck dumb. Apparently the General's close inspection of his work had not revealed the names of the dead hidden in the scrolling leaves. Grady opened his mouth to protest, but no words could escape.
"Have it finished and delivered by weeks end. I doubt my beloved will last much beyond that." The General then departed to the calls of attention both inside and outside of the humble workshop.
Tears began to well up and Grady's throat tightened as he looked towards the soldier who remained with him. "What are you standing there gettin' all sentimental about? The gentleman just saved you a lot of work. Finish it and get on with the box for Burton!"
After getting some help from a couple of the soldiers outside to place the casket on the table, Grady began to placed finishing touches on it - including Trig's name. The next couple of days were spent on wood treatments and resin.
By the end of the week, the casket was gone; and the General's wife soon after.
The mourners all gathered in front of the mausoleum for the commitment service of a woman who they deeply loved. In life, she preferred others to herself and always gave out of her abundance to the poor. Even her hardened husband appeared humbled by the loss as he stood near the casket he procured from the prisoner languishing only miles away in a dirty cell.
As the minister read from a book the final words to be spoken over his wife, the General was mesmerized by the labyrinth of swirls covering the coffin; amazed that the dirty, little man who he had spoken to only a few days earlier was capable of such delicate design. His eyes wandered helplessly through the maze until the service's end.
When the preacher concluded, the General knelt beside the coffin and leaned forward to kiss the wood encasing his wife. The tears began to well, but he resisted the emotions to ensure he maintained his social integrity in present company. However, the tears that were there were allowed to fall like scales from his eyes, and as they did, he caught sight of something in one of the scrolling leaves on the side of his wife's casket.
PVT. GARBER
He drug his sleeve across his eyes and studied the name closer, to ensure what he saw there was not a trick of light. Then going leaf to leaf, he found several more belonging to men he had signed death warrants for and now lay in graves outside of the military base he commanded. His rage began to manifest itself with the realization, in taking from the coffin maker his own coffin, he had surrounded his dead wife with the names of his enemy.
The Lieutenant standing nearby saw his General overcome with a new emotion and assumed he was giving in to grief. The junior officer presented himself, "Sir, if I can be of any assistance..."
The General cleared his throat and reigned in the emotions boiling inside him. "When we get back to the base, meet me in my office with a death warrant."
The guard fixed Grady's chains to the wall and then left him to settle in for the night. The weather seemed unusually pleasant, bringing with it a relaxing breeze that penetrated the slats of wood comprising his door and gently carressed the prisoner into a hypnotic state of relaxation and peace. As he drifted closer to sleep, he began to hear voices and what sounded like the bright ringing of polished brass spurs, usually worn by officers in their military dress uniform. Grady listened hard to see what, if any, words were being spoken; but was unable to discern the conversation. Finally, the spurs began to ring off into the distance while the beat of boots in the dust approached his door. Grady used the chains to help him sit upright as he heard the jingle of keys. Fear suddenly gripped him as the key to his door liberated it from the bolt and slammed open.
"Mr. Grady, you have been summoned by the General to stand before him and receive your sentence of death." The words of the soldier were somber, direct, and sent a feeling over Grady more frigid than the water he was doused with every morning. Grady extended his shackled hands towards the soldier to release the chains, and then was dragged behind him by him and another that was waiting outside to the General's office. The prisoner winced as the stony sand began to rip the skin from his toes and tried several times to gain his footing to no avail. Poor nutrition and fear made it all but impossible to keep up with the soldiers untill they arrived at the General's door and began to knock. The condemned, finally able to stand upright on his bloody feet, awaited the General's response.
The soldier knocked a second time, followed by another period of silence until the officer raised his fist for another round of knocks. "Enter!" commanded a voice from within. The door opened from inside, and the three men entered as commanded to find the Lieutenant standing before them and the General at his desk; distracted by the arms and pictures that adorned the wall. The Lieutenant directed them to approach the General's desk, and as they did, the General did not move. For a moment, the room was still and quiet. Grady could see a number of emotions fighting for ownership of the visage of the gentleman; none of which were good. Anger, sadness, rage - all took their turn, but once the man spoke, his voice was even and controlled.
