Abner Tancredo Was a Good Man

by Jason Burger 

    Abner Tancredo was a good man. He owned a small, but successful market that he ran with his wife. He had a regular, reliable clientele whose friendly business supported his two children and aging mother, all of whom lived with him above the market. Abner wanted very little from life--merely to open and close his store at the same time everyday and to quietly add to his savings every week. It was his and his wife's dream to send both of their children to college--a first for the family.

      Today Abner was concerned. The old Ford sped along the highway and into the country as he listened to the wind shush by his ears. It was a pleasant drive made unpleasant by the destination. Rolling hills of golden grain and stoic sheep lined the thin highway. The sight of the flock brought up images of his childhood on the farm, when he and his identical twin brother would rise early in the morning to begin their chores. Abner would feed the animals as his brother headed to the fields to begin tilling. Abner often thought of the sun rising through the distant fence, silhouetting his brother at the plow as Abner trudged his way through cowpies and mud to the field. The peacefulness embodied in the memory was something Abner tried to emulate for his children.

      Driving alone in his car, Abner was on his way to visit his brother in prison. Today his brother would be executed. Abner was melancholy but not devastated by this development. The two brothers had stopped speaking long ago. Abner had stayed close with their parents as his brother, Kenny, drifted from home. Abner first visited Kenny in jail when they were only fifteen. Kenny had assaulted a man and stolen his wallet. For that he was given six months but they let him out after three. Abner silently believed that the judge had made a mistake because two months later, Kenny returned to jail for breaking and entering. This time he was in jail for longer. Eventually he was released again. As this became a pattern, Abner fell into the routine of visiting his brother in jail.

      By the time the brothers were twenty-five, Abner married and Kenny had spent over two years of his life in jail. Eventually, Abner began to worry about the corruption of his children so he broke all ties with his twin brother.

      That was four years ago. But only a few weeks ago, Abner received a letter from the State of Ohio stating that his brother would be put to death by hanging on JULY 31 for the crime of  MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE. That was how it was printed: all in capitals and in another font as if the letter was already written and someone had just stuck it in a typewriter and filled in the names and offense. The letter informed him that because he was next of kin, the state was required to provide notification. As a result of this impersonal bureaucratic necessity, Abner had left his wife to open the store alone on this Tuesday morning and driven himself to the federal prison.

      When he arrived, the building loomed from the golden hills around it like a leviathan: gray and cold in contrast to the glowing fields that stretched from its perimeter, seemingly trying to escape from under the prison's lethargic weight. Abner felt heavy-hearted as he parked his car and entered the prison. His palms grew clammy as the guards searched him and made a record of his belongings which they kept at the entrance. A wallet, a set of keys, and a penknife were all he had with him and once they were gone, he felt as if he were missing something.

      Two guards in gray uniforms led the way through winding corridors passing cells, through gates, up stairs, and finally to the doors of death row, deep in the prison. They walked down the center of the passageway, worn black from the soles of the inmates. Abner kept his eyes on the scuffmarks made from the toes of prison shoes and imagined the well-formed line of the prisoners on ritualistic marches. The final door that led to death row opened inwards to a long corridor lined by six cells on either side. The stench of sweat mingled with bleach struck Abner--the scent of a hospital, he thought. To his right, two guards sat at either side of a desk playing cards. A metal, electric fan beat loudly, blowing the men's hair to one side like wheat fields on a windy day. The men rose when Abner entered and, after a ceremonial greeting, asked him to sign a clipboard. They searched him once again. Abner watched the guards and saw a heavy sorrow in their eyes. It was almost as if they pitied him.

      One of the new guards showed Abner to his brother's cell. Abner tried to keep his eyes ahead of him and not look at the inmates he passed but he could feel many eyes on him. He had, perhaps childishly, expected dirty jokes and cat calls, but not this silence. As they reached the final cell, the guard pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the door.

      “Kenny,” the guard announced, “your brother's here to see you.”

      Kenny lay on his back on the bed, reading a dirty magazine. Abner averted his eyes from the cover, which showed a scantily clad woman with a large tattoo covering her stomach. Her hand barely covered her privates.

      “Hello Kenny,” Abner said, his eyes glancing at the small room around them.

      “Well, hello there Abner. Surprised to see you.” Kenny rested the magazine on his chest and it rose up and down with his breathing, scratching the stubble on his chin and making a soft sound like sandpaper on wood that Abner found unsettling.  

      “Yeah, well, the State sent me a letter tellin' me a bit about what happened. I thought it was only right to come see you.”

      “Well isn't that just so charitable of you?” Kenny sat up, tossing the magazine to the floor. It fell open so that a woman's hairy privates gaped at Abner for a moment before its glossy pages folded in upon themselves. The brothers stared at each other. The guard stood with vague wonder, glancing back and forth between the two.

