Doll Eyes was proud of his legal analysis. If he had not devoted his life to becoming obscenely wealthy, he would have become a lawyer.
“We are also using the legal system on another front: to keep the conveyor belt to the gallows moving. We have found the most credible judge to pass the death sentences, and a lawyer who will guarantee that he reaches no other verdict. Our detractors are trying to sabotage this arrangement. A High Court judge will soon retire. If that happens, the magistrate whom we need to feed the gallows may get promoted. Unfortunately, High Court judges can only uphold death sentences. They cannot dish them out at trial. Naturally, we are fighting the potential promotion of our hanging judge. Spiritedly.”
The man with the large head interrupted again.
“How are the people on death row selected?”
“Very carefully.”
“How can you be certain they are the rights ones?”
“We have the best people working on that. The very best.”
Doll Eyes spoke before the man with the large head could throw another question at him.
“Now, I know that many of you come from countries where the death penalty either does not exist or is beyond your control. That’s why it is critical for us to stamp out this plant before it migrates beyond Zimbabwe’s borders. If it does so before the baking is done, it’s all over. This brings me to the critical ingredient that I am responsible for: the SPINDLE.
“We need a special set of gallows. The manufacturing side is secure. We have a reliable British contractor working on the project. His commitment to the job is beyond question. For him, death does not need a moral rationale in order to be valid or beautiful. This is exactly what we need from our gallows maker. That man is one of the consequential ingredients of our cake. You will only appreciate his importance by understanding his past.”
* * *
The Vulture That Binged on the Mere Sight of Death
“The Carpenter has a long history with southern Africa. He first came to Zimbabwe as a young tourist in the early seventies. In those days, this country was still named Rhodesia. Though his skin colour entitled him to privilege according to the racist laws of the day, he was never comfortable with that system. He spent most of his time avoiding the tourist traps that drew most Western travellers to the region. For months, he hitchhiked throughout the Zimbabwean countryside, befriending many local Blacks along the way. The Carpenter fell in love with the country. For the first time in his life, he felt at home.
“A few months into his visit, The Carpenter was staying with a local family in Zaka. In exchange for their hospitality, he taught the children English. One day, a team of Rhodesian soldiers arrived at the household. They accused the family of helping the antigovernment freedom fighters. The soldiers threatened to arrest the daughter if her parents did not confess their treason. The Carpenter intervened in the family’s defence. In his effort to protect the young girl, he engaged in a scuffle with the soldiers. He wounded one of them before they finally subdued him.
“The soldiers detained the entire family. The parents and their two sons were later released. However, the daughter was never accounted for. We believe that the Rhodesians’ treason allegations were just a cover for abducting the young girl.
“The Carpenter was eventually deported. But before they sent him home to England, they wanted to punish him. The Rhodesians detained him for three months in one of the nation’s most appalling jails. The institution held a mix of Black political prisoners and regular bandits. The place was so filthy that it made the worst pig sty seem like an emperor’s chamber. At least two inmates died each week. It was a cosy space.
“If the Rhodesians’ intention was to punish The Carpenter, they failed. He held up well in the place. Apart from a brief eye infection, he remained in reasonable health and decent spirits. He even made friends among his fellow inmates. However, some of the prisoners complained to the guards about his behaviour. They claimed that the British inmate had a fascination for watching his fellow prisoners die. He also had strong instincts about who would go next. The Carpenter even wagered on his predictions. In the months that he was locked up, he successfully foretold the deaths of eight prisoners. Once their fates became obvious, he never drifted far from the dying men. He was a unique breed of vulture that fed on the process rather than the by-products of death.
“The Carpenter tried to hide his fascination for observing the dying. Often, the experience overwhelmed him. As the dying prisoners faded, his curious glances devolved into hours-long staring sessions. When it was all over, his eyes would drift slowly above the bodies as though they were following something rising from the corpses. Each time, the other inmates would hear him whisper: ‘There he goes ... Vivat in aeternum fratrem meum. Live forever my brother.’
“This habit lost him some friends, but others were non-judgmental. These loyal comrades considered The Carpenter’s habit a mere quirk. This was no surprise. Bandits are some of the most open-minded people you will ever meet.
“After being deported back to England, our friend trained as a woodworker. We have called him ‘The Carpenter’ ever since. After Zimbabwe’s independence, his friends from the Rhodesian days welcomed him back with open arms. Some of them had become influential in the new Zimbabwe. They helped him to displace his fellow British artisan who once enjoyed a monopoly over our gallows contracts. However, neither The Carpenter’s craftsmanship nor his friends were decisive in winning him the job. It was the unnatural ability he displayed in the Rhodesian jail that made him indispensable.
“The Carpenter has an intimate relationship with death. He understands it. He revels in it. When combined with his skills as an artisan, this talent makes him uniquely qualified to build gallows that can trap spiritual infections. I am sure that you gentlemen can appreciate the utility of such a vaccine?”
Everyone nodded.
“That’s why we need to get those gallows into Zimbabwe as soon as possible. All we can do for now is to sit tight. We have no control over British customs officials, but we can all breathe easy once the plane that is carrying the gallows enters international airspace.”
