by Robert Power
With a simple gesture of her hand she invites me to the banquet, and without another word we commence our feast.
We need say so little. We enjoy the food, our being together, all we have shared.
The food is delicious. Each dish. Each mouthful. Each taste.
From outside we hear music. We both listen.
We listen to the music and eat. There is so much peace here. I eat some bread and honey. I feel almost contented.
Mrs April smiles.
‘It is Haydn,’ she says. ‘The Erdody Quartets, Opus 76.’
I smile at her.
‘Did you know,’ she says, ‘that Haydn was only eight years old when he was recruited to the choir of Saint Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna? He came from a tiny village, where his father was the local wheelwright.’
‘Only eight?’ I say, thinking how scared how brave, he must have been. How colossal the cathedral must have seemed to him. How tiny he must have felt.
‘But you know,’ says Mrs April. ‘He may have been but a small child, but he had dreams and was prepared to see what the world had to offer.’
She looks up to see if I am following what she is saying. That I am aware of the importance of her words.
‘No matter how young or old we are, the world is a bed of oysters, there for us to pick. Some of us can stay at home, but some of us must search for our journeys elsewhere. You’ll find your blue tiger, Oscar, but you’ll have to seek him out. Just like young Haydn. Only eight years old he may have been, but he was ready to set off for that huge cathedral in Vienna.’
The music fills the cell, a memorial to the bravery and magic of a child.
‘Come, Oscar,’ says Mrs April. ‘Let’s look and see where the music is coming from.’
We go the window and look out.
There, silhouetted in the marquee, is a group of musicians. Despite all the preparations going on around them, they practise their craft.
‘What is the party for?’ I ask Mrs April, who stands beside me at the window.
‘It happens every five years, to recognise and applaud all those who have done good deeds in the town.’
Her lizard brooch glistens and Mrs April sees me looking at it.
The music, having stopped momentarily, strikes up again. Mrs April unfastens the brooch and holds it in the flat of her palm.
‘Here,’ she says, handing it to me, ‘a special award to Oscar Flowers for bringing such life to this self-satisfied place.’
I take the brooch. It glitters in the half-light and I fancy the eye of the lizard winks at me, much the way Mr April did from his photo on the sideboard.
‘And now,’ says Mrs April, returning to the hamper and pulling out a small velvet bag, ‘let’s have a game of chess.’
We set out the pieces on a cloth chessboard: the pawns, the kings and queens, knights, rooks and bishops. She takes a black and white pawn, one in each hand. With a flourish, which makes us both laugh out loud, she offers me the closed fists to choose from. I tap her left hand. My finger makes an imprint on her pale skin, like a raindrop on snow. She turns and opens her hand, and there is the small white pawn, stranded, vulnerable. She places it back on the board and it sighs with relief to be back with its fellows.
‘So it’s your move, Oscar Flowers, the boy with adventure in his heart.’
I push my king’s pawn forward two spaces and the game begins.
Dear Mr Fishcutter,
The old vulture priest says I should repent and say sorry to you. But Brother Saviour says you’ll be happy to get my letter and I know he is right, for he is good and kind and is the sort of man who will teach me about the world. I hope it did not hurt too much, being burnt, I mean. Perch and Carp are looking forward to meeting you in Paradise and I hope to do so too one day. Though to be perfectly honest I’m not sure exactly what will happen to me or to any of us. How can we really know?
Mr Fishcutter, what happens when we die? Sometimes I long to walk through the forest like a tiger. To be away from all the grown-ups.
I do hope to be a tiger, a blue one if possible. It’s good to have something to believe in, especially as the world is such a hard place to understand when you are a child. Like the way adults keep changing and you can never tell who (or which animal) they are being from one moment to the next. Maybe it is like being possessed by demons. Like Father. One time he was nice and gave me a dog and then he turned into a wild boar and wanted to throw the dog through the window. All these ideas the adults give us. Were-animals. Demons. The stories they tell us to believe. Passed from one to another. Like in the Old Testament.
But I do hope I’m allowed to be a tiger, if only for a short time. Maybe Jehovah will let me be one for a while, the same as he let Jesus come back to earth for a while to see if he liked it. When I see Jehovah I will ask him. It must have been scary for you to be burnt and sacrificed, especially as you were more Mr Fishcutter that day than a snake or a wolf. I am very sorry for what I did, I now know it was the wrong thing to do. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.
