The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 94

Black and Dolly Frazer, not a word from Jane. Germanicus would not talk with Longfaeroe, a shunning that was the single sign he showed of his fury. Germanicus told me that his father would want us to keep calm, to gather our strength for our time. Germanicus seemed the same as before to me—hard, fatalistic, resourceful, the qualities that had first attracted me at 2 de Diciembre. There was nothing different. What was new was that he was focused, on revenge. I could not, would not, speak against it. Lazarus would not counsel against violent retribution; he did make it clear that he thought the Hospidar would have to put us on trial, and that we should not act beforehand.

If I am vague about the course of events immediately after Lena’s suicide, it is because I was never told the complete story, and also because I do not want to try to remember too acutely, afraid of what I have forgotten. I remember this: I did not forgive them their trespasses, and they did not forgive mine. I know I should now, so long after, all of them broken and gone; I cannot. No, that is wrong.

I see now that the reason I could not forgive them was that I could not forgive myself. There was shame and disgrace for everyone. I am not sure now what could have been done to stop the feud, as I have not been sure what could have been done to save Peregrine’s feud. I have endeavored to explain the depths of the fears, why those poor people on South Georgia could have fallen to such a wicked, wicked extreme. I have no heart to repeat the excuses for them. I know that one must be taught to hate. They were taught by expert brutes operating under every flag on the Atlantic, especially the Union Jack. And those bold gangsters who broke into the Frazer home, who were also pathetic children, were taught by their parents and elders to hate what they could not understand, such as the beasties in the camp, such as Robby Oldmizzen’s damaged mind in his twisted body. Fear, hatred, revenge, deceit, whatever the resentments built up among the families on South Georgia, there can be and should be no final excuse for what we did to each other without mercy. Lena Rose was dead of shame. Elephant Frazer was dead of revenge. Ian Brackenbury was dead of hatred. Abigail was dead of deceiving herself she could stand up to the darkness. Christian Rose lingered a week, tormented by his castration, and then took his own life one night with a knife provided by his brother, Saul Rose, with his two sons looking on, agreeing. Dolly Frazer descended into a mourning that was a tomb. Gaunttown staggered with dread. Davey Gaunt, Jane’s younger brother, who worshiped Germanicus and Lazarus at the same time, challenged Horace Oates, a Rose cousin, to a knife fight over a point of honor, cut him badly, was jailed with us for attempted murder.

“Them’ll give us no trial,” said Davey as we circled the fort’s yard for our daily exercise. He provided reports from Gaunt-town’s factions that worried both Germanicus and Lazarus. “Them can’t let us free. We be less’n beasties now.”

“You and me and Motherwell be Volunteers, they owe us a hearing,” said Germanicus.

“Them Volunteers stand with the Hospidar,” said Motherwell.

“You might be right,” said Lazarus. “If Christian Rose had lived, he and Trip Gaunt might have been able to stand up to the Hospidar. Now all three of the major families involved are splintered. If we had law! But there isn’t law now other than the Hospidar. Even Brackenbury, for what good he could have done, is reduced for his son’s crime. I thought I could talk us out of this. I don’t see how I can get you people to stop this eye-for-an-eye nonsense you prefer; like, well, not even beasts fight like this.” “There’s truth,” I tried. It sounded a tinny plea, affected. “I’m the president of the Assembly.”

“There was an Assembly, and you were its president, as long as Elephant Frazer said so,” said Lazarus.

“There be justice,” said Germanicus. “What’s right. What’s our’n to take for what’s taken. What I say, when I say it.”

“When will you understand?” said Lazarus. “Without law on paper, truth is what they say, justice is what they do! My constitution is the only thing that could have saved the Frazers, that could have saved us and this island.”

“Isn’t it the will of the people that we’re here?” I asked.

“No, Grim,” said Lazarus. “Sheep follow fools, and wolves in masquerade, and sometimes even wolves. We have a small chance. The Hospidar might not be able to untangle this mess. He can’t just seal us up, and he can’t shoot us without a trial. He might slip and give us a chance to speak in our own defense.”

“We’ll have our time,” said Germanicus, “and not for talk.” There was a trial. It was for Robby Oldmizzen. The Hospidar outwitted all of us, even Lazarus, who had seen the end but not the means. The people, Lazarus’s mystical insurance, were not invited. The panel of judges, jurors, and prosecutors were one and the same, the Hospidar careful to sit by without voice. Robby was made to stand throughout, in his Volunteer uniform, an honor that was cruelty because he had never been able to balance well with his crippled side, and because he had not healed from either the gunshot wound he had received at the Frazer camp or the beating he had received when they hunted him down in the high heath after the fire. Longfaeroe acted as Robby’s defense counsel, and it was from him we learned the details. Longfaeroe urged Robby to tell the truth, to obey his commanding officers, and to trust in the Almighty. Robby admitted to nothing about the original attack on Lena, the knifing and ravishment. He could not recall that