Plundered Hearts Read Free

cut the veins in his ankles and knees,
    Then looked up, fearful he would lose his purpose
    If his wife were forced to stare at his torment.
    He sent her away and summoned several scribes,
    Sitting on the cold marble steps and dictating
    Maxims still quoted today by those who think
    They know how they would want to live a last day.
    But death would not come. He asked a friend
    To prepare the same poison used to execute
    Those Athenian trials had condemned, and drank it down.
    It was dark. It was the agreed-upon hour.
    I had the key and quietly let myself in.
    A lamp had been left on in the corridor.
    I walked through its precaution toward the bedroom.
    This is what we had decided, the dead man,
    His lover, and I. I would “discover” the body.
    The lover would pointedly—bantering with the doorman—
    Arrive a half-hour later. Then, together,
    We would call the police and, in one frantic
    And one somber voice, report an apparent suicide.
    The bedroom was dark, but I could see the body,
    On the bed, under a sheet, its profile gaunt.
    I turned the overhead light on and knew at once
    Something was wrong. The face should be paler.
    I went to it and screamed his name. Twice.
    I heard the faintest groan. An eyelid moved.
    There were too many pills still on the tray. Again
    I called his name. I put my fingers on his neck,
    But could feel nothing, hear nothing. I knew,
    Though, that he was alive. I sat on the bed
    Beside him and stared. Enough time passed
    For shock not to have noticed. The doorbell rang.
    What would I tell my friend now? What would we do?
    I followed my crumbs of dread back to the door,
    And opened it with the latch on, though expecting
    The very person who was anxiously standing there.
    I let him in, and could think of nothing but the truth.
    “He’s still alive.” Eyes rolling back, he collapsed.
    In a city where tyrants kill their mothers and children,
    Why would they not soon turn against their teachers?
    We may decide how but never precisely when
    We leave. His barely clothed body was so cold
    It stalled the poison’s effect. Silently,
    They waited. Organizing a death as drama
    Had proved too difficult, the tableau disarranged
    By the mind’s eye in conflict with the body’s
    Stubborn clutch at life, its blind refusal.
    So what he thought would be was behind him now.
    What good was sentiment or ideas? You shape,
    When you can, the middle of things—where in fact
    The story begins—not the beginning or the end.
    He asked his slaves to carry him to the steam room.
    Meanwhile, we sat in the living room, debating what
    To think, to feel, to do. We decided the sun
    Was to blame, its warmth sapping the will,
    Lulling the dying man’s resolve, ruining the plan
    He had weeks ago listened to abstractly,
    Wanting and not wanting what he nodded to.
    We spoke as if he were not in the next room.
    We had three options. We could—this would be the one
    He wanted—hold a pillow over his face
    And do what he was finally unable to for himself.
    Or we could leave and return the next day, hopeful
    By then his weakness had solved the situation.
    But there were witnesses that we were here now
    And an autopsy would finger us as accomplices.
    The third choice was inhuman but morally right.
    Since I could not kill a man, even one I wanted dead,
    And because I did not want to end up a criminal,
    We called 911 and asked for an ambulance—
    What our friend had begged to avoid, the Emergency
    Room’s brutal vanities. Within minutes they had arrived
    In battle gear, quickly guessed the truth,
    Strapped the victim to the gurney and, with genuine
    Deference, told us everything would be done
    To see that it was a quick and painless death.
    A silent ride to the hospital in the crowded back.
    We sat at the foot of his bed as he was examined.
    A nurse told everyone to wait in the hallway.
    She drew a curtain and stayed inside with him.
    First, he is lowered into a pool of hot water.
    How long does it take to die? a young man