A Gospel
In memoriam Ennio Morricone (1928–2020).
Four strained shapes slowly swinging in the hot wind, like clothing hanging to dry, where it probably never rained. A little swing, hiding the rising sun, a little swing, a crown of rays exploding from the edges.
The smell of petroleum puddles on the path, horse carefully avoiding them. Silhouette of the wooden houses.
Closer. Main road, covered in horse, cattle and human shit, hard and dry.
Saloon, sheriff, jail.
The four shapes now had filled their shape-ness, turned into fully dead bodies, hanging, with the faces stuck in their last frame. Two of the men were so tall that half of their legs were inside the hole beneath them, the third a woman with some keys hanging from her belt, in alternative oscillation, last a bearded man, a slightly chubby one. The final expressions of the woman and the tall ones were the result of an annoyed and annoying personality. The only smiling one was the bearded guy. What made these corpses unique was the white makeup on their faces. Comedians and colleagues.
The hanging spot had rows of benches surrounding it, carefully set in a semi-circle.
A wise man would have turned his horse and left. That, of course, is the great secret of the successful fool — that he is no fool at all. But he was the fool and not successful and alas would never be. He left the horse outside the saloon, took the bag of chemicals.
Several kids surrounded him, “a stranger”, “the sacrifice”, “drop a quarter”, “we’ll pray for you” … They started shoving, poking him, violently, finally he had to kick one hard to make them run away. They did not go very far.
He fixed his bowler hat. Kept one hand on his Colt Peacemaker in the holster under the poncho. Opened the glass door, a luxury setup, entered the saloon.
There were undertone murmurs, several seemingly virtuous ladies, no cards or gambling.
“Morning gentlemen. Bill Carson, druggist, on my way to Abilene.”
A man with a rather extraordinary red and pointed nose stood up. Also had a marshall badge.
Sheriff Bardolph: “I’m the city marshall. No guns in this town. You have to leave the pistol at my office.”
Bill: “May I have a drink before that?”
Bardolph: “Plenty of time after our little trip down the road.”
Bill: “About the plenty, sheriff, there are plenty of gentlemen that are blowing in the wind in that hanging arena of yours, they must have been using their short time here on earth unwisely, didn’t they?”
The sheriff looked around the saloon with a slight grin, “Did they?”.
One crooked man stood up, to Bill: “They are in a better place. We did the full ritual, the Marshal gave the farewell kiss, and they are saved now.”
Bardolph: “Thank you Kit. So, stranger?”
Bill: “Fine, I’ll follow you.”
Bardolph: “No, I’ll follow you.”
Bill: “Well well.” He stopped, looked around. Most people standing, had gotten closer. The sheriff had intense eyes and shaking hands. “Ok, let’s go then.”
The marshal’s office, an empty cell, a big copy of the bible. A portrait of the marshall on the wall.
“Also the Derringer that is up your sleeve.”
Bill gave up all his weapons.
“Now let’s check that bag of yours.”
“Drugs that can heal.”
“Ok, you can keep that.”
The marshall portrait had hangings in the background, the people around him very small.
Marshall: “The painter, a black cowboy. We had to hang him too, but we waited until he finished. Nice fellow.”
Bill: “You seem to have a hell of a lot of hanging going on here?”
Marshall: “Just what is strictly necessary to keep peace and amity between all blessed souls. I managed to turn this town into a peaceful place.”
Bill kept quiet.
Marshall: “Before you go back to your business. All people that stay here, even for a day, are demanded to do community service. Understood?”
Bill mumbled a “whatever”, went back to the saloon, got a room.
When he checked the room’s window, he saw it. The cemetery was in town amidst the houses, something he had never observed before. One part had new diggings. It was a grid of graves, seven times seven, six slots to be filled. Four graves had already been dug, for those already in the good place presumably.
There, he remembered. The news, the portrait with the preposterous nose. “Sheriff hangs both his parents for minor crime”. It was Bardolph.
Knock on the door. “We must go to do our community service, sir.” Guy was probably Mexican.
“Tuco here sir. I will do the service with you.”
“Community service eh? What on earth would that be?”
“Digging graves.”
“Ah yes, indeed, that is part of the main industry here.”
Digging.
Tuco: “The Marshall does a lot of hanging.”
“Does he.”
“Anyone who does the slightest wrong, according to the law or the scripture, as he reads it. White, blacks, Mexicans, males and females. Sometimes an Indian. Sometimes a passing stranger. Old people, that had passed thirty winters. Once, a rich man. The first time he selected a young girl, there was some commotion. «I am foreshadowing a better world, where all men and women will be equal.» And there, after the ritual kiss, the girl went too, no complaints.
The women are in terror to be picked for their nightly service with this devil, sir.”
Bill: “That too.”
Tuco: “More than once he picked just the girl with whom he had spent the night before. The shortest love is the most intense, he says.
“And the young ones here, they’ve grown the habit, they love the hangings and all the rituals! It’s cursed, sir!”
Bill: “This amount of violence and distress inhibits enthusement for the development of an analytical mind. Superstitions inhabit the fogged and still fertile minds of the youngsters.”
“But, what about his nose?”
