Ride the Whirlwind

by Bob Brill

part 2

III

Djaminko Pooch stood on a scaffold, his hands tied behind his back, a noose around his neck. Looking down he noticed that his feet were planted on a trapdoor whose purpose was all too obvious. The air was balmy and clear. A young crescent moon in close conjunction with the evening star was preparing to set behind the prison.

Djaminko was not enjoying this lovely sight as much as he would ordinarily have done. He had had a pretty good day, but it looked like it wasn’t going to end all that well. The hangman sat nearby on a stool reading a comic book. A tall, emaciated official in a black formal coat paced the platform, frequently consulting his watch.

What they were waiting for Djaminko could not imagine, but presently an official car entered the courtyard and pulled up close to the scaffold. Several somberly attired persons emerged from the luxurious depths of the vehicle. At the urging of these officials the last to emerge was young Viloshiana, still covered in dessert drippings.

She was led up the stairs of the scaffold and soon was fitted out exactly like Djaminko with a noose of her own, her hands tied behind her and standing on a trapdoor just like Djaminko’s. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he saw that there were four such trapdoors all side by side. Could there be such traffic in hangings that four prisoners needed to be dispatched at a time? Djaminko had lived in the kingdom all his life, but never gave a thought till now of the grim underpinnings of the society in which he lived. How many had preceded him through those trapdoors?

The girl looked around her in wild desperation and finally her gaze settled on Djaminko. She looked at him with seething hatred. “Well,” she said, “you’re not going to be much help, are you?”

Djaminko was offended. “What did you expect?” he said. “You’re not going to be much help either.”

The official in black, consulting his watch once more, said to the hangman, “Let’s get on with it, Mr. Root.”

“Ready, Mr. Twig.” The hangman turned down a corner of the page in his comic book, which he set beneath his stool, and stood up, yawning and stretching.

A phone rang and one of the officials who had escorted Viloshiana answered his cell phone. He listened for a moment, then approached Djaminko and said, “It’s for you.”

“Would you mind holding the phone up to my ear?” asked Djaminko politely.

“Not at all.”

“Hello?” said Djaminko weakly into the phone.

A voice, robust but distant, spoke to him. “You need to stall for time. A reprieve is being arranged, but it will take time. Only General Huff can intervene for you, but he’s dead drunk and we’re pouring coffee into him now. Do you understand?”

“What must I do?”

“You have the right to request time to say your last words. You’re going to need to stage a filibuster.”

“You mean just keep talking?”

“You got it. Now let me talk to the girl.”

“Uh, he wants to talk to her now.” The official removed the phone from Djaminko’s ear, wiped off the mouthpiece with his handkerchief and brought the phone over to Viloshiana.

When the conversation ended, she turned to Djaminko and said, “You go first.”

“Right.”

“You may begin,” said Mr. Twig to the hangman.

“Wait,” said Djaminko. “I want to exercise my right to say my last words.”

“Make it quick. We haven’t got all night.”

“Actually, I have a lot to say. You see, I was raised in a poor family, my father was a garbage collector, and I was the fifth of seven children. Life was difficult for our family. My mother took in washing and my eldest sister...”

“We can’t have that. You can’t stand here telling us your life story. Just say a few words and be done.”

“Now just a minute. It’s for me to decide what my last words are to be, isn’t that so? I have a lot to get off my chest. You have no right to abridge my remarks, do you?”

“There’s nothing in the rules to that effect, but look here, we have a long-standing custom. The prisoner says a few words, commends his soul to his maker and that’s it. No one ever does more than that.”

“There’s no rule, that’s all I wanted to know. Now as I was about to say, my earliest memory is of my mother singing me to sleep. This is the song she sang to me:

Hangman, oh hangman, slack your rope a while.
I think I see my father riding, riding many a mile.
O Daddy, did you bring me silver? Did you bring me gold?
Or did you come to see me hanging, hanging on the gallows pole?
I didn’t bring you no silver, son, I couldn’t find no gold.
Yes, I came to see you hanging, hanging on the gallows pole.”

“No, no, you can’t do this. It’s just not done.”

“Hangman, oh hangman, slack your rope a while.
I think I see my mother riding, riding many a mile.”

Djaminko went on for sixteen verses, each alike except for the substitution of a different relative or friend who came riding with the disappointing news that silver and gold were in uncommonly short supply. Until finally along came the true love with plenty of the precious metal to spring her lover.

“Bravo, bravo,” cried Mr. Twig. “Well sung. Lovely ballad. Quite apropos, I might add. Now let’s get on with it, Mr. Root.” Once again the hangman put aside his comic book and prepared to do his job.

“Wait, I’m not done,” said Djaminko. “That was just one of the songs my mother sang to me.”

Djaminko noticed that Viloshiana was no longer scowling at him. She was smiling broadly and staring in frank admiration. Ah, thought Djaminko, perhaps I’m going to be of some use after all.

