Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

Half-way across the square, Servadio, the chief conspirator, was seen to whisper to his companions. Then he lifted his eyes and began to pray aloud.

'My God and God of my lathers, the soul that you gave me was pure, innocent and clean, but I contaminated it and made it impure with my sins. Now the hour has arrived for my life to be taken away, the hour in which I will give up my soul to Your hand to sanctify Your name. Take my soul when I go.'

This said, Servadio now openly encouraged his colleagues to pray, but they could only succeed in mumbling, 'Amen, Amen.' As they approached the wooden scaffolding, Servadio's fellow Jews could not continue walking, and two soldiers were forced to take the Jew cowards under their arms and drag them forwards. Once the three Jews were under the scaffolding, the bell of the Cursed stopped chiming. Servadio, however, continued to pray. The people did not understand what he was saying, and some thought that perhaps he was making honourable amends. Even when they hoisted him up and on to the scaffolding, Servadio continued to pray.

'Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one.'

The condemned were attached by means of a long chain to iron stakes on the scaffolding, and then the torch holders lit their torches and immediately ignited the woodpiles. The loud crackling of flames began to obscure the voice of Servadio, who now only screamed, 'One, one!' In the docks in front of the two columns, the gondolas held scores of wealthy people who wished to enjoy the scene from the water. From the scaffolding came yells that sounded increasingly like barking, and then the wind swept up the smoke and revived the flames. As the smoke cleared, one could momentarily see Moses and Giacobbe jumping back and forth, while Servadio, positioned in the middle, remained immobile as though he felt no pain. And then the flames enveloped everything, and one could see only fire. As the blaze consumed flesh and blood, the spectators, on both land and water, were deeply moved by the power of the Christian faith and its official Venetian guardians. Later, when the flames had abated, an executioner approached with a long-handled shovel. He put it between the smoking coals and when he pulled it out it was full of white ash. He threw the ash into the air and it dispersed immediately.

EVA looked all around. By the door to the boxcar a woman clutched her baby to her breast, its small mouth hammering first one nipple, then the next. After three days of travelling, clamour had finally given way to silence and people were beginning to doze off, their heads bobbing forwards like comical dolls. They were sealed in, going in one direction one hour, then back in the same direction the next. Then they would stop. Then start again. Then stop, and sometimes wait for long hours in one place. No one had offered them food or water. It seemed impossible to Eva that anyone could find sleep, for the stench from the bucket was overpowering, and its spilt contents had creamed the filthy straw. But most had already passed the stage of caring. Once again, the train jerked into motion and Eva twisted her body slightly to the left so that she could peer through the wooden slats. She saw that the morning sun had already taken the spring frost off the bare fields. She could see neither animals nor crops, just a light mist that rose even as she watched. Eva tried hard not to think of Rosa. She bent forwards and surreptitiously licked the condensation from an iron-ring that was bolted into a side panel. Then she looked at Mama and Papa, who leant helplessly against each other. Humiliation had descended upon their lives, and they sat huddled and indistinguishable from the others. Eva watched her parents, who, having tried and failed to instil some order and discipline into life in the boxcar during the first few hours, had subsequently chosen to remain silent. Other professional people had also tried to establish rules of decency, but all were shouted down. Mama and Papa were ageing before her eyes, but at least they appeared to be sleeping. Eva's anxieties about what lay ahead kept her awake, as did her fear of separation. While they were waiting to board the train, Mama had pleaded with her to fight for her life should they ever be separated, but Eva had assured her that everything would be all right. But now her Mama's fears were her own. And then Eva realized that the two old men in the far corner were still staring at her. They were bearded, and she imagined them to be religious men, but the leer which marked their faces seemed to confound her assumption. The elder of the two men wore a white scarf, and he flashed her a gap-toothed smile. Eva looked away from them both, and in her mind she edged closer still to her parents.

Eventually, of course, we found a name for the collective suffering of those who survived. These unfortunate people have to endure a multitude of symptoms which include insomnia, shame, chronic anxiety, a tendency to suicide and an inability to communicate with others. They are often incapable of successful mourning, fearing that this act of self-expression involves a letting go, and therefore a forgetting of the dead, ultimately committing the deceased, often loved ones, to oblivion. Their condition serves a commemorative function, suggesting a loyalty to the dearly departed. Naturally, their suffering is deeply connected to memory. To move on is to forget. To forget is a crime. How can they both remember and move on? This is no easy task. To be frank, people who suffer from the extreme form of this condition are beyond all care. Eventually, they just lie down to sleep and refuse to rise up again. The truth is, with the experience that I now have, all I have to do is look closely into the eyes of a patient to have some idea as to the extent of the damage. But back then, before we learnt the full details of the disorder, before we had a name for it, none of us could be sure of what it was that we were dealing with. I stare out to sea as the ship begins to labour in the face of the on-coming tempest. Navigation is a skill beyond me, but I am convinced that already we are some distance from our plotted course, and the wrath of the storm can serve only to drive us further from our intended destination. But these military thoughts, as worrisome as they are, do not dominate my mind. My wife. These days, always my wife. I recall our brief courtship and I remember her joyful acceptance of my proposal. And I remember the secluded happiness of our marriage, and, thereafter, the moonlit journey back to my lodgings with a new bride for company. When, as dawn was breaking over the enchanted city-state, the doge's messenger summoned me to the palace to receive my final instructions, I promised my wife that I would soon return to her side, which I did. However, we were betrayed by he who married us, and her father, upon discovering the details of our secret nuptials, raised bitter objection. This same man who had invited me to his table, and let it be known that it was he who had recommended to the doge that I be appointed General, now considered me to be unworthy of his daughter's affection. My wife and I were summoned to the palace and, before the doge and his most trusted senators, my wife's father — this small and impudent man — accused me of treachery, and his daughter of worse still. But this was a time of war, and I suspected that the doge might be inclined to overlook the unusual nature of this rapid connection in order to secure my services, and so it proved. He turned to my father-in-law and declared that no impropriety had occurred and, to his mind, his General was not guilty of any wrongdoing. This was the first time that the doge had ever addressed me with the title of his General, and it caused my breast to swell a little.

My father-in-law appeared shocked by the doge's words and, indeed, he swayed somewhat. My wife stepped forwards as though she might leave my side, but something within reminded her of her duty and she remained in her place. An attendant provided an arm for the distressed senator, who was clearly in need of fresh air. As he tottered towards the door, this man paused first to curse myself and then disown his daughter, implying that there was something false in a woman who could deceive her own father in this way. He reminded those gathered that his fair daughter had forsaken many notable matches, indeed broken many young hearts, and to what end? In order that she might betray her father, her family, and the republic, and marry one such as myself? He laughed bitterly at this notion, so much so that I was tempted to remind the gathered dignitaries that I, unlike my father-in-law, was born of royal blood, and possessed a lineage of such quality that not even slavery could stain its purity. But I chose to remain silent. As he left the chamber, my father-in-law concluded his performance by reminding all present that, henceforth, this woman was not to be considered his daughter.