      A thin grin spread across Kenny's face. “Handsome devil, huh? We always did look just the same. Why, we used to play tricks on the teachers at school, didn' we Abner? We'd take each other's places in class and take each other's tests and them teachers never could tell.”

      Abner felt nostalgic for simpler times when he and his brother were still close, but it made his stomach turn to think that such memories were founded on deception.

      “Would you mind excusing us for a bit, sir?” Abner looked at the guard.

      “Well, I'm not really supposed to.” The guard tried.

      “Please, sir. Gimme a minute with my brother on his last day.”

      The guard hesitated before answering. “Well, alright. I'll be right up at the front if you need anythin' but I'm gonna have to lock this door, okay?”

      Abner held his breath before nodding. He could feel his pulse increase as the door slid shut and the lock clicked. The cell felt tiny and constricting.

      “You get used to it,” Kenny said.

      “Get used to what?”

      “The crampin' of it. The claustrophobia and everythin'. After a while, it doesn't really get to you anymore.” Kenny looked very comfortable on the bed.

      “How long did it take you?”

      “Oh I don't really remember anymore. I've spent so much time in cells that I don't remember when it got comfy. This one's pretty nice actually. Clean, roomy. They treat the death row guys pretty good. Walk in my shoes for a while, you start to appreciate the little things, you know?”

      “I'm so sorry, Kenny.” Abner stood at the foot of the bed, fingering a loose thread on the mattress.

      “For what?”

      “For givin' up on you. For lettin' you go down this path. I don' know what we could've done differently, but I'd change it if I could. The Lord tells us not to forsake those that abandon His path. I'm so sorry.”

      Kenny watched his brother with an air of suspicion. They hadn't seen each other in a long time and Kenny searched for any changes in his brother's face. “I don't believe in the Lord. He never did have much regard for me.” Abner only looked on him with pity. Changing the subject, he said, “You really do look the same as ever. How's Ma?”

       “As well as can be. I tell her you're livin' in California, workin' construction. I tell her you send your love.”

      “Well that's awful thoughtful of you. My little brother! All grown up! You're a lucky man you know.”

      “I'm not your little brother.” Abner twisted the blue thread around his finger, cutting off the circulation and making the tip go white.

      “Course you are! I was born one hour, four minutes before you. You just never wanted to come out! I was waitin' but it took you a long time to come.” He grinned at his brother, noticing the air of uneasiness in Abner's posture.

      “Kenny, why'd you do it?”

      “Do what?”

      Abner hesitated, afraid of making vocal what he wanted to say. When the words finally passed his lips, they sounded soft and childlike. “Kill a man?”

      Kenny stood up and looked his brother in the eye, contemplating what to tell him. “You wanna know the truth?” Abner stood still, terrified and thrilled. “Felt like it.” Kenny turned away and bent over, reaching for the dirty magazine from the floor.

      “You mean he didn't do nothin'? He didn't insult you or steal from you or somethin'? You just did it for the hell of it? I mean, I just don' under--” A quick uppercut from Kenny cut him off mid-sentence. Before Abner could fall, Kenny caught him and lay him down on the bed. Abner was out cold and Kenny hurried to undress them both. He kept looking down the corridor at the guards, who were distracted by their card game, as he changed clothes with his brother, all the time carrying on both sides of a conversation with himself about their mother.

      Once he'd finished, he took a look at himself in the mirror and sighed. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer before crying out and banging on the wall. He waited, breathing heavily as the guards rushed down the hallway to the cell.

      “What happened? You alright?” they yelled, fumbling with the lock.

      “I'm alright. He tried to attack me but I gave it to him good.”

      “Christ, what an animal! Attack his own brother?” the first guard said.

      “Yeah, sure deserves to hang. Goddamn piece of trash,” another guard added, spittle flying from his lips.

      “Come now. He is blood after all. Don't talk about him like that.”

      “Sorry, sir. You're a much better man than us,” the first guard apologized.

      “It's alright. Just get me outta here.”

      As the guards led Kenny down the hallway, the large metal door at the end of the room creaked open. Through it entered a small, mousy man with a balding head, round spectacles and wearing black clothes interrupted only by a pure, white patch at the neck.

      Kenny attempted to avert his glance but the insistent man watched him with a purposeful eye. As they passed, he gently touched Kenny's elbow.

      “Are you the condemned man's brother?”

      “I am,” Kenny replied truthfully.

      “Would you like to come pray with us?” the man inquired.

      One of the guards spoke up. “Father, this man was just attacked by his brother down there. He had to fight him off and now his brother's out cold. I don't think he wants to go and pray right now.”

      The priest looked at the guard. “My son, the good Lord asks that we forgive those who trespass against us and have compassion for the sinners.” He turned to Kenny. “Will you come pray with me for your brother's salvation?”

