Holy City: Chapter Four - Part Two

Sometime later, the front door opened and closed again. V could hear the footsteps of a solitary soldier and then the sound of the legs of a metal chair streaking across the floor. Then the sound of a bottom falling comfortably onto that chair and a soldier’s cap falling onto the top of a wooden desk.

The clicking of the keys of a typewriter filled up the next several minutes until Fontan let out a curse. A couple of minutes passed, the clicking started up again. There would be several more curse words and much more clacking of typewriter keys over the next half hour until the silence of breathing was the only sound in the brig. V was still seated on his bed, his eyes still unfocused on the pinstripes in front of him.

Breathing transformed into snoring after another half hour. The snoring was brief, Fontan caught herself after only a minute of sleep and startled awake, the chair lurching forward, feet stomping on the ground.

“Don’t worry, Pvt. Fontan, Cpl. Jannis falls asleep, too.”

Fontan did not respond.

“He sleeps through most of his shift actually.” V smiled at the thought.

Still Fontan did not respond.

“I would like to thank you for the haircut today. It feels nice to be shorn of that extra weight. I feel clean again. It was very kind of you.”

“I was only doing my job.”

“Your job?”

“I was following orders.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

For another minute, silence returned to the building. There was no typing of keys, no movement of feet, no readjusting of bodies. V was listening to the breathing of Fontan and Fontan was listening to the breathing of V.

“Why haven’t you told the captain what he wants to know?” Fontan broke the silence.

“He doesn’t want to know. He only wants me to confirm what he already believes whether it is true or not. I suppose that is how most conversations go.”

“Did you kill that man out in the valley, out in the desert?”

V was surprised by the directness of the question. He took a second to think before answering.

“The desert is an unforgiving place. Murder is not the only way for someone to die in the desert.” V said. “Maybe that body your captain found in the desert was also a refugee, also someone who tried to make the journey from Alexandria.”

“Did they make that journey with you?”

V once again took a second to think before answering. This time he decided not to answer.

“If you don’t tell the captain the truth he will think you’re a spy.”

“And what do you think I am?”

“A coward.”

“A coward?”

“You’re obviously a deserter. You deserted with another soldier. That soldier did not survive, you did. Whether you killed them or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re a deserter. We have to make sure you’re not a spy, but you’re not, you’re a deserter and a coward.”

“Is it possible I’m a deserter and not a coward.”

“No.”

“What if I deserted because I thought this war was immoral, that none of the three nations should own Alexandria, that no human can own another man’s soul no matter how hard they try.”

“We’re fighting to liberate Alexandria.”

“That’s what the other two nations think as well.”

“But we’re right.”

“Why? Because your leaders say so?”

“Yes. The premier, the committee, they have their reasons.”

“Your premier, this committee, they spy on their own people?”

Fontan didn’t respond.

“Are you afraid I’m one of those spies?”

“No, I think you’re a deserter. I already said that.”

“But if I was a spy, if you thought I was a spy, you would be afraid, right?”

“There is nothing for me to be afraid of.”

“In a country where one citizen spies on another there is always something to be afraid of.”

“Maybe where you’re from, but not here. An innocent person has nothing to fear.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

V stood up from his bed and walked to the bars of his cell and held them, his hands wrapped around the iron. He was listening to Fontan, trying to tell what the young private was doing and what she was thinking.

“Have you killed anybody yet?”

“What?”

“Have you seen combat? Have you had to kill anybody”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

This got Fontan’s attention.

“Not as a solider. But I am guilty. I feel guilty. I feel like I should be able to save Alexandria from destruction.”

“That’s not the same. I asked if you killed someone, that’s not what you describe.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But I have killed someone. They weren’t a man, though. It was a boy. Does that make it worse? I was a boy at the time as well. Does that make it better? It was my brother that I killed. They called it an accident. We were playing. Or fighting. Playing between boys easily turns into fighting.”

“He had a stick and I had a piece of lumber. We were at a construction site. Construction sites are great places for boys to play. You don’t have to build forts or hiding places, they’re already there, ready-made. You might have played at such places as well.”

V waited for Fontan to say something, to acknowledge V’s story, but Fontan stayed silent. She didn’t want to answer the prisoner any longer. She did want to hear what he had to say.

“I was hiding from him and he was hunting me.” V continued. “Then when he found me, he hid and I hunted him. We were playing war as kids do. It was harmless.”

“When I was hunting him, he surprised me from above and jumped down and struck me hard on the shoulder with his stick. Angered at how hard he hit me I swung back with my piece of lumber and missed. He swung again and struck me on the other shoulder even harder than the first hit. We weren’t playing anymore. Now we were fighting. He was a year older than me, slightly bigger, stronger.

“I was angry, so angry. He hit me a third time. But I was waiting for him and swung as he struck me. The piece of lumber had a nail through it. I knew that it did. That’s why I had originally chosen it. It looked cool. A piece of lumber with a nail sticking out is cool to a seven-year-old. I hadn’t planned on using that nail when I first picked it up. I hadn’t planned on using that side of the board at all. I was going to use the flat side, the one the nail was pounded into. The nail was simply going to be an accessory, an impressive decoration like the ornament on the hood of a car. Like I said I thought it looked cool.

