the vanity of righteousness
It was the eyes that set him apart. The dull eyes of the men in our
town keep a proper distance, never quite venturing beneath the surface,
but his sought mine immediately, piercing the boundaries to discover what
was mirrored in my own. The spark danced between us,
careful and restrained, and the townspeople stayed to their daily
routines, unaware that such things existed. But aye, they did exist. Not in this village, not since I'd
come to live here so many years ago, but memories remained of my father's
house, of a boy servant near my own age in whom I'd seen this same
corruption. No, Salem wasn't
the only town in which the devil resided, of that the Reverend Hale would
certainly attest.
While making my way home, a thought plagued me…It was I
that the Reverend Hale had first happened upon in our village. Would I damn the entire town with
my own evils that had so surely been recognized? With the weight of these concerns pressing upon me, it
surprised me not when so many days later he came to us in the night, making his rounds to
visit the accused. Even
without that task, any other would have been deemed reason enough.
I lingered
in the barn, always creating a task to keep me far from the sharp
regard of the stranger with whom I share a home. Tonight's diversion came in the
form of a damaged wheel, and I had just begun the repair when I felt the
good Reverend's approach.
The only sounds in the barn as I work are the grate of
tool against wood and my own grunts of exertion. I don't alter my movements because
of his presence…to do that would mean admitting to myself that this man
affects me so differently than any other person in Salem. And he does not.
When the work is done and nothing else remains to keep
me from facing the inevitable, I turn to him, wiping the sweat from my
brow with a cloth that Elizabeth has supplied me for this purpose. The trickles of moisture running
down my neck and chest cause a shiver in the cool air, and I extend a hand
in greeting.
"Good evening, Reverend." "Mr. Proctor."
I cannot stop comparing him to the men in this
town. I've been here for so
long that the rest of the world has faded away to nothing, my universe
narrowed down to this small bit of earth that God has given us. His sharp, inquisitive eyes take
in everything, see all. No
doubt he would find whatever he'd come to reveal, because what could
remain hidden in the face of that kind of boldness? Where the men of Salem are
drab and simpering, Hale shines with exquisite wisdom and confidence. His hands are sturdy and fine, not
callused by hard labour like the rest of us. But his hands have no relevance in
this! I shake away these
outlandish thoughts.
"What make you of these strange accusations, Proctor?"
he asks me with quiet authority.
That authority seems somewhat subdued in my presence. Perhaps the reason is the same as
my own. I avoid his eyes,
fearing the knowledge that I might find. Some might call it hiding, but
better to hide from the Devil than to run after him with the rest of the
town.
"The town's gone mad," I state. If I am the only man who sees
this, it yet remains the truth. "Perhaps."
"But if there be any evil in Salem, I have confidence
that you will find it, Reverend.
You seem to have an eye for actualities." He stiffens, searching my face. "So I do." His mouth has a curve to it when
he finds no malice, only my own strange humour that the townspeople find
too brash for their sensibilities.
A cry carries across the wind- Elizabeth, calling me to
supper, and propriety requires me to invite Reverend Hale. He gives me
another long look, and I'm suddenly too aware of what we are.. I know his need as well as I know
my own, and as surely as I pay my penance with God every night, so does
he, tenfold. Why else
would a man with his unholy appetites dedicate his life to serving a Lord
who condemns such a hunger? I wonder how he might answer that? But I don't ask, and instead lead
him forth into the warmth of my home. At the door, we remove our wet
things, shaking off the rain.
My good wife welcomes us and rushes to assist. She takes his soaked overcoat and
peels it from his body. I
look away, the image burned into my mind, making me weak from the
perversities that my cursed imagination hurls at me like lightning bolts
of depravity. When I look back, it's his eyes that burn into me, knowing,
consoling…disapproving.
He prays over our dinner, and for those few moments my
burden is gone. It proves to
be a fleeting sensation, however, because the first thing his eyes light
upon when he opens them…are my own.
The meal passes with small talk and compliments toward my wife's
cooking. She makes a good
meal, Goody Proctor. In
the times that I find myself bewildered by this mysterious, required
institution of marriage, I make myself think of apple pie, stew and
bread.
We speak not of the trials. Finally, the fire burns low and Reverend Hale
stands. "Thank you, good
Proctors for your hospitality.
