The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 95

she had been attacked, said he did know something bad had happened to her, and that was why he was kept apart from her. The crucial turn was when they asked him to recount his whereabouts the day of the wedding. They did not tell him where Lena had died. Robby wept at the thought of Lena dead, said, “I was at God’s house.” He would not say he had been at the quay. No one had seen him there. They did not call the old sealer, Petey, who Christmas Muir had told me had seen Lena go into the water. Robby could not recall how he had gotten down to the church—if that was what he meant by “God’s house”—or where he had gone afterward. When they asked him why he had fled the Frazer camp if he was innocent, he said he thought he would be blamed for the fire. They asked him if he had started the fire. Robby said, “Divil did it.”

Therefore, Robby Oldmizzen was found guilty of ravishing Lena Rose and of drowning Lena Rose. He was also found guilty of setting the fire at the Frazer camp, killing nine more. He was sentenced to death, by firing squad since he was still a Volunteer.

“Brilliant in their determinist way,” said Lazarus after Longfaeroe had come to us to report. He seemed admiring of the Hospidar. I faulted him for it then, still do.

“They have no shame,” I said. “I’m partial to Germanicus. The time is past for talk.”

“It’s the will of the Almighty. Let it be,” said Longfaeroe. Lazarus snorted, and sighed. Longfaeroe continued, “Heed the words of captive Zion, Grim. ‘The memory of my distress and my wanderings is wormwood and gall. Remember, oh remember, and stoop down to me. All this I take to heart and therefore I will wait patiently: the Lord Jehovah’s true love is not spent, nor has his compassion failed, they are new every morning, so great is his constancy.’ And hear me, Grim. ‘The Lord Jehovah may punish cruelly, yet he will have compassion in the fullness of his love; he does not willingly afflict or punish any mortal man.’ You, Grim, know what I say. This is the time of the afflicted and the patient. It’s your time.”

“You want me to do what?” I said, exasperated. I thought Longfaeroe’s words gorgeous and compelling. The Bible’s words (and also Beowulf’s) are the only art I have had in my life. They give me great comfort, yet they also bewilder me. That was my predicament standing there before Longfaeroe’s quotation from what I now know was the book of Lamentations—Zion in exile and woe. I was frustrated by the power of poetry to take me out of my self, to make me feel reconciled to history, even when it was outrage. I collected my grief, and then I challenged Longfaeroe with the specifics of crime devoid of metaphor. “No David, now, Reverend, we’re in the lion’s den. And Abigail is dead! Murdered with Adam and Gabe! Robby wasn’t at the church. Never! They have no proof! Do you really believe it’s God’s will that a lie should bury Abigail? Do you really believe—you! not God, not anyone else, you!—do you believe Robby killed Lena? And set the fire?”

“Abigail is gone to a sublime father,” said Longfaeroe, trying to be the cold man he was not; for his coldness was a masking of his fear to face the inexplicable accidents that had taken from him his wife, two daughters, two grandsons, and were about to take his dignity if he persisted to vouchsafe the slaughter of innocent Robby. I pity him now, did not then as he continued, “Abigail was a willful child, sinned to take up that rod. I believe the Almighty has a purpose for what wee Robby has done. You are the purpose, Grim Fiddle.”

“You do hear him, Grim? Sublime, he says,” said Lazarus.

“Grim stands with me,” said Germanicus.

“Fight the Hospidar,” said Motherwell.

“Kill Roses,” said Davey Gaunt.

Wild Drumrul and Otter Ransom nodded their agreement.

“You are pulling at me!” I exploded. I looked at them, looked at myself, said, “Grim Fiddle stands with Grim Fiddle!”

Robby Oldmizzen was brought down to our dungeon the next day. We were given our Volunteer uniforms, except for Lazarus. We expected the worst. We tried to comfort Robby at mealtimes, were dragged down by his alternate hysteria and torpor. Robby had lucid moments. He begged me to forgive him for Abigail. I did not want to hear it, hoped he would forget the subject. But then, at dinner the night before the scheduled execution, he tried to give me his food. He said, yes, he had killed Abigail, he had killed Lena. I told him to stop. Germanicus and Lazarus watched us, no pity in their eyes. I told Robby that he was innocent. He replied by asking why he had run from the fire if he was innocent. They had wrapped him in their lies, and it was the only comfort he had, so he pulled it close. Robby fell down before me, grabbing at my boots; I tried to get him up. Through his tears he said, “She tol’ Rob to get the bairns, Mister. She did. She say, poo’ Rob, get the bairns and tell Grim. I’s afeared, Mister. I couldn’t, Mister. The Divil was there. He scared Rob away. The flames was Hell. And that pitchfork proddin’ me, here, see, holes from that pitchfork.”

“What did she say to tell me?” I asked.

He said he could not remember. He said the “Divil” killed Abigail and the babies.

The execution was delayed three more days. I see now it was the Hospidar’s will that we be worn down by Robby’s plight. It did seem to work that way. The gloom that had descended on Germanicus also fell on me. It was not the darkness of the berserker, however, more a tightness in the chest, bad breathing. Abigail’s death became worse for