DAY 39 – AM I NOT MY BROTHER’S KEEPER
(A short story by John Skinner)
Thomas was a bricklayer, like his father
and his father before him.
He was a good man – easy to get on with
and difficult to find offensive, and whose
obvious shortcomings were more than
compensated for by
his ability never to
speak wrong of others.
He loved his wife and adored his
children, and worked hard to give
them a secure life together, the type
of security he had known as a child.
Thomas had been worried recently.
It was three months since he had known
regular work. The recession had been
particularly cruel to the building trade.
He was therefore relieved to be offered
a new job. Even that job might
only last a few months,
putting up the final stages of the
government correction centre.
It was
strange work, unlike anything he had
known
before, as he was used to putting
up houses for people to live in, which
had given him a lot of pleasure. The
special correction block, on which
he worked, was unimaginative in design,
rows of windowless, flat-roofed
rooms with white tiled interiors, not unlike
shower rooms, except the only inlet pipes
carried gas, not water.
This disturbed Thomas a little, but he
comforted himself with the thought that
he was only doing his job, and
it was not his
responsibility to be concerned
with such details. Anyway his mates didn’t
talk about it, although he had to admit there
was an uneasy atmosphere on site.
It was some months later, after the work
was over, that he just happened to mention
it to a stranger in a pub, no serious
conversation, just passing time.
They came for him in the middle of the
night, men without faces who had long ago
given up the right to be called by name. At
first he felt it was a mistake, they’d come to
the wrong house, the wrong man, it was only
when he realised that it was no mistake,
it was him they had come for, that he
trembled with fear and cried out his
innocence, wasn’t he a good family man,
a hard worker, easy to get on with, never
passing judgement on other people’s
affairs?
They took him away silently, with only time
to collect a few personal belongings and say
goodbye to his wife. He pleaded with them as
they drove off into the night, looking for some
support or comfort, but he received no flicker
of a response. He too became silent, and began
to hope for the best. Perhaps he would be home
again tomorrow, for after all, what had he done?
It was only when they reached the gates of the
correction centre that his fear again began to
surface, and panic gripped him. They led him
from the car, along the narrow pathway to the
special correction block, which he had helped
to build. Even as they closed the door of the
windowless room in which they put him, he
cried out his innocence,
“I’m not guilty, not
guilty.”
But soon all that could be heard
was the gentle hissing of gas.
– JOHN SKINNER,4
[ from HEARTCRY magazine. ]
We are grateful to all who continue to give generously to the life and work of the Northumbria Community and pray that, as we face significant financial challenges ahead, there will be enough to sustain the work that God has for us to do.
