The Executioner

Away from the executioner’s drill the crowd stood assembled. The condemned man lay in wait and his entrance had been swift. He’d arrived all packaged up, carried aloft much like a king. Across his lap lay a thin, brown leather strap which he gripped tightly. He wore a dark sweater and tight-fitting bottoms. A shawl was draped across his neck. The crowd were distracted now by a speaker delivering an address. He beckoned the masses forward with an overstretched arm to gather them up. The address would be short; it had to be. No one could expect to hold attention for long. The crowd stood in open-eared entreaty, ready to engorge each heavy syllable, each heated breath. Each visitor agape as the words WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY resounded not once but twice, maybe three times. It was hardly as if the speech had started when the crowd turned again to the condemned man, shifting nervously. Squirming in his rest, unable to settle even for a moment, the executioner’s drill hung above him, in the blue sky. It tottered and creaked for an instant and the crowd breathed relief. WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY. The crowd reformed around the speaker a second time, moving emphatically, like the inevitable pulse of a long, lathered slow worm. The gaze of the speaker lived longer in their eyes this time and the creaking of the executioner’s table was like the carefree swinging of a child’s cot. WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY. Each time the voice grew and the crowd jostled aggressively. One man was spitting at the floor and another turned over looking nauseous. WILL YOU HEAR OF THIS MAN’S DEFENCE? The crowd shifted but said nothing. The sky was becoming black and the view towards the condemned man dim. The executioner’s drill flashed in the moonlight and spread across the crowd like a floodlight. THIS MAN IS DUE HIS LAST RITES. The crowd was like a play-thing for the wind and it swayed from executioner to speaker like the endless ticking of a clock. From behind the speaker there approached a dwarfish being, hard to identify in the twilight. It was unclear whether the being was walking upright or crouching on all fours but the crowd seemed less interested in this than in the message he delivered. The speaker brandished a manuscript and began reading: ARE ANY AMONG YOU SICK? THEY SHOULD CALL FOR THE ELDERS OF THE CHURCH AND HAVE THEM PRAY OVER THEM, ANOINTING THEM WITH OIL IN THE NAME OF THE LORD. A pause. THE PRAYER OF FAITH WILL SAVE THE SICK, AND THE LORD WILL RAISE THEM UP; AND ANYONE WHO HAS COMMITTED SINS WILL BE FORGIVEN. With this the speaker slung the paper aside and a monkey scurried frantically across the floor to retrieve it. A deferential hush befell the crowd and each one cast his gaze on the next. DO NOT JUDGE THIS MAN. The speaker had finished and the crowd shuffled its way to the executioner who had moved to the other side now. The metal table rattled as the condemned man flinched. The speaker had descended the stage and disappeared out back. The crowd seemed engaged, keen to observe the act before them. The executioner remained static, but his position shifted from the first minute. The clock above the table was ticking and it was almost time. The wind had picked up somewhat and those on the outer reach were flustered. Deep from within the sound of an engine became apparent. It was recognisable but somehow strange. The crowd were forming more cohesively in order to view. One man grabbed another and heaved himself upon his shoulders and others began to do the same. Soon enough the crowd had built a tower, a pyramid of absolute vision for all. The executioner remained motionless. From behind the table appeared the speaker driving what could only be a sort of hydraulic crane. The cumbersome machine arched forward and creaked. The speaker cast levers with glassy eyed determination. The executioner unhanded his drill as the machine took it from him, raised it up and handed the long, spiralling pin-point over to the crowd, to the younger ones on top.