they
were happy to see criminals hang. I tried to think of the logistics of hanging this crackpot bunch. How would they do it? First they would need to be tried before the courts, then sentenced. Would
they do this in batches? If so, it could take years, maybe decades, and then carrying out the sentence
. . . Just the very idea of seeing so many men and boys hung, what – in groups of ten or twelve over days, weeks? It would be a shameful thing for any government to do. Shameful. Hang all
these boys?
I felt sick. I vowed then and there that I would do more if I got out of the House alive. Rather than slink away from politics, defeated, I would double my efforts. This tragedy wouldn’t
scare me off; instead it made me feel even more committed to my job. Our government had overlooked many things; we hadn’t acted quickly enough to secure change, and it was true, we had made
unpopular cuts. Austerity measures. There’d been marches, and this Leader of theirs had indeed made threats. We hadn’t taken him seriously, hadn’t taken the temperature enough.
There were programs for the poor, yes, all in the pipeline, all to come. But these young boys – it was already too late for them.
Just then, Hal said, ‘Okay. Looking like things are quiet outside.’
Mervyn mouthed,
Stay calm
.
‘All of you can relax your position.’
There was movement above us as the men shifted about and started to move away from their targets.
‘Can we move?’ I said to Hal.
‘Where yuh want to go?’
‘These cuffs are digging in to me. Can you cut us free?’
‘No, not yet, Mrs Garland. Not yet. You staying right there.’
With that Hal disappeared.
I tried to remain calm, hogtied with my hands behind my back. I craved sleep, but the chaos of alarm in my head made sleep impossible. I rested my cheek on the carpet. I imagined seeing my
children; I hadn’t said enough of a goodbye to them the last time I saw them. Brief kisses. If only I’d known. If only I’d had an inkling it might be the last time I’d see
them. More plaster fell from the ceiling. It was about 8 p.m., I guessed. The chamber of the House was ruined now and I marvelled and thought,
How has this happened again
?
*
Later in the evening it felt clear the army weren’t going to attack. Apparently Colonel Howl had disappeared from the street outside; it probably meant he’d gone
back to discuss other plans at HQ nearby. Eventually, the gunmen untied us and I rubbed my wrists which had been so tightly tied together there were welts. There was a tight, screwed-up, empty
feeling inside me which came from being so scared.
But I also felt release, a giving up, that feeling I sometimes get after tears, or after a sea bath. My bowels were also weak. I’d already relieved myself into a glass. Now I feared I
might defecate all over myself. My legs were feeble; I hadn’t walked around or used them since the night before. They were like phantom limbs, floating around beneath me. I’d been
holding on, withstanding the situation. I had exactly twenty-four hours’ worth of resilience stored inside me. Then I sensed all the different parts of me letting go. I needed to use the
bathroom. I needed to defecate, cry, wash my face, wash my hands, blow my nose. I looked at my hands and realised they were shaking.
Breeze was still hanging round me, staring with open curiosity, and I found his gaze hard to tolerate. I glanced over at the latrine behind the speaker’s chair and again I felt that
caving-in feeling. A hot bile rose in my throat. I began to cough up whatever was inside me, a glue of bile and intestinal juices, strings of it came out onto the carpet and for the first time
tears spilled down my cheeks. The air in my chest choked off. Tears rolled from my eyes and the young boy watched me and I wanted to shoo him away and say,
Get away from me
. I needed to
relieve myself, but I couldn’t face that foul heap of broken cups and piss-filled glasses in the
were happy to see criminals hang. I tried to think of the logistics of hanging this crackpot bunch. How would they do it? First they would need to be tried before the courts, then sentenced. Would
they do this in batches? If so, it could take years, maybe decades, and then carrying out the sentence
. . . Just the very idea of seeing so many men and boys hung, what – in groups of ten or twelve over days, weeks? It would be a shameful thing for any government to do. Shameful. Hang all
these boys?
I felt sick. I vowed then and there that I would do more if I got out of the House alive. Rather than slink away from politics, defeated, I would double my efforts. This tragedy wouldn’t
scare me off; instead it made me feel even more committed to my job. Our government had overlooked many things; we hadn’t acted quickly enough to secure change, and it was true, we had made
unpopular cuts. Austerity measures. There’d been marches, and this Leader of theirs had indeed made threats. We hadn’t taken him seriously, hadn’t taken the temperature enough.
There were programs for the poor, yes, all in the pipeline, all to come. But these young boys – it was already too late for them.
Just then, Hal said, ‘Okay. Looking like things are quiet outside.’
Mervyn mouthed,
Stay calm
.
‘All of you can relax your position.’
There was movement above us as the men shifted about and started to move away from their targets.
‘Can we move?’ I said to Hal.
‘Where yuh want to go?’
‘These cuffs are digging in to me. Can you cut us free?’
‘No, not yet, Mrs Garland. Not yet. You staying right there.’
With that Hal disappeared.
I tried to remain calm, hogtied with my hands behind my back. I craved sleep, but the chaos of alarm in my head made sleep impossible. I rested my cheek on the carpet. I imagined seeing my
children; I hadn’t said enough of a goodbye to them the last time I saw them. Brief kisses. If only I’d known. If only I’d had an inkling it might be the last time I’d see
them. More plaster fell from the ceiling. It was about 8 p.m., I guessed. The chamber of the House was ruined now and I marvelled and thought,
How has this happened again
?
*
Later in the evening it felt clear the army weren’t going to attack. Apparently Colonel Howl had disappeared from the street outside; it probably meant he’d gone
back to discuss other plans at HQ nearby. Eventually, the gunmen untied us and I rubbed my wrists which had been so tightly tied together there were welts. There was a tight, screwed-up, empty
feeling inside me which came from being so scared.
But I also felt release, a giving up, that feeling I sometimes get after tears, or after a sea bath. My bowels were also weak. I’d already relieved myself into a glass. Now I feared I
might defecate all over myself. My legs were feeble; I hadn’t walked around or used them since the night before. They were like phantom limbs, floating around beneath me. I’d been
holding on, withstanding the situation. I had exactly twenty-four hours’ worth of resilience stored inside me. Then I sensed all the different parts of me letting go. I needed to use the
bathroom. I needed to defecate, cry, wash my face, wash my hands, blow my nose. I looked at my hands and realised they were shaking.
Breeze was still hanging round me, staring with open curiosity, and I found his gaze hard to tolerate. I glanced over at the latrine behind the speaker’s chair and again I felt that
caving-in feeling. A hot bile rose in my throat. I began to cough up whatever was inside me, a glue of bile and intestinal juices, strings of it came out onto the carpet and for the first time
tears spilled down my cheeks. The air in my chest choked off. Tears rolled from my eyes and the young boy watched me and I wanted to shoo him away and say,
Get away from me
. I needed to
relieve myself, but I couldn’t face that foul heap of broken cups and piss-filled glasses in the
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