Doll Eyes planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
“I have left the most important part of The Carpenter’s story for the end. When he was in prison, he befriended a teenage boy. The boy could not speak. Or he simply chose not to. No one had ever heard the sound of his voice. No one knew why he had been locked up in that prison. He barely touched the meagre rations they gave him to eat. However, for someone trapped in such a place, the boy maintained a remarkable level of health and alertness. Though his eyes were bland and unexpressive, they did not betray the suffering of a youth who was caged up with overgrown thugs.
“The boy’s refusal to eat most of his rations was especially strange in a prison where malnourished inmates died in high numbers. In many cases, some of the hardiest prisoners died so suddenly that even The Carpenter did not see it coming. One moment, these vigorous men would be smashing the skulls of other prisoners. A few hours later, they would be wrapped in the starchy blanket of rigor mortis.
“Of those who died in this way, none had any signs of trauma on their bodies. All of them died with their eyes frozen open. No matter how much anyone tried to lower their eyelids, they remained wedged behind their eyeballs. When one of the prisoners died in this manner, a guard tried to pry the dead man’s eyelids loose with a pair of tweezers. When he tugged at the left one, he ripped out the entire lid from behind the man’s eye socket. After that incident, they simply covered the dead inmates’ eyes with a cloth.
“The mysterious deaths of these otherwise healthy prisoners were never solved. The Rhodesian authorities were curious, but they had no motivation to investigate. The prisoners lived in fear. Most slept with one eye open. Some created support groups in which each member had to spend at least a quarter of their time watching other members of their group. I guess they thought that if they could see it coming, they
could do something about it. This was unlikely, but the delusion kept things calm. Men can become unstable when they realize they are at the mercy of a force they cannot fight. The defenceless will respond with panic. And when panic spreads in confined places, it causes riots. Everyone becomes a victim of something. Or someone.”
The mood in the room was grim. Doll Eyes cracked his knuckles. The sound splintered through the air like a thorn bush scraping through a silken silence. It was vulgar. There would be no deference to the discomfort in the room. Doll Eyes was making a point that could not be diminished by courtesy.
“I am told that the only person who ever got a good night’s sleep was the boy. At least he was comfortable enough to close his eyes, turn his back, and ignore everyone for a couple of hours at a time. The rest of the prison was a hive of insomniacs who only slept in shifts when the fatigue became overwhelming.
“One night, a prisoner woke up screaming. The guards refused to open the cell to remove him. They were working with a skeleton crew and did not want to risk being mobbed by the inmates. So the man continued to scream in pain, though no one was touching him. He kept pointing to the ceiling and screaming, ‘No!’ In the end, his friends were forced to beat him unconscious. He was transferred to a psychiatric institution the next day. Maybe it was the stress and the insomnia. Maybe it was something else. Do you see where I am going with this?”
No one responded.
“The Carpenter and the boy developed a strange bond. They never spoke or interacted in any discernible manner. In fact, most of the time, they never looked at each other at all. However, the boy displayed a level of comfort around The Carpenter that he had never shown to the kinder prisoners.”
“How do you know all this?” asked a voice at the table. Doll Eyes was startled. The silent man from The Gambia had not only spoken a few words, he had done so in clear English. After pointing an accusatory finger at Doll Eyes, the Gambian rewrapped his hand around his body before anyone could steal it. His interpreter did not react to this unexpected development. His indifference did not betray the disappointment of a man whose job had just been declared redundant. Doll Eyes continued.
“I met the boy when I visited the prison. I had been assigned to deliver The Carpenter to the British embassy where he was to be debriefed before his deportation. I do not remember the boy reacting when his friend was taken away. In fact, the boy himself was painfully forgettable. I only noticed him because he was so much younger than the other inmates. His face immediately faded from my memory the moment I looked away from him. Except for one thing. It was so subtle that I often doubt whether I saw it at all. As I was walking past the cell, he looked up at me for a brief moment. I thought I noticed a slight strabismus in his eyes.”
“What is that?” asked The Commander with his trademark intensity.
“It’s a condition that occurs when a person’s eyes are misaligned. They may be looking at you, but it seems like each eyeball is pointing in a different direction.”
“Le cause?” persisted The Commander.
“There are a few potential causes. They include chronic eyestrain, defective eye muscles, strokes, and the malfunctioning of certain areas of the brain. In a lot of cases, this condition is permanent. The impression it paints on the face is fixed and involuntary. Even when the condition is fleeting, its does not just appear and vanish in a fraction of a second. But that is what happened with this boy. His eyes were perfectly aligned when I first saw him. He was only cross-eyed for the brief moment that our gazes met as I left a few minutes later. That was the most fleeting case of strabismus I have ever seen. And yes, I have seen a few. It was as though he was winking without blinking. I don’t even know why I noticed it, or why I still remember it. But I’ve always been a man of heightened instincts. My radars often twitch in response to banal events. Almost always, the sinister reason behind the observation eventually becomes clear. When it comes to my brief meeting with that boy, I’m still in the dark.”
