“Justice” by Mark Taylor

Last Updated: 15 February 2010 373 views One Comment Posted by: B-Side Empire

I sit here, I am alone and still. As father speaks, he paces the room, a cellar room, lined with an old red carpet and painted a faded pink; a decorative choice I had assumed was here when we moved in. He talked slowly, choosing his words carefully, each with caution and attention, but also with unbridled excitement, “I believe there is only one way murder is justified”, he would get carried away, he would speak quickly and stop suddenly as he gathered his words and his thoughts; reigning them in and organising them until they purely and positively satisfied him.
“There is only one way murder is justified. There is only one way I believe it could be rational and sane, without malice, greed or jealousy.” His pace was slow at this point, his hands moved with his words and his eyes showed no interest in mine. “If one were to kill somebody for purely the… Pleasantry of the death” His walking stopped and his face became disfigured; it appeared that his choice of words was not satisfactory, “No… The experience of death: to be there as someone drew their final breath, yes.” His pacing restarted, “I believe one could become close to the human experience, to appreciate one’s own life through the death of another. I mean, we are unable to fully take heed of our own passing, we are, excuse my poor choice in wording, but perhaps we are too busy dying to experience it.”
My father was a tall man; his grand stature and physical authority was something I had always imagined would be a gift that would be passed on to me; he was skinny but healthy and would often wear clothes that exaggerated this attribute, a slim fitted suit or a short sleeved shirt.
“But that would be the easy part – the experience – where one would find difficulty would be the choice of subject and the means of death” His eyes dotted quickly in my direction, checking for my attention before darting back to their erratic pattern. “I read a story recently about a gang of youths as they mugged and beat a tourist. It would appear the tourist became lost in an area of London he was not familiar with and was attacked and robbed by a group of four young boys. Now, it was unknown to the boys, one of whom was actually convicted of breaking and entering in the past, that they had killed the man, I do not know how, some sort of head injury or internal haemorrhage, but they had left too soon to realise.” Father would often talk of stories he had read in the local newspaper (he did not enjoy national papers), occasionally it would annoy me, especially now I’m older, that he would spout opinions he had read as if they were his own. “I would say I feel sorry for the young lads, and of course I feel guilty for the tourist, his life just thrown away like that, but ignoring that sort of chance, that sort of opportunity to live. No, it is completely wrong; the act was frivolous and filled with anger, greed and adrenaline… No, this would not be the right way.”
My mind began to wonder and my arse started to feel numb from this wooden chair: my father would surely be a while. He started to turn and face me – my attention needed to focus – he moved with a sense of ease and caught my glance, he looked as though he wanted me to talk, but I knew better: he smiled, “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, the youths would not be a target, that is the fool’s reaction”, discussions with my father often felt like a game of squash, “No, no, no, vigilantism is a myth: those who kill criminals are not justifying the death of a human being; there is no self sacrifice, no, no hero, no one does it for one’s self, for their ability to sleep with a smile on their face, that they have ‘cleaned up society’”, a brief smile glimpsed my father’s face, he disliked it when people used their hands for inverted commas and he took a guilty amusement as he did it himself, “No, they have done no such thing, they do it for pride, no other emotion must be present, one must be hollow. Yes, hollow, I like that.”
To be honest, I was already thinking about moving out by this point; I never had the urge to go to university, but still, I would soon be seventeen and moving out seemed right; meet a girl and settle down, perhaps follow my father in his line of work, start a family and become truly independent.
“Because if one was hollow they could be completely at peace, they would be calm when they took the life of another and allow a complete and positive change in consciousness” my father’s talking brought me out of this thought, I knew how he saw me and my brother, we were still his growing family, he would not be ready for me to leave the family just yet, not ready for us to leave his ideal, “I mean, some people believe drugs are the answer; these hippies who suggest that drugs are the vehicle for a change of consciousness. Ha, these idiots who smoke grass and leaves or shoot poison into their veins. No, they have far too many consequences, and it is all for such a limited and specific experience, no, that’s not what I’m talking about”
I have never been able to understand my father’s political position; he would often grow angry with liberal thinkers, but never showed a support for conservative governments. Occasionally he would discuss the advantages of a dictator or the possible economical positives of a more socialist system. My father was hard to pigeon hole, a statement I think he would appreciate – I’ll have to tell him about it someday. “I mean one can grow ill from drugs and they leave an impression on your body; one urine search and you’re done for – did you know they can even trace cannabis in a single strand of your hair? It really is quite remarkable. No, what one needs is something everlasting but transparent” Again he stopped to rethink his words, “Hm, maybe transparent is wrong, more like invisible, yes. Only those involved would know the truth of the experience.”
