american tragedy

Chapter 162 (3)
Chapter 334 (3)
Mrs. Griffiths cried: "My child, my child! I know it, I know it. I believe it too. I know my Savior lives, and he is yours, and mine is dead, but, I will live forever!" She looked up at the sky, as if transfixed.But suddenly she turned to Clyde, embraced him, held him tight for a long time, and whispered, "My boy...my boy..." Her voice was hoarse, and she was short of breath. Out of breath, and if she didn't go at once, she would fall down, so she immediately turned staggeringly towards the warden.The warden was waiting for her to take her to Macmillan's friend's house.

Then, on the morning of the winter solstice, it was dark all around.The last moment has come.The policeman ran over and first slit a long slit on his right trouser leg so that the metal piece could be placed later.Then they lowered the curtains of the various cells. "I'm afraid it's time. Take courage, my boy," said the Reverend Macmillan, joined by the Reverend Gibson.He saw the policeman next to the warden walking this way, so he said this to Clyde.

Clyde was on the bed listening to Pastor McMillan reading chapters No. 14, [-], and [-] of John's Gospel, "Don't let your hearts be troubled. If you believe in God, believe in me." Afterwards, he stood stand up.Then, it is to walk the last part of the road.The Reverend McMillan was on his right, the Reverend Guccison was on his left, and the constables at the front and rear.However, at this time, Pastor McMillan did not read the usual prayer book, but said: "Humble yourselves, and follow the hand of God. When the time comes, he will not make people prosperous. You must tell all your sorrows to God." God, because he cares about you. Be safe. His way is wisdom and righteousness. God will supervise you and preserve his eternal glory. After you suffer, I am the way, the truth, and the life. People can go there.

But there are still a few voices here, when Clyde walked into the first door and walked to the elevator, these voices shouted: "Goodbye, Clyde." And Clyde was still a little dusty. He answered them with thought and fortitude, "Good-bye, folks, good-bye." But even to himself it sounded so strange, so feeble, so distant, as if it had been said by another person walking by. came out, not his own voice.Moreover, although his feet were moving, they seemed to have no strength to walk.Tap...tap...tap...,tap...tap,tap..., as he walked toward that door.He had realized that the footsteps were familiar to him.It's time to go.Now, the door is open.Ah, I saw it, I finally saw it, the chair he kept seeing in his dreams, the chair he was so afraid of, now he had to walk towards it.He was pushed there, pushed there, had to go there.He was pushed there, pushed there, pushed forward, pushed forward.Pushing in the door that was opened to welcome him now, but the door was closed immediately, shutting in all the life of the world that he was familiar with.

It was the Reverend Macmillan, and it was he, grey, weary, walking sadly, even a little shaky, as if in very weak health, through the cold gates of the prison after an hour and a quarter of an hour.The sky is so dark, so hazy, and still so gray.The day before and after the winter solstice is very similar to the stairs at this moment.Dead! How frightened he was, only a few minutes ago, so disturbed, and yet so paused to walk beside him, and now he was put to death.This is the law, this is the prison.While Clyde was praying nervously, those evil strongmen were laughing at everything.

That confession! Judging by the wisdom of God, judging by the kind of wisdom God wants to understand, did he make the right decision? Right? Those eyes of Clyde! When the hat was put on his head, the electric current started.Reverend Macmillan nearly fainted beside him.And he was about to vomit and trembling, and had to be helped out of the room—he, someone Clyde had trusted so much.Moreover, he also prayed to God, asking God to give him strength, and he is still praying like this.

He walked along the silent road, but had to stop again and leaned against a tree.Winter is here and the leaves are gone, so bare, so pale.Clyde's eyes! the look of him as he sank limply into that dreadful chair! They were so small, and so imploring, and dazed, it seemed to him. Staring at him and the group of people around him.

Is he doing the right thing? Is the idea he decided before Governor Walton really justified? Is it fair? Merciful? Did he say...maybe...maybe...some other force Affected him?... Is it him... Is it possible that he will never have peace of mind?

"I know my savior is always there, and he will take care of him for that day."

So he walked, walked, and after several hours, he barely made it to the face of Clyde's mother. Since 04:30, she has been praying for the savior. The soul of the son prays.She was still imagining her son in the arms of the Creator.

"I know he is in the arms of the Creator, and I know I believe in my faith." These were the words of her prayer.

remember the past

A dark summer night.

The high walls of San Francisco's business center rose in the twilight, gray and gray.

