The Scrimshaw Man Read online

  Part four

  At his trial Paul was sentenced to death after the jury heard how many people he had killed including his father. The public defender pleaded insanity, but it did no good.

  Paul was sentenced to die in just one month. It turned out the girl he had killed was the daughter of a judge in Amarillo, and if a person wanted to die quick in Texas, just kill a judges daughter.

  Just before he was to be executed a local pastor of a church walked in to see him.

  He sat down tiredly at the steel desk, and looked at Paul, and Paul looked at him, wondering who he was.

  “Son, are you ready to die? Cause it looks like that’s what is going to happen.”

  “I don’t know sir, I ain’t ever died before, do you know what it’s like?”

  The question startled the pastor, and he looked at the boy with sadness. He had a boy his age…so young.

  “Why did you kill all those people son?”

  “I didn’t want them to beat me or bother me, never again.”

  “What do you mean, bother you?”

  “Like down here.” Paul pointed to his crotch.

  “Oh…”

  “Son, has anyone ever told you about Jesus?”

  “Who is he?”

  “Why, he’s the Lord son!”

  “I ain’t ever seen him, whats a Lord?”

  The good pastor felt such a grieving in his spirit; he had never been faced with such a situation in his life.

  He pulled out his Bible. “Have you ever read this?”

  “I seen one before, but I ain’t never read it, I’m a little slow at reading words out of a book.”

  “How far did you get in school?”

  I got to the tenth grade, the teacher didn’t want me, but the ninth grade teacher didn’t either, so they let me go to the tenth. The principle tried to whup me, and I whupped him before he could get me. The scrimshaw man told me not to take a whuppin’.”

  “Who is the Scrimshaw man?”

  “Why, he’s sitting right over there. I don’t like some of the things he says.”

  The pastor looked around the empty cell, and then back at the boy.

  “Son, this is going to try my faith, but would you like to know Jesus?”

  “I don’t know, whats he like?”

  “Well, he’s kind and loving, and he listens to your prayers. He died on a cross to save all who come to him.”

  “How does he do all that if he’s dead, pap didn’t even move a muscle after he died. I know… I buried him in tha root cellar.”

  “Well…Jesus died, but was raised up from the dead, and now he lives forever, saving all who will believe in him.”

  “Mr. I sure would like to meet a person like that, but I’m not sure I want to meet up with a dead man. Some of the people who picked me up was good to me though, is he like them?”

  The pastor thought a moment, “Yes, he’s just like them.”

  “I guess I can believe in him then, if he ain’t too spooky, being dead and all.”

  “Will you bow your head, and pray with me then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, repeat after me… Dear Jesus, I repent of my sins, and ask you to save me, I will try to live for you the rest of my life.”

  Which ain’t gonna be long at all for this kid. The thought came and went in the pastor’s mind.

  The boy prayed the prayer word for word. “I’ll come to see you when it’s time, if I can son.”

  The pastor got up to go; he didn’t know whether he could remain a pastor or not, and the tears wet his eyes the whole way out of the prison.

  Paul crouched in his cell, the Scrimshaw man officiating as usual, the Scrimshaw man picked at his old boots with his knbby hand, and thick claws. “You don’t believe in that Jesus crap do you sport? Now after all…I fed you and got you rides didn’t I? Who you gonna believe? That stinkin’ pastor, or me? I done right by you ain’t I?”

  ”I don’t like you too much.” Paul said, as he looked at the shrunken figure on the bed beside him.

  Some how the Scrimshaw man had shrunk, and didn’t seem to carry as much authority as he did previously with his Scrimshaw face and his Scrimshaw ways.

  “Aw now sport, see there, you done went and hurt my feelin’s.” then he cackled and danced over the bed.

  Three weeks later the pastor got the notice to come to the prison, and that Paul was being executed that very day.

  He walked down the hall with the boy, but the boy acted as if he was going berry picking instead of to his death, waving at this prisoner or that as he walked, and smiling cheerfully. Some of the prisoners had shown him small kindnesses, and now they looked sad watching him pass down the hall’s of death row, even knowing it was their own lot in life.

  As they stuck the needle in his arm, he lay there without struggle or even concern. Two minutes later he was pronounced dead.

  He felt the needles in both his arms, and the warmth pass through his body, then he saw a white light at the other side of the room. A man in a robe of white so bright it hurt his eyes said, “Hello Paul, I’ve been waiting for you, welcome home son.” Paul knew, and felt the love he craved for the first time in his life.

  The Scrimshaw man screamed and drew back from the beautiful figure that lighted the whole room, and then he shriveled up until he was no more than the size of a small spider. He cursed, and then went scuttling off under the bars of the cells.

  The man called Jesus, who was dead, yet lived forever more, took the hand of the boy, and led him toward an even greater light.

  The end