The Detroit tribune. (Detroit, Mich.) 1935-1966, 1943-06-05

nlm anu reel Win as muCn Keen
ness as possible what his living
and dying meant. That was all
the hope he had now. II there
were any sure and firm knowledge
for him, It would have come from
himself
He was allowed to write three
letters week, but he had writ
ten 10 no one There was no one
TO whom he had anything to say.
for he had never given himself
whole-heartedly 10 anyone or any,
thing. except murder. What could
he say 10 his mother and brother
and sister? or the old gang, only
Jack had been his friend. and he
had never been so close 10 Jack
as he would have liked. And Bes-
sic was dead; he had killed her.
When tired Of mulling over his
feelings, he would say 10 himself
that II was he who was wrong.
that he was no good n he could
have really made himself believe
that. II would have been solu-
ton. But he could not convince
himself His feelings clamored for
an answer his mind could not
Give.
All his life he had been most
alive. most himself when he had
felt things hard enough TO fight
for them: and now here in this
cell he felt more than ever the
hard central core OF what he had
lived. AS the white mountain had
once doomed over him. so now
the black wall Of death doomed
closer with each fleeting hour.
But he could not strike out blind
ly now: death was different
ard bigger adversary.
Though ne lay on his cot. his
hands were cropping fumblingly
through the city OF men for some
thing to match tho feelings snrol-
derIng in him; his cropping was
yearning TO know. Frantically. his
mind sought 20 fuse his feelings
with the world about him. but he
was no nearer 10 knowing than
ever. Only his black body lay
here on the cot. wet with the
sweat OF agony.
II ne were nothing. n this were
all. then why could not he die
without hesilancy, Who and what
was he to fear? Why was this
strange impulse always throbbing
m him when there was nothing
outside Of him 10 meet II and
explain n? Who or what had
traced this restless design in him?
Why was this eternal reaching
for something that was not there?
Why this black gulf between him
and the world warm red blood
here and cold blue sky there,
end never Wilderness. oneness
a meeting OF the two7
Was that 81? Was II simply
fever. feeling without knowing.
seeking without finding? Was this
the all. the meaning, the end?
With these feelings and questions
the minutes passed. He grew thin
and his eyes held the red blood
Of his body.
The eve OF his last day came.
He longed 10 talk 10 Max more
than ever But what could he say
"a him, Yes: that was the Joke OF
IL. He could not talk about this
thing. so elusive Il was and yet
he acted upon It every living sec
ond.
The next day At noon guard
came 10 his cell and poked a teie-
gram through the bars. He sat
IN and opened r.
BE BRAVE GOVERNOR FAIL
ED DONE ALL POSSIBLE SEE
YOU SOON
MAX.
He balled the telegram into a
tight knot and threw II into a
corner :.
He had from now until ma
n,eht. He had heard that SIX
hours before his time they would
Five him some clothes, take him
n the barber shop. and then take
him 10 the death cell. He had
heen told by one OF the guards
NOT n worry. that "eight seconds
after they take you out OF your
cell and put that black cap over
your eyes. you'll be dead boy
Well. he could stand that. He had
in his mlnt a plan; he would flex
his muscles and shut his eyes and
hold his breath and think OF abb
soiutely nothing while they we're
handling him. And when the cur
rent struck him, Il would all be
ever.
He lay down on the cot. on his
back. and stared at the tiny
bright-yelIow electric bulb glow
ing on the ceiling above his head.
II contained the fire OF death. II
only those tiny splrals OF heat
inside OF that glass globe would
wrap round him now-if only
someone would attach the wires
to his iron cot while he dozed OFT
If only when he was in deep
dream they would kill him..
He was IN an uneasy sleep when
he heard the voice OF a guard.