Sudden silence. The marshall was there to check their work.
Marshall: “Good. You know what they say in the West: there’s two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You two dig, now. But in this town, I restored the rule of God and Mercy, and I know that you dig because you just want to be one of us. Probably you will be part of our rituals soon too! Enough! Go to rest!”
The marshall inspected them for a sign of gratitude that didn’t come. He pretended not to care, left.
Bill loaded his tube-shaped, chemical weapon. Ingesting less than a tenth of a gram of coniine can be fatal for adult humans; this is approximately six to eight hemlock leaves.
Dinner in the saloon. Eating. The marshall peeked in, saw him, decided to enter, dragging an Indian girl behind him.
A crowd was following him, they all entered the saloon.
The marshall looked around. “So we have picked our saviour for today, and tomorrow will be yet another blessed day.
You may think that little may come from the sacrifice of such an inferior creature. But.
But I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to the half-witted.”
A murmur of approval from the crowd, followed by “Amen”.
Bill moved carelessly behind the counter. “So I begin to understand, this ceremony is a way to bring joy and peace to the whole community? He that dies pays all debts, yours and ours.”
Marshall: “Indeed.”
Bill: “So lets all toast to the rite, all on me?”
Everyone cheered but the Indian girl, kept her void stare. Bill helped the barkeep in serving all, was careful to serve the drink to the marshall.
Suddenly, Bill stared at the ground, then brought his hands to his face. Now loudly:
“You may have guessed that I am a great sinner.”
Marshall: “Indeed. Are you?”
“And that those four mediocre comedians that you sent to a better world, that have encountered darkness as a bride, were my dearest… well, quite dear… well I did somehow know them.”
The Marshall kept quiet, slowly moving his hand towards the holt.
“As you are people so blessed and pure, maybe this is the time, place and circum-stance where I can find my redemption.”
Silence.
“So I volunteer for the hanging, to reach a better world.”
The Marshall grinned, the kids cheering, the Indian girl freed and running away.
The procession was advancing towards the hanging amphitheatre. The kids sang in a choir. Such a sweet, slow song.
Tuco wanted to keep his word, at least his interpretation of it. He promised, in exchange of a poison vial that actually wasn’t poisonous at all. Tuco took the horse, that was the part he would keep.
One of the kids, maybe a teenager, passed the rope around Bill’s neck.
The Marshall: “You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. But before that, I will say a few words, and you too will have a chance to leave us with your final prayer.
I will not tell you about the pain of our hanging. The slow, agonizing process of asphyxiation, which by all accounts is true of executions performed with a rope.”
He stuttered a bit, the tone of red of his nose was even more intense.
“You are about to reach a better world. He that dies pays all debts, yours and ours.
“Now, anything to say?”
Bill slowly shifted his gaze, looked carefully at the Marshall. The timing was perfect, the speech neither short nor too long, like a good gentleman writer that knows not to pester his audience with long, badly written stories. The poison symptoms getting stronger.
Bill aligned his head so to display his profile to most of the crowd. Brought his hand to the tip of his nose. A minimal, striking mime performance. Just a little movement of the hand, mimicking a long nose, in sync with a smirk. At the same time, Bardolph began to yield. But Bill had all the attention. The gasp from the audience, seeing the tyrant mocked.
Silence, only wind, creaking of wooden structures.
Suddenly, Bill’s wider movements, eyes smirking, mouth opening wide. The explosion of laughter from the crowd, hysterical for some.
The Marshall bending the knee. Now Bill had all the power.
With high pitch, clenching teeth, Bill added voice: “That salamander of yours… is it your lamp-like nose that needs all this oil seeping from the ground?”
The crowd was rolling in laughter.
“Ok, ladies and gentleman.” Now with a low, powerful acting voice. All looking, silence again. Turned towards Bardolph, who was on his hands and knees, trying to breathe.
“This is the saviour you say? And you really think you are going to be saved with all these hangings? Only the death of the saviour can save those that follow him. You know the gospels!
“Look at him. He has been stricken. He is in fear! Cowards die many times before their deaths; and he is among those.”
Pause. Looked at the boy helping with the hanging. Removed the rope from Bill’s neck, moved it on Bardolph. Bill helped Bardolph gently recover a standing position, on the border of the pit. Checking the crowd, all so eager. “Our love, just born, is already dead.” A push, and Bardolph started swinging, dying.
The crowd was about to disperse when one kid paused, mumbling, tears in his eyes. Started shouting “But it’s him! It’s him that should save us all now!” Other kids, gathering around Bill, all shouting. “Yes it’s him! He who killed our guide!”
They were angry. They surrounded Bill. The adults joined. They restrained him. Bowler hat fell.
“Who can pay the largest debt but our saviour?”
Bill looking around, thinking “Where is Tuco? He should have started shooting by now.”
There were now six shapes slowly swinging. Rain started pouring on the quickly dying body, mixing its tip-tap with the suffocating sounds.
Splashing on the refractory petroleum, the rain created large puddles. They were already far from town. Tuco liked his new horse that was so carefully avoiding getting stained.
Then the shapes became one. Tuco thought, “Tonight, I will drink the vial.”
