The Religion of Death (Part 1)

"Then why do you want to die?" asked David almost casually.

"Because there are more important things than success and failure," said Chandler. "Because I’m tired of all the pain. When you know that death is unavoidable and that life will only bring more of what you’re desperate to escape, then you begin to long for death and its embrace."

"But what’s bad enough that makes you want to die?"

Chandler’s lips compressed into a grim line. "Have you heard of Eurocoma?" David shook his head. "It’s a disease, a genetic one. It attacks the internal organs, eating away at them until there’s nothing left and the person is left as either a shell of the person they were, or dead. It takes seventy years to kill a person, advancing in stages painstakingly slowly, and it’s a horrible death. The pain itself is torture, but a person loses complete control of their body in the end. I’ve had Eurocoma for almost forty years and it’s reaching the stage where the pain is advancing beyond my ability to hide it. I know I am going to die, I’ve accepted that, but I want to face it now while I still have control, while I still have my dignity. I don’t want to die but I won’t be myself if I don’t have my pride. And the only way I can keep it is by ending my life, and my suffering, now." He paused a moment, then asked, "Am I wrong in thinking that, in wanting that?"

David took a moment to construct a reply. It was a question he’d been asked many, many times before, each in a different context, and each time he gave a different answer. "No," said David finally, "no one wants to be robbed of their pride. But there are more important things than pride, things worth living through the pain for."

"Not for me," Chandler said. "Not for me." He didn’t sound all that certain, though. He coughed and stole another glance at the Executioner. "You’re not what I expected you to be, not at all."

"A lot of people find that. Many people who’ve never met an Executioner fear him, hate him for what he does. But that Executioner is still the same as any other person underneath, just changed by what he does, something many people don’t understand. Or don’t want to."

"You seem to have a knack for getting people to confide in you. Or at least you do with me. I don’t even know your name."

"David," he said.

"Well, David, do me a favour and don’t tell anyone why you’re here. Hardly anyone actually knows about my problems here on Flint except for Claire, my wife, and you’re going to have enough problems as an outsider without them thinking of you as a goddamn Executioner as well."

David nodded. "I wasn’t going to. I think it was I who asked you something similar a little while ago. And I think you will find I’m full of surprises."

Whether he believed him or not, David didn’t know; Chandler kept his concerns to himself and his mind on driving.

-------

They reached his homestead, a large but relatively plain building in shape and layout, which stretched back quite a way. Chandler’s family was inside and Chandler made the necessary introductions. His wife Claire was suspicious and hostile, quite understandably so, while the three children — Todd and Angie and Maria — appeared accepting. David was given the use of a spare bedroom and he placed his backpack and cap and glasses there, then went exploring the area for a little while.

By the time he returned Claire was serving lunch, a kind of salad. While he waited for the last dishes to be laid, he watched the children with particular interest. Children fascinated him, especially ones like these who’d been brought up in tough circumstances. Developing colonies had always struggled with poor educational facilities and it amazed him how bright the three of them were. Todd struck him as an enthusiastic youngster, Angie as a modest girl, and Maria was quiet with an unhealthy attachment to the holographic cat Mittens. Nevertheless, they all seemed like normal children — confident, but with a respect for authority.