“Now as I was saying, there was Hush Little Baby, Don’t Say a Word. There was the lovely Bahaman Lullaby. But she also sang me the popular tunes of the day, like Dancing Cheek to Cheek and Night and Day. From that you may think that my mother was a carefree soul, but far from it. Her day began before dawn and ended long after all the children were in bed...”

Djaminko was not usually much of a talker, but at this moment he was inspired. Idea after idea filled his head and spilled out in words.

Finally, another official car pulled up to the scaffold. The chauffeur jumped out and smartly opened the back door, saluting as he did. Nothing happened. “We’ve arrived, sir.” Still no response from the back seat.

The chauffeur reached in and tugged at the passenger. A second aide pushed from behind. Finally a booted foot emerged and gingerly felt for the ground. Little by little a leg appeared, a second leg, and with some more tugging and pushing from his aides, the whole figure of General Huff was at last standing upright on the ground.

The general swayed slightly, but there was no doubt that he stood on his own without visible means of support. His tunic sagged on one side from the weight of his medals, but his posture was erect, his cap perfectly centered. He took several confident steps towards the scaffold and walked straight into a pole. He sat down in the dirt with a grunt and called for his aides to help him up.

My savior, thought Djaminko ruefully. The general eyed the stairs leading up to the platform. “Mr. Twig,” he cried, “Come down here a moment, sir.”

The cadaverous Mr. Twig obeyed.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said the general, “but we have to call this off. Release the prisoners into my care. Thank you, sir. Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Twig. The usual discretion, please. It would be better for all concerned if the king doesn’t hear of this.”

In a few minutes Djaminko and Viloshiana were seated in the back of the limousine, one on either side of the general, as the smoothly purring motorcar eased them away from the scene.

Djaminko saw the crescent moon and evening star gliding along with them, eclipsed from time to time by the buildings and trees. At last he noted how beautiful a sight that was. Caressing his neck, which felt so light and free without the coarse hemp collar, he decided it was after all a delightful evening.

Viloshiana was having a similar experience, but it was centered not on the celestial firmament but upon Djaminko, whom she had seen before but never noticed. It felt marvelous to her that life was to continue and that this young orator had now come over her horizon.

The general spoke up. “Now my children, we are going to send you out of the country for a while. The king has been overdoing it lately, exercising his kingly power over life and death, but we can’t have him wasting the population just to prop up his self- esteem. He is the royal monarch and that makes him dangerous to all of us. So you can’t just show up at the palace tomorrow. You’d be right back on the old trapdoor and a few others along with you.”

The car passed through a gate and stopped in a sheltered courtyard. The general’s aides opened the back doors. “If you’d be so kind,” said the general to his guests.

Viloshiana jumped out and gave the general a hand. Djaminko pushed from behind. When the general was once more established on land he escorted them to the rear of a large truck. “We’ve worked out a procedure. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. You’ll be well provided for, so just climb aboard this truck. Someone will explain as you go along. Goodbye and good luck.”

Two men helped Viloshiana and Djaminko up onto the tailgate and cleared a passage for them through a long aisle of packing cases. They came to a steel door. “In there,” said one of the men, holding the door open. “You’ll be quite comfortable.”

Viloshiana and Djaminko were surprised to see that they had entered what appeared to be a cozy furnished apartment. Two double beds, a couch, a table and chairs, a tiny kitchenette complete with stove and a well-stocked refrigerator, plus a bath with stall shower. But no windows, no TV, no radio, no phone.

They heard the door being locked behind them and then the sound of packing cases being shoved up against the door. They felt the truck begin to move, slowly turning as it advanced and soon they knew they were on the road, rolling down the king’s highway.

“Oh, look,” cried Viloshiana as she examined the contents of the tiny fridge. “Salmon spread, same brand as my mum always served. I’m starving. How about you? And here’s a fresh baguette. Just the thing to go with the fish spread.”

She continued to explore the available supplies and set about preparing a meal. Soon they were seated at the table with the fish spread and bread before them and a tasty omelette with sausages and a fine bottle of Merlot.

Djaminko realized then that he was indeed hungry after his ordeal. This impromptu supper was delicious, one of the best meals he had ever tasted. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that there is something extraordinary in this moment? The food so delicious, the circumstances so unexpected, so stimulating. I’ve never felt so alive.”

“Oh yes, I feel it too. I’m quite tingling with it. After our close brush with death it’s like a new life starting.”

“It is a new life. From this moment on it can never be the same as before.”

“You were marvelous up there. I was so scared I couldn’t speak. That’s why I asked you to speak first. I knew we had to stall them, but I couldn’t think of a word to say. You had no end of words. I believe you would be speaking yet if it were necessary.”

“I’m usually the quiet one, although I sounded off earlier tonight, too. That’s what got me in trouble with the king.”

“Ah, me too. But I’m always the one who talks too much, except when I had the rope around my neck. That shut me up tight. I’ll never forget how you saved us.”

She reached out and took Djaminko’s hand. He raised his eyes to hers and a spark passed between them. They rose as one, and quickly skirting the table that stood between them, they rushed into each other’s arms.

To be continued...