Jeremiah stood still. With his hands locked behind his back, there was no use running. A voice, his voice, deep inside tried to communicate a ‘why,’ but that too seemed trapped. It was all so bizarre … surreal. Pashur Immerson gave a nod, and the guards on each side of Jeremiah forced him to his knees.
A pair of locks clicked open. Two heavy slabs of wood lifted upwards. A guard who wore a perverse smile, as though he enjoyed the moment a little too much, shoved him onto his side. Jeremiah’s shoulder took the brunt of the earth’s blow. The momentum of his head jerked his neck. Fire shot through his nerves and down his back.
“Hey. You don’t have to do that.”
Jeremiah’s complaint fell on deaf ears. The guard smiled and pulled Jeremiah’s legs towards him. The other guard held Jeremiah down while the first one placed the legs into slots in the wood. The first wooden beam dropped, and a lock snapped shot.
Jeremiah’s feet hung a few inches above the ground. He tried to bring his legs towards his chest, but the wood blocked his feet from squeezing through the hole. Splinters scratched at his bare ankles. His hips already began to cramp.
Handcuffs came off and Jeremiah’s arms became ropes, hauling his upper body towards the wood. The guard with the sadistic smile held Jeremiah’s wrists down by his ankles. The other guard shoved Jeremiah’s head forward and at a slight angle. The fire coursed through the neck again.
A second beam dropped. The final lock clicked shut. Immerson held up a piece of paper and read to the gathered crowd.
“For willful defiance of the People’s Rights Act and for publicly humiliating a protected member of the community, I sentence you, Jeremiah, to a night in the pillory and to be released at dawn. May your public shame be a lesson and a deterrent to all who are watching.” He added so only Jeremiah and those close by could hear. “Maybe, you’ll actually learn from this and think twice before mouthing off in the future.”
Only Jeremiah’s rear touched the ground. His hands and feet and head dangled through the holes in the wood, his neck bent awkwardly. The pain was already intolerable. How would he make it through the night? His God, his hope, had abandoned him. Had he lied to him? Hadn’t he said he would defend him? Make him a bronze wall, an iron pillar? Is this what he meant? Bitterness welled up in his throat, replacing the disbelief.
“The Lord rebuke you,” Jeremiah managed to wring out.
“It seems the Lord is rebuking you,” Immerson replied.
The sadistic guard scoffed and spit at Jeremiah. It landed on his head and slowly slid down his cheek. Jeremiah desperately wanted to wipe it off, as much to alleviate the itch as out of disgust. His hands jerked towards the holes. The wood dug into his flesh and scraped off a layer of skin.
“You want me to get that for you?” the guard asked, watching the saliva drip. “No problem.” His hand reared back. The crack of his palm striking Jeremiah’s cheek rang throughout the plaza. “Didn’t quite get it.”
The second crack split Jeremiah’s lip. Crimson drops fell between his legs.
“That’s enough,” Immerson ordered as though he regretted giving the order. “Leave the condemned to his punishment.” He turned to Jeremiah. “Enjoy the accommodations. I’ll see you tomorrow. I may be a little late, though. I do enjoy sleeping in on Saturdays.” His lips formed a crooked curve.
The sun beat down on Jeremiah’s face. The march to the plaza started at two in the afternoon. It couldn’t be much later than three now. The worst heat of the day would arrive soon. Jeremiah shut his eyes, but the sun’s rays still burst through. Beads of sweat formed on his head, adding to the terrible itch that wouldn’t go away.
The fire in his neck slowly abated, replaced by a dull ache. Every few minutes, he shifted his weight just enough to relieve the strain on one side of his legs and place it on the other side. Even so, knots began to form in each calf. Muscles stretched and groaned. Soreness, a slow-acting poison, spread down his back until it reached the bottom of the spine.
Overhead, the sun grew stronger. Jeremiah began to turn red. He twisted his neck to remove his face from the heat and let the sun beat down on the top of his head. His scalp felt as though it were on fire. He called out to a person passing by, begging for a cool towel, a hat, a glass of water, anything to relieve the discomfort for even a moment. The person gave a quick glance and hurried past. He let loose with a few words, a muttered profanity, and disappeared out of sight.
The sweat which continued to pour off was both a blessing and a curse, the moisture cooling the worst of the burns but the salt stinging them as well. Welts materialized everywhere skin touched wood. Like salt and sand after a day in the surf rubbing him raw, but worse. Blood leaked out in tiny rivulets and congealed on top of the sores. Flies, those ubiquitous, buzzing vampires, landed on their red meal only to be shaken off by a quick flick of the wrist, returning a moment later to drink their fill.
Another, similar buzz echoed around the plaza. The drone of cars meandering off on their daily business. The hum of pedestrians and the city, the buildings vibrating as though they too wanted to fly off in search of blood. Feet shuffling by, a car horn parroted by another, swearing, talking, laughing, insulting. Not more than fifty feet away, a group of boys kicked a soccer ball around completely oblivious to his sufferings, having long ago conquered their apprehension, their fear at first encountering this twisted, imprisoned, groaning stranger. Long ago tiring of their childish tortures, the pebbles they threw still lying near the base of the wooden boards.
The soreness on his left grew too much to bear, and he shifted back to the right. Dawn, salvation, remained sixteen hours away. He was sure he wouldn’t make it.