I remain your obedient servant,
Oscar Flowers
TWENTY-TWO
JUDGMENT DAY
‘Disdain hatreds; hear both sides, and delay judgement until reason has had time to resume her sway.’ Napoleon I
‘This family is doomed,’ says the Great Aunt, her gaze fixed firmly on the fire roaring in the hearth. ‘It is as if the flames of Hell live in this very house.’
The fire is the only brightness in the room. None of the three can bring themselves to switch on a light, for fear of having to see the others’ expressions.
‘He’s brought shame on us all,’ says the Father, dressed in the crisp white shirt to show he is off the drink.
The Mother sobs silently, as she has done since the constable arrived at their door to tell them of the fire in the church hall and Mrs April’s phone call to the police station.
‘I blame the harlot,’ says the Great Aunt. ‘Scrapbooks and chess indeed. And, may I ask what was she up to all the while? Using the boy as a smokescreen, no doubt, as she cavorted and whored her way around this town.’
‘So, what’s to be done?’ she adds, watching the flames dance, ever mindful of her own special relationship with them.
‘It’s been decided. He’s to be sent away,’ says the Father.
The Mother cries out, as if in pain.
‘No more of that,’ he says. ‘We’ve been through it all and there’s no more to it. It’s been agreed with the court. He’s to go to the island and live with the monks. It will be good for him. He’ll be somewhere where no one will have heard of all this.’
‘Gossip finds its own pathways,’ cries the Mother.
‘I’ve told you, there are remote places, places where there are no paths. Places where boys can be disciplined, controlled, tamed,’ replies the Father. ‘Trust me.’
Both women look at him, as his last words hang in the room. The three fall silent. The Mother sobs into her handkerchief, confused and unloved. The Great Aunt stares into the hearth, longing silently for her baby daughter. The Father tugs at his starched collar and wonders how soon he can leave the room and find solace in the bottle of whiskey he has hidden in the broom cupboard.
Day Three: THE JUDGE WILL CLEAR THE COURT
Today, in a dramatic turn of events, Judge Omega, still looking like a Barbarian warlord in his purple fur-lined cloak, stated his intention to conduct tomorrow’s proceedings in private session. Invoking clause 13, section 2a, paragraph 2, of the Federal Book of Statutes, only the following will attend court: the two accused (Perch Fishcutter, Carp Fishcutter), the prime witness (Oscar Flowers), Mrs April and Brother Pearson. The only other person present will be Mr Verbatim, the Clerk of the Court, who will record what is said.
Day Four: THE HOW, WHY & WHERE OF IT ALL EXCLUSIVE … STOP PRESS … EXCLUSIVE … STOP PRESS …
Today witnessed all the drama of a great court case. The unconventional Judge Omega, wh
o some have likened to the Witchfinder General, presided over a closed court, with only carefully selected participants present. The scene was strangely eerie. Those present sat in the two rows of seats reserved for a jury (where the jury would have sat, had there been one). On the second row, Brother Pearson was placed between the Twins, who looked anxious at being separated. The clerk of the court was situated on the front row between Mrs April and Oscar. High up above, and in front of them all, presided the judge. He sat on a throne, which was gilded with gold leaf and adorned with carvings of griffins and unicorns.
EXCLUSIVE WORD BY WORD REPORTING FROM OUR ANONYMOUS SOURCE!!
JUDGE OMEGA: Welcome here this morning. Let me outline what I intend to achieve. I have read all the reports of the investigation. From the police, the Youth Enlightenment Committee, the Parish Council Church Hall Warden, the Fire Brigade, and so forth. Everyone. This includes the statements made by Perch, Carp and Oscar. Most enlightening, and some might say damning of all, has been the scrapbook and writings found in the bedroom of Oscar Flowers. To his credit, he co-operated in helping us decipher the intricate code used to record events in his logbook. It is my conclusion that the facts of this sorry case are incontrovertible. I will summarise, but feel free to interrupt if I omit anything of fundamental importance. Mr Fishcutter was lured to the Old Village Hall by his daughters on the pretext of helping in a school play rehearsal, but with the express purpose of murder. He was tied and bound. A fire was lit and this ended his life. Is this a fair account of events?
