Ascension Day

‘I’m sorry… sorry,’ Jac mouthed softly towards the night sky, letting the raindrops hit his face for a second. Wash away the guilt. ‘I did everything I could.’

Jac found a phone booth in the next street, but his body was still shaking as he approached it, the images still thudding through his mind — Larry Durrant’s pleading face now among them: Promise me, Counselor… you won’t just forget about me and leave me here to rot… because there’s somebody I’ve been apart from already far too long… If I could just see his face, see that it wasn’t me — I could turn and shout that out to her in the courtroom: It wasn’t me, ma… it wasn’t me… This is a dying man’s drink, isn’t it?You don’t see much hope left… Jac imagining that his last steps towards the phone booth were Larry Durrant’s as he approached the execution chamber, and now there was nothing left to stop that.

Jac’s hand shook wildly as he fed in the coins to call John Langfranc. But as the last dime slid in, Jac was struck with another thought.

32

Rodriguez thought he was doing fine. Until the woman on the left of the two men that made up the Board of Pardons panel started to speak.

Mid-forties, severe, hair in a small beehive, black-rimmed almond-shaped glasses which she perched on the front of her hairdo or end of her nose, peering unwaveringly at Rodriguez and Larry Durrant.

The questioning from the two men, one bearded in his mid-fifties, the other a clean-cut late thirties, had been mostly perfunctory, filling in the details: When did you become more strictly religious, Mr Durrant? Five years into your term… any particular reason for the timing? Soon after your mother dying. Did you feel that might have been a factor, then? A catalyst for something that was already there, you say… is that how you’d like it termed in our report? Okay. And your correspondence degree in literature? How long did that take? Three years. That’s a long haul and a lot of application. Very commendable.

Larry answered most of the questions directly at first, but at that point Rodriguez took over more, as it became obvious that Larry was uncomfortable expanding too much about his personal achievements; private and guarded to a fault, even when his life depended on it.

Rodriguez had been nervous about speaking on behalf of Larry at first, especially with what was at stake: Larry’s very life riding on how he handled things. But with Jac obviously not able to be there, what other choice was there? And faced with that Hobson’s choice, he’d egged himself on: ‘You can do it… can do it! Pacing up and down anxiously in his cell repeating set pieces and lines, and the same too in the waiting room for the six minutes that felt like a lifetime before they were called in; except then there was just pacing, the words seemed to have suddenly evaporated from his brain.

The amenable attitudes of the two men eased his nerves a fraction, the words starting to come back again, but Mrs Beehive worried him; that cool, unflinching stare each time he caught her eye. The only saving grace was that she hadn’t spoken yet, and so Rodriguez was able to focus more on the two men.

Rodriguez waxed lyrical about Durrant’s literary expertise and character in general and, as he’d done before with Jac, he’d brought with him a few books and prison magazines to illustrate Larry’s writing and editing skills. A couple of approving nods from the BOP panel, but as Rodriguez used much the same line he had with Jac then, ‘As you can see, he’s a long way from the Larry Durrant he was when he first came to Libreville eleven years ago,’ he couldn’t help thinking about the absent lawyer.

Bateson had hauled himself and Larry into the TV room straight after breakfast, and he should have guessed from the gathering there, mostly his and Larry’s clique along with Shavell and a handful of his die-hards — few prisoners without strong allegiances either way — that it wasn’t for a run-of-the-mill Presidential or State Governor announcement, or a re-run of the last Saints game.

The item about Jac was first up as the bulletin shifted from national to local news. A wry smile from Bateson as Rodriguez looked around, a more open leer from Shavell, and the same numbed shock on Larry’s face that hit Rodriguez in that instant, though with an added tinge of warped acceptance — as if Larry had seen so much, was so tired of it all with death now close, that nothing would really surprise him any more.

