The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 37

Finally, relatives in the boat reached to be reunited with their dead. We waited hours in that damp, watching as dozens of bodies were processed through, the ordeal slowed now and again because of questions about a corpse’s identity. They were headless, after all, and likely so starved that there was no resemblance to the man arrested. The Evangelical Brigadesmen were rigorous. Rings and scars were checked carefully. Mass execution seemed to bring out the shopkeeper in the military, the patron in the bereaved. Guy distracted us by telling stories about Vietnam. Lazarus then told about a gruesome massacre he had witnessed in South America, where he had traveled either as a journalist or observer, or perhaps a student. Guy talked openly with Lazarus; Lazarus seemed sympathetic to Guy’s disgust for the American military. Earle asked Lazarus about some of the hand signals he used to communicate with Babe. Their month together seemed to have given the four of them respect for their separate agendas. I mention here—incidentally, because it proved to be less significant than one might think—that Lazarus was a Yale graduate, like Guy and Earle. Orlando the Black had attended the American Roman Catholic university called Notre Dame; he had considered a career as a professional athlete before turning from that to travel with Lazarus, Babe, and Cleopatra in South America.

The wait wore us down. Earle sat beside me, his hands white from gripping the oars. We passed food to a family nearby that had almost succumbed to the cold and their fear. Those poor people, terrified children, weeping and shivering for their fathers and husbands and brothers. We should have helped. We did nothing. Our moment arrived when the megaphone announced “Peregrine Ide!”

Guy handled the tiller. We pulled hard and smooth. We shot toward the floating raft. The searchlight found us. On the shore, I spotted an approaching convict party carrying a body bag on their shoulders. Right behind I saw Grandfather’s white hair. He towered over the figures of Charity Betham and Cleopatra Furore walking behind him.

I bent to my oar. We bumped to a halt at the raft. The officer on duty, a short man whose hands were stained with blood from the inspections, challenged us, “Who are you here for?”

“Peregrine Ide,” said Guy.

I heard clamoring behind me. I heard Grandfather end a psalm with a flourish: “Hosannah!” I heard the leg chains of the convicts. I turned enough to see the officer stoop to open the body bag.

“No need!” boomed Grandfather.

“Get away!” cried Charity Bentham. She seemed hysterical. Even though he knew it was a ruse—to divert the guards—Babe flinched at the sight of his mother’s twisted face.

“Yes, Lieutenant, do not waste your time,” said Grandfather. “No Christian burial for this fiend.”

“We have a right to him,” said Guy.

“Get rid of them!” said Grandfather.

“I cannot do that, sir,” said the lieutenant. “My orders say that I must turn over the body to those who claim it.”

“I signed those orders!”

“I understand, Reverend, sir, but,” tried the lieutenant.

“He’s dead, that’s enough,” shouted Guy.

“You want him? You want this thing?” shouted Charity Bentham at us in Black Crane, moving to the bag. “He murdered my husband! He tore out my heart! Tell me how giving him to you will give me back my husband? Tell me how anything matters? He died only once, and I have to live with nothing! Do you hear? I want nothing for him! Nothing!” She kicked the body bag as she screamed. Cleopatra tried to pull her mother back. Babe shook with effort to hold himself in check. Earle took Babe by the shoulders to comfort him.

“They want something?” continued Charity Bentham. She moved her arms under her cloak. “Here! Take it, here!” With that, she slammed a dark object so hard on the raft that it bounced into Black Crane. The sound was hideous. Lazarus leaned forward, took the gory thing with both hands, and tossed it into the water.

“Mother! Mother!” cried Cleopatra. I turned full around to see Cleopatra lift her Mother clear of the body bag. How much of Charity’s performance was masquerade? Peregrine had indeed murdered Cesare. I was never sure. Cleopatra had surprised me again: she was as strong as she was strong-willed, and as strongvoiced, commanding, “I don’t care what you do! Stop tormenting my mother! Have you men no decency?”

“Please, understand,” started the lieutenant.

“Do those orders say he is to have a Christian burial?” said Grandfather. “Surely you see this woman has a right to revenge herself. I did not condemn this man to have him shown respect!”

The lieutenant looked to his sergeant. The blood, the mourners, the night—they did not have enough of a will left for this. The lieutenant suggested he send for his captain. Grandfather started to lecture him on the vengeance of Lord God. The lieutenant interrupted Grandfather in order to ask for a solution.

“Give me one of your men, and this vermin here”—Grandfather indicated two convicts—“and we’ll feed him to the fish. He needs worse.”

“I cannot do such a thing,” said the lieutenant.

At that Cleopatra struck the lieutenant in the back, then thrust against him with her shoulder, sending him over the side and into Black Crane. He landed hard and rolled toward Earle, but was only stunned, and tried to sit up. Earle reacted with a motion so swift and tight than none of the Brigadesmen saw. Earle struck to kill.

Grandfather immediately began his thunder: “Get that man out of there! Stand back! Sergeant, you will provide us a trooper, that one there, him, get in, you will help me! Get that body aboard! I shall take charge here! Trooper, get in! Ladies, now you! Give way!”

Grandfather stepped into the stern of Black Crane, seizing the tiller from Guy. Earle, Lazarus, and I fixed our arms on the raft to steady the boat as we balanced the new passengers. Grand father bellowed, all rage and righteousness. What a magnificient bluffer; despite everything I had heard of him and