James Morrow - This Is the Way the World Ends

‘ But you did not rise with the occasion . You did not think anew. You did not disenthral yourselves… And you failed to reckon on the vulture.

‘There will always be a vulture, gentlemen. History is full of vultures. When you booby-trap an entire planet, you cannot cry “Non mea culpa!” if some faulty computer chip, misfiled war game, nuclear terrorist, would-be Napoleon, unmanageable crisis, or incomprehensible event pulls the tripwire. You cannot say that you were simply obeying your constituents or leaders. To quote Hannah Arendt, “Politics is not like the nursery. In politics, obedience and support are the same.”’

Bonenfant was shivering as if his scopas suit had ceased to function. Dennie’s exquisite face had turned ugly with anger and frustration.

‘Support,’ repeated Justice Jefferson. ‘There is where your guilt lies. For when all is said and done, what remains is this. Each of you in his own way encouraged his government to cultivate a technology of mass murder, and, by extension, each of you supported a policy of mass murder.’

George looked at Morning and realized that he had never before seen anyone weeping at a distance. He felt his spermatids shaking with dread.

‘Speaking personally,’ Justice Jefferson continued, ‘I would like nothing better than to say, “Gentlemen, there has been enough slaughter already, and we have decided to answer your crimes with love. You are free to leave this courtroom and survive as best you can here in Antarctica.”’ She bent her head for a moment. When she looked up, tears were poised on her eyelids. ‘But I cannot say that, for the tribunal’s duty at this moment is to tell all creation that we loathe what you did, and we know only one way to accomplish this.’

Parkman left the defense table and, throwing up his hands in a gesture of contempt, stalked out of the courtroom.

‘The defendant Overwhite will please rise,’ said Justice Wojciechowski. ‘Mr Brian Overwhite, the court finds you guilty on all four counts and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’

‘I thought you just wanted an explanation,’ Overwhite sputtered.

‘The defendant Randstable will please rise,’ said Justice Yoshinobu. ‘Dr William Randstable, the court finds you guilty on all four counts and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’

‘If I may say so, your Honors, that is the poorest decision I have ever heard,’ responded the former whiz kid.

‘The defendant Sparrow will please rise,’ said Justice Gioberti. ‘Reverend Peter Sparrow, the court finds you guilty on all four counts and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’

The evangelist pulled the little Bible from his three-piece suit and kissed it. ‘I am with you always,’ he said with great dignity, ‘even unto the end of the world.’

‘The defendant Tarmac will please rise,’ said Justice Wojciechowski.

‘There’s a pattern developing here,’ muttered the MARCH Hare.

‘Major General Roger Tarmac, the court finds you guilty on all four counts and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’ Brat pantomimed his opinion that Justice Wojciechowski should be subjected to an involuntary and unpleasant sexual experience.

‘The defendant Wengernook will please rise,’ said Justice Yoshinobu.

The assistant defense secretary did not move. His eyes looked packed in wax. His hands vibrated like chilly tarantulas. Gila Guizot entered the glass booth and hauled him to his feet.

‘Mr Robert Wengernook, the court finds you guilty on all four counts and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’

Gila repositioned the defendant in his chair.

Brat is right, thought George. A pattern is developing here. But not for me. My luck is too good. Cancer? Nah, it’s only scar tissue , the family doctor had said. Yes, ‘I’ll marry you , Justine had said. Sure, I’ll give you a job , Arthur Crippen had said.

‘The defendant Paxton will please rise,’ said Justice Jefferson.

I’m a survivor , he thought. Nuclear war, radiation poisoning, human extinction – nothing can touch me .

George felt himself rising. He realized that he was standing, that Morning was studying him with moist eyes.

It’s positive, George! The pregnancy test was positive!

‘Mr George Paxton, the court finds you…’

Nothing to worry about, folks, every baby gets ear infections .

‘Innocent—’

Innocent!

‘…on Count One, Crimes Against Peace. Innocent on Count Two, War Crimes. Innocent on Count Three, Crimes Against Humanity.’

Aubrey, Morning, we’ve done it!

‘On Count Four, Crimes Against the Future, the court finds you guilty as charged and sentences you to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow.’ Justice Jefferson winced violently. ‘I am sorry, Mr Paxton. We rather liked you.’ Her gavel hit the bench for the last time. ‘The International Military and Civilian Tribunal is hereby dissolved.’

Even if George had heard the aphorism that nothing concentrates one’s mind so wonderfully as knowing one will be hanged at dawn, his mind would still have been woefully unconcentrated. A tribunal stenographer transcribing his thoughts would have produced only babblings, yipes, and the same chant he had improvised when the warhead was groundburst upon his home town. This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening, this cannot …

Like a cancer victim scanning a medical dictionary in hopes that the standard definitions have been repealed overnight in favor of good news, George reviewed what Justice Jefferson had said to him, seeking to find alternative meanings for ‘guilty’ and ‘hanged’ and ‘sunrise’ and ‘tomorrow.’ Futile. He picked up his Leonardo. His tears hit the paint, turning Aubrey’s dress to mud. I must face all this with dignity, he recited to himself. But where was the audience? In what history book would his courage be recorded? He returned the glass slide to the nightstand.

A discordant jangle of keys reached his ears, and then the door cracked open, sending a burst of torchlight across the cell floor.

‘Morning?’

But it was only Juan Ramos, bearing a large, hourglass-shaped object and a plate of food. ‘Your last meal, brave extinctionist. Also, if you want it, an ice clock.’

George’s last meal was a sumptuous pile of fried skua, boiled sea lion, and corn, the latter harvested ‘from the ice-free valleys near McMurdo Sound,’ as Ramos explained. There was even a small glass of wine – ‘fermented penguin lymph’ – and a fresh orange.

‘I would like some privacy,’ said George.

‘My fear is the utensils, Señor.’ Ramos set the ice clock next to Aubrey’s portrait. ‘You might try killing yourself, no?’

The profundity of George’s appetite embarrassed and confused him. Didn’t his body know what was going on here? He devoured every morsel, scraping the plate with his knife, licking the blade. His wine vanished in three gulps.

Ramos said, ‘The clock will tell you when dawn arrives. As we say, “It’s always darkest before the dawn in Antarctica, and it’s always darkest after that too.”’ He demonstrated the device. At the base, a small seal-oil lamp. In the top chamber, a block of ice. As the heat rose, the ice dissolved drop by drop into the lower chamber, which already contained a puddle.

‘The design comes from Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks,’ the jailor explained. ‘ Buenos noches ,’ he added softly. He collected the utensils and left.