"My wife lies in a casket covered in the names of the men I had killed," the man began. Although The General's voice was devoid of emotion, Grady felt even more afraid knowing that the secret had been revealed.
Standing to his feet, the General continued, "Part of me, the educated part, appreciates the irony of this situation; however, the other part, wants to rip you limb from limb." Still, the voice did not give way to a crescendo, but the General made eye contact with Grady. The clear orbs looked as though they were once capable of kindness, but none of that was there now. They were simply empty.
"Yet, I am an officer who must lend himself to a bearing more civilized. As a result, you will be executed at dawn. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Nothing sir, but that I am very sorry."
The General sniffed at this and waved him off dismissively. "Please, take him back to his cell." With that, the condemned was hauled back, chained to the wall, and left to spend his final night in his bed of dust and burlap.
Grady felt the weight of his sentence squeezing the breath from him as the breeze that once comforted him offered little to ease his thoughts.Time passed and the activity outside his cell gave way to silence once again.
As the night went on, the wind picked up a little, bringing with it cooler air that whistled a song through the slats of the door. Grady listened to the notes as he prayed to God for peace until the the wind faded and revealed that it was a voice ringing in the distance. Grady permitted the song to relax him and send him adrift into a troubled sleep.
The door clapped open with the sound of a cannon, jarring Grady from his sleep. He looked toward the door to find four men crowding in. Before he could get his wits about him, Grady found himself to his feet and the chains released from the shackles on his wrists.
The sun had just broke the horizon and sent a deep red into the sky and flooding into Grady's cell, blinding him. Occasionally, his eyes would allow him to catch glimpses of the dark shadows jostling him about and then dragging him into the open air where they fell into a formation with one on either side and one behind - all standing still.
Grady listened as someone approached. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see another silhouette taking long, slow strides to meet the prisoner and those who stood with him. It was the Lieutenant.
"Alright boys, take the condemned to the killing post!"
Feeling the tugs on his arms, Grady allowed himself to be led and was surprised to see that, unlike the night before, he was permitted to walk on his own, battered two feet. His eyes were adjusted now and he saw the post he would be tied to and the graves behind it. Grady could see that one was already dug; waiting to receive him in the far back. The sight made his heart drop as he slowly realized the death he longed for was now imminent.
A small group of witnesses comprised of both soldiers and their officers stood at a distance with the General; who still wore the uniform from the day before. A fine woman stood with him as well, dressed in white and seemed out of place with her company; however, Grady but took no further notice of her as he and his escorts had finally reached the post.
"Hold out your hands," one of them commanded quietly and Grady complied. The shackles were unfastened and he was turned and pushed against the post. Two others drew his arms back and the shackles were fastened once again, but this time, to an iron ring to restrict his movement. All but the Lieutenant then retreated to join the others standing with the General, and after a moment passed, the officer turned and gave the signal for the firing squad.
A drum rolled before snapping into a cadence as four boys, ranging from the ages of 12 to 15, appeared with rifles to their shoulders. They marched awkwardly towards the post in ill-fitted uniforms - in a line that was not altogether straight. Grady noticed the nervous expressions on the young faces as they stumbled closer to the one they would soon draw a bead on and let loose the volley that would end his life.
The boys were directed by the Lieutenant to line up beside him, approximately six feet away from Grady and turn towards him. While the drum found its way through the last measures of it's cadence, Grady looked from boy to boy and smiled, hoping to calm their nerves - but to the opposite effect - sending the youngest into sobs. The Lieutenant pulled his saber from its scabbard, and swatted the little soldier across the bottom with the flat of the sword. The boy suppressed his sobs, yet the tears continued to trickle down his freckled cheeks.
The cadence that went on for far too long finally ended; signaling that the ritual of execution could commence. "Does the condemned have any final words?" the Lieutenant shouted for all to hear.
Grady looked at the boys and then to those who gathered there. "Only that I cannot imagine a greater honor, than to die at the hands of these great warriors!" Grady then smiled kindly again to the young soldiers and whispered, "Aim true boys." His words seemed to calm the boys significantly and they answered him with a nod. As for the crowd, all remained stoic except for the woman who smiled in approval of Grady's gracious act towards the boys; almost as if she was their mother.
