Half the Blood of Brooklyn

– I am. What else is there to think of? Kill them.

The tall skinny one puts his hands on the little fat one’s shoulders.

– Selig, to talk about killing them here, now, it doesn’t do. It won’t do Chaim any good.

Selig pulls free and turns, his arms spread wide between the tombstones.

– I don’t know, I don’t know what is best for my brother? To have his murder avenged is best. To have his whole body would be best. Not to have parts of him scattered and burned would be best. To have a proper burial would be best. To say the prayers and take the time would be best. None of this is right, Axler. None of it. I didn’t want it. Chaim wanted it. I only came for him. To protect him. Too late. So what if we kill them now? Here? So what? Nothing else is right. Nothing is right in the world.

Axler walks to him and grabs the lapels of his long black coat and shakes him.

– Shut up. Coward. Shut up. Your brother is a hero. A warrior. You are a coward. Shut up. Stop saying his name. You want them dead? You should have been with your brother when he was the first in the tent. You could have killed them then. After, only after it was over, did you become brave. Coward. Help bury your brother and leave vengeance to men.

He pushes the little one and he stumbles back and falls over a low headstone, scattering the rocks piled on top of it.

He gets up on his hands and knees and crawls around, crying, gathering the rocks while the others dig the grave for his brother and mutter hurried prayers.

He places the rocks back on the headstone, one by one, eyes turned from the blood-soaked shroud that wraps his brother’s corpse.

– It was wrong, Chaim. A sin. All of it. On the Sabbath. Working. Making a plan. Driving. On the Sabbath. Small sins leading to greater. Killing on the Sabbath. Killing in the name of God on the Sabbath. I told you you’d be punished, brother.

Axler turns from his digging and spears the point of his shovel in the ground.

– Shut up. There were no sins. This was not work. This was service to God. We didn’t even drive ourselves. And we didn’t use guns. Guns are machines, yes. A bow and arrow is not. An axe is not.

Selig clenches his fist around a rock.

– It’s a tool. A knife, an axe, a bow. They are tools.

Axler picks up the shovel.

– This is a tool. Should I wait to bury your brother if it means I must dig? If we sinned, God will let us know.

They lower the dead body into the grave. They put his long knife and his bow and his little axe in with him. And they put their shovels aside and begin to pray.

Selig joins them.

They pray a long time.

Then they turn to the Strongman and start working to pull their other friend free of the arrows that pierce them both.

That takes much longer.

Deep inside Washington Cemetery, they’ve left us bound at the edge of one of the roads that wanders back and forth between the fenced burial plots. Off blessed earth. Or whatever the fuck they call it.

Now, all the stiffs six feet under and on their way to wherever, they come for us.

Axler and Selig, a half dozen others in black coats and wide-brimmed hats. Some limping or cradling limbs that took shells from Lydia’s gun. A couple others waiting in the cars, the headlights dark.

Time for Selig to get his wish.

Axler bends and rips the leather strap that winds over Stretch’s face.

Stretch snaps his bare gums.

Axler reaches into a pocket and pulls out the steel dentures.

– Looking for something, old man?

– Fuck you, punk.

Axler puts the teeth back.

– You, old man, you should have known better than to keep what’s ours from us.

– They ain’t yours.

– They are. And they know it. That’s why she came back.

– Vendetta doesn’t want to be here. She wants her sister and her own life.

– She wants her home and family, her own kind. That’s why she betrayed you and signaled for us.

Stretch tries to spit, can’t without his teeth and it dribbles on his chin.

– Fuck, we signaled you. We came to you. We came for Harm.

Axler reaches inside his vest and brings out a long sheathed knife.

– Don’t lie now, old man, of all times.

– We signaled you for a swap. For Harm.

Axler draws the blade from its sheath.

– You have nothing to trade. And we don’t deal in flesh.

Stretch’s eyes shoot at me.

– I have him.

Axler sets the sheath aside and lays the long blade at Stretch’s throat.

– No, we have him. And he’ll die just like you. Easier, actually. He’ll simply die for having killed Chaim. You, we’ll divide you together with your bones in twelve pieces, and we’ll send you into all the neighborhoods of Brooklyn. So they’ll know we’re coming.

– Asshole, he’s not from Brooklyn.

Axler’s fingers shift on the handle of the knife.

He looks at me.

He looks back at Stretch and presses the knife into his skin and draws blood.

– Where?

– Kid, what do you think you can cut on me that will make me tell you shit if I don’t want to?

Selig steps up.

– We have to kill them, Axler. Now.

– Shut up.

Stretch bares his neck further.

– Yeah, kill us. Kill me, the one guy who can tell you who he is and where he’s from and what he wants. Then kill him, the guy from Manhattan. And see what kind of hell comes down. Your papa will be so proud. ’Course he’s gonna be pretty pissed as it is if I know the man at all. But I might be able to put a spin on the deal that’ll make things shine a bit brighter for you.

Selig touches Axler’s shoulder.

– Don’t listen to him, we have to do it now. And we can’t lie about it. We have to accept the punishment we have earned. We’ve sinned, Axler.

Axler pulls the knife back.

– Put them in the cars.

– Axler!

He sticks the long knife in Selig’s throat just below the chin and pushes and the point rips out the back of his neck at the base of the skull and he holds him in the air while his legs dance for a moment and then he drops him from the blade to the ground.

A couple of the others take a step back. None step up.

He wipes the knife.

– And we must dig another grave. For Selig, who died bravely with his brother Chaim.

And they do as he says.

But his mom is pissed.