The sun dipped behind the buildings as evening made its daily appearance. Businesspeople and roaring children gave way to couples out for a stroll. He heard their whispered conversations, the explanations that fell somewhere between supposition and outright lies. All wondering what he had done to deserve it. Everyone adding their own judgment and condemnation. His mind told him to call out and praise God, to glorify him in all circumstances, but the anger, the pain, the humiliation distracted his heart. Even respite from the burning sun couldn’t bring out the smallest word of thanks.
All the moisture felt as though it had leaked out of his body. Every thought became of water. All his focus centered on the unmitigated thirst withering his mouth. Jeremiah licked his lips, running his dry tongue over cracked blisters, but it gave no relief.
His tongue. Swollen, desiccated. It had ballooned up and partially blocked his windpipe. He cleared his throat to remove the dust and flesh which accumulated in the back. A few seconds later, the short hack returned. Over and over. The sensation that at any moment he would suffocate. His only hope to fight the constriction in his airway.
“Are you there? Take this from me. I can’t bear it anymore.”
Birds called to each other from upper limbs, sparse leaves hiding most of their bodies from sight. Joyless songs flitted from tree to tree. Small, piercing eyes watched for signs of life and death.
“I can’t, Lord. You didn’t call me to this.”
A man grabbed his date by the arm and pulled her off the plaza. His head swiveled to catch one last glimpse of the spectacle.
“I’m thirsty. Grant me a drop of rain. Let it cool the tip of my tongue.”
The wind stirred the treetops, but Jeremiah didn’t feel any breeze. He closed his eyes and let his muscles relax. The inside of his thighs grew warm, damp. The sickly smell of urine lifted into the air.
“Why have you abandoned me? How does my shame glorify you? Take this from me. Do you hear me!”
The pain in his muscles rose slowly at first. Like the morning had just wakened him after he had run too far the previous day. He shifted his weight as he had done earlier, but it only made the pain worse. Muscles started to tense. The fibers pushed and pulled at each other as though they no longer knew how to act. Fire seared through his limbs. His left thigh contracted with such force he thought there was no way it wouldn’t tear.
He shook it, jerking the rest of his body in the process. All he managed to do was spread the spasms. Down one leg. Up the other. His bent back next in line. Lats and traps, ribs and forearms. Every muscle shrieking in rage as the convulsions tightened them into agonizing knots. A confessor on the racks. The condemned arched by the caresses of an electric chair.
In an instant, the contractions disappeared. Jeremiah whimpered but no tears fell. He relaxed but only for a moment. As the wind started to shake the tops of the trees again, his body went into a long, singular spasm.
Pain was his world, his everything. Nothing existed outside of it. Nothing existed before or after. No regret or fear or hope or release could be found. Only pain so intense he felt he would burst. His body stiffened into two boards, his chest and arms one, his legs the other. Fingers and toes stood straight out, locked in an excruciating paralysis. A light flashed in his eyes, then all went dark.
He was alone. A few stars dotted the barren sky. The naked moon watched from its set place in the heavens. Jeremiah raised his arm to scratch his cheek. The wood clamped down on his wrist. And he remembered where he was.
The boards rattled as he thrashed with all his might. Wooden cuffs strapped him tight, pressing on wrists and ankles and a neck rubbed raw. Every move felt like acid being poured on his wounds, but still he struggled. His screams filled the empty plaza. Horrible, furious, aching screams. Callous stars crowned an indifferent moon.
An unseasonable chill had arrived with the night. The sweat-soaked shirt, which had barely protected him from the sun, clung to his skin. He shivered against the breeze. God had chosen not to free him.
Jeremiah prayed one last time. A weak, shattered prayer. Sent to heaven from helpless lips. Not for release but for the strength to carry on. The wind swirled around him, warm, gentle, rising as a gust towards the stars. His spirit rose with the wind, riding on eagle’s wings, climbing high above the darkness into the light of the glorious son. There it stayed until the dawn began to break. A new day casting aside the shadows of the night.
The patter of footsteps awoke Jeremiah from his trance. He didn’t bother to lift his head. Immerson spoke, something Jeremiah didn’t understand nor cared to understand. Soon, the locks clicked open, and the weight came off his shoulders first, then his legs. His body wilted, a dying flower, a deer collapsing as its life spurts from a hole torn by a hunter’s bullet. Blood and sweat and urine stained his clothes. His tongue, a sack of chalk, pressed against the roof of his mouth. Eyes that couldn’t see stared straight up towards his hope.
He felt his body lifted once more and dragged along the stones. At the edge of the plaza, the guards tossed him onto a bench where a couple sat last night and kissed as he twisted in agony. One leg hung off. His head rested on the cool steel. The shadow of a guard’s hand lifted into the air.
“Don’t you dare touch him.”
The shadow paused.
“Get away from him.”
The footsteps pattered away. A hand brushed the hair away from Jeremiah’s brow.
“My sweet Jeremiah. What did they do to you?”
“Where were you?” Jeremiah murmured. “Why didn’t you come get me?”
“We just found out on the morning news. Oh, Jeremiah. I’m so sorry.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. Victoria squeezed back.
“Pick him up, Ben. Please.” A tear fell onto his cheek. “Take him home.”
Powerful arms scooped up Jeremiah’s broken body. The morning sun didn’t seem so hot as it shined down on his face.