by Jesse Ball
— Oh, said Brennan. I’m sorry, I forgot.
His hands were shaking.
The Judge stood well behind his line. He nodded to his second. His second nodded to Carr.
— Ready? Carr asked Brennan.
Brennan’s face was curled up. He shook it a little, enough for a nod.
— Now.
The Judge advanced to his line.
Brennan stayed where he was.
The Judge raised the revolver and pointed it at Brennan. Brennan raised his pistol. He was still holding it with both hands. The gun shook uncontrollably.
— Come forward to the line, shouted the Judge’s second.
— He’s got to come forward, he said to Carr.
— Brennan, go to the line.
Brennan looked around uncertainly.
— To the line.
He started to walk forward, his pistol held out before him.
The Judge’s gun was in line with Brennan. He held it carefully and squeezed.
The sound came and was gone. It seemed to pass along over the ground, to catch at Brennan and throw him down, and then disperse.
Brennan was coughing and holding his chest. Blood was all on his mouth. He kept wiping it away, but the mouth stayed bloody. There was always more blood and more blood on the mouth.
— Leon, he said. Leon.
Carr knelt by him. The bullet had entered Brennan’s chest and pierced his lung. His mouth was full of blood.
Blood was on his face and neck, on his hands. He was still holding the pistol. Carr took it from him and put it on the ground.
— Frank, he said. Frank, you’re all right.
— I’m all right, said Brennan.
— Just hold it together. We’ll get you to a hospital.
— No one’s getting to a hospital, said the Judge’s second.
Carr stood up.
— He’s had a bullet through his chest. Isn’t that enough for you? I’m taking him to a hospital, and you won’t stop me.
— I certainly will, said the Judge’s second. He took the pistol up off the ground and held it very seriously in his hand.
A minute passed. Then another. Brennan’s coughing was quieter now.
Carr started towards the car.
— I’m going to get help. I don’t care what you say.
— It’s useless to talk about it, said the Judge, approaching. He’s dead already.
And indeed Brennan’s chest had stopped moving.
— This, for you, said the second, handing Carr an envelope.
James Harp, it read.
All around them the morning squatted unwelcoming with long trails of foiling distance.
The Judge and his second were standing together and speaking quietly.
What could they possibly be saying?
the fifth
— James, he said. JAMES, he said again, louder, banging on the door.
He could hear the sound of someone moving around inside.
— Harp, you bastard, open the door.
The door opened. Harp stood there in a dressing gown. He was a mess. His face was still swollen up.
— What do you want? he said.
— They’re both dead.
— You think I don’t know that?
Carr stood there. He couldn’t say anything. He tried to, but he couldn’t. He was just standing there, holding the envelope. He refused to look at it. He was not holding an envelope. He would not look at it.
He looked down at the envelope.
— What’s that? said Harp.
— What?
— What are you holding? Carr, what’s that in your hand?
Carr was standing there with the envelope after all. He handed it to Harp.
— It has my name on it. What, you were just standing there with an envelope with my name on it, and not saying anything? You got it from them, didn’t you? They send you along each day, their messenger. What is that? If you were my friend, you’d have thrown it away. Now I have to see it. Now I have to do something.
— Well, do something, said Carr.
Harp tore open the envelope. A girl came out from his room.
— What’s that? she said.
— Nothing, said Harp.
— Give me that, she said. Give it to me.
She tried to take the envelope from Harp. He twisted away. She tore it out of his hands and ran back into the room.
— Come back here!
Harp ran after. Carr followed.
There was a fireplace in the far corner. The girl was standing in front of it. The letter was gone.
— It doesn’t make a difference, Alice.
— What do you mean? she said.
Harp said nothing.
— What does he mean?
— I don’t know.
— You know, damn you. Tell me what he means.
— He means he knows what the letter said, even if he didn’t read it. There’s nothing to be done.
She shrieked and started pounding on Harp’s chest and face with her hands.
— No! You’re not going. You’re not going.
Harp looked over her at Carr. His features had composed themselves.
— Tomorrow morning? he said.
Carr nodded.
Out on the street there was a dandy parade in progress. Little boys were dressed up in bright blue soldier suits and carrying little guns and swords and such. Others were with trumpets and bugles, some with drums. It was quite a clatter! There were adults too, in adult versions of the ridiculous child uniforms, walking at the front. There was a banner too, but the banner was already gone up ahead and Carr could not read what it said.
