Shepard
It took a while for them to really come with the spears, and although we were outdoors, the smell of scorched meat still hung in the air. The one of the High People, whose hand they had burned, whimpered quietly. The other had been moored next to him at the fence. Both in a crucifixion pose with arms stretched out to the side. Mr. Paul beside me on the entrance pedestal of the church was still babbling his mantra to himself. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I´m ... The words were drowned in Benito’s self-important gossip with which he wanted to sweeten his people’s waiting time. “Look at us! Look at the man and woman standing beside you. We’ve got everything we need. We’re at the top of the food chain. Each of us is a king. Each one of us is the master of his own destiny, a wolf, a bear or any other predator that takes what is due to him. That lives out its nature unrestrainedly and cannot be prevented from finding its destiny by laws or false commandments. We are united in this! Under the Cardinal’s will! And now take another look around. We’ve got everything we need. We made this fucking little town our own. Our bellies will be full well into next year. We can settle here, or we can move on as we please. We’ll decide that tomorrow. It’s time to celebrate today. Not only have we made successful prey. No, we also caught a very special prey today ...” With a theatrical gesture, he pointed to me. “...this son of a bitch, or rather what will be left of him afterwards, will make us legends among the Cardinal’s children. It will be a very special pleasure for me to bring his disgusting body into a form that will please the Cardinal. I will...” Movement in the ranks of the degenerates. Some stepped aside and let through two with their arms full of spears. “Oh, look... now the entertaining part can finally begin.” With an exaggerated bow Benito took one of the spears, a man-high wooden stick freed from the bark, which had been split at the upper end to fasten the blade of a kitchen knife in the gap, and waved it about as affected as Errol Flynn in a coat and sword film with his ... well ... sword. His capers were commented with cheerful, inviting shouts to finally begin and sparse applause. I took advantage of this moment when Benito devoted himself entirely to his pack to turn my head. I wanted to catch a glimpse of Tommy. First Mr. Paul came into my field of vision, who was still stammering the same three words. As I did, he kneeled, his hands tied behind his back. I kept turning, and no one seemed to take offense. All eyes were on Benito. Two of the Degs stood behind Mr. Paul and shared a bottle of grappa. I couldn’t see any more without turning my entire torso. But I didn’t dare. Instead, I turned my head the other way. My gaze grazed Benito, who balanced the spear just horizontally on his index finger. Then the horror in the faces of the two of the High People. Their eyes followed every move Benito made. The place next to me, the room on the platform that the two men down there had taken earlier, seemed abandoned and empty in a way that was difficult to describe. Then again degenerate people who were on the side behind me on the podium. Again, nothing to see of Tommy. He had to be right in my back. I could feel his presence, I imagined. I could feel his piercing gaze, a gaze that was far too old for his child’s face, drilling into the back of my head. I was almost sure that Tommy didn’t notice anything of the play Benito was performing a few meters away in the middle of the circle. That he was completely dominated by his thoughts of revenge. Below, the degenerate leader had familiarized himself sufficiently with the spear. He was always hinting throws, but broke them off at the last moment. Each time the two members of the High People, tied close to each other to the building fence, jerked together, cramped, and yet one could see that they were trying not to show any weakness. They didn’t really succeed. With every javelin throw implied, the terror crept deeper into their eyes and reflected on their faces. It dawned and the torches, lamps and fire bowls dipped the scenery into ghostly flickering. On the pedestal behind us, where Paul and I were kneeling, fire bowls had also been set up. I could feel their warmth even though I couldn’t see them. “When’s he gonna start?” A whining child’s voice. Tommy’s whining voice. The first thing I heard from him since an eternity, since a felt eternity, if one wanted to refrain from his organ playing. Those were his first words. And with them he demanded that torture should finally begin. “Benito’s just having a little fun with them. Don’t be so impatient. He knows very well how to get the maximum amusement out of our prisoners, you know that.” A soft, motherly female voice. Silvia. In front of my inner eye I saw her standing behind Tommy, both hands on his shoulders, perhaps one on his head, all the proud mother. This image in my brain disgusted me so much that I could not express my feelings in words. “Now I’ve got it out! Little finger, fire hand right outside!” Benito threw the spear, and when it flew, I grotesquely thought about how strange it looked to see the little man throwing the big weapon. The spear hit exactly as Benito had predicted. The little finger of the man with the burned hand. His cry was ringing through the night as the spear clattered down along the fence and