The Lieutenant gave the signal to start the cadence anew. The firing squad received orders to do an about-face and pace away from him. Grady felt a tremor in his legs and arms as fear started to well up inside him. "God be with me and receive my spirit," Grady prayed as he locked his knees to prevent them from giving way beneath him.
The only answer to his prayer was the voice he heard the night before; singing a strange hymn with unintelligible words. He looked over to see the woman standing next to the General, singing with her face to heaven. All the others kept their focus on him and seemed completely unaware and unaffected by the song.
The cadence of the drum ended and though the woman continued to sing, Grady faced the boys who would soon open fire.
"Ready!"
The song continued and filled Grady with a sense of peace as the nervousness drained from his shaky limbs.
"Aim!"
Grady felt the song surround him with the presence of God, filling his own eyes with tears as he watched the boys pull up on the heavy rifles and point them his way.
"Fire!"
The lightning released from the barrels ripped through his abdomen and knocked Grady off of his feet so that he hung from disclocated arms twisted upward. His body was bent forward so that he could watch the blood pour from his mouth and into the stony dirt.
His body was wracked with pain lungs gasping uncontrollably against the blood filling them, Grady could still hear the song and focused on it while he awaited shot from the Lieutenant's revolver to finish him.
The gasps, along with the pain and blood flowing from his mouth, ebbed away until Grady simply hung there, paralysed; yet aware that the song had ended and all had fallen silent around him.
A shadow approached and hovered over him, and instead of the expected bullet to the head, he felt two fingers on his neck, followed by the Lieutenant's announcement, "He's dead!"
Grady tried to lift his head and tell the man he was wrong; that his flesh still clung to his soul, but could not. His hands were let loose from their bindings, and he felt himself drop to the blood soaked ground. More men came and placed his limp body onto a tattered stretcher to march him off in the direction of the grave he saw earlier. He tried to move and get the attention of those who carried him - to let them know he was still alive - yet, his body remained limp and unwilling. Unwilling to move, and unwilling to let him go.
As fear grew anew, he felt a hand take his. It was small, smooth as silk, and belonged to the woman who sang for him. He was intrigued that such a lady would have anything to do with this affair, let alone touch his dead hand.
"Be still, you're barely alive," the woman smiled and patted his hand. "The worst is over."
"Are you dead as well?"
"Yes, and lying in that fine coffin you made."
"I'm sorry. I didn't have a chance to object."
"You had no opportunity to. My husband behaved rashly and gave me an object of love that didn't belong to me. It belonged to you, but I appreciate being surrounded by such a beautiful memorial of love." The woman looked into the distance, "Many of those men are waiting for you."
Just then, something severed within Grady and he was released from his flesh and found himself standing beside the woman watching the young soldiers marching towards his grave. Children were everywhere around him, kissing his hands and patting him in a demonstration of encouragement before running off into the distance and disappearing.
"Where are those children running off to?"
"They are not children, Grady," the woman spoke, "but the manifestations of prayers and words spoken on your behalf. They are now returning to the ones who spoke them into existence now that their work is done."
After the last of them left, Grady turned his attention to soldiers unceremoniously dumping his body into the ground like a heap of limp flesh and began to throw dirt upon him. No trumpet sounded the mournful notes as times before, nor was there any form of committal. They simply buried him like a dog. Yet, strangely enough, it did not matter that no kind words were being spoken or that he was not being laid to rest in a coffin. All seemed trivial now and of no consequence.
The woman took his arm and with a wave of her hand, turned Grady's attention to fellow soldiers, family, and friends who stood before a great staircase where angles ascended and descended. "They are waiting to accompany you. Lets go." Grady let out a laugh of relief and become a part of the great cloud of witnesses for those still living.
 |
| Amy Allen Photography. Used with permission |
"Good-bye Trig. May God welcome you on the other side, my friend."
