The Executioner's Song

by Norman Mailer

  Afterward, it was kind of funny when they each admitted they had seen What's Up, Doc? before, but hadn't wanted to spoil the other's opportunity to go. Then they went to the Pizza Hut and talked about their ideas on life, and how active they and their families were in LDS work. Max said he was the oldest of four children and his father, a farmer in Montpelier, Idaho, was also a Stake President. That impressed Colleen. There couldn't be that many Stake Presidents in all of Idaho.

  He also told her about his mission to Brazil. What got her respect was that he had earned all the money to do that by himself. Missionaries had to pay their own way over, of course, and then also pay for living expenses on the mission, so most of them had to be helped financially by their families. It wasn't easy for an adolescent to earn enough money by the age of nineteen to maintain himself for two years on a mission in a foreign country. Max, however, had done that.

  He enjoyed Brazil, his conversion rate had been high. On average, you could hope to convert one person a month over your two-year stretch in that country, but he had done considerably better.

  He remembered it as a time of great challenge and much necessity to learn how to live with different people.

  Naturally, she had heard a lot about missionary work but he explained some of the things that didn't always get mentioned. For instance, he told her how a missionary might have trouble with companion. It could be tough to live with a fellow who was a complete stranger. You and your companion had to be together all the time in a foreign city. It was closer than marriage. You did your work and you lived together in pairs. Even people who really knew how to get along had to grate on each other a little with their personal habits. Just the noise you made brushing your teeth. Of course, they had a practice of rotating missionaries before too much irritation built up.

  The most valuable part, he told her, was the way you developed your ability to take rebuff. Sometimes you would really be having fruitful conversations with a possible convert, and the person even declare they were close. Then one day you'd go over, and, behold, the local Catholic priest was sitting there. He wasn't too friendly to you. There were a lot of such setbacks. You learn it wasn't you doing the converting but the readiness of other person to meet the Spirit.

  Colleen's family life wasn't too different from his. Her family did a lot of things that centered around the church, and they wanted you to take on things and do well. In high school, she told him she had been Yearbook Editor, President of the Service Club, and School Artist. She had also done portraits out at Lagoon Resort, which enabled her to save money for college. From the time she entered grade school, she wanted her drawings to be better than anyone else's.

  All the while, she kept feeling how strong a person he was. He was strict and wouldn't bend spiritually or mentally. She could tell even in the way he felt obligated to tell her that he was dating another girl. He did take the sharp edge off, however, by describing how things were not going well with the other girl who was not strong enough, in his opinion, about the Church. Then he mentioned that he had a sister who was also named Colleen and he liked the name.

  Afterward, he drove her home in his car, a bright red Nova he kept sparkling clean. Her roommates said the two of them looked good together as a couple.

  On their second date they went to hear a speaker on Sunday night meeting in church, a Fireside. On their third date, they saw South Pacific put on at the college. Afterward, she got him to go to a dance.

  He didn't care for them usually, but this was a nice slow one with foxtrots and waltzes, nothing exhibitionistic. She teased him because he didn't like to dance. Hadn't he been told in Sunday School how their ancestors danced their way across the plains when that was the only entertainment?

  Now they began dating pretty steadily. Colleen never did think, however, that it was exactly love at first sight. It was more that Max was impressed with her, and she was impressed with him.

  Her birthday was on December 3, and he made reservations at Sherwood Hills, about twenty miles from Logan, a special place to go and eat. That evening he also bought her a red rose. Colleen really appreciated his thoughtfulness. She wore a velvet dress and he was in a suit; they spent about two hours at Sherwood Hills eating steak.

  On February 1 of 1975, they got engaged. Just that morning he had received a letter from BYU Law School accepting him. In the evening, they went to a basketball game and he kept turning to her and saying. "When we're at the Y next year"—by which he meant BYU. But he hadn't asked her to marry him. So Colleen kept saying, "When you're at the Y . . . "

  It began to bother him. Later that night, they were driving to Montpelier, Idaho, to hear his father speak at church the next day, and en route, Max stopped at the shores of Bear Lake, on a little road that led to a docking area. Laughing a little, he told her to get out of the car. She answered that she'd freeze to death. "Ah, come and see the beautiful sight," he said. She was shivering in her blue parka with the fur around it, but she left the car, and while they stood on the dock looking at the moon and the water he came right out and asked her to marry him.

  A little over a month before, at Christmas-time, while washing dishes, her mother had wanted to know, "If Max asks you, will you say yes?" Colleen had turned around and looked at her and said, "I'd be a fool if I didn't."

  When they got back to the car, he said they shouldn't let anyone know until after they had the ring. But it only took another fifteen minutes to reach his home and by then they were so excited they told his parents coming through the door.

  During their engagement, she only found little things she did not like about Max. He was a perfectionist and occasionally Colleen might say something that wasn't grammatically correct. Max didn't worry about hurting her feelings. It was natural for him to come and tell her, "You made a mistake," and expect her to correct it.

  He was very proud of her painting and drawing, however. At times he would rib her in company by saying that if he wanted her to talk, all he had to do was say, "Art." She'd start like crazy.

