The Depravity of Dr. Arthur Pennyworth

The Pennyworth's struggle as they entertain two dangerous men with a demand for money or blood.

The Depravity of Dr. Arthur Pennyworth

 

They arrived early in the afternoon. The white man had a concerned look on his face best defined as fear. He was in his early 50s and had short white hair and a rounded face, weathered from the sun and the years; his hands were large and calloused, but his eyes: his eyes were the piercing blue of Lake Michigan in winter. He had come now from the terribly beautiful Nyungwe forest. The 3 others with him consisted of a young white boy--about the age of 15 with a similar facial structure as the man--and 2 others that were dark skinned, each wearing a camouflage jacket and a jungle-green hat. The black men were holding 30-06's and speaking Kinyarwanda, the native tongue, which the white man was moderately good at if he took it slowly; he was only able now to gather bits and pieces of their conversation. What he could gather was that the men with guns were of the Hutu race and they wanted money. Arthur did not know the men but it became clear that they knew him--and where he lived.

They were now at the place the man and the boy--and the man’s wife­­--were making their stay. The camp was on the outskirts of Cyangugu, a city on the western end of the country, and they had been living there for 5 months now. Arthur Pennyworth was the white mans name and he was a surgeon, having built his practice in the city to provide some relief for the Tutsi (and moderate Hutu) survivors of the recent genocide. He was a good man, save for his previous bouts of drinking and his unspoken affairs.

Arthur and his son Henry were both on their knees now, hands tied and staring at the dirt, feeling the cold steel touching the back of their heads.

After the genocide had declined most of the remaining extremist Hutu’s, now rogue and disbanded, escaped to neighboring countries, while few remained. The case of these men and there involvement with the Pennyworth’s was rather unique, although.

"God, help us Susanne!" Arthur proclaimed. His wife screamed as she staggered out the tent, instinctively backing away as if to run.

"Don't run, sweetheart. They won't hurt us if we can pay them."

"How much?"

Arthur beckoned to the armed men and asked, “Do you speak English?”

“Oya” he responded. They briefly discussed something in Kinyarwanda, followed by a brief moment of silence before Arthur spoke again to his wife.

"They will kill us if we don't pay them."

"How much Arthur?" She said nervously.

Arthur had once loved his wife, a long time ago, perhaps when she was prettier. Susanne was well in her 50s now, although it was in her 40s when the marriage had started getting bad. Over something trivial, the two had gotten into a feud and Susanne told Arthur to sleep in the other room. In Arthur's mind she was no longer beautiful. He took her demand as an offense to his pride that he didn't deserve, eventually justifying an affair. He never told her, nor could he look at her the same. His boredom of her, compared with the perceived beauty of his other lovers, grew into a overwhelming disinterest of her. He still liked her around for other reasons (she cooked well and cleaned), but did he love her? No. This was also around the time that his alcoholism had become most severe, but he had recovered since then. Susanne was aware of the growing distance between them but still loved him enough to stay with him and became good at distracting herself: focusing most of her love, time, and energy onto her boy Henry.

"2000. Each."

"4000." She acknowledged hesitantly.

She could feel her stomach cramp as beads of cold sweat formed on her brow. Breathing came with much difficulty now. She knew her fault. She had been gambling with the locals while her husband and son had gone for supplies, which takes about 5 days. It requires them to travel by truck through the Nyungway Forest and through many small villages to the capital city of Kigali. There they would get medical supplies and other resources that would assist them in their work in Cyangugu. From gambling she had lost 600 dollars of Arthur's savings and was not aware of how much there was to begin with. She had problems with gambling, but it seemed to bring her some strange relief. Nevertheless, the habit disgusted Arthur. She was already dreading her husbands’ return, which would come with an angry rebuke, but she wasn't afraid of Arthur hitting her. Arthur never hit her.

"Susanne, we have enough. I have just enough hidden under my cot in a wooden chest."

She ran back in the tent and grabbed the chest and brought it back out to her husband and began to count out 4000. She stopped counting at 3600 to realize there was nothing left.

"Where is it? Where is the rest?" He exclaimed, looking at the box.

"Susanne, where is the rest of my money?"

"I'm so sorry" she was so pained to admit. "I lost it at a dice game."

Arthur gave her a look, his cold blue eyes full of desperation, anger and fear.

"How could you?" he poisoned her, funneling all the feelings of resentment over the years into his words: a skill he had artfully obtained from marriage. Susanne was no stranger to shame.

The man with his gun touching Arthur's head began to speak and Arthur nodded to the money he had. The captor grabbed the bills, counted it, laughed, and then threw it on the ground. The intensity in Arthur's voice grew. They began to yell until the captor hit Arthur with the butt of his gun while exclaiming one last thing.