His skill with woodworking was the only thing staying his execution. Every week brought the task of building another coffin and the carving another name on a stone to mark where a friend, brother, fellow soldier lay at rest. Most weeks he finished early and was granted permission to continue work on the coffin that, he supposed, would carry him into eternity. The planks were tightly fitted, just like the others; but lately, he began to carve ornate patterns containing the names of each of those who died in the camp; hoping that their ghosts would appreciate the gesture and not torment him for not taking his proper turn in death.
Moments pass until he hears the morning activity begin for the prisoners. Two inmates were chosen to go cell to cell with buckets; one to collect excrement and the other to haul frigid water from the cisterns and splash on each prisoner for their only drink of water. Once finished, they were led away and replaced by a soldier pitching in bread broken from a stale loaf and a piece of hard, molded cheese.
His door finally swung open, and before his eyes could adjust to the burst of light, the icy-cold deluge came from the bucket, taking his breath away and causing him to choke and sputter on the water he accidentally inhaled from the shock. After gathering his wits about him, he sucked what moisture he could from the tattered remnants of the britches hanging from his decimated body and watched a huddled mass look to the corner where he normally moved his bowels and collected what little was to be found there before scampering out the door.
The door swung back and forth for a few moments before the a soldier appeared with his bag full of stale contents and threw Grady's breakfast to him. "Be ready in an hour for work."
"Any chance the coffin might be for me this time?" Every time he heard himself speak, Grady reminded himself of his grandmother who had passed several years before the war. He missed the masculine strength of his voice weakend through malnutrition and dehydration.
The smile on his captor's face was sardonic. "Not a chance. Still much work for you to do." With that, he disappeared back from the door and secured it. Grady spent the next hour or so sitting with his back to the jagged, stone wall listening to the conversations of the soldiers outside talking about home, their exploits, and rumors of the battlefront. While listening to all of this, Grady reminisced about similar conversations he had with his friends and plans they had for after the war. Those fine men were gone now; buried in the wooden boxes fashioned with his own hands.
It was far more than an hour by Grady's estimation before the soldier came for him. The light had passed from beaming through his barred window and was high in the sky. "You're a little late," Grady said as he sat up and extended his shackled hands towards the uniformed man so that he could detach the chain that held him fast to the wall.
"Why? You have somewhere to be?" The man released the chain and hauled the weak prisoner to his feet. "There has been another order placed for a coffin. You have two to make this week."
"The young boys still a bit skittish about shooting a man?" Grady asked. The common method of execution of war prisoners was the use of gallows; however, this prison camp employed the use of the firing squad "to put steel in the arms and the eyes" of the young boys being sent into the battlefield. For a time, prisoners in their diminished capacity were released like pheasants for the boys shot at as they ran for freedom, but because they lacked marksmanship and good rifles, they would have to round up the prisoners and release them time and time again until they had no energy or will left. Finally, once the futility of running settled in, they simply fell to their hands and knees before the young soldiers and begged for the mercy that finally met them with a gunshot wound to the skull. Now, prisoners were simply fastened to a post without a hood, and their last view before departing the earth was of clumsy child-soldiers taking aim with shaky arms and watery eyes.
"No. The General's wife is on her deathbed and he has heard about your skill. He is waiting for us in the workshop."
Grady was somewhat annoyed by this as it would prevent him from carving a memorial to Trig on his own coffin. No doubt the General would require more than a simple box for his wife; looking for something more on the level of the casket Grady was crafting for himself. This would take every ounce of time and energy he could muster.
A stroll through the courtyard in the high, hot sun led both captor and prisoner to the doorway, and then the the shade of the woodworking shop. Grady strained through sun washed eyes untill he was able to see the General standing in front of his casket and admiring the intricate detail carved into the wood, tracing the elaborate filigree with a finger.
"General, sir. This is our coffin-maker."
The general turned his head while his finger still touched the ornate wood and regarded Grady for a moment before returning his focus back to the prisoners coffin. He then withdrew his finger and placed the naked hand into its glove as he stepped back, giving the casket one last look before turning to face its maker.
