Other Worlds Were Possible, page 31
Sunny felt the eyes of his peers turn towards him, supposed this was nothing more than paranoia, and opened his mouth to speak.
But his mother was already responding:
“Ancestors, oh ancestors: The buffalo-people would never agree to such a deal! Not in a million seasons… And even if they did, a single goat couldn’t possibly satisfy their hunger. Have you even seen a buffalo-person? Have you seen the size of their stomachs? The blood in their eyes?... No way, fountain spray! Once they’ve started, there’d be no stopping them. They’d come back for another goat, and then another, until all the goats were gone.”
Perhaps her peers agreed. Perhaps they did not. Sunny was not concerned with their opinions. He had recovered his ability to speak, and he was determined to be heard.
“It’s a flawed plan,” he asserted, a tad more bombastically than he had intended. “But if it’s the best plan we’ve got, then it’s worth a try. I’ll offer myself to the Wogies, just as soon as they return. I’m the reason we’re here. I should be the sacrificial goat.”
Nobody disagreed.
***
The door swung open, and then it closed; admitting a torrent of light, which blinded the clans-folk, before engulfing the jail in darkness.
Silver sparkles flitted across their eyes.
“Family-o! Uncles and aunts: Welcome to your humble abode.”
A pitter-patter of footsteps tickled the ground, accompanied by a succession of xylophonic rings; the sound of a finger being flicked along the bars.
“Chick-i-lik?... Is that you?... Hunter?...”
Their mother’s voice was a melee of contradictions. She sounded sure and unsure, hopeful and anxious. Her words frothed with love, fear, uncertainty, longing and foreboding:
“We never did get to talk, the first time you returned, and I’m not entirely sure why. I’ve been biting these teeth ever since, damning the malevolent force that kept us apart.”
The bars stopped ringing.
“Ah! Mother-o! So, you’ve finally found your tongue?”
Hunter tapped his foot:
Tap-tap, tap-tap.
“You didn’t speak up, back when I was banished.”
“Oh, lovely: We were also invited to experience a period in exile. But we were welcomed back with open shoulders. You’d have been welcomed too, if you’d returned with your eyes bowed, and begged for the clan’s forgiveness.
“Do you know why you were banished?... It wasn’t one of these Woggy punishments, born of maleficence and spite. It was a protection; a lesson in humility, which came from a place of love.
“Don’t you think I prayed for your return? I beseeched the ancestors with every spirit in every joint. I performed five ghost dances a day, every day, solstice after solstice. I dreamt of the moment when you’d appear, with that soft skin, which I used to tickle, and with those eyes, which followed me around and around.
“A mother’s love is eternal. Beat her, insult her, sell her into slavery. It doesn’t matter. She’ll keep on loving her baby… Chick-i-lick: I never stopped loving you.”
The silence which followed was just long enough to be theatrical, and just short enough to reveal Hunter’s impatience.
“Love? Soppy, soppy love? Love is a weakling’s disease. I don’t burden myself with ‘Love’. You can save your love for your favourite child: Sunny dearest. The son you didn’t abandon. I’ve got clothes, a house and a horse. Why would I need your love?”
Their mother’s reply was muted. She had already chosen her words, even before Hunter had begun to speak. They seemed superfluous now. But they were emerging from her mouth, uninvited, as though they had taken on a life of their own:
“It’s not too late to return to the clan. It’s not too late to unburden yourself of your sins; to apologise and show some remorse.”
Hunter did not respond to his mother. He projected his words in the opposite direction, adopting a grandiloquent voice:
“Now…”
Sunny interjected:
“Hunter!”
He clenched his lips, ingested his volume, and proceeded in a bureaucratic tone:
“You want blood. You want revenge...”
Sunny pinched his throat, to symbolise a desire for vengeance.
“And we don’t judge you for these things. The rains will always fall. We only ask that you take me. Murder me. Do whatever you want with me. But let the others go. Whatever the spectacle you crave, whatever sacrifice you feel compelled to make to Mother Nature… To Chief God… You can satisfy it with just a single person. I tell you: There’s no need to hurt anyone else.”