"What's going on?" Susanne screamed. Henry, the boy of 15, was shaking.

"Shh, sue. Shh." Arthur responded, wincing painfully. He paused for a couple moments before continuing, watching a bird flying overhead, resembling the eagles over lake Michigan. "One of us is going to die. It's not enough money. They want you to choose. Choose me, darling. Choose me. Let our son live."

Susanne shook to her knees, fighting tears. She felt paralyzed. The native captors laughed at her display of affection.

"Choose me" Arthur demanded. "Let your son live."

"I can't. I don't know what to do.” she replied. "I love you" she choked out.

A moment of silence passed, only to be broken by one of the Hutu men: the one with the mustache. He told Arthur in their native tongue that she has to choose quickly or all of them will die. The other one laughed at the lie. The rogue Hutu’s were just 20 years old.

"I don't love you" Arthur spoke.

"Don't say that, dear. That isn't true."

"It is true. I stopped loving you a long time ago. I don't care for you. I'd divorce you if it wasn't for our son"

Susanne didn't respond. She stared at him with a wounded look on her face. She could see he was telling the truth. Nervously, Arthur communicated to the gunman that he wanted to die so that the boy may live. "No. She chooses" the captor responded.

"Choose me, damn it” he said to her.

Silence. He was becoming angry.

"Was that not enough? You don't need me. I'm no good for you." An inside voice taunted him to prove it. "I can barely stand the sight of you. We haven’t been intimate with each other in years. Has it not occurred to that I’ve been f*****g other women? Because its true, darling."

Somewhere along the way it became more than just convincing. He had said too much, but perhaps just enough.

“She’s broken,” he thought.

His words still lingered in the air like the cool bitterness of liquor. She remained unmoved. He remained on his knees, staring intensely at his wife. Too much time was passing.

Susanne broke the still scene with the terrible point of her right index finger. She didn’t even look at him when she consented to his death. "Kill the good doctor,” she said with new confidence: a euphoric empowerment unlike anything she had yet experienced in this grand oppression called life. She was reborn. The gunman with the mustache smiled and cocked his rifle, pointing it at the father. The other did the same at the boy.

(Bang)

I do. I do. You may now kiss the bride. Susanne cries, overjoyed to be his wife. Arthur smiles, enthralled by the woman he loves: his beautiful, beautiful bride. Robert holds a bottle of Champagne, wrestling it open. (Bang) People cheer enthusiastically.

Shocked in a bout of adrenaline, time seemed to slow for Arthur. He became momentarily deaf from the blast. The first thing he could consciously grasp was the blood spurting from the Hutu man’s chest, just where his heart would be, sending an expression of despair gaping across his dark face. The man fell to his knees only to receive another wound to the head. He was now face down on the dirt, arms outstretched, a hole in the back of his head. Crimson blood swelled the earth. The other captor turned around to shoot at his threat. Just as quick as he could see them, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, he was dead.

The rescuers were 5 and one of them approached Arthur and spoke to him in Kinyarwanda. Arthur responded and the men loaded the two bodies into their vehicle and left. Arthur and Henry were standing now, although Susanne hadn't left her position. Henry rushed to her and hugged her deeply, unrequited, trying to sooth her.

She no longer needed soothing.

"Forgive me, Susanne. I only said those things­--the danger is gone now" Arthur reassured.

She no longer needed reassurance.

Susanne looked up for the first time, her face locked on his. Her unadorned appearance hinted at the beauty of her youth. Arthur remembered something he had long forgotten about her: something deep and burning, something of passion and ecstasy. He quickly recognized it as love. He also saw another thing in her: strength, confidence, wholeness. He knew she no longer had need of him.

"Not quite." she replied, picking up the money. She kissed and hugged henry, whispering some sweet things in his ear before turning again to Arthur. “Goodbye Arthur. Henry will stay with you until you return to the states this fall. Take care of my son. This is it Arthur, do you here me? I am leaving you.”

Arthur's countenance and very sense of self began to cripple. He was severely disappointed. Not in her, himself, or the Hutu’s however--he was simply disappointed that he didn't die. It would have been the best thing, he thought, as he watched her leave camp. The image of her going burned into his cold blue eyes; his eyes, the color of Lake Michigan in winter: a place, a home, that they would never return to. Arthur, for the first time in his life, fully tasted the fruit of his depravity, unable to swallow it whole--choking, choking, choking--finding it quite bitter indeed. He had a mind to wash it down with bourbon.

 

THE END

Author's Note

1. What do you think of how the characters (Arthur and Susanne) develop?
2. Do you feel like Susanne's decision was justified?
3. What did you find to be the main conflict?
4. How did the story make you feel?
5. And other questions/comments?

Please give clear specific feedback, be rough if needed, and as always thank you!