The parade was going in the direction that Carr needed to go.
Should I join the parade? he wondered.
That’s always the decision one is pressed to make. Do I join the parade or not? In certain cases the decision is easy, in others not so.
Now there was a mule with a very small child on it dressed up also like a mule. Or rather like a monk in a hair suit.
A hair suit, thought Carr. I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.
Yes, these and other thoughts of guilt.
After the mule came four dancers bent up and twisted onto each other to look like an elephant. They were very successful in this. I imagine they were the best ones in the world at being in a parade and looking like an elephant.
Even if everyone were to try to do it, they would still be the best, that’s how good they were. I wouldn’t want you to think that just because no one ever bothers trying to look like an elephant with other people together in a parade that these people being the best didn’t mean much because certainly it did. They were very pleasant to look at, sort of dragging their way along the street. One had an arm to be the trunk, and it was painted gray like a trunk, and all the hair had been shaved from it. It moved back and forth the way an elephant trunk moves, always seeming like it was about to investigate some smell or shape. The people who made up this elephant were very determined. It must have hurt a great deal to go all the way through the town on the hard pavement.
And that was that about the elephant. Already it was gone.
Next came a group of little girls with pigeons on their shoulders. These were the kind that send messages. Apparently there was a society of girls that does this all the time. Although I have never seen them in action, I believe it to be true. Carr saw the society pass there, and immediately thought of a message he should like to send by pigeon. But, of course, the society was not accepting messages at that time.
When Carr finally got back to his house it was midafternoon. He sat on the floor and looked at the books piled up there.
In the evening, he told himself, I will go to a nice cafe and I will read straight through from beginning to end Gargantua in French. Then, someone will approach, a lovely girl most likely, and say, oh, do you like Rabelais, and I will say, well, sometimes, but just for light reading, and then I will take
out a copy of Locke and pretend that I am a much more serious and orderly person than I actually am. Won’t that go well for me.
In fact, at the cafe he read some Robert Louis Stevenson, who is not only for children, and this was very rousing, and he looked about himself with a bright strong gaze.
It did not seem possible to him that anything that was happening had actually happened or even could actually happen.
Is there to be a funeral, he wondered. Will their funerals be together? He said these things quietly to himself in such a way that they were not really questions. For he himself wondered if it was true as he felt that he was the fourth and that he would be the fourth. What, he wondered, would happen then?
Someone did approach him. It was a Prussian bandleader.
— Is there, said the man, some problem?
— No, said Leon Carr.
— Why have you been staring at me then?
— I’m sorry, said Carr. I have been thinking very hard about something.
— Ah, said the man. Well, I suppose it’s all right then. All the same, I would rather you stop doing it. Will you stop?
— I’ll try, said Carr. But it’s a bit difficult, you see. You’re sitting across from me. If I’m thinking, and looking in that direction, then you might feel I’m looking at you, even if I’m not.
The Prussian bandleader thought about this.
— This is why, he said, in Prussia, we don’t allow people to sit opposite one another. It makes for fewer offenses.
— One can’t believe a word you say, said Carr.
— There’s not much courtesy in you, is there? said the Prussian. Goodnight.
He doffed his hat to Carr and went back to his seat. From time to time Carr was mindful of staring at the man, and at those times he looked away.
Carr was thinking of how he had imagined for himself a house with a long porch set on a small elevation above a street in a seashore town. He had joined a daydreaming league in the days when those things were popular, and when they would all lie together daydreaming, he would dream of this house. The particulars of each room were clear in his head. He would have bookshelves lining the staircases in the house. There would be many staircases, at least one for every room. Bathrooms would be gotten to via staircases, rooms would never be on the same elevation. In fact, the house would be a bit of a conundrum for the architect and engineer. He had often imagined explaining his creation. What an argument that would be. He had imagined his reply. Spare no expense, my boys, spare no expense. I am prepared to pay handsomely. And then everyone would be smiling and understanding each other.
the sixth
It was freezing cold when he woke. He’d left the window open the night before. He limped across the floor, still draped in blankets, shut the window, and returned to bed. The sky outside was lightening.