simultaneously touched the ground with his severed fingers. The laughter of the bystanders mingled with the panic and agony of the man’s cry. I could hear Benito’s. It broke off first, and with a voice that suddenly sounded angry, I heard him calling: “No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. That was nothing. Not a good throw. Why do you applaud? Can’t you see I took both the ring and middle finger with me, you stupid idiots? Give me that,” he snarled at one of the Degs who had the spears ready for him. He tore a new one out of her hand and inspected the lace. Again, it was a kitchen knife that had been placed there. “You stupid bastards! Can’t you see the blades are much too wide?” With these words he whirled the weapon around and pulled the degenerate the blunt end of the spear across her face, as casually as if he was scratching his head. He didn’t even wait to see the woman go down before he continued. “With the spears, the fun is over far too fast! Why don’t any of you monkeys tell me that? We’ll do something else. Bring the arrows. But not the ones for the fight. Bring the arrows we use for bird hunting and more alcohol. Much more alcohol. We’re having a contest! Yes! That’s a brilliant idea! Hit or drink ... hit or drink, what do you say?” Yelling in agreement on all sides, the mass of degenerates started to move, some hurried here, some there. Hit or drink, they picked up the new maxim and bawled it through the night, driven by malice and a twisted kind of lust. Benito now laughed again, turned in circles with his arms spread out and cheered at his people to hurry up with the arrows and the booze. Then he set himself up right in front of me, but spoke over my head. “Darling? What do you think of the idea? Will you come play?” “Sure, I’ll play, no question about it. The idea is excellent. It’s gonna be so much fun!” Benito nodded contentedly at Silvia’s confirmatory words. “Tommy? Do you want to...?” “Yes! Nothing better than that!” Benito reached out his hands to them. Tommy came into my field of vision from the left, Silvia from the right. They both grabbed Benito’s hands and let him lead them into the middle of the circle. He put his arms around their shoulders and stood up in front of me and Mr. Paul, while there was still unrest everywhere around him. I tried to ignore him while he made full-bodied and autocratic announcements about how fun this evening would be. Above all, he asked Mr. Paul to look very closely at what was going to happen, for he too would be facing it. He did not let himself be torn out of his protective trance and continued to mumble his eternal sorrow to me, his eyes directed towards heaven. I, on the other hand, fixed my gaze on the two of the High People. Looking into the faces of the two men allowed me to banish the sight of Benito, Tommy and Silvia from my mind. For a moment, at least. They were a perverse distortion of a family, a caricature that terribly reminded me of food or toothpaste advertising, how they had built themselves up in front of me and broadly grinned at me. At least Benito and Silvia did. Not Tommy. He was just staring. Silvia’s grin became even wider as Benito’s hand moved from her shoulder, enclosing one of her breasts and pressing rhythmically. She snuggled closer to him. T
ommy was the only one of the three who didn’t seem euphoric in a terribly wrong way. He simply stared at me with expressionless eyes, with cold eyes in which a murderous rage was burning. Then, finally, they came with the arrows and a bow, and Silvia broke away from Benito, who laid the free hand on Tommy’s other shoulder. A degenerate, who looked somehow similar to Silvia, held out two quivers stuffed with arrows to Benito. He pulled out an arrow, briefly looked at the tip and then threw it at my feet. Wanted me to know. I could see that it was only a wooden tip, more badly than properly worked. Bird hunting. “Great! They’re exactly what we need. Will not penetrate too deeply. When we’re done with those two, they’ll look like hedgehogs and still be alive!” Even more alcohol was brought, a degenerate who seemed to belong to Eater’s group, if one liked to deduct from his stature and bone jewelry, was appointed referee and the bottles were lined up on a small folding table. Benito solemnly unscrewed one after the other before passing the bow to Tommy and asking him to begin. Tommy grabbed the primitive weapon and pulled one of the wooden arrows from the right of the two quivers, which had also been placed on the table with the bottles. “Firehand. Leg” Tommy’s voice was loud and clear. Benito enthusiastically reviewed the boy’s target selection and added: “You see, my beautiful little pupil doesn’t make it easy. I think it’s worth a round of applause. Don’t you think?” Tommy got his applause. I noticed that even those of the degenerates who didn’t look like they wanted to participate in the game were holding bottles in their hands. Already now some of them had glassy eyes and staggered. Tommy’s face had no other expression than concentration and anticipation when he put on the arrow and stretched the tendon. In the flickering light I could see him making an effort, and yet he could not pull the bowstring all the way to his chin. But he wouldn’t let that get him wrong. He tried even harder, pulled the string another centimeter further, aimed - then he let go and the arrow with its gray-black feathers found