On a wide road south of Market Road, the old hustle and bustle has passed, and now it has quieted down, and there is a small procession, five people--a man of about 60 years old, short and fat, with a dead face. , a pair of pale, hazy eyes looked around.Fluffy white hair was exposed under an old felt hat. He was a dull-looking but mentally weak man. He carried a hand organ that was often used by singers who preached on the street.Next to him was a woman who was at most five years younger than him. She was slightly taller than him, and her waist was not so thick, but she was strong and full of energy. She had white hair and wore a never-changing black dress, black hat and Black shoes, her face is bigger than his husband's, and she has more personality than him.Still, the wrinkles of misfortune and misery are more pronounced.Beside her, holding a "Bible" and a few "hymns", is a boy who is only seven or eight years old, with round eyes and very clever, because he gets along very well with these two old people, and he seems to like to accompany them Walking beside her, she walks energetically, full of air, not particular about clothes, with these three people, but walking behind alone is a woman who is only 27 or [-] years old, with a haggard face, obviously a mother and daughter both.

It was hot, and there was a sweet Pacific coast languor everywhere.They came to the main street of Market Road, because the cars and trams on both sides kept shuttling, and they waited for the signal of the traffic police.

"Come closer, Russell," the wife was saying, "but you better take my hand."

"I see," remarked the very weak, but quiet husband, "the traffic here is just awful."

The trams jingled and the cars whined, but the little party seemed oblivious to all that except to cross the road.

At a bank along the street, the clerk said to his girlfriend who was a teller:

"Sure, I see them here almost all the time on Wednesdays."

"Oh, I see, that's enough for that kid, too young to be dragged about in the street like that, don't you think, Ella?"

"Well, I say the same thing. I can't bear it if my brother does it too. What kind of life is that for a kid?"

This group of people crossed the road and came to the first fork in front of them. They stopped and looked around, as if they had reached their destination. The man put the organ on the ground, opened it with his hands, and erected a small organ at the same time. Music stand.His wife took the "Hymns" and the "Bible" from his grandson at the same time, handed the "Bible" and a "Hymn" to her husband, and put a "Hymn" on the organ. The rest of the people each take a copy and take one for themselves.Her husband looked about him somewhat bewilderedly, but with great confidence, and then he said:

"Tonight, let's start with the 270th song, Miss Xufu."

The younger of the two women.She was shriveled and thin, bony and mediocre, and she hadn't enjoyed any happiness in life.So she sat on the yellow three-legged stool, adjusted the stops on the piano, opened the book, played the hymn she chose, and he sang along to the tune.

At this moment passers-by of all walks of life returning home, noticing the small group of people in a convenient place near the main street, hesitated, or glanced, or tried to see what they were doing.As they sang, the motley but unmoved audience in the street stared at this mediocre troupe who defied the infinite suspicion and indifference of the people.When the four people sang together, this strange scene attracted them.The gray, dejected, helpless old man in a frayed, puffy blue suit.This robust, gruff, tired white-haired woman.This immature boy, who has not been infected with any bad habits or deteriorated at all, is an ignorant boy.

What is he doing here? There is also the thin old maid who is usually not understood by others, and the mother who is also thin but in a trance.According to passers-by, only the wife in the small group appeared to have that kind of grit and determination, which, though perhaps false, or wrong, contributes to success in life today, at least always. Make your own story exist.Compared with others, she is stronger, and she seems to have the power to keep herself alive.Compared with others, although she was chaotic, she was respected and confident at last. Among the people who stopped and looked around, someone glanced at her, and saw that she put the "Hymn" aside and looked straight ahead. Passersby one by one.Saying as she walked, "Well, this person, whatever her faults, might have done what she believed in." Every part of her face, every movement of her spoke of what she preached to her. The wisdom and benevolence of the authority that does rule the world and rules over all, with unwavering faith.

After the singing, there was a rather long prayer by the wife; then a sermon was preached by the husband, and the others, all thoughts of God.Then she put away the Psalm, closed the organ, and, slinging a rope on her husband, walked toward the church.As they walked, the husband commented: "It's a wonderful evening. Look at me, people are paying more attention than usual."

"Ah, yes," said the younger woman playing the piano, "at least twenty-one people took little books, and an old gentleman asked me where the church was and when we started services."

"Praise be to God..." the man went on.

Finally came to the church - "Star of Hope, Bethel Independent Church. Worship time: every Wednesday and Saturday, [-]:[-] p.m. my love".There is a line of smaller words under the motto: "How long has it been since you wrote to your mother?"

"Give me a dime, Grandma, okay? I'm going to get an ice cream cone over there on the road," the boy demanded.

"I see, all right, Russell. But come back at once."

"Okay, right now, Grandma,... definitely. You know best what I've been doing."

Grandma pulled a dime from a deep pocket on her body.He took the money and ran towards the ice cream shop.

Her dear child.The light of her old age, the color of her old age.She must wait for him well, don't be too strict with him, don't restrain him too much, maybe... maybe... just like she used to... When he ran, she looked at him lovingly, but somewhat blankly. "For his sake."

With the exception of Russell, the small group walked through a yellow, unremarkable door and disappeared.

(End of this chapter)