"I
don't regret why I'm in here. They can starve me, beat me. Call me a
traitor. I'm not one. What I did was for the good. I was a General in
name only, put in charge of the children and the lame. A sea of
starving, helpless people, with less than a dozen armed guards, all of
whom were routinely called away for more glorious service. I couldn't
lead my charges to safety. The raiders would find us in any cave or
stronghold I managed to reach. We were ransacked weekly. We lost our
supplies and the youngest starved. When the raiders returned to find no
more food, they took the near-pubescent girls as slaves. No number of
missing or dead on a report changed the minds of those in command.
"I
remember the fifth attack most clearly. The smoke from tents they
burned out of malice. The lamentations of young and feeble. A crippled
mother crawling after them escaping raiders, barking for them to return
her daughter. I watched her legs drag in the sand behind her, like a
split fishtail. It didn’t even flop around. Other men would have found
it heartbreaking. I found it inspiring, and I am not sorry for the idea
it gave me.
"I
took arms. Only one per child. I took a couple of hands, but that
wouldn’t be enough. I took no legs – every one of those children would
grow up to walk. I even mailed them one of the limbs along with the
reports and testimonials from children who could no longer write
themselves. I packed it in salt. Six mutilated children and one arm were
somehow harder to ignore than thirty dead parents.
"The
next week we had a brigade defending our camp. The raiders were
rebuffed by bronze shields and long lances. Able-bodied men did their
duty by the meekest.
"Which
of them gave me away? I don’t know. From the looks, I think it was some
of the same children who had sworn by my testimonials. You can’t trust
children, even parentless ones, to keep up your stories. I can
understand the juvenile mind begrudging me my work. I don’t blame them.
But I’m not sorry. Those one-armed children will live behind shielded
camps because of me. If my story is spoiled and Command withdraws the
brigade, then I’m still here, in a prison twenty days away from whatever
carnage happens, with nothing but the story that they are safe. I have
no regrets."
He is certainly convinced that the ends justify the means. Is he right? I don't know. I am torn over it - which is a testament to your skill. Thanks John.
ReplyDeleteWhat a terrible decision to make. Sacrifice a little to save a lot. Scary.
ReplyDeletehooo. Wow. Quite thought-provoking. I can see this decision being debated in a class, and yet, debating from the comfort and safety of a desk is easy. This sort of decision is not.
ReplyDeleteI think I come away feeling as though the narrator isn't as altruistic as he would like us to believe, though. A truly compassionate person WOULD be sorry. Would be horrified at his own actions, though he knew them to be the only course he could have chosen. "I don’t blame them. But I’m not sorry. Those one-armed children will live behind shielded camps because of me. If my story is spoiled and Command withdraws the brigade, then I’m still here, in a prison twenty days away from whatever carnage happens, with nothing but the story that they are safe. I have no regrets." This portion makes me doubt his sincerity a bit (sort of the "unreliable narrator" syndrome). "If my horrible actions didn't acquire the effect or semi-happy ending I hoped for, OH WELL, at least I don't have to watch it anymore."
But that's just me. :)
Wow. This one left me cold. Being in the position of having no good choices, though? I don't know...
ReplyDeleteOh, man - that was a disturbing turn of events! I love the line "I can understand the juvenile mind begrudging me my work." I'm pretty sure if I had my arm lopped off, I'd hold a grudge or two:) Well done!
ReplyDeleteThat was gritty and gruesome. Although at first, when you said "I took arms" I thought he was handing out weapons and creating child soldiers.
ReplyDeleteI feel sick right now. Which means you did your job.
ReplyDelete