Razor

I wonder what it is about this woman that affects me so. She is not overly sympathetic toward me. In fact, I would have thought it odd if she were, considering what we have put her through in our escape. But she does stir something in me. I have touched her only a few times and never saw her in my blindness. I know nothing about her. Yet, the reverberations of her yanking at my soul are undeniable proof; evidence of me slipping. How I once lapsed before, I do again. How the heart may turn off reason for its own profit.

“You didn’t fall asleep again, did you?”

“No, no... yes, I may have drifted. It confuses me.”

“I got some string to tie him down.”

“George?”

“Yes. But I would like to tie you too. So I may sleep a bit. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. I promise you I will not move but you may tie me if it makes you more comfortable.”

“It would, yes.”

She tinkers with something and starts lacing my hands. Not tightly but much more securely than previously with the leather straps. Satisfied she moves on to my ankles and soon I am firmly strapped into my seat.

“I know you don’t mean me harm but I can’t fully trust you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, it is fine. You may not trust me but I trust you.”

“Thank you. Let me just tie George down. Then I will sleep for a while and then think of what next to do. I can’t have you here. Certainly not him. Anyway, he will die here.”

Her dress crackles as she gets up from her crouch before me. Her movements are sleight and economic. She makes very little noise as she steps to the bed. Then a slightly different noise. A creak of a spring. I haven’t heard her sit down. Did George just shift in the bed? I can hear Liza’s breath but not George’s. Either it is faint or he is holding it. As I open my mouth to warn her, there is a violent jolt followed by a choking sound. I can hear George now. Moaning with exertion. From Liza only a frantic fight for air. I cannot imagine how he can choke her with one arm and at the same time keep her arms from flailing. All she would have to do is hit the stump and he would surely let go. Except, of course, if it has gone all numb. The fight takes on another form. There is a beating sound as if someone is constantly hammering a foot into the floorboards. I let myself be tied to a chair and this time she did a better job of it. However hard I try, my hands are firmly fixed. I can find no leverage.

“Let her go, George! Let her go!”

I get only a series of moans in return and then a heavy thump. They have fallen onto the floor. One of them have. Both perhaps. Yes, they both have. Now the thumping sound continues. Taken by surprise it usually takes a person less than 2 minutes to suffocate. How long has it been now? The struggle would accelerate it. He must have a less constrictive hold of her than I thought since she can still fight back as he does. I am sitting here as I did a century ago in France. I watched her die then, tied to a wall. I watch her die now tied to a chair. How much easier would it not be to regard these humans as plain fodder and not interact with them? Never cross their paths. Stay isolated. Alone. The sound has stopped. It is quiet. No, there is breathing. A thin, rasping sound. It is not Liza I hear. It is George. He is conscious and catching up. His second wind.

“Now... you mean crumb...” George rasps at me, “You are in hot one there, ain’t you? I think I will...”

Caught in a coughing fit he moves closer. He puts a hand on my cheek. Almost caressing me.

″...I will get you a better view from over at the window. Isn’t that nice?”

He drags at the chair. Doing it with one arm is hard work in itself. A major blood loss is certainly not making it easier. But he manages. My mind races back to the Saint-Antoine and the endless torture. Please no. I can’t bear this. But a man driven by vengeance is strong. Inch by inch he drags me across the floor.

“They are looking for two fugitives... without you, I stand a better chance of vanishing. It’s not...” A new fit stops him, “It’s not personal... oh, wait. It is. It is!”

The chair almost topples over as it catches on the rug. There is a bit of commotion as he tries to drag the carpet out of the way. He appears to give up. Failing to move it, he must have managed to lift a corner instead. The chair doesn’t catch anymore and my journey towards the sun seems inevitable.

“Well, I do hope you ill enjoy your spot in the sun... can I get you a pop soda and an ice cream? I can put that minxy little dame in a swimsuit for you.” He laughs, “It wou...”

He screams. All I can hear is heavy moans and strangely ringing noises. Metallic. George screams and screams. Then a loud smack followed by pain-stricken moan and a load crash from shattered glass and wood. It was Liza, no doubt. What had she done? Everything is silent now. All I can hear is the breeze outside and birds. The curtains are still drawn. Not completely. The sun stings. Then I hear voices from outside. People in the street are talking. Someone yells. There are footsteps from people running. Did they fall out of the window? Poor woman. She should have had no part in this.

The sun is burning now. I can smell my charring skin. Outside the voices have dampened. There are more people now, I think, but they speak more lowly. Then a siren. Two, I think. The strings are tighter now, as my skin is swelling. I can feel drops of blood around my wrists. Downstairs I can hear a door being pried open. They try to do it quietly. Apprehensive. Afraid of what they might find here. Steps on the stairs. There are many. Four or five.

“Police! Put your hands up!”

“I... can’t...” My voice fails me.

“What the hell is this?!”

“He has been burned. Is this acid?”

“Hey, don’t move him. We need to wait for the nurse.”

“The sun...”

“What? I don’t get a word of it.”

“Neither did I. Hand me that razor there on the floor. These ties are very tight.”

“You think it’s a good idea to cut him free?”

“Look at him. He can’t hurt a fly.”

“Yeah, well. I ain’t no fly I tell you.”

The men all laugh.

“You sure look like one, Johnson. A big, fat blowfly.”

Another fit of laughs.

“Sergeant! Go down and fetch the ambulance nurse.”

“Is he done down there?”

“Yes, as far as I can see he has covered them up down there.”

The policeman by the window whistles loudly through the opening.

“We have a live one up here! Could do with some medical!” He yells.

I hear no reply but a few moments later I hear steps on the stairs. A big man. Breathing hard. He makes a sound of surprise as he comes in the room. It must look like a killing field. It is a killing field.

“What the hell happened here? Is that his arm lying there?”

“Whose arm?”

“The guy on the pavement had lost an arm. He was slashed to pieces by a sharp knife.”

One of the policemen is vomiting. Obviously, they hadn’t seen the severed arm as they came in. Now he has.

“This razor here is soaked. Must be the murder weapon, then.”

“Nah, you can’t cut off an arm with that.”

“What do you suggest? That he lost it blowing his nose?”

“Don’t be an idiot! What about this guy? Why is he still tied here? He is dying you moron.”

Someone drags the chair away from the window and the strings are being cut from my wrists. The pain is unbelievable. My skin is bursting. Blood seeps out from the charred skin. Relentless swells on faraway shores; How those words ring in my heart. Death. The dream I can never hope to reach. My paradise lost. These people who have it within their grasp, cling to life. And this poor woman remiss in her own to save mine. Mine, which was never lost nor could it be. She had infused my being with a form of hope. A warmth. I didn’t know her. Only just met her. Still, she lifted me up. In death she still does. The loss of this brief acquaintance is tangible. Reliance, I think. It lifts when you have it and it drags when it is lost. I am being dragged now. A calm begins to flow within me. I am feeling. I have emotion. Sadness. A stint of freedom, of sympathy. Now a captive. Still, the salient tears I have so often yearned to let flow, stay behind blind eyes.