its target. The wooden projectile got stuck in the lower leg of the person whose hand they had burned. As Benito had foreseen, the arrow did not really penetrate deep, three or maybe five centimeters. Drunken applause burst out as the victim screams. His cry stopped before the applause. I could see him gritting his teeth. His jaw bones stood out strongly. The veins on his shaved skull pulsated. His companion in destiny stared diagonally down at the arrow next to him with horrified opened eyes. I knew for a fact that at that very moment the horror was spreading through him as well. The horror of being terribly mutilated. Deformed. Your own flesh forever changed by the pitiless hands of people you abhorred. This could have more serious consequences for the psyche than the certainty of an imminent death. Meat forever deformed and drawn, against one’s will. They probably wouldn’t live long enough to suffer the trauma. A feeble consolation. Under Benito’s disgusting pat on the back, and after a long kiss on his mouth, Tommy handed the bow over to Silvia. She didn’t want to be inferior to Tommy and announced the right lower leg of the other man as a target. Benito also repeated this selection in showmasterly manner. She didn’t have so much trouble stretching the bow and also took less time with aiming than Tommy had done. The hunting arrow went wrong. It didn’t get stuck after he hit the man’s kneecap with a rather quiet, dry sound. He screamed anyway. “Well. I think that means: drink, my love,” Benito announced, holding the cup to the slightly angry looking woman. I saw the muscles of her neck move as she drank. “Do you see how greedily she swallows? That’s my gorgeous woman! A thunderous applause for her!” Benito had pressed Tommy’s shoulders firmly when he called out these words into the night, and the applause was not long in coming. Others took the turn. They shot, and some of them did hit, and some of them drank. The defenseless victims at the construction fence held themselves up as long as they could, trying to preserve their dignity. I tried the same thing. I felt guilty towards them because I was allowed to watch, even if it was only for the moment, because I was allowed to witness their death without being affected myself. I watched as long as I could because I thought I owed it to them, but then, at some point, as I did when Ivan tortured Onehand, I began to let my mind drift. I couldn’t help it. It happened all by itself. My brain formulated absurd questions and thoughts. From which birds did the feathers come, which they had attached to the arrows? How’d they hunt them when they had no arrows yet? Which one of them is responsible for making the bow and the arrows? Is one of them Benito’s hairdresser? This would be a successful TV show! Or is it? Pay TV probably. The Japanese would be the first to jump on it. These questions and others that only served to distract me from the horror that took place right before my eyes. Deep down inside, I knew that, but there was nothing I could do about it. After all, it was better than having to hear the cries of the poor pigs, or the eternal sermon of Mr. Paul. In one of my waking moments, I gave him a look. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening. They were torn wide open, absorbed everything and I heard his brain say to him, “You did that. This is all your fault.” It was Tommy’s turn to shoot again. This time he said, “Firehand. Left eye.” Benito had apparently become bored repeating the announcements, because he just nodded. Tommy aimed and hit, and that scream was the longest one ever. The boy was happy, as if he had received a long awaited Christmas present a week too early. This unfiltered joy, this so inappropriate facial expression was what made me return to the here and now. The two of the High People had little strength left to hold themselves upright. They were hanging heavy in their shackles. In each of them there were at least twenty arrows. Benito took the bow from Tommy’s hand and went over to the table where he filled the cup again. When he had had a sip, he reached for the two arrow quivers. With an overly sad expression on his face, he complained that they were already empty. Then he threw one of the empty quivers in Tommy’s direction and said: “Go pick, boy!” Benito went over to Silvia and let his hands wander over her body, while the two, surrounded by their jeering men and women, watched Tommy do his job. Still, or rather again, I had Mr. Paul’s murmur in my ear. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. For a while everyone watched as Tommy picked one arrow after the other out of the almost lifeless bodies of the two from the High People and put them into the quiver with the red-dipped tips down. They stopped screaming now. I don’t know, I don’t know how long this went on. From time to time they flinched or moaned weakly when the boy ripped an arrow out of them. Their blood began to flow more strongly. Benito turned his eyes away from Tommy and let them glide over me while still fingering Silvia. “These two have become boring. Eater? Go get them! We’re going on with the little traitor now. He’s still fresh,” he said cheerfully. Eater and a handful of his men slowly approached to obey the order as soon as Tommy would have finished picking out the arrows. Next to me, Mr. Paul was torn to his feet. Tommy now had only three arrows left to get. He pulled