HE HAD LOST COUNT of the days. His ten-counts he did without thinking for his lungs and his muscles had memorized precisely each ten-count of the vigorous exercise routine but he had lost count of the days for the days fell beyond the narrow confine of his cell.
His cell. So he’d come to consider it.
Yet now, Reverend Davey came to see him in this cell each day. Or was it, twice a day: morning and evening.
Earnestly Reverend Davey told him: “Prayer is like a feather.”
Reverend Davey’s eyes were the eyes of birds quick-darting in damp sand, long thin sharp beaks poised to jab.
“Think of a beautiful white feather. A large feather—like a hawk feather if a hawk could be white. Think of God’s hand and the white feather on the palm of His hand. And each prayer is a feather, that is light, weighing almost nothing. But each feather is precious to God. And the feathers accumulate, in the palm of God’s hand. So the prayers accumulate, and one day you will see, Luther—I have faith in this, deep in my heart—”
Luther thought—The governor will commute your sentence.
“—you will be with our savior in paradise.”
Confused, Luther smiled. He was not sure what Reverend Davey meant, for all along he had known that he would be greeted by Jesus in paradise. He had never doubted.
Yet, the death warrant was served. A frowning young bald-headed prison official from the warden’s office whom Luther had never seen before brought the document to Luther Dunphy to deliver by hand one morning after breakfast which was congealing oatmeal, just-slightly-“off” milk, a sprinkling of sugar and a small paper cup of sugary orange juice.
There was no mistake that the death warrant was meant for him for Luther Amos Dunphy was prominent on the document that bore a gilt replica of the Seal of the State of Ohio.
“Is that me?”—Luther spoke naively, puzzled.
Dazedly his eyes scanned the printed words. There appeared to be breaks between words and within words, like wormholes in wood.
. . . her eby ordered that the de fen dant L uther Amos Du phy who h as adjud ged GUILTY OF CAPITAL MUR DER as charge d in the indict men t and w ose p nishm ent h as been as sessed by t he verd ict of the jur y and ju dgment of the court a t Death sh all be kep t in cust dy by Aut hority of t he Oh o Depa rtment of C rimin al Justice unt il the 4th day of March 2006 upo n which day at the Oh o Dep artment of Crim ina l Justice at the hour of 7 P M in a chamb r designat Ed for the p urpose of Execu tion, the said Author ity acting by and thr ough the Execu tioner design ated by the Warden, as prov ided by law, s hereby comm anded, ordered nd direc ed to carry out his senten ce of Death by intr venous inject on of a subs tance or su stanc es in a lethal qua ntity adju dged suffic ent to cause th Death of the afores aid Luth er Amos Dunphy un il the sa id Lu ther Am os Du phy is Dead.
Abruptly then the printed words ceased. Quickly Luther turned over the document—there was nothing on the reverse side.
He looked up. The prison official had vanished. Luther’s cell was empty except for Luther whose legs he could see, and whose hands and arms he could see before him.
Is that who I am, or someone else? Who?
On the floor beside his bed was a stack of five or six New Testaments waiting to be signed, and Reverend Davey’s black plastic fountain pen. Luther set aside the death warrant and eagerly Luther took these up.
THE NIGHT BEFORE an execution I don’t even try to sleep. Lay on my bed in my underwear and socks and the TV is on but I am not hearing it. Or maybe it’s on mute. Bottle of scotch and a glass and cigarettes to get me through the night.
When I was living with my wife I’d lay out on the sofa like this. But she couldn’t take it, on edge like I am leading up to it for days—hell, might’ve been weeks. I said to her what if I was a Vietnam vet? You’d have pity for me then.
She said, OK but you are not a Vietnam vet. Should be ashamed of yourself saying such a damn thing.
She’d known what it was to marry a CO. Half the men in her family are COs, how I met Dolores. So it was shitty for her to hold it against me pretending like drinking was something new to her, half the men in her family are alcoholics. For Christ sake.
The thing is no matter how many times you go through the “lethal injection” procedure, something can go wrong.