Killing A Saint - Revisited

I wrote the first draft of this story on my earlier profile. It was well- received. This is a polished, literarily enhanced version of that story. Enjoy :)

Killing A Saint

"What would you like to have, Sir?"

The officer in his uniform pointed at a dish's name in the menu, passing a mild smile to the waitress taking his order.

"That's grilled, sauced chicken with boiled sauerkraut." She ended this with a warm smile.  "Anything else you want, Sir?"

"No, young lady." Thinking a little, he changed his mind, "In fact, I do. Though I feel utterly delighted being entertained by you, I'd like the dish to be served by the butcher himself.", said William Hoff, maintaining that flirtatious grin.

"No problem, Sir. Wish you a very happy meal!", she said with an even warmer smile and traversing through candlelit tables void of people, went in the kitchen through a small door flanking the bar table.

To pass the time until the dish is prepared, William swayed his eyes across and looked outside the glass window his table was beside. The night was very murky and depressed, as if it has lost all faith in the moon which didn't show up for the illumination of its dark soul. This dejection was cast on all that laid under the black quilt and everything- the buildings, the jalopies and the vistas- found solace in being lost and unobtrusive, away from the chaos of the state, all of whose electricity was being drained away into fuelling war agendas. However, much more than this darkness was needed to melt people's faith in their national leader- A godly figure all could look up to, someone who has all the power, all the control to perform incredible feats and in turn strengthen that very faith that made him powerful- An ideal, a success story, a legendary might, a saint. Many loved him, worshipped him. His perfect form- fair-skinned, brutish, in uniform- in the posters even aroused erotic affinity for him in men and women alike. His every word was consoling and every move pithy. The people enabled him have millions of hands, millions of feet and half a million of minds. What would happen if this man dies inevitably?

The officer's reverie was broken by the sound of the plate, kept on his table by the tall, stentorian, apron-clad butcher. The young waitress had gone home by then and the surroundings were totally empty. William smiled at him, but the gesture was unanswered.

"What do you want?", asked the butcher grimly.

"Have a seat, my dear friend! They say best conversations happen on the table.", said William. The butcher sat facing him, at the other side, while William began devouring the delicacy. "I must say.." said he as he gobbled up a big chunk of chicken, raising his eyebrows,"You make tasty food. Though this could've been tastier if you presented it with a smile. You see, I am telling this as a well-wish..."

"What do you want?", The butcher interrupted, gazing sternly and stressing his words this time.

"A favor.", said William, taking in another chunk.

"I'm too poor for favors."

"You'll be paid."

"What now?", the butcher said irritably.

"Our leader needs to die. He is now the home of an epidemic." William stopped eating as he said so.

The butcher tightened his grip at the table knife which he happened to hold, concealed under the table. "What do you mean? Is this some joke?"

"You know when I'm serious, pal." replied William.

"What's this to do with me? What do you want from me?"

William held his breath to brace himself for saying this- 

"We want you to kill him."

Within a second, the table was flipped off and the knife was pushed forward straight for his heart, but was ultimately reined in as William took hold of the metal tongue, bruising his hand in the process.

"What are you? Satan?", rambled the butcher.

"Since when did you become so naive, Comrade?" William said in anguish.

"Just as soon as you became a moron without conscience." ,answered Butcher.

"On the contrary, this has to do with conscience. This is the thing that's greater than my love for the king or your love, for the record. Now get the f**k off me! You gave me a wound in vain!"

 

Just as the butcher retracted back to his chair, two gunshots were heard in tandem with the shattering of the glass window and the bullets whizzing past his ear. The officer raised his hand, giving the sign to halt. The buildings had some lit windows by then, carved with curiously moving silhouettes of people.

 

"Don't get me wrong, friend. Listen to our side of the story." William said, whispering immediately to himself, "Gosh! how do I stop this blood?"

"I thought you had a better judgment of me, else you wouldn't have come to me for this heinousness." said the butcher.

"I have a good opinion about you. You alone are capable of this. You're our only hope. The whole Council believes this must happen. This is not a conspiracy, not about some frigging coup attempt! It's the need of the hour. Believe me!", said William, tearing off a piece from the table cloth and wrapping it around his hand.