"I have viewed your work, sir, and see you are a man of considerable talent. I will not trouble you with specifications for a new project," the General motioned with his hand to Grady's casket in the corner, "as this one far exceeds any that I had drawn up in my mind. This one will do."
Grady was struck dumb. Apparently the General's close inspection of his work had not revealed the names of the dead hidden in the scrolling leaves. Grady opened his mouth to protest, but no words could escape.
"Have it finished and delivered by weeks end. I doubt my beloved will last much beyond that." The General then departed to the calls of attention both inside and outside of the humble workshop.
Tears began to well up and Grady's throat tightened as he looked towards the soldier who remained with him. "What are you standing there gettin' all sentimental about? The gentleman just saved you a lot of work. Finish it and get on with the box for Burton!"
After getting some help from a couple of the soldiers outside to place the casket on the table, Grady began to placed finishing touches on it - including Trig's name. The next couple of days were spent on wood treatments and resin.
By the end of the week, the casket was gone; and the General's wife soon after.
***
The mourners all gathered in front of the mausoleum for the commitment service of a woman who they deeply loved. In life, she preferred others to herself and always gave out of her abundance to the poor. Even her hardened husband appeared humbled by the loss as he stood near the casket he procured from the prisoner languishing only miles away in a dirty cell.
As the minister read from a book the final words to be spoken over his wife, the General was mesmerized by the labyrinth of swirls covering the coffin; amazed that the dirty, little man who he had spoken to only a few days earlier was capable of such delicate design. His eyes wandered helplessly through the maze until the service's end.
When the preacher concluded, the General knelt beside the coffin and leaned forward to kiss the wood encasing his wife. The tears began to well, but he resisted the emotions to ensure he maintained his social integrity in present company. However, the tears that were there were allowed to fall like scales from his eyes, and as they did, he caught sight of something in one of the scrolling leaves on the side of his wife's casket.
PVT. GARBER
He drug his sleeve across his eyes and studied the name closer, to ensure what he saw there was not a trick of light. Then going leaf to leaf, he found several more belonging to men he had signed death warrants for and now lay in graves outside of the military base he commanded. His rage began to manifest itself with the realization, in taking from the coffin maker his own coffin, he had surrounded his dead wife with the names of his enemy.
The Lieutenant standing nearby saw his General overcome with a new emotion and assumed he was giving in to grief. The junior officer presented himself, "Sir, if I can be of any assistance..."
The General cleared his throat and reigned in the emotions boiling inside him. "When we get back to the base, meet me in my office with a death warrant."
***
The guard fixed Grady's chains to the wall and then left him to settle in for the night. The weather seemed unusually pleasant, bringing with it a relaxing breeze that penetrated the slats of wood comprising his door and gently carressed the prisoner into a hypnotic state of relaxation and peace. As he drifted closer to sleep, he began to hear voices and what sounded like the bright ringing of polished brass spurs, usually worn by officers in their military dress uniform. Grady listened hard to see what, if any, words were being spoken; but was unable to discern the conversation. Finally, the spurs began to ring off into the distance while the beat of boots in the dust approached his door. Grady used the chains to help him sit upright as he heard the jingle of keys. Fear suddenly gripped him as the key to his door liberated it from the bolt and slammed open.
"Mr. Grady, you have been summoned by the General to stand before him and receive your sentence of death." The words of the soldier were somber, direct, and sent a feeling over Grady more frigid than the water he was doused with every morning. Grady extended his shackled hands towards the soldier to release the chains, and then was dragged behind him by him and another that was waiting outside to the General's office. The prisoner winced as the stony sand began to rip the skin from his toes and tried several times to gain his footing to no avail. Poor nutrition and fear made it all but impossible to keep up with the soldiers untill they arrived at the General's door and began to knock. The condemned, finally able to stand upright on his bloody feet, awaited the General's response.
The soldier knocked a second time, followed by another period of silence until the officer raised his fist for another round of knocks. "Enter!" commanded a voice from within. The door opened from inside, and the three men entered as commanded to find the Lieutenant standing before them and the General at his desk; distracted by the arms and pictures that adorned the wall. The Lieutenant directed them to approach the General's desk, and as they did, the General did not move. For a moment, the room was still and quiet. Grady could see a number of emotions fighting for ownership of the visage of the gentleman; none of which were good. Anger, sadness, rage - all took their turn, but once the man spoke, his voice was even and controlled.