      Kenny hesitated but the man continued to prod him on with scripture. The guards shifted on their feet, unhappy with this indecisive purgatory and making Kenny nervous so that he finally followed the priest back towards his cell. The guards unlocked the door once again, but this time all four remained close, eyeing the unconscious man with suspicion.

      The priest took Kenny's hand and began humming God's word over Abner who remained unconscious, a thin rivulet of blood streaming from his lower lip. As the priest prayed, Abner began to stir and the guards shifted their feet. Kenny breathed deeply as he watched Abner's eyes flick back and forth behind closed lids.

      The priest touched Abner's forehead and beseeched him to open his eyes so that he might receive his last rites. Kenny begged the God he did not believe in to keep Abner's eyes shut. Abner's legs extended and contracted as he began to turn and groan, gently shaking off the daze.

      “My son, do you accept God and beg his forgiveness?” the priest asked Abner.

      “Huh?” he mumbled. “What happened?”

      “I think I'd like to leave now.” Kenny wasn't sure if he'd spoken. He watched one of the guards unlatch his baton and rub its smooth black surface with his thumb.

      “Kenny, what happened?” Abner looked at his brother from the bed, rubbing his jaw and unconsciously fingering his clothes.

      “My son,” the priest continued, “would you like to repent before we proceed?”

      Abner watched the priest as he felt the coarseness of the prison cloth that hung loosely on his fragile frame. The guards stared at him, holding their batons ready and Abner could see Kenny behind them, looking down the hall. “Kenny, how…” he trailed off as the reality of his situation grew clear through the haze of his headache. “Kenny! I'm your brother!”

      Kenny turned his head from the exit and the guards and priest turned to look at him. “Kenny, how could you? First you try to attack me and now this?” Kenny gazed at his shoes, Abner's shoes, which appeared to be very far away and shook his head. “Please, I can't take it anymore.”

      “Show him out,” the head guard told one of the others.

      “Kenny! My God! Don't leave me here!” Abner jumped up and the priest stumbled as the guards shoved Abner back onto the bed with their batons. Abner pleaded with them. “I'm Abner Tancredo. I've never killed anybody. I've never done anything wrong. You've gotta believe me! Kenny, please!”

      Kenny heard his brother begging and the dull thud of a baton against flesh as he was led through the great iron door to the familiar labyrinth of the prison. His heart beat fast for fear of being caught. He felt as if he were trying to swallow all the world in one bite. It swelled in his chest, lodged in his throat--something was stuck just beneath his Adam's apple, but no, he swallowed and it was nothing. The priest hurried at Kenny's heels, looking over his shoulder and visibly shaking. Kenny knew his way around, but followed the guard nonetheless since he was unfamiliar with the direction of the exit. Abner's screams followed them down the passageway until they passed through another heavy door at which point it became a distant echo in Kenny's mind. His anxiety continued. He felt an oily film of sweat develop on his forehead, his palms, and armpits. His thoughts swarmed his head like a coronet of flies only buzzing more subtly, more intimately. They passed the chapel and the priest stole a terrified glance at Kenny who barely met the gaze before the little man dashed into his chambers, quickly shutting the door behind him.

      As Kenny was steered to the exit, a voice boomed out from nowhere and everywhere, “I heard what you done there, son.”

      Kenny spun around, stomach rolling and saw a large man dressed in a three-piece suit, thumbs bent loosely in his pants pockets and fingers curled gently into his soft, pink palms. He recognized him immediately as Warden “Jovial,” or so the prisoners called him. His portly stature and failure to ever give a smile or a kind word to any of the prisoners earned him the sardonic title.

      “Name's Sol King. I'm the warden of this prison here. The guards told me what that brother of yours pulled back there. I must apologize for the failure of my men.”

      Kenny felt the hard stare of the Warden pierce his skin and boil his blood; something like shame burned in his cheeks. “Yessir.”

      “Well,” the Warden paused, sizing Kenny up, “I want you to be assured that they will be reprimanded in the most proper fashion.”

      “Yessir.” Kenny couldn't manage more than two familiar and barely distinguishable syllables that he spit out far too quickly.

      The Warden crossed over to Kenny and touched him on the shoulder. Kenny had to brace himself, preparing for the touch of Sol King. “I'm sorry for your loss, sir.” As the Warden stepped back and Kenny turned to leave, he could still feel the mark where the Warden had touched him, heavy like a dark bruise, a weight on his arm. Kenny made a nod to the large man and walked out of the building into the purple twilight, eyes darting around the parking lot, searching for his brother's Ford. The summer air was sultry with a sinking, evening humidity. Its heat weighed upon the earth like a wool blanket. He looked east at the darkening horizon and thought to himself, Now, I'm a free fugitive and I can wander this good green earth because I am already dead.