But the little show quickly backfired on Bateson as the news item fully unfolded. ‘…police were apparently close to apprehending Mr McElroy late last night in the Mid-City area, but in the end that bid failed…’ BC on his feet, punching the air with one fist: ‘Go, Jac… Go!’ ‘… and so he remains at large, with the police appealing to the public for fresh sightings and information on Mr McElroy, with the accompanying warning that he should not be approached directly.’ As Rodriguez got to his feet, joining the chorus of two or three that had quickly joined BC, Bateson, red-faced, hastily wound everything up, barking along with two other guards for them to clear the room.

‘And heavy contributions to the prison magazine too, I see?’

Rodriguez brought his attention back to the bearded man, though the question was aimed equally at himself and Larry, who was nodding. The panel had been introduced at the outset of the meeting, but Rodriguez had promptly forgotten their names. They’d simply become Bearded-man, Clean-cut and Beehive.

‘Yes… in fourteen of the sixteen editions, I believe,’ Rodriguez said, doing the quick calculation: started four years ago, quarterly, only two editions that Larry hadn’t contributed to. ‘He’s been one of the strongest voices and role-models for black inmates at Libreville.’

Another thoughtful nod from Bearded-Man, one more quick note on his pad, Clean-cut following suit. But Beehive just kept staring at him imperiously, and finally she spoke:

‘This new-found literary expertise is all very well, but I’m more concerned with how it has been put to use.’ She puckered her mouth as if she’d encountered a sour taste as she turned the pages in the magazine before her, then held the position with one finger. She looked up again. ‘Mr Durrant’s article in issue nine of Libre- View.’

Rodriguez looked helplessly at the two magazines he’d brought along. Issue nine wasn’t one of them. ‘Right,’ he said, a faint flush rising as his mind desperately scrambled for which article that might have been.

‘In this edition he comments on the execution of Mary-Beth Fuller in Texas, and questions the Texas Governor’s stance in not offering her a last minute reprieve, because, and I quote, “Mary-Beth Fuller was clearly mad, yet the Eighth Amendment of the Constitution is equally clear in prohibiting execution of the insane…” ’ Beehive looked up sharply above her glasses, her eyes shifting more directly to Durrant this time. ‘You go on to say, Mr Durrant, that this is a subject uncomfortably close to home because of your own, and again I quote, “Poor state of mind and memory at the time of your arrest for the murder of Jessica Roche, which gave rise to your own good counsel questioning your own culpability”.’ This time Beehive hadn’t looked down for the quote, she’d just held the same steady stare, now alternating evenly between Durrant and Rodriguez.

‘Yeah, I wrote that,’ Larry said flatly, matter-of-factly. ‘But I’m somewhat lost as to what exac-’

‘I’m sure Mr Durrant wouldn’t for a minute dream of detaching himself from that article,’ Rodriguez cut in quickly, sensing Larry’s belligerent tone heading for a confrontation. ‘Just because it might now suit him to do so. He’s understandably proud of everything he’s written. But at the same time, it’s only an opinion.’

‘Yes, Mr Rodriguez.’ Beehive exhaled heavily, as if mustering patience to deal with an errant schoolchild. ‘But what concerns me about that opinion is the dilemma it now presents to this board. Two of the strongest factors we have to consider in recommending pardon is firstly that prisoners fully repent their crime, and secondly, and in hand with that, that they fully accept the judgement of the courts, justice system and our governor — upon whose mercy they now throw themselves. Yet here we have a prisoner who questions their very guilt — so how can we even get to the stage of acceptance and repentance?’ Beehive shrugged. ‘And on top is also questioning the judgement of our fair governor before he’s even considered the issue.’

Durrant blinked slowly, a faint smile creasing his lips — acceptance or challenge, Rodriguez wasn’t sure.

‘I can see that,’ Rodriguez said, eager to speak before Larry opened his mouth and possibly dug them in deeper. ‘But I’m sure that…’ Though as Rodriguez said it, he had no idea what he was sure of. His mouth was suddenly dry, his throat tight as Beehive stared at him curiously, expectantly. ‘I…I’m sure that’s not how Mr Durrant meant it.’ All he could think of quickly.

The stare stayed steadily, evenly on Rodriguez, one eyebrow now raised imperiously, doubtingly, and it was