Carp looks to Perch. Perch looks to Carp. Oscar looks at the dandruff on the Judge’s fur collar.
JUDGE OMEGA: No response…so I’ll assume what I said is accurate. What I hope, intend, to achieve today is a more precise and detailed version of events and a better understanding of the motivation behind this sorry tale. This is why I have invoked clause 13 of the statute books and brought you all together to clarify matters. Am I clear?
The participants, in one way or another, nod in agreement.
JUDGE OMEGA: As you all fully understand I am the sole arbitrator of this case. So before further questioning I will give you the benefit of my opinion. I will outline what I understand lies behind all this. Mr Fishcutter was having an affair with Mrs April, the librarian. Oscar was jealous, confused, looking for a meaning in life and found it in the religious creed, some may well say, cult, followed by the Fishcutters, and some others of this fair town. The Twins were outraged that their father was breaking the commandments of their shared religion. That is why I have asked Brother Pearson here today, to help us with the theology. None of this, of course, excuses unlawful and brutal actions. The due processes of law will be strictly adhered to. Would anyone like to comment on what I have said?
A long silence. Those sitting on the jury benches look around at each other and at the acres of mahogany panels lining the empty courtroom. Then…
PERCH: You have not mentioned the resurrection.
CARP: Armageddon and resurrection.
JUDGE OMEGA: Armageddon and resurrection? I assume you are referring to the biblical book of Revelation. But what does this have to do with the case in hand?
PERCH: His death ensures his resurrection and we will all meet again in the New Kingdom.
CARP: And her living means she will be judged and destroyed at Armageddon.
JUDGE OMEGA: Who is ‘she’?
PERCH: The stepmother.
CARP: The wicked stepmother.
Judge Omega raises one eyebrow, then the next, which in his judicious world indicates the need for enlightenment. (Note: Two sharply raised eyebrows means surprise; an elevated left eyebrow shows confusion; a right eyebrow signifies alarm. Only Mr Verbatim has fully deciphered the eyebrow code.) Mr Verbatim taps the exclamation mark key on his typewriter. The Judge sighs.
JUDGE OMEGA: Brother Pearson, can you further enlighten us?
Brother Pearson pauses a moment, lowers his head in a silent prayer for guidance, clears his throat and then speaks in a measured, confident tone.
BROTHER PEARSON: First, let me make clear I have no opinion on what has happened in this sad case. As Jehovah’s Witnesses, we render to Caesar what is Caesar’s. We abide by the laws of the land. Further than this, I leave all judgment to Jehovah God. But the Bible is clear. The Book of Revelation is clear. When all have received the witness of Jehovah’s promise of a New Kingdom, then the great Battle of Armageddon will rage and Jehovah God will defeat the forces of evil. Only Jehovah’s Witnesses, those who have accepted the Truth of His Word and His ways, will survive. All those still in sin will be judged and will perish. Then, and only then, Hades, the common grave, will give up the dead. All who have ever lived, prior to the Last Days, will be resurrected. They will be given a second chance to accept and embrace the Truth. Jehovah’s only son, Jesus Christ, will reign for a thousand years, alongside the 144,000 princes of the Remnant, the anointed ones drawn from all mankind.
The Judge ponders a moment, pinches the end of his nose, then raises an index finger to denote a semblance of understanding.
JUDGE OMEGA: Then if I interpret you right, the question is, will Mr Fishcutter be resurrected?
BROTHER PEARSON: He has died before Armageddon. The scriptures tell us he will be resurrected.
PERCH and CARP together: He will. He will.
JUDGE OMEGA: So is this why he was killed? Is this why you killed your father?
PERCH: In the sure hope of the resurrection.
CARP: Once the stepmother perishes in the pure flames of the Battle.
PERCH: And we will all be reunited as a true family.
CARP: When the lion lies down with the lamb.
OSCAR THINKS: When the boy lies down with the tiger (and the plum-coloured dog and Blue Monkey).
PERCH: And the sword is molded into a plowshare.
JUDGE OMEGA: So Oscar Flowers, why did you participate in this atrocity?
OSCAR: I played my part in the story. I was the father and he was the son. God told me what to do.
