The Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood [56]
This is too gruesome, she says. You have a twisted mind.
He runs his finger along her bare arm. You want me to continue? As a rule I do this for money. You’re getting it for nothing, you should be grateful. Anyway, you don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m only just thickening the plot.
I’d say it was pretty thick already.
Thick plots are my specialty. If you want a thinner kind, look elsewhere.
All right then. Go on.
Disguised in the murdered girl’s clothing, the assassin is to wait until morning and then allow himself to be led up the steps to the altar, where, at the moment of sacrifice, he will stab the King. The King will thus appear to have been struck down by the Goddess herself, and his death will be the signal for a carefully orchestrated uprising.
Certain of the rougher elements, having been bribed, will stage a riot. After this, events will follow the time-honoured pattern. The Temple priestesses will be taken into custody, for their own safety it will be said, but in reality to force them to uphold the plotters’ claim to spiritual authority. The nobles loyal to the King will be speared where they stand; their male offspring will also be killed, to avoid revenge later; their daughters will be married off to the victors to legitimize the seizure of their families’ wealth, and their pampered and no doubt adulterous wives will be tossed to the mob. Once the mighty have fallen, it’s a distinct pleasure to be able to wipe your feet on them.
The blind assassin plans to escape in the ensuing confusion, returning later to claim the other half of his generous fee. In reality the plotters intend to cut him down at once, as it would never do if he were caught, and – in the event of the plot’s failure – forced to talk. His corpse will be well hidden, because everyone knows that the blind assassins work only for hire, and sooner or later people might begin to ask who had hired him. Arranging a king’s death is one thing, but being found out is quite another.
The girl who is thus far nameless lies on her bed of red brocade, awaiting the ersatz Lord of the Underworld and saying a wordless farewell to this life. The blind assassin creeps down the corridor, dressed in the grey robes of a Temple servant. He reaches the door. The sentry is a woman, since no men are allowed to serve inside the compound. Through his grey veil the assassin whispers to her that he carries a message from the High Priestess, for her ear alone. The woman leans down, the knife moves once, the lightning of the Gods is merciful. His sightless hands dart towards the jangle of keys.
The key turns in the lock. Inside the room, the girl hears it. She sits up.
His voice stops. He’s listening to something outside in the street.
She raises herself on an elbow. What is it? she says. It’s just a car door.
Do me a favour, he says. Put on your slip like a good girl and take a peek out the window.
What if someone sees me? she says. It’s broad daylight.
It’s all right. They won’t know you. They’ll just see a woman in a slip, it’s not an uncommon sight around here; they’ll just think you’re a ...
A woman of easy virtue? she says lightly. Is that what you think too?
A ruined maiden. Not the same thing.
That’s very gallant of you.
Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.
If it weren’t for you I’d be a whole lot more ruined, she says. She’s at the window now, she raises the blind. Her slip is the chill green of shore ice, broken ice. He won’t be able to hold on to her, not for long. She’ll melt, she’ll drift away, she’ll slide out of his hands.
Anything out there? he says.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Come back to bed.
But she’s looked in the mirror over the sink, she’s seen herself. Her nude face, her rummaged hair. She checks her gold watch. God, what a wreck, she says. I’ve got to go.
The Mail and Empire, December 15, 1934
ARMY QUELLS STRIKE VIOLENCE
PORT TICONDEROGA, ONT.
Fresh violence broke out yesterday in Port Ticonderoga, a continuation of the week’s turmoil in connection with the closure, strike and