one out of the abdomen of the right victim, one out of the one with the burned hand, and finally he reached for the arrow that was in the eye of the same man. Next to me they led Mr. Paul down the entrance pedestal, and a degenerate woman began to free his hands, tied behind his back, from the shackles so that they could tie him to the construction site lattice in the same crucifixion position as they had done to those of the High People. That was a little early. The moment Tommy tore the arrow out of the eye socket and examined what had stuck to it, I could see that something was changing in Mr. Paul. He was still mumbling his mantra, but his attitude had changed. The shoulders, otherwise hanging downwards, tightened. Tommy had somehow turned pale while examining the remains of the eye. The blinded one screamed again. High and shrill and like an animal that had fallen into a trap when he could see his own eye on the slender wooden stake. While Eater and his men stepped forward to untie the two bundles of human flesh from the construction fence and give them the rest somewhere away from the hustle and bustle, Tommy became even paler. The sight seemed to fascinate him. I could see he was
n’t able to turn his gaze away. Benito also noticed this and took a step forward to help Tommy, his forehead worriedly wrinkled. But too late. The boy turned over and began to squirm in spasms and scream at least as shrilly as his victim did. “Shit! He’s having another seizure! Silvia, help me!” Almost at the same time Benito and Silvia stormed towards the squirming boy. Real worry lay in their eyes. Eater and his cronies dragged the half dead of the High People out of the semicircle of the bystanders. Now Mr. Paul acted. With a movement that was so fast that I would never have thought it possible for this traitorous wimp to do it, he tore the knife from one of his guards’ belts and pushed it into the deg. Movement behind me. Degs stormed past me to get the fleeing man under control. The victim of his stab had gone to the ground and with a diagonally led blow Mr. Paul pulled the blade across the face of another degenerate. New cries mingled with those of Tommy, the blinded and the tongues of Mr. Paul. They still consisted only of I am sorry. But he didn’t mumble them anymore. He yelled them as he indiscriminately and like a lunatic stabbed heavily drunk degenerates all around. Suddenly it got brighter behind me. Brighter and then ... and then warmer. Now I dared to turn around completely. The Degs who had stood behind me and were now trying to get to Mr. Paul without getting stabbed - one of them must have dropped his torch to have his hand free. I was unobserved. Quickly I crawled to the torch. I knew I’d burn myself, but I had to get rid of my shackles. I wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this. I held my hands into the flame and as I tried to ignore the pain and smell of burnt skin and the chaos that was going on in front of my eyes, I looked for a weapon. Nothing useful in sight. Yes, there! The wooden arrow Benito had thrown so arrogantly at my feet. Still no one paid any attention to me. It hurt like shit, and I avoided imagining what my hands and wrists might look like, so that I could hold out a little longer. Just a little longer, I said to myself again and again, while pulling on the shackles as hard as I could. They finally gave way. My hands were free. I took a half a second to look at them. At first sight the burns were less severe than the pain had led me to suspect. Below Benito, Silvia and now two others were still trying to get screeching and wriggling Tommy under control and stuff something into his mouth so that the spasms wouldn’t cause him to bite his own tongue off. Mr. Paul was bleeding from wounds from at least three spear stings. They had him surrounded. He was still yelling his eternal apologies into the night, while at the same time he tried to avoid the spears and make a series of always failing attempts against the Degs. I wish I knew where Benito kept my weapons. Certainly not out here. Safe in the church most likely. I turned around. The way inside was clear. Everyone concentrated on what was going on in front of the pedestal on the course. I had to make up my mind quickly, was not allowed to wait until peace had returned down there. I jumped up and took a quick step back, turned around. My knee wouldn’t carry me at first. I panicked when it broke down and I had to remain in a certainly bizarre looking posture for another, much too long second. Then I had overcome the moment of weakness and regained control over my body. I ran into the church. A degenerate woman who had not participated in the spectacle sat bored on the altar. I saw her play with a gun, lost in thought. That had to be mine. I ran towards her. She raised her head when she noticed the movement. In another situation, the horror on her drunken face would have been grotesque or strange or funny. Now I haven’t had time to amuse myself with it. Reflexively she lifted the gun and aimed awkwardly in my direction. I saw her index finger move. But no bang. No noise. Astonishment first, then horror spread to her face. The trigger didn’t work. The gun was still secured. Then I was with her, grabbed her, hit her head hard against the edge of the altar and rammed the tip of the wooden arrow deep into her neck.
Brenner: The Gospel of Madness (Book 5 of 6) Page 8