“As my brother struck me that third time my intentions changed. I twisted the board in my hands and swung nail out. I wanted to kill him. In that moment as I swung and he lunged to hit me again, I wanted to kill him, to show him how strong I was, to get him back for all of those times he had hurt me.

“I only remembered those times he had hurt me as I was doing this, those times when I had hurt him, which may not have been equal in number, but were certainly more than I could count did not enter my mind. I was justified in my actions.

“The nail went into his chest, into his heart actually. I laughed when it did. Does that make it worse? I laughed because I had gotten him back. I had won our little war for the day.

“He gasped. I pulled the lumber back. It took all of my strength to pull it out of his chest. That’s when I first realized I had done what my anger wanted me to do. There was no blood. My brother didn’t say anything. Usually, if I had hit him like that he would have hit me back with all of his strength. He would have jumped on me and held me down on the ground punching me over and over again.

“He didn’t do any of that this time. That’s what worried me most, even to my young mind. He simply said we should go home and it was almost time for dinner. His left hand was on his chest as we walked back. Neither of us mentioned anything to our mother when we walked in the door. We washed up for dinner. We ate as normal, my brother was a little quieter than usual, I was maybe a little louder than usual. We sat around the house for a few hours and then we went to sleep that night in the same room like always, I was on the top bunk and my brother below.

“I had dreams that night. I still remember those dreams. They were dreams of strength, of power. I was happy with what I had done. I had shown up my big brother. What little brother wouldn’t be proud of that?

“When I woke up the next morning I quickly jumped out of bed and climbed down the ladder. My brother was still asleep in his bed. I thought he was being lazy, so I called his name several times. Then I started calling him names, mocking him. He didn’t get up.

“I knew we would be expected at breakfast soon. I walked over to him in his bed and stood above him. His chest wasn’t moving, he was so still, as still as ice. I pushed him on the shoulder. Nothing. I pushed him on the shoulder again, harder. He rocked like a boat in shallow water, but he was back in the same position as before. Hesitantly, very hesitantly, I brought my hands to his face. I don’t know why I did that. Nothing in my past would have prepared me to do that. If I had thought about it first, tried to use what rational thought I had as a child, I never would have thought to do that. Maybe it was some sort of instinct.

I put my hands to his face, not his forehead, to his cheeks, one hand on each cheek. He was frozen, cold. I quickly took my hands away from the burning cold. My first thought in that moment, after I realized I had killed my brother, was fright. But I wasn’t afraid because of what I had done. I was afraid of getting in trouble with my mother, that was the only thing in my head, how much trouble I was sure I was going to be in.

“I sat down on a chair in the corner of the room. I didn’t call out. Maybe if I had, maybe if I had shouted for help right away he would have been saved. Instead I sat, afraid, waiting for my mother to discover us, for I don’t know for how long. It could have been only a few minutes, it could have been an hour, time didn’t exist to me at that point, just like it no longer existed for my brother.

“Eventually, my mother came in and discovered him. There was screaming, crying, it seemed like the entire village was outside our house in a matter of seconds. Some crowded into the room, some looked in through the window. Others mingled outside. A doctor was in this crowd. He took me into a different room, my mother’s bedroom, and closed the door. It was only the two of us. I told him everything, about the stick, the building site, the piece of lumber with the nail sticking out of it. I told him how I wanted my brother dead when I struck him, how I felt red-hot hate that burned stronger than any other feeling I had known, stronger than the cold of my brother’s cheeks that burned my hands.

“I never told my mother any of these things, not just the part about my feelings, but any of it, we never talked at all about what my brother and I did that day, or about what we had done any other day, after his death. The doctor must have told her, at least the basic story, I’ve always assumed he did, but maybe he didn’t, I don’t know. Maybe it’s been our little secret all these years.

“The doctor said it was an accident. He said it was all a horrible accident. But I knew the truth. I have always known the truth. When I swung that board I meant it. It was no accident. I murdered my brother.”

“You were a boy.”

“That’s only an excuse.”

“The doctor was right. It was an accident. You were upset, but you didn’t know you would kill him.”

“I wanted to.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Everybody has those feelings, that doesn’t mean they’re murderers.”

“I acted on it.”

“It was an accident.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“Ridiculous. That’s ridiculous. You were seven.”

V took his hands away from the bars. He looked down at the marks on his palms. Then he walked back to his bed and sat down.

“Wait.” Fontan remembered something from earlier in the day. “You said you were adopted”

“He wasn’t my brother by blood, but he was my brother. Would it have been worse if we were related by blood?”

“No. Of course not.” Fontan was suspicious. She thought she had caught the prisoner in a lie, only he had an answer. This prisoner always had answers.

Next Chapter: Chapter Five
Previous Chapter: Chapter Four - Part One