I must go and ready myself for tomorrow's trials." The tension between us goes
unnoticed by Elizabeth, Mary and the boys, all busy with cleaning up. "I will accompany
you to your horses, Reverend," I say, and he agrees with a
nod. His hat goes on his
head, the coat has been drying by the fire and is a pleasure to don; he
sighs with contentment as he slides his solid arms into the sleeves. "Your wife casts a favorable light upon you. You can count yourself lucky among
men," the Reverend says when we reach our destination and stand in the
shadows of his wagon. I do
not know what to make of the compliment. It is not what it seems…rather, it
seems more a question.
"She is a good woman." There can be no misunderstanding
in my absolute agreement.
We fall silent, neither wanting to broach the subject
of what lies unspoken between us.
Despite my reservations and blatant fears, I do the unthinkable, I
clap a hand down upon his shoulder.
Strange how this gesture that I make daily- with the judge, the
blacksmith, the preacher- can be so utterly different when it is this man
before me, staring with the shock of understanding in his eyes. "Best of luck with your work tomorrow," I say
breathlessly. What else shall
I do? I've forgotten how it
feels to be overcome this way, the desperate ache inside my trousers, the
simultaneous blows of guilt to my conscience. I am no longer accustomed to this
feeling after so long being surrounded by the Goodys and Marys and
Abigails of this village.
"I shan't need luck, when the Good Lord is with
me. Aye, all I ask is for
forgiveness."
"Forgiveness? What trifle could a man such as yourself
have to beg forgiveness over?"
His voice lowers, dark and rich as the night. "I think you should know that,
John Proctor. I'm beginning
to think that it be the devil himself who has brought me into Salem," he
whispers.
"I am inclined to agree, Reverend." "Good night, Mr. Proctor." I watch
him ride away, standing on the road until the cold seeps into my soul,
effectively dampening the fire that I cannot allow to burn. *** It grieves me to admit that our home is no colder in
Goody Proctor's absence.
No warmer, aye, yet the difference is not enough to distract me
from my daily chores. Were it
not my duty to free her, I should be content to remain here
indefinitely…alone.
Alone, I recite my
prayers aloud and wonder at the desperation that tinges every plea. No one but my Lord knows that the
desperation is for not my wife, but for I. Night falls, and when the knock sounds at the door I
almost cry out again because I know my visitor and why have my prayers
gone unanswered? I did not
ask for this, any more than I asked for my home to be split apart by
lies.
Alas, perhaps I've more of a hand in this torment
than I care to admit,, because in spite of my conscience I go to the door
and pull at the lock with shamefully unsteady hands. His arms cradle a cache of papers and he keeps his eye
trained on them as he enters and says, "I thought that I might have a word
with you about…"
I know this does not concern the papers, nor is this a
clerical call.
Once the door is properly bolted, he lays his burden on
the table along with hat and coat, and stands with bowed head. I know the posture, it is one of a
heavy burden. He wants, yet
cannot have; desires with reluctant penitence. In that moment, I know that it is done. The only thing remaining is the
physical act, and prolonging the inevitable behooves neither of us. He turns easily in my grip, away
from the table to face me with glittering eyes. Our embrace seems insignificant
compared to the turmoil now facing my kinsfolk, so I fall willingly, more
willingly than I should.
I shall give him what we both crave, the consequences be
damned.
My fingers pluck clumsily at the buttons of his
shirt. He wears city clothes
and the fastenings are
smoother, more intricate than my own, but my perseverance is rewarded when
I lay my hands on bare flesh.
The sound he makes is not one of a man, it is an animal accepting
defeat and I, too, feel the wild beast in my blood.
"This is a sin," he moans even as his hands burrow into
my hair, an intimacy with which I am unaccustomed. He speaks the truth, but my
passions have been awakened.
I silence him with my mouth and feel the return of strength- a
man's strength. It is too
much; I open my mouth in a way that Elizabeth once deemed lecherous--I am
a lecher now, so be it!--and taste.
The cupboard digs painfully into my back, for he tastes
me just as deeply. We pull
apart and I stare into his lust-blinded eyes. Words have no place here,
only the black magic of his touch.
We silently move to the bedroom and fall upon the covers. All my life I have carried
the knowledge that these desires of the flesh must not be fulfilled, but
in my bed that is all changed.