"My wife lies in a casket covered in the names of the men I had killed," the man began. Although The General's voice was devoid of emotion, Grady felt even more afraid knowing that the secret had been revealed.
Standing to his feet, the General continued, "Part of me, the educated part, appreciates the irony of this situation; however, the other part, wants to rip you limb from limb." Still, the voice did not give way to a crescendo, but the General made eye contact with Grady. The clear orbs looked as though they were once capable of kindness, but none of that was there now. They were simply empty.
"Yet, I am an officer who must lend himself to a bearing more civilized. As a result, you will be executed at dawn. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Nothing sir, but that I am very sorry."
The General sniffed at this and waved him off dismissively. "Please, take him back to his cell." With that, the condemned was hauled back, chained to the wall, and left to spend his final night in his bed of dust and burlap.
Grady felt the weight of his sentence squeezing the breath from him as the breeze that once comforted him offered little to ease his thoughts.Time passed and the activity outside his cell gave way to silence once again.
As the night went on, the wind picked up a little, bringing with it cooler air that whistled a song through the slats of the door. Grady listened to the notes as he prayed to God for peace until the the wind faded and revealed that it was a voice ringing in the distance. Grady permitted the song to relax him and send him adrift into a troubled sleep.
***
The door clapped open with the sound of a cannon, jarring Grady from his sleep. He looked toward the door to find four men crowding in. Before he could get his wits about him, Grady found himself to his feet and the chains released from the shackles on his wrists.
The sun had just broke the horizon and sent a deep red into the sky and flooding into Grady's cell, blinding him. Occasionally, his eyes would allow him to catch glimpses of the dark shadows jostling him about and then dragging him into the open air where they fell into a formation with one on either side and one behind - all standing still.
Grady listened as someone approached. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see another silhouette taking long, slow strides to meet the prisoner and those who stood with him. It was the Lieutenant.
"Alright boys, take the condemned to the killing post!"
Feeling the tugs on his arms, Grady allowed himself to be led and was surprised to see that, unlike the night before, he was permitted to walk on his own, battered two feet. His eyes were adjusted now and he saw the post he would be tied to and the graves behind it. Grady could see that one was already dug; waiting to receive him in the far back. The sight made his heart drop as he slowly realized the death he longed for was now imminent.
A small group of witnesses comprised of both soldiers and their officers stood at a distance with the General; who still wore the uniform from the day before. A fine woman stood with him as well, dressed in white and seemed out of place with her company; however, Grady but took no further notice of her as he and his escorts had finally reached the post.
"Hold out your hands," one of them commanded quietly and Grady complied. The shackles were unfastened and he was turned and pushed against the post. Two others drew his arms back and the shackles were fastened once again, but this time, to an iron ring to restrict his movement. All but the Lieutenant then retreated to join the others standing with the General, and after a moment passed, the officer turned and gave the signal for the firing squad.
A drum rolled before snapping into a cadence as four boys, ranging from the ages of 12 to 15, appeared with rifles to their shoulders. They marched awkwardly towards the post in ill-fitted uniforms - in a line that was not altogether straight. Grady noticed the nervous expressions on the young faces as they stumbled closer to the one they would soon draw a bead on and let loose the volley that would end his life.
The boys were directed by the Lieutenant to line up beside him, approximately six feet away from Grady and turn towards him. While the drum found its way through the last measures of it's cadence, Grady looked from boy to boy and smiled, hoping to calm their nerves - but to the opposite effect - sending the youngest into sobs. The Lieutenant pulled his saber from its scabbard, and swatted the little soldier across the bottom with the flat of the sword. The boy suppressed his sobs, yet the tears continued to trickle down his freckled cheeks.
The cadence that went on for far too long finally ended; signaling that the ritual of execution could commence. "Does the condemned have any final words?" the Lieutenant shouted for all to hear.
