The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [128]
Art, she told herself, is dispensable.
The same issue of the Democrat that had her Bodenhammer story had a front-page item under the headline GOV. HAYS INCREASES DEATH CHAIR’S PRIVACY, to the effect that the governor and his legal advisors were taking steps to reduce the number of witnesses required for an execution from twelve to six, and to limit strictly the attendance of newspapers. “An execution is not a circus,” the governor was quoted as saying. “An execution must not be a public spectacle. Capital punishment is a remnant of barbarity, but as long as we practice it we must insure that it be done mercifully and with dignity, and this requires that we make it as private as possible, as silent as possible, as inconspicuous as possible.”
When the Gazette also featured this story, Viridis asked Tom Fletcher, “What do you think he’s up to? You don’t suppose he’ll start having secret executions, do you?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Tom said. “That word ‘inconspicuous’ bothers me. The message to us is that we have to pool a man…” (he lifted his eyebrows) “…or a woman, and let that one reporter cover the scene for all newspapers and wire services. No more parties.” At her expression of dismay he pointed out, “That’s really not so different from what we had been doing, is it? Weren’t you the only reporter at the execution of that nigra, Skipper Thomas?” When she nodded, he assured her, “We’re supposed to receive notice of all intended executions so that we can arrange with the Democrat and the AP to pool a man. Or a woman. I’ll keep you posted.”
But Tom’s promise wasn’t enough to make her comfortable. She went to the state capitol and asked to see the governor. This time he did not make her wait all day, but didn’t she understand that, without an appointment, she couldn’t just barge in on him? He apologized for keeping her waiting and offered her coffee, which she declined.
“And how was your tryst with the moonshiner?” he asked.
“I don’t appreciate your failure to keep your part of the bargain,” she said.
“I saved your life probably,” the governor said, and then from the pile of papers atop his desk he lifted the issue of the Democrat that had her story. “And I see you didn’t keep your part of the bargain either.” He slammed the newspaper down on his desk. “That’s a dreadful story, Miss Monday! My telephone hasn’t stopped ringing! The telegrams are piling up! The letters are burying me!”
“Really?” she asked.
He laughed, then changed his tone from mock-indignant to coldly informative. “Do you want to know the sum total of public response to your story? Do you want to know how many people I’ve heard from as a result of that piece?” The governor made a show of propping his elbow on his desk top and then rounding his thumb and forefinger into a big 0. “Zero. None. Not a blessed soul.”
“So you’re going to go ahead and pull the switch on him Saturday night?”
“That was dramatic oratory on my part. I could never pull the switch on a man myself. Mr. Irvin Bobo is a licensed electrician. I am not.”
“But this Saturday night?” she said. “Three days from now?”
He did not respond. Instead he said, “I read your story. I was touched. I was impressed. The boy really is some sort of wizard with a pencil. Not that I know anything about art, but I recognize talent when I see it. I’ve never seen that chair myself, but he sure made it look petrifying, didn’t he? I don’t understand why nobody cares about him. Isn’t that a shame, Miss Monday, that nobody cares?” She glowered at him, not knowing just how sarcastic he was trying to be. “Except you, of course,” he amended. “You care an awful lot. In Ernest Bodenhammer you’ve found the perfect answer to the prayers of a lonely spinster. He’s much better for your purposes than the moonshining rapist. Bodenhammer never raped anybody, except probably his sister and his mother. He’s young and fairly innocent—all he did was kill a fat guard nobody liked anyway—and he’s savable and malleable. You can make him into anything you want him to be, and everybody will live happily ever