 

Three more men entered the hotel. The butcher turned back to see which of them could be one who shot at him.

 

"Come with us. Please! This one time. Hear us, then do whatever you want." William asserted the proposal with a  genuine frown.

The butcher didn't even move an inch.

"Okay. If being lost in your whims is your way of judgment, then I'm sorry I can't do much." William rose to go.

As he reached the gate, the butcher turned back and said, "I'll come." William was trying to hide a visible smile of relief.

"But if I find something fishy, you've all lost your life." said the butcher, gazing angrily at the middle one amongst the three men. He was holding the only pistol which could produce such sound of gunfire.

 

***

"An untreatable malady has taken a silent abode in our leader's body, gifting him nobels of pain and ripping his soul night and day." Colonel Heinrich Himmler said, perusing scrupulously the butcher's gaze at everyone present in the room at Schwarzkoff Safe-house.

"If he's ill, why kill him?", asked the butcher, yet at unrest.

"Because if he continues to live more, he'll be a breeding ground for a lethal parasite.", said General Ludwig von Witzleben, as he stroked his gray moustache, his deep dark eyes glaring from the lamp's glow beside. His blazer was even of a darker shade.

"And this virus has begun to restructure a few of his living cells into little factories of packets containing its genome pattern, that'd vanish in the air waiting for hosts to inhale them and doing the same to their cells.", said Doctor General James W. Bahn, his uniform being a white medical overcoat unlike the others' brown ones. "This, should this sequence continues on, shall afflict thousand persons per square mile within a day, thousand multiplied by thousand the next day and so on. We have very little time before all his trillions of cells are infected and converted. If the king doesn't consume hydrocarbons or in other words, food, his cells will stop receiving ATPs necessary for their production of energy and you don't feed a dead man."

"If that's what's to be done, why don't you kill him already?", the butcher was emphatic now.

"We are officers. We are bound by duties and oaths. We're answerable to the independently working Judiciary. You, on the other hand, are an outlaw. Moreover, if we remain out of suspicion, that'd be good for your exoneration as well." General Witzleben tinkled an ice-cube in his liquor glass.

"But I have principles too." proclaimed the butcher."What about my emotions?"

"Oh snap off this arrogance! I'd see a mare's mane full of plumage when you animals will have emotions! Stop hiding your wretched self through this phony grim facade and wasting precious time!" Colonel Himmler charged at the butcher.

"It's still better than when you filthy flatterers hide your impotence through this uniform." The butcher said holding him by the uniform's lapel.

"We're reaching nowhere with this, gentlemen!", the equable William intervened and stopped this exigent rift.

"What utility shall be your principles of, when you might not even be alive to follow them a few days later!" said General Witzleben. "He isn't the same leader we all idolized. He is now an ailing, powerless sufferer. His body is like bottled plague which if unsealed, shall defect Mankind in horrendous ways. It's maniacal of you not wanting him dead."

"I never said that. I just said I won't kill him." said the butcher.

"I am tired of trying to talk to you, young man!", General Witzleben sighed.

"Don't make us beg you!" said the Doctor General.

"We are wasting time over this pig! I'd rather persuade the leader for suicide." Himmler asserted, straightening his lapel wrinkled by the butcher's grip.

"Unfortunately, this virus is still unable to corrode his indomitable will." General Witzleben said. "He'll live for his people, his morals and most essentially, his daughter. He thinks he can still fight off this cancerous mess."

"Permission to speak, Sir?" asked William.

"Yes, Sergeant." approved General Witzleben.

"This means we cannot take the leader's life anyway."

"I'm afraid you're right." The General was drowning in despair.

A long silence ensued.

Finally, the General murmured audibly to an undirected audience, "Isn't there a third way to kill a saint?"