Grady looked at the boys and then to those who gathered there. "Only that I cannot imagine a greater honor, than to die at the hands of these great warriors!" Grady then smiled kindly again to the young soldiers and whispered, "Aim true boys." His words seemed to calm the boys significantly and they answered him with a nod. As for the crowd, all remained stoic except for the woman who smiled in approval of Grady's gracious act towards the boys; almost as if she was their mother.
The Lieutenant gave the signal to start the cadence anew. The firing squad received orders to do an about-face and pace away from him. Grady felt a tremor in his legs and arms as fear started to well up inside him. "God be with me and receive my spirit," Grady prayed as he locked his knees to prevent them from giving way beneath him.
The only answer to his prayer was the voice he heard the night before; singing a strange hymn with unintelligible words. He looked over to see the woman standing next to the General, singing with her face to heaven. All the others kept their focus on him and seemed completely unaware and unaffected by the song.
The cadence of the drum ended and though the woman continued to sing, Grady faced the boys who would soon open fire.
"Ready!"
The song continued and filled Grady with a sense of peace as the nervousness drained from his shaky limbs.
"Aim!"
Grady felt the song surround him with the presence of God, filling his own eyes with tears as he watched the boys pull up on the heavy rifles and point them his way.
"Fire!"
The lightning released from the barrels ripped through his abdomen and knocked Grady off of his feet so that he hung from disclocated arms twisted upward. His body was bent forward so that he could watch the blood pour from his mouth and into the stony dirt.
His body was wracked with pain lungs gasping uncontrollably against the blood filling them, Grady could still hear the song and focused on it while he awaited shot from the Lieutenant's revolver to finish him.
The gasps, along with the pain and blood flowing from his mouth, ebbed away until Grady simply hung there, paralysed; yet aware that the song had ended and all had fallen silent around him.
A shadow approached and hovered over him, and instead of the expected bullet to the head, he felt two fingers on his neck, followed by the Lieutenant's announcement, "He's dead!"
Grady tried to lift his head and tell the man he was wrong; that his flesh still clung to his soul, but could not. His hands were let loose from their bindings, and he felt himself drop to the blood soaked ground. More men came and placed his limp body onto a tattered stretcher to march him off in the direction of the grave he saw earlier. He tried to move and get the attention of those who carried him - to let them know he was still alive - yet, his body remained limp and unwilling. Unwilling to move, and unwilling to let him go.
As fear grew anew, he felt a hand take his. It was small, smooth as silk, and belonged to the woman who sang for him. He was intrigued that such a lady would have anything to do with this affair, let alone touch his dead hand.
"Be still, you're barely alive," the woman smiled and patted his hand. "The worst is over."
"Are you dead as well?"
"Yes, and lying in that fine coffin you made."
"I'm sorry. I didn't have a chance to object."
"You had no opportunity to. My husband behaved rashly and gave me an object of love that didn't belong to me. It belonged to you, but I appreciate being surrounded by such a beautiful memorial of love." The woman looked into the distance, "Many of those men are waiting for you."
Just then, something severed within Grady and he was released from his flesh and found himself standing beside the woman watching the young soldiers marching towards his grave. Children were everywhere around him, kissing his hands and patting him in a demonstration of encouragement before running off into the distance and disappearing.
"Where are those children running off to?"
"They are not children, Grady," the woman spoke, "but the manifestations of prayers and words spoken on your behalf. They are now returning to the ones who spoke them into existence now that their work is done."
After the last of them left, Grady turned his attention to soldiers unceremoniously dumping his body into the ground like a heap of limp flesh and began to throw dirt upon him. No trumpet sounded the mournful notes as times before, nor was there any form of committal. They simply buried him like a dog. Yet, strangely enough, it did not matter that no kind words were being spoken or that he was not being laid to rest in a coffin. All seemed trivial now and of no consequence.
The woman took his arm and with a wave of her hand, turned Grady's attention to fellow soldiers, family, and friends who stood before a great staircase where angles ascended and descended. "They are waiting to accompany you. Lets go." Grady let out a laugh of relief and become a part of the great cloud of witnesses for those still living.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)