Sunny could hear the sound of something tapping against bone. Perhaps Hunter was chattering his teeth. Or perhaps he was flicking his forehead.
“Ah! It’s very kind of you to offer. Yes, we might kill you after all. Wow! What a splendid idea. Perhaps I’ll fire a shot at you, and you can see how it feels… But I don’t think you’re in much of a position to bargain. Why, we might kill you all. Factually! We could turn it into a feast day. A celebration of the end of the savage.”
That tapping resumed afresh.
“No, I’d like to think I’ve done my part… What, you didn’t think I’d noticed?... Bother-o, oh brother! Come, come. Don’t take me for a fool. I saw that your numbers were depleted. Half your members had fled, and I didn’t utter a word… Yes, I’m a jolly good chap, all things considered. Just think of the lives I saved!”
There was no tapping this time. Sunny supposed that Hunter was probably nodding. Perhaps he was thumping the air, or performing some other gesture.
“But you, brother-o. Purloiner of our mother’s heart. Usurper of hut and home. You? What have you ever done for us? Have you saved half this town? Why, no! You’ve stolen from this town. You’ve tortured an innocent citizen. You’ve shot at a brave, heroic soldier… No. We aren’t anything alike, you and I. You still live in the darkness. I’ve walked into the light.
“Now come, Brother Sunny. You have a date with justice.”
***
Sunny was standing with his back to his peers, facing a man who was wearing a cloud on his head. No, that was not it. Sunny could not tell what it was. It consisted of several rows of curls, which were probably made from an animal’s fur. That thing covered his hair, and hung down beside his cheeks. It looked so ridiculous, Sunny had to repress his laughter each time that person spoke. He had such a grave gravelly tone, and such a grey earnest face. This baffling piece of headwear juxtaposed with the rest of his persona.
Perhaps these brief flashes of hilarity served a greater purpose…
There could be no escaping from the seriousness of Sunny’s predicament. It had not sunk in before, when he had spoken of sacrificing his life, as though it were an abstract idea; something that might happen to another person, at another time; but not to himself, and not at that very moment. Sunny had been numbed to the reality of their situation. It was a coping mechanism, he supposed. But the anaesthetic had worn off, as they made their way to this courthouse; forming a procession; marching past the gathered townsfolk, those wooden and whitewashed walls, that churned up mud, those stores and those saloons. The fresh air had reinvigorated his senses, freeing his mind for a fraction of an instant, before landing a blow to his bowels. He had seen his mother’s eyes, which were bloodshot and teary. And he had realised that he was to blame. He had led her into this trap, and he had offered up his life. No mother deserved to witness her child’s death. That was torture. He was torturing his mother. His shame consumed him; pressing down on his shoulders, with ever-increasing force; making each step a little harder than the one which had come before. He felt that he was shrinking; that the world was impossibly heavy, and his body was hopelessly soft.
But then he saw this serious man, with that silly headdress, and he allowed himself to giggle. It was churlish. It would do him no good. But it was a ray of sunshine on a greyish day. He deserved the light relief.
***
It seemed that Sunny was the only person who would be standing trial. Hunter had accepted their request. Sunny might be murdered, but his kinfolk would be spared. Yes, that had to be it. Hunter did have a good side after all. He might cloak it in condescension. He might disguise it with indifference. But he still cared for his kith and kin.
Or maybe Sunny was wrong. Maybe the Wogies were going to perform a punishment on them all. He was just the first in line.
They were gathered inside the cross-shaped building, on the pews which had just been installed. Sunny’s clans-folk were sitting on the front two rows, bound and chained. Their captors were sitting on the opposite side of a central aisle. Chief Judge was standing on a platform, high above them all. And a few hundred onlookers were crammed in behind; squeezing onto the other benches, sitting atop the unfinished walls, and spilling out into the town square.
The noise was cacophonic. Everyone was speaking at once; in love with the sound of their voices, and determined to make them heard.
The smell was spicy and rank.
Here was a “Family” unit; a mother, “Father”, daughter and son. They looked like natives. But the women were wearing pink body-cloths, and frilly head-cloths with giant rims. The men were wearing a mashup of black and white.