 

***

 

"Claus.....Give me my tea!" spat Archduke Thomas Mann these words with limitless grief pinned to them. His worn-out body was lying on the bed, hairs whitewashed at forty-six, shrunk sinews sticking his pale skin close to his bones. No one replied because the servant, accustomed to that calling, was suspiciously out of the room and another person, whom the leader couldn't recognize as a stranger due to his dimmed vision, was sitting beside him. The butcher was stunned at his pitiful state. Nevertheless, he walked off the leader's side and switched on the radio at the other side of the room. The gibberish of the box that followed got finally tuned into a legible monologue by the newsreader.

"....Earlier this morning, a vehicle was reportedly found burning in the greens around the Bormann Road. Investigation suggests that this might not be an accident, because the Police has found a dead body of a woman in her twenties, from the car's rear seat. When forensic examination confirmed the identity of the body to be that of Ms. Pamela Mann, daughter of  Archduke Thomas Mann, some have begun to imply this to be a conspiracy, based on the assertion that she didn't know how to drive. The family is in a state of distress and the people see this event as a sign of danger to their security, if the highest stature of the state would be so unsafe...."

"Pamela!....My child!...I want to see her!", cried the leader, with copious tears. He coughed hard after that exhausting wail.

The butcher shut the radio and faced the leader in an oppressive stance. "That b***h is never coming back, old f****t!", said he.

"Who are you? How come you be here?", asked the leader.

"The one who rode your girl through the road to Hell." said the butcher . "That s**t was an easy kill, begging for life, squealing like a dirty rat. She showed me how full of cowardice your whole family is."

"You b*****d!" the weak leader shouted, followed by a stretch of coughs. Containing himself, he said, "You should have run away from me! Now that you're here, I'll pain you so hard, you'd be punished more than at Hell itself. You'd regret your state of being alive, scoundrel!"

"You're really making me laugh by saying this. Look at you! You can't even pee by yourself! This is what happens to those who fulfill their stupid, self-serving ambitions at the stake of our money and our life. "The butcher pulled out his gun and pointed at the weakened king. "Your whole family's filthy and incestuous. I doubt you were trusted to be left alone with your daughter, now that you feign these father-like emotions! You deserve to die, scum..." and  a hole was pierced into the butcher's forehead, oozing a cascade of blood as he fell on the floor and lay senseless.

"Enough!" yelled the leader, still holding the pistol he killed the butcher with, it being kept under the pillow as a good omen in those times.

He'd now lost his daughter. He'd now lost his reason to live. So he placed the muzzle of the gun under his chin, repositioning its hammer and keeping a taut finger at its trigger. Just then, he heard a familiar voice.

"Dad!" Pamela had entered into the room.

The leader looked at Pamela with a heavenly relief. But just then, he saw the butcher's dead body and moaned painfully. "No." cried the leader. "What have I done!" 

Pamela got worried when he didn't pull his gun off. She pleaded, "No, Dad!"

But the leader still moaned. "No."

Pamela looked back at the officers with faces plain. She grabbed one of them by his coat and cried copiously loud on his face, "No."

But the leader still moaned. "No." and he pulled the trigger.

 

 

Author's Note

You have a lord, a king and he needs to die to save this world. Would you kill him? Not a question. Would he kill himself? He thinks he can make it out otherwise

Is he punishable by law? He is the law. Does anyone hate him enough to kill him? He's a God to all. Then how, just how will you kill a saint?

Reviews

[PamiAnde]

An intense and exciting read Ashkay! I struggled some with punctuation and changes of tense, but enjoyed it so much I couldn't stop reading. Would like to hear even more... more details of the characters involved maybe. The dialogue is engrossing! Your descriptions interesting and surprising: depressed night, pithy moves, you describing a body as the home of an epidemic, "nobels of pain," "shrunk sinews sticking." Got thrown out by "ATPs," just don't know what they are. Great ending! Thank you for sharing. Ande

[Akshay Rawal]

Thanks Pami for taking out the time to read this. I'm not a biology major, but I had to do some research to find out how a doctor would speak about the illness. ATPs stand for Adenosine triphosphate which basically act like food to the cells, (I might be wrong) But yeah, I'd love to do a detailed character development for this. Just intended this to be a short story with a surprise ending. :) Thanks again