  They really got along pretty well, however. Before they married, her mother once asked, "What bothers you about him?"

  Colleen answered, "Nothing." Of course she meant nothing that couldn't soon be worked out.

  The wedding took place in Logan Temple on May 9, 1975, at six o'clock in the morning before thirty close friends and members of their families. For the ceremony, Colleen and Max were both in white. They were going to be married in time and eternity, not only in this life, but as each of them had explained to many a Sunday School class, married in death as well, for the souls of the husband and wife would meet again in eternity and be together forever. In fact, marriage in other Christian churches was practically equal to divorce, since such marriages were only made until parting by death. That was what Max and Colleen had taught their students. Now they were marrying each other. Forever.

  In the evening, there was a reception at their own church. The families had sent out eight hundred invitations and light refreshments were offered. They had a reception line. Hundreds of relatives and friends walked through.

  For their honeymoon, they went to Disneyland. They had calculated their money and decided by cutting it close, they would have just enough. They were right. It was a nice week.

  Colleen got pregnant soon after, and it was kind of difficult for Max to understand why she didn't feel good all the time. They were both working, but she felt so little like eating that at lunch she would prepare just a small sandwich for each of them. He would say, "You're starving me to death." She would laugh and tell him she had quite a bit to learn about a guy's eating habits.

  He never raised his voice and neither did she. If, occasionally, she felt like speaking sharply, she wouldn't. They had decided right from the beginning that they would never leave each other without kissing good-bye. Nor would they go to bed with personal problems unsolved. If they were mad at each other, they would stay up to talk it out. They were not going to sleep even one night being m
ad at each other.

  Of course, they also had fun. Stuff like shaving-cream fights. Throwing glasses of water at each other.

  When she'd have morning sickness, he'd keep saying, "Can I help you? Can I help you?" but Colleen would try to keep her discomfort to herself. She saw that he was tired of her saying, "I'm getting fat."

  By August, close to the start of law school, they moved from Logan to Provo. That was a good time. Colleen was over morning sickness and had no trouble working. Max was squared away on studies. They found a nice basement apartment with a small front room and a tiny bedroom about twelve blocks from the college for $100 a month, and got along really well.

  The week before she had the baby, Colleen typed a thirty-page paper for Max, and he sent her a dozen red roses in return. She loved him for that. They had a little girl born to them on Valentine's Day, a little over nine months from the date of their marriage. The baby had lots of dark hair and weighed seven pounds and Max was real proud of her and took snapshots before she was a day old. They named her Monica. When she got older, he loved to play with her.

  Wasn't much time of course. Finishing up first-year law school, Max was really working hard. She'd fix his breakfast and he'd leave; back for dinner at five, out again at six to the law library, home at ten. She was in charge of the baby for sure.

  They needed a larger place to live, so they bought a trailer they really liked. It was 12 feet wide, 52 feet long, and had two bedrooms. Colleen's parents loaned the money for the down payment.

  The trailer was furnished with a couple of old things her parents gave them, and they had a little lawn. Max also planted a small garden out to the side. Every day he'd water his tomatoes. Maybe there were a hundred trailers in the court, and all kinds of neighbors. Most were their own age with children, and nice enough. There several couples they went to church with.

  He had a construction job promised for the summer, but when it was not yet ready after school, they went up to his dad's farm for a few weeks and Max dug ditches, fed cattle, branded them, planted crops, helped irrigate. It was good to see him physically relaxed instead of worn out from studying.

  When they went back to Provo, the man who had promised the construction job to Max said that it had gone instead to the son of one of the men working there already. That job would have paid $6.50 an hour.

  Max had a temper and knew how to keep it under control but this got him truly upset. It was the first time Colleen saw Max depressed. She had to do a lot of talking to turn his mood around. Finally, he said, "Okay, I'll start thinking about another job," and went to the University employment office, but it was late to look for summer work and he only found a listing for Sinclair gas station attendant at $2.75 an hour.

  It was a self-service station on a back street in Orem. His work was limited to giving out change, cleaning windows, and taking care of the restrooms from three in the afternoon until eleven at night.

  The pay, of course, was a lot less than they had counted on, yet for all of June and the first weeks of July he worked without complaint and came home hot and tired. All the same, he was beginning to make friends with some of the customers and the manager liked him. They worshipped in the same Ward.

  Two weeks after the Fourth of July, Max and Colleen were asked to give a talk in church. Max spoke of how there were too few people in this world who were really honest. He gave a powerful speech on the importance of being honest. It made all the difference between being able to build on a real foundation or not being able to. Colleen's talk that Sunday was on joy, on the joy she experienced when she met Max, and when they married, and when they had their baby. Afterward, on the way home, he gave her a big hug, and a lot of fine feelings came over her and she said, "We're really beginning to live and love each other more than ever." They went to bed with a real good understanding.

