Adam Levin - The Instructions

We did the left hand the same as the right.

I stood before those being held to the wall.

The scarfless insurgents were all crying out: “It was them!” “The ex-Shovers!” “The ex-Shovers did it!”

And the ex-Shovers: “Berman!” “It was Berman who did it!”

Kneel, I said. Kneel before us in awe.

They all knelt before us.

In awe ! I said. Like this ! I said.

They pressed their hands like pagans in prayer.

Harder, I said. Harder and harder. Finger to finger and thumb to thumb. Bend til they break. Breaks can be set. Bones can heal, I said. Dust only clumps, deforming the flesh. It settles wherever it’s pushed to, I said. Any digit remaining intact I’ll make dust.

And they pressed all their fingers against all their fingers til each one had fingers unhinged at his palms. A few got all of them, even the thumbs. Some got one or two, most between three and six.

No discernable pattern of damage emerged; no sense of justice arose from the arithmetic. The number of digits ill-cocked on the hands of any given insurgent was determined, it seemed, by factors that should have been arbitrary: his panic threshold, his tolerance for pain, his ligamental and tendinous elasticities, the strength of his muscles versus that of his bones.

All the screaming, say the poets of the Gurionic War, was heard by Hashem, Who led me toward mercy.

But there wasn’t any screaming and there wasn’t any mercy. Just gasping and groaning and bottomless contempt.

Love one another, I told them.

Because the lot had been cleared of civilians and news crews, and every cop manning the ressurected barricade was strapped with a gasmask and little silver canisters, and after the way the first army had entered, the second and third, if they got to the school, would be teargassed on sight, no question.

And because the new barricade was half its former size and we couldn’t locate the fifty missing cops, despite all the live footage being shot from choppers. And because the cops had not cut our power, which suggested they wanted us to see what we were seeing on live TV. And because what we saw on live TV, despite being birdseyed, didn’t include any part of the sky, and the ceiling of the school was free of skylights. And because what we saw didn’t include what lay west of the school, and the school’s west wall was entirely windowless.

And because what we saw and what we didn’t see — because what they showed us and what they wouldn’t show us — seemed to indicate, when added together, that the fifty missing cops were west of the school and/or in choppers high above the roof, poising to raid us.

And because a willingness to raid us entailed, by necessity, a willingness to risk the lives of prisoners and a willingness to use deadly force against us.

And because everything has to come to an end, and shy of immediate surrender on our part, a raid was the end that the cops preferred most — even if they didn’t quite know it yet — because no news crews were inside of the school, and the story of what happened inside of the school would belong to the cops once they raided the school.

And because there were news crews outside of the school.

And because the other armies, through sleet and through hail, had traveled all morning because I had asked them to.

And because the second army was still no less than a mile away from us, and the third army — Feingold’s — further than that.

And because it is better, all else being equal, to be a moving target than it is to be a static one.

All told, there were, depending how you parse them, between nine and twelve reasons I agreed to the plan Emmanuel described to me, none of which included “to perform a miracle,” none of which included “to pray for a miracle,” none of which included “to witness a miracle,” none of which had fuck-all to do with any miracle.

OFFICERS:

SHORTLY WE WILL EXIT THE SCHOOL, HEADING EAST. WE WILL LEAVE BEHIND SOME PRISONERS AND TAKE OTHERS WITH US. SOME OF THOSE WE TAKE WILL BE HELD ON OUR BORDERS AND RELEASED IN WAVES AS WE GO, FROM ALL SIDES OF US. OTHERS I WILL KEEP FOR A LITTLE WHILE LONGER. THESE OTHERS WILL MARCH WITH OUR COLUMNS, UNBOUND, SPREAD EVENLY AMONG US. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TELL THEM FROM THE REST OF US.

NOR WILL YOU COME WITHIN THIRTY YARDS OF US. NOR WILL THE DIN THAT YOUR CHOPPERS EMIT SOUND IN OUR EARS ANY LOUDER THAN WHISPERS.

ONCE WE HAVE MET UP WITH ALL OF OUR BROTHERS AND I HAVE SAID WHAT IT IS THAT I HAVE TO SAY TO THEM, I WILL FREE THE REMAINING PRISONERS AND SURRENDER.

NO CALLS WILL BE TAKEN, AND NO COUNTER-OFFERS. THIS NOTE IS A BINDING CONTRACT. FREEING THE MAMZER TO WHOM IT IS AFFIXED IS A GOODWILL GESTURE IN YOUR DIRECTION. SINCE YOU LACK THE OPPORTUNITY TO RESPOND IN KIND, WE HAVE DONE SO OURSELVES, ON YOUR BEHALF: COPIES OF THIS NOTE HAVE BEEN EMAILED TO THE PRESS, ENSURING THAT IF YOU DECIDE TO DOUBLE-DEAL US, THE WORLD WILL KNOW ON WHOM TO PLACE THE BLAME FOR ALL ENSUING TRAGEDIES.

YOUR SIGNATURE IS IMPLICIT.

HERE IS MINE:

Emmanuel gave me the note and I signed it. Brooklyn went to scan it in the library with Shai, after which Shai took it up to the front, where Samuel had gone with the insurgent, Cory. While Brooklyn sent the scan from my gmail account, Shai pinned the note onto Boystar’s shirt, and Boystar was launched out the door by the guards. Four cops came forward from amidst the barricade and carried Boystar east to safety. Cory was tied to the vacated chair.

We waited for news of the note to break.

I was sitting next to Benji. June held my hand. Jelly wouldn’t look at me, let alone speak. I told her if she wanted I’d change my mind back again, dust all their digits, even the broken ones. I told her she could do it herself if she wanted. She pulled on her hair. She tore at her shirt. I handed her the sap and she flung it blindly. The coat that covered Benji got jarred, and slipped. I tried to fix it. Jelly said, “Don’t,” and slapped at the air. June led me away.

The scholars, by then, had imprisoned the insurgents inside the boys locker-room, and posted replacements for the guards at the entrances. The ones without duties leaned on the walls and spoke in hushed tones, throwing me and June glances at regular intervals, chinning the air whenever our eyes met. The Side and Big Ending were gathered on the bleachers. Shpritzy approached as we made our way over there.

“I’m scared,” said his Ashley, her arm around his waist.

“She’s scared,” he said. “We were thinking that maybe—”

“No,” said Emmanuel. He and Samuel had come up behind the two. “Don’t bother Gurion. We told you: No. We need her,” he said to me. “We’re short as it is. His friend Mr. Goldblum just talked to this Feingold who says they have yet to get off of the beach.”

“Can you take an ex-Shover instead?” Shpritzy said.

“What’s an ex-Shover?”

“The Jews with the scarves.”

“No,” said Emmanuel. “No real hostages. They might be resistant. It might cause a ruckus. This needs to go smoothly. We can’t invite fire.”

“She won’t get hurt,” said Samuel to Shpritzy. “You won’t get hurt,” he said to the Ashley. “We’ll make you Wave 1. You’ll be the first freed. Put out your wrists and let your boyfriend tie them.”

Shpritzy looked my way.

You’ll see her tomorrow, I said. She’ll be fine.

He bent to the floor and unlaced a shoe.

Solly came over, chinned air at Jelly. “She says she’s staying and she won’t leave the body.”