The hunger in his kisses increases by double as he peels my
garments from my body; I return the favor and there we are, not ashamed in
our nakedness but aroused and ravenous for more. If I were ever the instigator in this, that moment has
long passed because he covers me, holding me captive. A willing captive I prove to be,
opening my legs like a wanton whore, caring for nothing but the feel of
his hardness against my own.
Elizabeth has always shied from my manhood as though it posed a
danger, and perhaps she were right but Reverend Hale is not afraid, using
his hands and mouth- Oh sweet wickedness!- to bring me pleasure, great
pleasure.
Something happens when I tangle my hard-worked fingers
into his hair, pulling him nearer still. I am helpless against the pull of
his wet, heated mouth on my
long denied need and I cry out, seeing all at once the fires of hell, the
gray sky of Massachusetts, Abigail's hatred filled eyes, a crowd of
hysterical screams, coalescing into my own brand of hysteria that shudders
the bed, my home and perhaps all of Salem. When we have both found our peace, I am reluctant to
let go, holding him for as long as he allows me. He does the same and I want to
weep, for our time together is short. What would Goodwife Proctor think,
should she discover that during her imprisonment, her noble husband had
lain with another man and wept for the splendor of it. I dare not think of such things. He draws nearer and when his mouth finds mine, I cannot
stop myself from uttering a hoarse whisper. "Stay the night.
Your character will not come into question, for it has grown late
and Salem is too far a journey at this hour." I should like him
to remain, yet I know this can never be. He knows it too, and lays a tender
kiss upon my forehead, replying, "I must not." I feel the breath of his sigh on
my face, and it tears at me.
What have I done?
He means to go, but one last kiss turns into an
embrace, and I can feel his heart beating against mine. It makes me sentimental, and I
speak more things that I should not.
"Can you feel my heart?" I ask.
"Aye," he whispers. "I do." "You be the first," I tell him. "The first to see it for what it
is."
"I pray that I shall not be the last, John
Proctor."
"The Lord hears not such a prayer," I chuckle. "I fear he is gone from me now as
it be."
"Perhaps," he says, and when I wake, he is gone. *** I know not how long I have been in this cell, only that
it is the darkest time of my life.
Formerly lofty men are reduced to filthy prisoners declaring their
pacts with the Devil. I will not!
Abigail, who were obsessed with bedding me for years has created a
deadly chaos. Many have hung;
Giles Corey is dead.
Elizabeth will hang, as will I. For the first time in my life…I
hate.
I am brought out by the faceless judges and so-called
righteous men. In the crowd, amidst a sea of black and gray, I see Hale,
who argues in my favor. His
pallor is borne of fear and guilt, of that I have no doubt. When his eyes light on me, I see on his face the pain
of love, which is too quickly gone…
and when he next turns my way, I see a man of the law, a man of the
church and state. The church
is law in Salem, and I can scarcely recognize him, for any
tenderness he has shown me is grievously absent. I am pushed to the front; for I am answering to that
law. "You stand
accused of walking with the Devil, of binding yourself to do his
work. How plead you?" He is
stone. Surely this be
not the man who held me so!
"Why come you to destroy us!?" My voice is not my own, and I care
nothing for the onlookers. The stab of betrayal bleeds into my back. "I come not to destroy, but to out the truth!" "Liar.," I hiss.
" I know your truth.
You are no seeker of the truth but one who hides from it, praying
that your dark secret shall remain hidden." "You know nothing of me! For what I hold secret, you bear
part of the blame. Aye,
before I met you, John Proctor, I were not damned." He shakes with beautiful
fury. "Marked, perhaps, but
not- damned."
"Then damned you shall be! For if I am to be condemned, I
will not be condemned alone." With that vow, I take his face and kiss the
traitor's mouth with a hard desperation that sends murmurs of shock
through the crowd. For a
moment, only a moment, he returns my kiss before shoving me away
violently, which is too much to bear. I find myself on my knees, sobbing for all that is
lost, brimming with regret and hatred. I am John Proctor and I walk not
with the Devil. I am a
good and righteous man, and I will hang. I look up through my
unashamed tears to see the horror of Reverend Hale, another righteous man
who, for my sin of pride, will also hang. The End |