  Monday morning, Max was excited about getting some shelves finished for Monica, and spent the morning hammering and sawing and drilling. Colleen had a lot of things to do, the wash, the ironing, fixing dinner. Usually they ate in plenty of time before Max went off to work at 3 P.M., but today they were a little rushed because Max wanted to get the shelves done first. He kept calling her into the bed room to mark his progress and Monica was also watching. Max was bending over and hammering, listening to the radio, in his Levi's, feeling comfortable and good. Finally he said, "I'm ready to put them up, come help me." She went in and they got them installed quickly, then he kind of backed away, gave a sigh, said, "Well, that's done."

  They ate. Being a little late, Max was in a hurry to finish.. He was never late to anything, and usually ready one minute before her. So, as soon as he swallowed dinner, he walked down the hall, grabbed some things he needed, and started to walk out the door while she was still sitting at the table. Only then did he realize he hadn't kissed her good-bye and so he turned around, and kind of grinned and said, "Well, I'll meet you halfway."

  She walked around the table and he gave her a kiss, and a really good hug and looked into her eyes, things were just going well, and Colleen said, "I'll see you tonight." He said, "Okay," went out, got in the car and drove off.

  He was a very conscientious driver, never broke the speed limit or anything. Fifty-five miles an hour all the time. In her mind, she saw him driving down the road that way. He would be moving along the Interstate at just such a speed until he went around a slow graded turn and disappeared from sight and left her mind free to think of one and then another of the small things she must do that day.

  Chapter 13

  THE WHITE TRUCK

  About the time Max Jensen was starting work at the Sinclair gas station, Gary Gilmore was in the showroom in V.J. Motors on State Street, about a mile away, coming to terms with Val Conlin about the truck. There wasn't going to be a co-signer, after all. Gary was going to turn over his Mustang on which he'd already paid close to $400 (if you gave him credit for the battery and ignored the windshield) and he would produce another $400 in two days, cash. Then he would come up with another $600 by the fourth of August. Val would let him make the transfer now and he could sign the papers tonight.

  Rusty Christiansen could hear them talking, and had to smile. She had come in to work part-time on the books, reconcile Val's bank account, get license plates, and, in general, help. She knew some of the ropes by now.

  Rusty's unspoken opinion was that the truck had to be disgustingly overpriced. It was selling for $1,700 and with interest would come to $2,300. Val probably hadn't paid a thousand for that carcass.

  Now he would have the Mustang to resell, plus a thousand in cash by the first week of August. Otherwise, he would repossess the truck.

  He wasn't taking that big a chance. Gary could sure have found something better for the money than this white Angel with 100,000 miles on her. He had fallen in love with a paint job.

  Now, Rusty watched Conlin tell Gilmore one more time that he, Val, had an extra set of keys with which to make sure Gary would walk if the money wasn't there. It was the same pep talk. Val would make a good coach for a team of mental defectives. "Get the money, Gary," said Val as the truck drove away.

  Sterling was taken for a ride and Gary was talking pretty proud. His new engine had a lot more power than the Mustang. For sure the acceleration was better. Gary didn't abuse it, though. Drove it like a Cadillac. Trundled it for a while. Then they went tooling up the highway.

  It was moving toward dark when Kathryne saw him. Some of her family had come over that day. The cherry trees were ripe in the yard, and her mother and a couple of her brothers and sisters were still out with the kids picking fruit, while Kathryne's friend Pat was with her in the kitchen. At that point, Gary came to the back door and said, "Could I talk to you outside?" Kathryne invited him in but he kept saying, "I have to talk to you outside. It's important."

  She went and took a look at his truck, oohed and ahhhed. He looked odd to Kathryne, not drunk, exactly, but he made a point of telling her how sober he was. In fact, she couldn't
smell alcohol on his breath. He did seem odd, however. She said, no, she hadn't seen Nicole. He said, "As far as I'm concerned, she can go to hell." Then he looked at Kathryne like some nut in him was being tightened right off the threads, and said, "She can get fucked."

  That really shocked Kathryne. She could hardly believe Gary would use such words for Nicole. Then he looked at her in that way he had of getting into every little thought you might like to keep to yourself, and said, "Kathryne, I want my gun back." "Gary," she managed to answer, "I don't like to give it to you. Not the way you're acting." He said, "I'm in trouble. I gotta have it. I've got all the guns back now but three. A cop knows, you see, that I done the robbery."

  She had the feeling Gary was making it up. "This cop told me if I get the guns back to the store, nothing will happen."

  Kathryne said, "Gary, why don't you come back tomorrow and pick it up when you're sober."

  He said, "I'm not drinking, and I'm not going to get in trouble. Moreover, if I want to use a gun"—he pulled his jacket open—"this little baby takes care of it all." That was one pistol she recognized. A real German Luger stuck in his pants. "In addition," he said, "I got a sackful." At that point he opened the truck door, and a burlap bag tipped over. By the clanking it sounded like it held half a dozen more guns.

  Kathryne said to herself, What does it matter? She took the Special out from under the mattress and gave it to him, and stood with Gary in the twilight trying to calm him down. He was so angry.

  Then, April came running out of the house. She was close to hysterical. "Where's Pat?" she asked, "where's Pat?" "She's gone, April," Kathryne said. "Oh," cried April, "Pat promised to take me down to K-Mart to get my guitar string."