I won’t go, he thought to himself. I can just stay here. Or, I can get all my things together and leave. I’ll go to another town. That wouldn’t be so bad. Nothing keeps me here, really. There’s no one for me here. I can go.
But Carr most of all felt the guilt of what they’d done, and Carr, of them all, was the last one who would ever run away.
I will run away, he thought.
He packed his things up hastily into a large suitcase. Then he stood looking down into it.
If I don’t go now, I’ll never be in time to meet Harp.
The door shut. The suitcase was still open on the floor, and Carr, coat in hand, ran down the stairs and out into the day.
He drew his hand back to knock, and the door opened. Harp was standing there, very neatly dressed. He looked quite determined. The girl Carr had seen the day before was there as well, to watch them go. She was not as wild as the day before.
— Goodbye, she said.
— Goodbye.
Harp shut the door.
— The car’s in the side alley, he said.
Out the back way and into the alley. There was the car. Out the alley into the street. Along the street to the bridge. Across the bridge to the roads beyond. All down all down to the track, where, through bare trees, one could see a stopped car and figures waiting.
— Whatever happens, don’t worry, said Harp. It’ll all work out.
— What do you mean?
— Don’t worry about what I mean. Don’t worry about anything. Just keep clear.
— All right, said Carr.
They got out. Again, the Judge was standing with his second. Again the cloth was spread on the hood with the revolvers.
They approached.
The track was a long arc laid out to the side between craggy fists of trees and rising of hills. There were stands in the distance, and stables beyond the stands. Above the stands the sky seemed farther than it ought to be. What was the distance of the sky? Did it change from place to place? People thought once that heaven was somewhere beyond the moon. Everything was divided up that way. Some things were beneath the moon, others above. It meant something to be able to go beyond the moon.
The Judge’s second was explaining about how Harp might use either of the revolvers. Harp was staring at the revolvers. He wasn’t saying anything, just staring.
— Harp. Harp. Hey, Harp, said Carr.
He felt that something was wrong.
— Harp!
Harp looked up suddenly. He was standing with his back to Carr. The Judge and his second were frozen.
— What’s the meaning of this?
— I’m not going to die, not today, said Harp.
— What are you doing? shouted Carr.
There was an automatic pistol in Harp’s hand.
— There’s nothing else to do, said Harp. This is how it is.
— Think of what we did, said Carr. We can’t fix that.
The Judge and his second were eyeing Harp warily. Harp seemed to waver for a second. He half lowered the pistol. Suddenly, the second dived at the car. He snatched one of the revolvers from the hood.
Harp turned his arm. He pointed his arm at the Judge’s second, and shot him in the back. The man sprawled out on the ground.
Harp turned the gun back to the Judge. The shooting had given him some strength. He spoke now with determination. The thing had started.
— You killed Lubeck, and you killed Brennan. Now it’s up. It’s up.
He pointed the pistol at the Judge’s head.
— No!
Carr dove at Harp. He didn’t think, he just did it. It wasn’t fair what they’d done to the Judge and his wife. It wasn’t honorable. They had a debt to make good. They had to give the Judge a chance to even things.
He struck Harp from the side. Harp fell beneath him, his pistol going off harmlessly. Harp was underneath him, breathing hard.
Carr struggled to his feet. Harp was cursing and getting up. Then a shot from behind him. Harp fell down again. The Judge was behind them. He put a bullet into Harp on the ground. Harp was writhing. The Judge put another bullet into him, and another.
— Stop it, shouted Carr.
He started for the Judge. But the Judge turned the pistol on him.
— Keep still.
Carr backed away.
— Stop it, he said.
The Judge knelt beside Harp.
Harp was crying.
Another bullet came then into Harp’s head and there was just a mess on the ground where Harp had been.
— Can you see it otherwise? the Judge asked.
He straightened his coat.
Carr looked over at the Judge’s second. The man was still alive, against the car, clutching at a hole in his chest.
The Judge put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Out of the trees on the far side of the track came two cars. They pulled up. Out of one came a man with a black bag, a doctor. He knelt by the Judge’s second and began to administer to him.
The Judge was quietly observing Carr.
— Why did you do that? he said.
— I don’t know, said Carr. It was the wrong th
ing. I should have let him shoot you.
