The aged man bit down on his lower lip and lifted a dirty twisted thumb to his mouth. There was a huge scar on his face which cut across his left eye. He must have been around seventy years old or so. Angrily, he looked around the little square compartment he had been locked in for the past twenty years. Beside the six-spring bed he slept on, was a bucket he used to relieve himself every day. Tomorrow, he was going to be executed. He ducked his head and stared at the gray tiles underneath his feet, it was as hard and as cold as it was the night he was brought in for murdering his entire family. He sat on the floor, facing the small window which overlooked his cell. The window was overlaid with iron and spikey metals so he wouldn't escape. From where he sat he could see the sun receding for the day. It was the last sunset he would watch, so he studied it intently as if studying the face of a beloved deity. But the old man didn't seem to regret anything he had done in the past. He seemed more resolute in his decision to face his coming destruction.
A warder’s keys jingled as the lock to his cell suddenly turned and the door flew open. The old man turned to stare at the three policemen standing behind him.
“Mr. Saltzman,” the policeman in the middle said, staring intently at his face. “You have a visitor.”
The old man just kept staring at the policemen and said nothing, then turned slowly away, back to the window.
“Please rise and put your hands behind you,” the policeman continued. Adrian Saltzman could see one of the policemen had cuffs with him. So he slowly stood up and put his two hands behind his back. They cuffed him and walked him to the visitor's room. He halted at the door when he saw who his visitor was; it was his thirty-year-old daughter, who had miraculously survived the night of the massacre. She had not visited nor called him for the past twenty years. The last time he saw her was in the courtroom, where she testified against him after recovering from a three-month coma.
“What have you come here to do?” The old man asked, almost in a whisper as he pressed the telephone to his ear with his two hands. His facial scar made his face more agonizing for his daughter to look at. With his grey uniform folded above his elbow, one could see the knife scars he got from that night on his arms. So the woman dropped her eyes to his chest. On his left breast pocket was a tag with his name on it, “Adrian Saltzman,” she muttered as she stared at it. Adrian's eyes bulged out a little and his mouth slightly fell open. It was the first time he had heard his daughter say his name. The young woman kept staring at the tag, then slowly lifted her eyes to his face. Her eyes were emotionless.
“Why?” She asked, staring directly into his eyes. “Why did you do it?” Slowly, her eyes began to display emotions, it was an excruciating kind of pain that threatened to tear into the soul of the man sitting on the other side of the glass in front of her.
Adrian blinked and asked, “Is that why you came? To find out why?”
“Yes,” she responded.
The old man smirked and grunted. “Have you ever heard of the legend of the Bluebeard?” He asked in a deep strange voice and paused for a minute. When he got no response, he continued, “It's the legend of a man who married many women and killed them all, one by one, because they refused to obey him.”
The young woman scoffed. “So you killed your entire family because they_we didn't obey you.” It was more of a statement than a question, and it was said in such a calm voice that negated the torrent of emotions that threatened to tear down her insides.
“Your mother!” Adrian snapped. “She was going to take all of you and leave me. If I couldn't have you, nobody could.”
The woman shut her eyes and replaced the telephone on the table, then slowly stood up, picked up her bag, and walked away. For twenty years, she kept coming around to this point of hearing from her father why he murdered their family but always backed away, unable to hear the full story to the end. Yet, even as she walked away, she asked herself one question, why? Why did the man who had been so kind and loving when she was a child, the one who had loved their mother and cherished them, who had taught her and her sisters to be kind to strangers, to love their neighbors and give to the motherless children on the streets become so lifeless and cruel? Why?
Adrian sat there staring at the door his daughter had gone through for a long time until a policeman came and tapped him on the shoulder to take him back to his cell.
The next morning, before the sun rose in the sky, he was awake in his cell, staring up at the ceiling, when the heavy footsteps of policemen woke the entire prison, and soon the inmates were whispering noisily. They walked him hastily to the gallows as if in a hurry to end his brief and twisted life. There were two other prisoners taken with him; he walked in the middle. As he walked, he thought about Jesus heading to be crucified amidst two thieves. Only that, in this case, he wasn't the righteous one dying for the sins of others; he was the sinner walking into his glorification. A sinister smile glazed his face.
“Can I see my daughter?” He whispered to the policeman walking behind him.
The man looked at him, then at the other policemen, before responding, "I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Saltzman. You had your chance yesterday. Perhaps, you can speak to her briefly before your execution."
Adrian Saltzman nodded slowly as if he had expected that response. Soon, he began humming a song, his eyes fixed on some point ahead.
As they reached the gallows, a little man in a black cassock approached him, "Adrian Saltzman, do you have any last words?" The man asked in a calm voice. Adrian scoffed and looked beyond him to the small crowd of policemen, warders, and nuns gathered to witness his execution. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face, but his daughter was nowhere to be found.
With a hint of a smile, he said, "I'm sorry."
The priest looked at him, surprised. "Sorry for what, my son?"
Adrian's smile grew wider. "For not killing her too."
The priest took a step back, horrified. The policemen who stood close by exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to react. Adrian's eyes seemed to gleam with a sinister light. His glorification had come. And just as the executioner drew close, a faint figure, which stood in the shadows, turned away quickly. Adrian caught the sight of it, it was faint, hidden by the morning darkness. He struggled to make out its full shape, but it kept walking away. And soon he couldn't see it again.
As Sam walked, she heard the crowd erupt in chaos, with some people screaming in horror. She rounded a corner of the prison yard into a long corridor and walked until she was at the exit, and out of the door. Within her, there was a storm brewing, but without, she was walking away from the dark legacy of her father's twisted love for good.
Mmeyene Joseph
