The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book
Page 55
He was riding through the woods, to the wheat fields to have a look at the harvest, which had been meager that year. He was eighteen. The day was overcast, as had been most of the summer, accounting for the slim yields. He emerged into a small meadow to be assaulted by a rank smell. He was downwind from a group of peasants who had been working in the fields and were now spilling into the clearing. He heard screams and saw that the men were dragging someone by the hair. The women followed with staves which they used to beat the hapless victim. He moved nearer and was able to make out that it was a girl they were dragging. The mob stopped moving as he got closer and stared uneasily at him. While the peasants were momentarily inattentive, the girl rose to her feet and ran towards Abelard, wrapping her long skinny arms around his leg and sobbing for help.
The men were not slow to react and had soon surrounded Abelard and the desperate, bleeding girl. Abelard recognized her as one of his fathers, a tall girl, not yet hunched and broken from toil. She had been accused of witchcraft and the cause of the poor harvest, which would leave famine and death in its wake. The ignorant village priest had been caught up in the mounting hysteria and enthusiastically validated the suspicions of the angry peasants. She was now to be lynched and Abelard had better not try to thwart the will of God. Much of European humanity was still mired in deep superstition and mere human authority, no matter how exalted, could never hope to stop these peasants from carrying through divine retribution. They recognized Abelard. He demanded they scatter but they were now worked into a frenzy and his threats fell on deaf ears. A blow from a heavy wooden club knocked him to the ground. Several men held him down while the girl was dragged shrieking to a solitary gnarled tree at the meadow’s dead center. It was over very slowly, the noose tightened around her neck as the men who had been holding her up let go. She kicked at the empty air for a long time until a last gasp escaped her bluish lips. The next day five of the peasants that Abelard had identified as the leaders, met the same fate on the same tree. For Abelard it had been a puzzling experience. He wasn’t really sure why he felt so strongly for that one human life when for most others there was noting whatsoever. Was it because she had noble bearing? Was it the senseless, random injustice? He thinks it may have been that. He had already participated in murderous chevauchées, butchering woman and children, but for good military reasons, not ridiculous superstition. But none had ever begged him for mercy, perhaps, he considered, this may have had something to do with them not having a moment to spare, so preoccupied were they with getting away. The plea had stirred in him a sense of responsibility for another human being that he had never before experienced. It certainly bolstered the priest’s lesson about justice not being of this world.
Watching Karl threatening the young woman, he fought to disentangle his memories from the present. They were muddying what should have been a simple case of self-preservation. He was confused and had lost his usual decisive edge. Then it happened. Karl turned his gun at the crowd and fired. There was a scream and a man fell to the ground. Karl then put the gun back to the woman’s head. The sudden turn of events pulled Abelard from his momentary torpor. He had had enough. He began walking towards Karl as the policeman in charge yelled for him to get back and Karl stared in wide eyed surprise.
“I just want to talk,” Abelard said, hands in the air. “I’m not armed.”
“Get back or she dies.”
“Wait, you can take me hostage. I’m much more valuable than the nobody you’re holding.” A few more steps he thought to himself. Almost there. But Karl had lost patience with this insistent suit and abruptly aimed the pistol at Abelard, squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. It was not an automatic and had to be cocked after each shot. But he did not get that moment needed to revolve the chamber to put a new bullet in the breach. It was over in a split second. Abelard had had a special harness made for him. It fit under his shirt with a sheath right over his spine, in the crack between his shoulders. In it he carried, from old habit, a long thin stiletto. He was close enough and in one smooth motion moved his right hand, still in the air, towards his back, withdrew the knife and threw it at Karl’s head, which it pierced to a depth of eight centimeters, instantly stopping all brain activity. It also brought everyone else to a complete standstill. There followed a few seconds of perfect silence, not a breath, not a shuffle, like the absolute hush in a crowded chicken coop when the hens hear an egg break, each hoping to make it its very own meal.
First the gun dropped to the concrete floor, followed ever so slowly by Karl falling like a stiff board, straight back, making a sharp crack when his skull smashed against the cement. Pandemonium followed; police yelling for everyone to get down and then jumping Abelard, forcing him to the floor, three quite hefty officers pinning him under their combined weight. They reluctantly let him up when McCurdle was able to shout loud enough above the din to be heard, assuring them that Abelard was a good guy.
“Why did you risk your life,” the young woman asked, having pushed her way through the uniformed men surrounding Abelard, pure astonishment stretching her elongated face? “We’ve never met. We would never meet. Why did you do it?” She was still a little shaky, her hand trembling slightly as she placed it on Abelard’s chest, wanting to touch this strange man.
“Would you have done as much for me,” Abelard asked, in a kindly voice?
“I would have so much wanted to, but I would not have. I’m not brave enough.”
“You’re very honest,” he said, very quietly, so that only she would hear. “I didn’t actually see fear in your eyes; only surprise that anyone would want to harm you. That’s why I think I did it. There may be many people that I have harmed that were just like you. Only I had never known that. I always found it convenient to believe that they were all like me and so it didn’t matter. It was a comforting fiction in my business. An ordinary matter. I’m glad you’re OK. Now I have much to think about.”
As he walked away from the now mildly astonished young woman, a new voice in the crowd vied for his attention. “Mr. Bush, I’m Lieutenant Carnap and would need to see some identification.” Abelard showed him his passport.
“French with a Canadian resident visa,” he said, mostly to himself, leaving him an extra moment to think about what he was supposed to do with a foreigner who just killed an American with an expert knife throw.
“When were you planning to return home?”
“This evening, detective Carnap.”
This put Carnap into a dilemma. There was a body and the man responsible for making it dead was going to leave the country. His boss would be very upset with him.
“I don’t think….,” was all Carnap had a chance to mutter, when a man with the perfect part in his hair, wearing a dark suit and a lipstick smudge on his shirt collar, stepped breathlessly to the fore.
“Mr. Bush,” he managed, between laboured breaths, ignoring the Lieutenant, “I am George Probis, the plant manager. I was at a client’s when I heard about this and came immediately,” the red gloss stain competing for Abelard’s attention. He had arrived in time to hear Carnap hesitate about what to do with Abelard.
He then turned to Carnap and stated more than asked, “Mr. Bush charged with something!”
He didn’t wait for an answer and simply affirmed, “I’m sure Mr. Bush will be available for any questions you might have.”
“I have a question,” a nasal drawl grated in. It was a uniformed man, the one who had responded to the earlier complaint about Uncle Joe’s assault. “Weren’t you attacked by one of your employees Mr. Bush?”
Abelard thought for a moment and then said, “I’d prefer not to press charges at this time.” McCurdle and Walkup were both visibly puzzled by this turn of events, until Abelard threw them a conspiratorial wink. He thought it best to reassure these two even though he didn’t have the slightest idea as to where he was heading. He knew only that something profound had changed and he would have to give the rest of his life some serious thought.
Chapter XIV
VBI-Society tensions