Loadstar 161/161.d81/sr.justice

Text File | 2022-08-26 | 23KB | 768 lines

           J U S T I C E

        by Daniel Robinson
           Kansas City MO

    The Second Place Winner in

  LOADSTAR's PROSEQUEST '97 Contest



 The Hill

    The crowd watched nearly silent
as the two figures walked up the hill
to the small wall of loose limestone
rocks. Few ever crossed this boundary
that encircled the hill. Some passed
quickly through when it became the
shortest route home in bad weather,
but others never entered, preferring
to walk around in the worse spring
squalls rather than cross through it.
Only the caretaker frequented the
hill beyond the stones. Quietly and
dutifully he had spent his life
caring for this ground, removing the
weeds, cutting the grass, keeping the
small shelter near the top repaired
and seeing that the post remained
ready should it be needed. Now, after
30 years of tending this hill he too
hesitated as he reached the wall,
hesitated a moment, then grasping his
charge by the upper arm moved on past
the wall, up the hill, past the
shelter and beside the post. The
hands of his companion, already
bound, were now lashed to the ring in
the post, the post and ring he had
oiled all these years so that even
now it looked no different than the
day he had first walked to it. Today
however it was different. Today it
was no longer a black iron ring in a
smooth hedge post on the top of a
well tended hill. Today until sunset,
it was a prison.

    Walking the few feet to the
shelter the caretaker sat down upon
the bench within. Looking down the
path to the town he saw the people
below were settling down too, finding
themselves a place to sit, or lie or
lean. A few left to tend to chores,
but no one would go far. No one would
want to be too far to return before
sunset. No one would want to be so
far that they could not return to a
vantage point should there be a shift
in the wind, a noise from the woods,
a change in weather.

    The caretaker expected a silent
vigil. His companion, however, looked
to shorten his sentence, if not in
time, then at least in endurance.
"What do you really expect to happen
now?" the prisoner asked.

    The caretaker remained staring at
the the village below and answered,
"I expect nothing. You will stand and
I will sit and whatever happens,
happens."

    "And if nothing happens?" the
prisoner queried.

    The caretaker still looked down
towards the town and replied, "Then
nothing happens. That is the
sentence. You have lived here all
your life as have I. You know our law
as well as I. Now if you don't mind I
would prefer to wait in silence."

    A smile began to form on the
prisoner's face, "Standing here is my
sentence. I remember nothing said
about silence," the prisoner reminded
his keeper.

    "Silence may not be required of
you, but I have no wish to talk. Talk
all you like, scream if you wish, but
don't expect me to keep you company,"
the caretaker replied.

    His prisoner would not be
ignored, "You want me to stand
quietly here all day and just wait
for some vermin to walk up and bite
me, or some storm to rush in and
drench me, or God knows what. Is a
day of idle conversation too much for
a condemned man to ask?"

    The caretaker turned his head
slightly towards his prisoner and
asked, "You feel your sentence too
harsh?"

    His prisoner nearly laughed and
replied, "Harsh? My God no! I'm found
guilty of doing in three of the
upstanding, hard working citizens of
this town. Chopped up the first two
and sent the pieces down the river
for the turtles to gnaw on, they say.
Would have kept it up too, had the
McGregger boys not come into Fiske's
stable as I was finishing him off.
Why, the whole town might have
disappeared before I was done. No
sir, I would say standing out here in
the summer breeze, smelling the
clover and watching the occasional
bird fly overhead, conversation or no
conversation, is a damned easy
sentence, all things considered."

    The caretaker now turned to face
his prisoner. "You know, it's more
than that."

    The prisoner still smiling
continued, "Well, it may be more or
it may be just that. Not you, or I,
or any of the good people who would
rather leave my fate to chance than
dirty their own hands really knows
whether it's a day in the park, a day
of misery, or a day of death. In
fact, except that I'm tied to this
post, this day isn't any different
than yesterday, or the day before."

    The caretaker's face had been
nearly expressionless. Now it began
to show the mixture of puzzlement and
anger he was feeling. He turned back
to stare out beyond the meadow then
turned to examine his charge for some
answer. Was he just pushing for a
debate to entertain himself until
sunset? No, clearly he believed this
was nonsense. He was smiling, at
times almost laughing. He was
actually amused by the sentence, or
his ability to annoy, or... Clearly
the prisoner was pleased with
himself. The thirty years the
caretaker had worked in this place he
had often imagined what it might be
like should he have to perform this
task, but not once had he imagined
the prisoner would be unrepentant,
even irreverent. Evil as the crime
had been he hadn't expected this. Not
from someone who knew of the past,
who knew of the others.

    He remained facing his prisoner,
looking him in the eyes he asked "You
know what happened in the past? What
happened to the others who have stood
at that post?"

    The prisoner sneered, "Yes, yes
we all know the children's tales. You
don't really think to frighten me
with such things now do you?"

    The caretaker returned, "We both
know the tales people tell, but I
also know more. As caretaker I have
read the records back to the
beginning. Whenever we ask how the
sentence was first chosen we are
simply told "by the wisdom of the
elders". You want entertainment. I
will tell you the whole story of how
it all started and perhaps you will
understand that this is not such a
frivolous thing. If you do not want
to hear this, then I will ask that
you remain silent, and I will do the
same."

    Entertainment was indeed what the
prisoner wanted, "Very well, old man,
tell me the history of this
sentence". His smirk got wider for a
moment as he added, "As God is our
witness, tell me how it all began".

    The caretaker ignored the mockery
and began:


  The Decision

    Such a crime had not occurred
since they first came here. This is
why they had built a town so far from
the cities and away from the trade
routes. They had hoped to escape the
evil of such places, but what had not
come with them, followed behind.
Still, theft or vandalism could be
repaid when the person was caught,
repaid double, that was "their" law.
However this crime could not be
compensated with hard work or
repayment. A life had been taken. It
was decided that how to punish the
crime would fall to the elders. How
to punish murder had long been
debated in the town but no decision
was ever reached. Now, it could be
put off no longer. Three were chosen
to make the final choice. All others
had sworn that their decision,
whether they agreed or not, would be
final. No further debate would be
allowed. Each was chosen to represent
one of the three factions that had
emerged from earlier attempts to
close the issue. These three would
now have to make the final decision.

    One was Mr. Gants, the
frontiersman who had chosen the
town's location years before leading
the first of his followers to this
valley. He felt most betrayed by this
crime. He had picked every family,
every person who had come with the
first group. To him, that the
murderer had come from this group,
was as much a shock as the crime
itself. A mistake had been made and
he intended to correct it. He could
not, he would not allow this disease
to spread. His fist pounded the table
as he spoke, "A life for a life! We
can not allow murderers to live among
us. This man must die!"

    Another, the Reverend Randal
spoke deliberately and sternly as if
he were giving a Sunday gospel from
the pulpit. "How can we condemn a man
for what he has done if we see no
harm in performing the task
ourselves. We will not stop murder by
becoming murderers ourselves."

    "That is quite different,"
spouted Gants. "You know an act to