Maybe university was not a bad idea; I always enjoyed the Sciences, especially Biology and I always loved animals: perhaps veterinarian would be a promising career. “No, drugs have no true consequence. Killing a drug user would also be useless, they are not of a clear mind and to fall into the use of drugs does not show a man of strong mental condition, No, I think the victim would need to be a man of education and intelligence… Hm, if one was to kill a dumb man or a retarded man would that man be taking the same life worth as a man killing a doctor or a lawyer?” I was never sure on my Father’s own education; I knew he always wanted to teach, I think it was Social Studies? “No I’m wrong, it would be the same as killing a criminal, it implies intent if one was to ponder the intelligence of the subject: if one were to kill someone smarter than one’s self they may consider is overcoming a challenge of sorts, or proving some form of jealously, as with killing an invalid, it implies superiority or pity, no, that is not what this is about.”
Maybe I’m looking at my future the wrong way, I shouldn’t think in absolutes; family life or career life, perhaps I should be thinking more openly, maybe I should do something more unorthodox and take a few risks, “The key word here is ‘objectivity’, it would be remarkably foolish to kill someone that one is close to; a family member, a friend, a colleague, no, where these so-called murderers fail is with their own prejudices, their own emotions, clouding their choice of victim. If my wife was to sleep with another man and that man was to be killed, I would be the first man on a detective’s suspect list. What one would need to do is pick a subject at random, someone who would have no dealing with one’s home, or one’s work or one’s social life.” My father seemed to pace himself at this point, his pondering was all his body cared for, however I was never sure how much my father had thought ahead when he began to discuss his ramblings to me. “Maybe a tramp? Or a prostitute? Someone who in all possibility could have died from rather nonchalant causes, based on their lifestyle?” He looked at me again for acknowledgement, not an answer, “No, I think health is also a key requirement; I do not want to leave any physical trace on the body, nor do I want any physical trace left on me and I’d imagine the splatter of blood would be most uncontrollable: you must understand, some of these people will be up to some quite nefarious activities and one does not want to be exposed to any sort of disease or infection. No, that would not do at all.”
I could become involved in charity work, that would be rather self fulfilling and I could pursue it for as long as I want, it would be rewarding, but would I ever consider myself successful? And would Father approve? Maybe it would be good to go against my Father’s wishes for once, “Physical health is important, son, I mean one would want to be an emotional vacuum, sure, but one would want to feel comfortable” This chair really was making my arse hurt, “I think one would have to be clean shaven, and perhaps have a close cut hair style, to lessen the chance of stray hair passing onto the body. How smart would one dress? A suit would be too much; one does not want to feel like it was a formal affair, or worse that one was attending a funeral. Perhaps a shirt would be a good piece, which is both comfortable and practical, but definitely no tie.”
I suppose I had always admired my father, but there is a time when I must come to terms with who he actually is; I mean he isn’t perfect, he hasn’t made the best choices in life. One of my earliest memories is me boasting to my friends about my father, sat in a circle, convinced of his excellence, but I think about his life now and he seems so different, so much like a failure. “How much would I indulge? Would I kill him…?” His sudden pause distracted me, “Huh, it is interesting that I assumed it was a ‘he’? Yes, I think a man would be a good victim to begin with, I mean, one does not want to be thought of as some sort of sexual predator… Hm, but yes, one would need to take him somewhere else if one was to truly indulge in the act.”
I think I first noticed it when mum left; I began to feel less angry and began to understand what may have actually happened. “I would be like the river, I would sweep in, clean, constituted and concentrated; it would be marvellous! A scream of ecstasy, and like a wave I would remove every trace and feel total serenity as I laid back and pondered my work. I mean, after all I would need to have a selfish frame of mind for something like this, son; it is all about ideals, perfection, intelligence, there is no waste, only experience and reflection. Yes, yes, son, you see, it is justified.” I will sleep easy knowing what I need to do.