The Last Four Things by Paul Hoffman Read Free Book Online Page B

hundred Bosco had asked for to check against his records and to guard against infiltrators. The new list confirmed there were, in fact, only two hundred and ninety-nine. The missing Redeemer would have to be accounted for in case he’d had second thoughts or been arrested. It turned out some time later that he had died of smallpox on his way to join the others. The jailer was nervous because he was new to dealing with the fearsome Bosco. His boss, the Chief Jailer, had been imprisoned himself only the day before on charges of Impious Malateste, an offence serious enough to have him arrested but not to inform Bosco about. The Chief Jailer had chosen his deputy now in charge precisely because his limited intelligence would lessen any threat to his own position. The deputy returned an hour after Bosco had read the list of names. Bosco did
not look up when he entered, merely pushed the list in his direction. He nervously picked it up without looking and got out of Bosco’s intimidating presence as quickly as possible.
    Outside, the jailer’s heart was beating like a girl’s who had just had her first kiss. He tried to calm himself and taking the list to a taper burning weakly on the wall examined it carefully. When he finished his eyes were bulging with fear and uncertainty. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. He was too afraid to ask for clarification from Bosco and too proud to consult his predecessor. He was right to thinkthat he would have looked foolish and inept in the eyes of both. His promotion, after all, was yet to be confirmed. ‘Whatever you are,’ he had once overheard, ‘be decisive.’ This not very good advice, misunderstood in any case, had been lurking at the back of Redeemer Jailer Bergeron’s mind for many years awaiting the opportunity to betray him. At last its opportunity had come. How many of us are any different? How many of our worst or finest hours are rooted in some minor piece
of nonsense that was stuck in our souls like a weed into a rocky cliff and flourished there against the odds? It forces its roots into a crack, the crack is widened, a sudden storm, the water invades the crack, the water freezes in the winter night and opens up the split. A stranger passes, his horse stumbles on the loosened rock and horse and rider are ejected into the dreadful chasm of the scarp. So Bergeron hurried to the cell of Petar Brzica and knocked with absolute conviction on his door.
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜The people on this list in the north wing are to be executed.’
    Brzica was not especially surprised given that so many prisoners from the north wing of the House had been put to death recently. He examined the list, calculating roughly what sort of task it was. ‘I thought,’ he said, more to make conversation than anything, ‘the executions were finished for now.’
    â€˜Obviously not,’ came the bad-tempered reply. ‘Perhaps you’d like to go and see the Lord Redeemer Bosco and ask him yourself what he thinks he’s up to.’
    â€˜Not my job,’ replied Brzica. ‘Ours is not to reason why. When?’
    â€˜Now.’
    â€˜Now?’
    â€˜I’ve just come from Redeemer Bosco’s presence.’
    This was compelling.
    â€˜What’s the rush?’
    â€˜That’s nothing to concern you. All you need to worry about is how quickly you can start and finish.’
    â€˜How many exactly?’
    â€˜Two hundred and ninety-nine.’
    Brzica considered, his lips moving in silent calculation.
    â€˜I can start in two hours.’
    â€˜How soon can you start if you get your finger out?’
    Again Brzica considered.
    â€˜Two hours.’
    Bergeron sighed.
    â€˜Then how long?’
    â€˜Once the rotunda gets going we can do one every two minutes. With breaks – eleven hours.’
    â€˜And without breaks?’
    â€˜Eleven hours.’
    â€˜Very well,’ said Bergeron, in a tone that