“Intriguing,” whispered The Commander. “But what to do avec this? Quoi?”
“I don’t know,” replied Doll Eyes. “Some things are worth sharing, even when we don’t know why. Anyway, apart from the strabismus, the boy had a frightfully forgettable face.”
Doll Eyes leaned back and looked at the ceiling. His hard green eyes had been sucked in by the whirlpool of retrospect.
“In a past life, I belonged to a profession in which we referred to such people as blessed with a ‘high-fibre visage’. They have lubricated faces that speed through the intestines of your memory without leaving any residue. The only impression they do leave is actually a composite of all the random faces that your mind has stored up over time. In most circles, such forgetability does not improve your chances with the opposite sex. However, there are endeavours where possessing this trait is like winning the lottery.”
The whirlpool spat Doll Eyes back into the room.
“Anyway, I am told the boy was released along with a hoard of other political prisoners after independence in 1980. By then, he had grown to manhood. I would love to say that he vanished into thin air but, to be honest, no one was really looking for him at the time. No one really cared. What we know is that he left the country. We only took notice when he announced his return to Zimbabwe by exhuming bodies and leaving them outside the homes of certain people. He left one of them dangling outside the window of a businessman’s office in Bulawayo. Though the body was in a brown sack, it was clear to everyone on the street that it was a corpse. Dead bodies hold themselves in a manner that is familiar even to those who have never seen one.”
One of the men at the table pretended to scribble a note about something unrelated to death. Doll Eyes continued.
“We don’t know how the boy moved so many bodies undetected. He was never seen near the graves or the places where the corpses were left, but we knew he did it. Only his targets knew why he held such a powerful grudge against them. At first, none of them were willing to talk about it. Over the years, a number of them found the courage to speak out. Tragically, they lost the ability to speak before they could act on their brave impulses for confession. There were various reasons for this: Death. Insanity. Severed tongues. That sort of thing. Needless to say, their lives were quite eventful when the boy returned. Whatever his motives, one objective of the ‘body-planting’ project was clear: It was a declaration of intellectual supremacy.
“The boy with the forgettable face turned out to be a man of unforgettable brilliance. His presence has hovered over the country ever since. Even today, he has a habit of disappearing for a while before returning to unleash some diabolical mischief. It is always morbid. Always unusual. Some of the things will shock you. But beyond the enjoyment he gets from these displays of hostility, we have no idea what he wants. He is only relevant to us because he is likely responsible for creating the demonic flame lily. This makes him our enemy.”
Doll Eyes looked around at the sombre faces. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice.
“Gentlemen, when a child gets angry, it throws a tantrum. When your wife gets angry, she throws the dinner plates. When some of you get angry, you throw missiles. But the flame lily’s creator never gets angry. And yet he has thrown something of greater consequence than tantrums, plates, or missiles. Can you feel the pulse that’s running through your spines?”
Shivers of affirmation rippled through the gathering. Only one person remained unaffected: the kind-looking man with the soothing voice. He acknowledged Doll Eyes with a smile before turning to the rest of the group.
“Friends, it may be true that our enemy has great talents which he has directed against us. Nevertheless, I cannot feel anything pulsing through my spine. My blessed life has been a testament to a cherished truth: Intimidation only works on men who have been socialized by violence. I was socialized by love. Each time I’ve met people of violence, I have encouraged them to succumb to reason, or to face mortality. So far, no one has managed to turn the tables on m
e. If our current problem heralds a reversal in my fortunes, so be it. But whenever death finds me, I will be without fear. My brothers, don’t focus your worries on this flower or its creator. Instead, reflect on the actions that brought you here. If they were just, then don’t waste your time worrying. A man with nothing to repent has nothing to fear.”
The room was filled with squinted eyes. Everyone was trying to peer through the translucent glass of the man’s statement. Though his message was visible, its full significance remained ill-defined. Only the soothing tonic of his voice airbrushed some clarity into the ambience of the ensuing silence. Doll Eyes nodded respectfully at the man.
“You touch on a difficult subject, my friend. Many who feel they have nothing to repent may still have much to fear. Our enemy, his flame lilies, and the ngozis they liberate all work by their own rationales. I doubt they will value our views on justice.”
The kind-looking man smiled. Doll Eyes knew he had to move the conversation away from this person. The amiable guest indulged him by leaning back into his chair and looking as inconspicuous as possible. Dolls Eyes continued.
“It’s a strange coincidence that the person who unleashed the flower is linked to the man who is making the gallows which could save us. We don’t know what to do with that coincidence. Our team is investing a lot of time in answering that question. Our efforts have already wielded some results. We believe that our tormentor and The Carpenter are still in touch. In my opinion, we only discovered their continuing friendship because the former teen convict allowed us to do so. I am unsettled by a man who knows he is being monitored, but makes no effort to avoid surveillance. But we must not be distracted by someone else’s unproven motivations. If we allow others to set the agenda, we will always be on the defensive. Our only option is to continue with our plans as though this rogue element does not exist. With luck and exertion, we will empty death row.”
The Hangman's Replacement: Sprout of Disruption (BOOK 1) Page 18