Here was another “Father”, with two of his sons. They looked like Wogies. But they were dressed in an almost identical fashion. Only their cloths were a much better fit, as though they had been made to measure.
Most of the natives were positioned behind the members of the Eagle Clan, whilst most of the Wogies were behind the captors. Sunny could not tell if this segregation had been enforced. But it did not seem to affect the way those spectators were behaving. Sunny was shocked to note that the natives were even more vicious than the Wogies. Their stares were more piercing. Their tuts were more pronounced.
These people belonged to this land! They were just like them! They should have been on their side!
Perhaps it was a figment of Sunny’s imagination. Perhaps they had to act like that, to avoid a punishment. Songbird was also tutting in an aggressive fashion. But at least she gave him a wink, once she had checked that no-one was watching.
“Do you consider this a laughing matter?”
Sunny must have failed to suppress a giggle. For Chief Judge’s reaction had been instantaneous. He had straightened his back, turned a dark shade of crimson, and blurted out this question; which Father Ralph had translated.
Sunny refused to answer. He did think the judge’s headpiece was a laughing matter. But he supposed it would rile that dangerous man, if he were to say such a thing out loud.
“How do you plead?”
“‘Plead’?”
“Guilty or not guilty?”
“What are these things?”
“Do you admit that a wrong has been done?”
“Oh yes. Many wrongs.”
“So, you plead guilty?”
“If you say so.”
“You admit to theft, jailbreak, two counts of attempted murder, and one count of gross bodily harm?”
“Absolutely not!… I believe… I believe you’re utterly confused. You must be talking about the times I shared our food, escaped to freedom, committed two acts of self-defence, and participated in a protection… These weren’t ‘Wrongs’. Mother Nature, no! These were duties… I tell you this: The wrongs were performed by the brothers to the left. These heartless goons, who ambushed us, kidnapped us, and buried us beneath the ground. They were done by the brothers who took our land and food; who refused to share the things they’d borrowed… Murdering our ancestral forest was a wrong. Depleting our watering hole was a wrong. Your greed, hoarding and violence are all wrongs. Your punishments are vile and wrong. Your enslaving of innocents is wrong. Your disease-laden blankets are wrong. Your imposition of money, work, schools, time, tax, ownership, monogamy, patriarchy, jails, Chief King and Chief God is the greatest of all possible ‘Wrongs’. Indubitably! This is what I ‘Plead’ and what I ‘Guilty’.”
Father Ralph glanced at Chief Judge. He shrugged. But he refused to translate this tirade.
“It’s for your own good,” he reasoned. “His honour would react badly, if he knew you were speaking ill of his people.”
Sunny could not tell what ”Good” this might achieve. If Chief Judge could not understand how their clan had been wronged, he would struggle to empathise with their plight.
“So, you’re pleading guilty?”
“If you say so. I’m unfamiliar with this word.”
“Guilty?”
“These men have done wrong. You Wogies have done many wrongs. You’ve done more evil than anyone we’ve ever encountered… We just want to live the lives we’ve always lived.”
“Guilty?”
“I’m telling you this: If you must, then take me. Do whatever you want with my body. But let the others go.”
Sunny silenced himself a little too abruptly, such that a hum continued to buzz atop his lips, even though he was clenching them together.
It was not the first time he had made such a remark. But his words felt different now. They were lumpier. They tasted of uncooked fat and charcoal. This time, his words felt real. He was telling another person to make him suffer; to end his life, when he had so much living to do.
He succumbed to a dizzy kind of ambiguity. He was pulled one way by his duty to his kinfolk; by the knowledge that he was doing the noble thing, attempting to save their lives. And he was pulled the other way by his duty to life; knowing that he could make the ultimate sacrifice, and it might not make a difference. The dizziness washed through him. His feet became rickety, his legs wobbled, and his vision became a blur.
“Take me,” he repeated. “Sacrifice me. In the name of all that is natural and pure: Let the others go!”
“Let them go? They cooked a man’s hand! One doesn’t simply cook another person’s hand, and then just ‘Go’.”