JUDGE OMEGA: I’ve heard you all speak of the play. The account of Abraham and Isaac. But in the story God spared Isaac and told Abraham to sacrifice a ram.
OSCAR: God told me to save the children and the animals and sacrifice Isaac, the father.
JUDGE OMEGA: But Abraham was the father.
OSCAR: So was Isaac.
JUDGE OMEGA: You mean Mr Fishcutter?
OSCAR: Yes, the father. I was holding the candle. Not the flame of God, that was Perch. But I made a choice how it should be. Like that night at my house when I chose to be the sacrifice. To be the blood between the Mother and the Father. For me to be the sacrifice. But Mrs April told me Jesus wanted it to happen because he loved everyone. But God didn’t tell Abraham to do it. He told him not to. But I didn’t want Stigir to be burnt. Not like the Great Aunt Margaret’s baby, or the tiger and the farmer with all the wisdom that humans hide away. So I chose who should be sacrificed. That Mr Fishcutter should be sacrificed, so that he can come back again. But I think I thought it should be fathers who should make sacrifices for their children.
JUDGE OMEGA (makes some notes, scratches them out, scratches his head, sighs and turns to the Twins): Is it true that Oscar Flowers committed the sacrificial slaughter of Mr Fishcutter? Think carefully before you answer.
The Twins look at each other and then face the Judge.
PERCH: Our father.
CARP: He was our father to sacrifice.
PERCH: I with my heart. I killed Father.
CARP: I with my own heart. I killed Father.
PERCH and CARP together: We killed our father, with the sharpest of knives. Our sacrifice for our father. Sacrifice to give him life.
JUDGE OMEGA: Think very carefully as to what you say. This is important. Are you telling me that you killed your father with a knife?
Perch looks at Carp and vice-versa.
CARP: Both of us, with the knife we took from the wooden block.
PERCH: For
filleting fish.
CARP: To help him die.
PERCH: To die to live.
Judge Omega makes scribbled notes.
JUDGE OMEGA: And Oscar?
PERCH: He had faith.
CARP: To do the deed.
JUDGE OMEGA: Who lit the fire?
Perch looks at Carp. Carp looks at Perch. Perch and Carp look at Oscar.
OSCAR: I with my flame. I lit the fire.
JUDGE OMEGA: And was there anyone else present in the hall?
OSCAR: Stigir, my dog. In the play Stigir was the ram in the bush.
JUDGE OMEGA: And did the dog perish in the fire?
Oscar looks at Mrs April. She smiles back.
MRS APRIL: I am looking after the dog. Oscar has asked me to take care of him for the time being. For as long as I have to.
The Judge takes more notes, then momentarily looks over to the clerk to see if he is recording all this. The clack of typewriter keys, tired of the words ‘murder’ and ‘sacrifice’, make sure nothing is missed.
JUDGE OMEGA: And Mrs April, may I inquire as to why, given the circumstances, you are being so attentive to the needs of Oscar Flowers? Many might think this a trifle odd.
Mrs April thinks hard. Then a smile spreads across her face. She is laughing to herself.
MRS APRIL: With all this talk of the Bible, maybe I can indulge myself by answering with a parable that has always amused me. You may have heard this story before.
JUDGE OMEGA: Go ahead. Please tell us a tale. There is precious little to amuse in this solemn case.
MRS APRIL: There was a frog sitting quietly on a riverbank. Along comes a scorpion who asks the frog to carry him across the deep river. ‘But you might sting and kill me,’ says the frog. ‘But that would be foolish, as the water is deep and I cannot swim. If I sting and kill you then I too will die by drowning,’ replies the scorpion. So the frog agrees to carry the scorpion across the fast-flowing river. The scorpion jumps on to the back of the frog and off they go. When the frog has swum halfway across, to the deepest part of the river, he feels a searing pain in his shoulder. He realises he has been stung by the scorpion. The frog is dying and they both sink deeper in the water. With his dying words he asks the scorpion why he stung him, when he knew the consequence would be them both drowning. ‘I stung you,’says the scorpion, ‘because it is in my nature.’ You ask why I do what I do for Oscar. I do it because it is in my nature. I can think of no better reason, or no fairer answer to your question.