Swift and Quick Justice

"Wake up!" he felt careful, almost gentle touch on his good leg. He opened his eyes and saw the warden standing next to his bed. His wrist watch showed 8:00 am.

"Your pardon appeal has been denied," the warden said drily and touched his shoulder. "Be brave."

He looked around. His small cell was now full of people: His lawyer, a priest, two prison guards, the prosecutor and the judge who sentenced him to death were standing there with somber faces. There were more people, probably from the Department of Justice, in the hallway. The Chief Executioner was towering them all, even though he was not that tall.

His lawyer, who was fighting for him fiercely till the last moment, looked at him, eyes welling with tears. He always suspected that the lawyer was in this fight not for him, but for the larger issue of abolishing the death penalty. He looked at him, nodding in appreciation. Then he shifted his gaze at the social worker, perhaps the only person who saw humanity in him and met his sorrowful eyes.

One of the guards set his clothes on the bed and stepped aside. While he was dressing, the priest read a prayer. His fingers didn't want to button his white dress shirt, and he had to struggle with them.

"My son, would you accept God's help through me?" the priest asked, stepping closer to him.

"No," he said firmly knowing that God abandoned him a long time ago. "No, thank you," he repeated. The priest stepped aside, defeated.

Everyone gave way as he slowly walked out of the cell and moved into the hallway. His lawyer gave him a hug. When he reached the social worker, he stopped, looked into his eyes, and said quietly into his ear, "I'm scared." The social worker only gazed into his eyes and nodded, as if saying "I know."

The two guards flanked him on both sides as they slowly proceeded to the execution chamber. Everyone followed in a quiet somber procession, led by the Chief Executioner.

At the end of the hallway, the Chief Executioner stopped, turned around and said, "Perhaps you would like to write a letter to someone in your family?" He knew perfectly well there was no family to write to.

He shook his head.

As the automatic metal bar door into the execution chamber opened, the Justice representative stepped forward and said, "Do you want to make a statement to the Justice?" He looked at him with his absent eyes without saying anything. It's just the protocol they have to run through, nothing will help.

Two assistant executioners in civilian clothes set a stool in the middle of the chamber, right in front of the guillotine. He knew it was there, even though he couldn't see it behind the black curtain separating it from his death party. They led him to the stool by his arms and set him down. He didn't resist, feeling his entire body becoming limp and weak.

One of the assistants tied his hands behind his back. The other one took large scissors and cut off the collar of his nice dress shirt, slowly and deliberately. The first one then gave him a shot of bourbon and a puff of cigarette - his last wish. He took them in mindlessly, staring at the black curtain.

They raised him off the stool and led to it. The curtain parted and it was right there. The last thing he felt was the two assistant executioners pushing him into the machine so quick and hard that his prosthetic snapped and detached from his leg.

The Chief Executioner looked down at the blade and recorded the time. This September 10, 1977 he supervised the last official execution via guillotine in the history of France.

Although if you asked him, till his death the Chief Executioner believed that the guillotine was a lot less painful and much faster instrument of death penalty than any hangings, firing squads, or injections.

"The pain is only in your head; they don't even feel it if they don't resist, and we are trained to make sure of that," he would say, using the pun to illustrate that it was only horrible to those who observed or imagined the guillotine at work. But not to those who were subjected to it: "It's so quick that it's painless for them. The only real thing is fear, you can see it in their eyes."