Chief Judge looked to Sunny, his kinfolk, the kidnappers, and Father Ralph.
“Any further comments? Any other wild requests?”
There were no further comments.
“Jolly good.”
Chief Judge cleared his throat and launched his closing remarks.
Father Ralph translated:
“In the case of Sunny Eagle versus the State: The facts of this case, in all their painful details, are essentially undisputed. They’ve been rehashed most carefully by Mister Jones Q.C., leading counsel for the Crown.”
Chief Judge tipped his forehead towards one of the kidnappers.
Sunny had not noticed that man before. He was rather nondescript; with a greyish face, which muted his features, and a shrunken manner, which blended him into the background. Perhaps this man had “Rehashed” the “Painful details” of the case. But he had not done so in Sunny’s presence. He might have addressed the court before Sunny arrived. Or he might have spoken to Chief Judge in private. It seemed unlikely that Sunny would ever know.
“Will the defendant please stand?”
Sunny was already standing.
“Sunny Eagle: You wilfully damaged private property, showing no concern for its owners. You stole food which didn’t belong to you. You hoodwinked yourself away, whilst under the state’s protection. You shot at not one, but two members of His Majesty’s Royal Guards. You were party to the torture of one of these guards… You don’t deny your crimes. Credit should be given for your plea... But you’ve shown no sympathy towards the people you’ve hurt, no remorse for your indiscretions, and no understanding of their wider consequences. It’s not only a matter of the suffering you’ve caused to your victims. It’s the terror you’ve sown in your wake. It’s the average man on the street; unsure where to look, or where to turn; who must live in constant terror, fearful of other extremist groups, and other terrorist attacks.”
Father Ralph gave Sunny the sternest look he could muster, clenching his brows and puckering his lips:
“The consequences are stark…
“On the count of attempted murder: You’ve been found guilty, and shall be put to death. On the count of terrorism: You’ve been found guilty, and shall be put to death. On the count of treason: You’ve been found guilty, and shall be put to death. And on the charge of torture: You’ve been found guilty. You shall be made to endure the same ordeal that you inflicted on the plaintiff.
“I’ve taken into account your other offences: Theft, vandalism and jailbreak. And I’ve reached a decision not to impose an additional penalty. Let this be a lesson to you and your people: We’re unflinching in the pursuit of justice. But we’re fair, and we’re forgiving. We have a compassionate side, which you’d do well to emulate.
“You have no right to appeal.”
Chief Judge attempted to bang the device he had been waving as he spoke; a wooden contraption, with a lithe handle and tubular head. But he only managed to swing it through the air. He turned, somewhat ruffled, and stepped on his long black cloth; almost tripping, and almost coming undressed. He grabbed hold of a pillar, to regain his balance, before banging the device on that pole; producing a vulgar clang.
“Take the defendant down!”
***
Sunny had been marched to a platform in the town square.
Almost everyone had followed, filling the space in front of that stage. A gaggle of chiefs were standing on either side of the platform. Hunter was positioned behind Sunny’s back. And the spy was sitting on a chair.
Sunny felt a twang of sympathy for that man. The bandages around his shoulders were bound so tight, they had squeezed him out of shape. His hand was also bandaged. And his eyes were a confusion; sharpened by disdain, sparkling with bloodlust, but dulled by the darkness of depression.
Sunny felt a twang of sympathy, but he did not feel any remorse. That man had also shot at him. He was the enemy; a marauding, pillaging, ransacking fiend; someone with no respect for nature or tradition. If anyone deserved to die, it was the spy, and not Sunny.
Sunny panned across the audience; gazing down upon the Wogies who were jostling for position at the front, and the natives who were crammed into a pen on one side. Behind them, the mob was moseying about; chewing luminous cobs, picking their teeth, spitting out the chaff, and throwing the remains asunder. Beer Men were running between the crowd and their premises, taking orders and delivering drinks; turning a tidy profit. Children were polishing shoes, hawking nuts, and picking pockets. One man was selling rattles. Another was selling horns. God Men were selling benedictions. Beggars were pleading with blackened palms.
