Sarah Canary by Karen Joy Fowler Read Free Book Online Page A

the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil,’ said Mrs Taylor.
     
    ‘You come last, Mr Chin. Stay to the back.’
     
    Tom rose and turned to look at Chin. Chin could not meet his eyes, bowed his head and watched Tom’s boots. They moved out of the cell in small, slow steps. Everyone was mindful now of the immensity of the undertaking before them. The law was about to kill a man. A man could be killed by another man in anger, for fun; the occasion could be a small one. But this required ritual and attention to detail. This required a procession. They moved slowly and with care, each one trying to mesh with the others, to be a proper part of the larger whole. Chin was the last out the cell door, which rang again with ceremonial finality, then the jail door, and into the streets of Steilacoom. They did not walk far. Ahead of them was a large tree with a rope, already knotted and looped. There were people all around; the Indians stood together, thirty black heads, thirty unsmiling faces to the left of the tree. Through the empty frame of the noose, Chin could see Mount Rainier.
     
    Tom stopped beneath the rope. ‘Now, boys, it’s all understood that we have nothing to do with this,’ Hank Webber said loudly. ‘The Chinaman is doing it all.’
     
    The sun swam upward in the East, a great red concentration. ‘Look there,’ said Tom to Chin. He pointed into the open fields. ‘That’s Scotch brush. The Sisters of Charity brought it here. They missed Scotland so much. Now look at the way it’s spread. It’ll own this land in another ten years.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘But it’s beautiful when it blooms. You should be here in the spring just to see it.’ Sunlight filtered through the tree branches. Tom stuck one hand into a patch of sun and turned it slowly. He spread his fingers until all the shadows were gone. ‘You’ve been a lot of places, Chinaman,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a lot farther than I have. Is there anywhere more beautiful?’
     
    Chin looked at the peak of Mount Rainier. The distant ice glittered and beckoned. If you let go for an instant, your soul would fly to it. If you could walk inside that combination of light and ice, its beauty would blind you. Powerfully beautiful. Dangerously beautiful:
     
    ‘You lived in paradise,’ he told Tom.
     
    It was important that a man live somewhere. People were not meant to blow over the grass as Chin did, footless and rootless, like ghosts. It was important that a man die at home. Nothing was more important than this.
     
    ‘Hang him,’ Jeb told Chin. ‘Do it now.’
     
    ‘Embrace God,’ said Mrs Taylor. ‘Do it now.’
     
    Chin lifted the heavy rope with two hands. It slid without catching over Tom’s head, settled on his shoulders. ‘Maybe I’m going to show you what I promised you,’ Chin said to Tom. ‘Something never before seen in this world. Maybe you’ll see it soon.’
     
    Tom said nothing, looked neither up nor down, not left or right. His eyes were open and empty, as if he had already gone on, gone ahead without Chin’s help, was past seeing. His body was cooperative in a distracted, sleepy way. Chin pushed the knot into the hollow spot on Tom’s neck where it seemed to fit. He helped Tom mount a chair, which rocked slightly on the natural unevenness of the dirt around the roots of the tree. Hank Webber pulled the slack from the rope and anchored it. He gestured that he was ready.
     
    Chin removed the chair. He killed Tom as invisibly as he could, there with everyone watching. The law killed Tom, the natural law of gravity. Chin thought of the Chinese miners falling and then of the birds, which did not. He was sorry that Tom’s body did not go as gracefully into death as his spirit, but kicked and flailed and smelled, his feet seeking the ground again and again, until it finally stopped.
     
    ‘You’re a free man,’ Hank Webber told Chin. ‘My word is good on this. But let me give you a little advice. Go