Wretched by Offer Reish (most important books of all time txt) 📕

He stood there motionless, breathless, thoughtless, until his body could no longer resist and he was suddenly forced to gasp for air. What took place down below, not very far and very easily accessible from where he was standing, made him yearn to run home and forget everything but at the same time grounded him in that same spot at the top, where the view of the horror was the finest.

All the Wretches that had assembled down at the bottom formed disorderly lines at the back of large trucks that had their back parts opened, ready for loading. Prodded on by men with steel rods sharpened at the edges, and guarded by several armed men standing between each two trucks, the Wretches loaded the trucks without the slightest objection or intentional delay. With every group of twenty Wretches or so, the men with the steel rods signaled for those at the front of each line to stop until those inside were arranged more space-efficiently. Then, a row of metal bars that spanned the length of the inside of the truck came down from the ceiling and pressed the new load into a tight cluster to make space for newcomers. The metal bars, narrowly spaced, slowly narrowed the gap between the current row and the previous one which was in place, compressing the previous load of Wretches like a air in a balloon, until the bars reached their designated position, and the next load began.

Without exception, every single Wretch in every single load was squeezed tightly against the others in its group and crushed by the force of the bars. They were all brought to the point where their large, cumbersome bodies were distorted, misshaped and, often irreversibly, impaired. The fortunate ones rammed their heads in the space between two of the bars and could fill their lungs with a few more breaths until the next load was forced against them, even though this usually came at the cost of serious shoulder injuries. They all suffered some kind of injury or another- it was impossible to make it through intact. But what was most nightmarish about the whole thing- worse than bodies being crushed against each other and yielding under the enormous pressure exerted upon them- was their misery. They knew what was coming- they'd been through it before- they dreaded it, but there was no escape. These large, powerful things- some of them twice as large and ten times as strong as the men that were prodding them onto the trucks- were all crying horrific cries of agony, each in its own way. And more kept coming, darting past Leonard readily and nonchalantly, marching their way into hell. There was so much suffering there that it seemed to steep the air, making it thick and difficult to breathe.

Why were they going there? Why was this happening? Why was there nobody there trying to stop it?

Leonardo instinctively shut his eyes and pressed his palms hard against his ears, hoping it would all go away. It had to go away, since something so horrible couldn't exist! But even with his senses as distant as he could put them, in his mind's eye he could still see and hear and smell the atrocity, and in his heart the agony was the same. He tried to stop a few of the Wretches passing by him and warn them of what awaited them, but they stoically waited until he was out of breath or out of hope and continued to descend the slope.

And then, without having intended it, he understood everything. Even as the horror continued to be reflected in his transparent eyes, John saw Jessica standing on stage and saying the word that he hadn't comprehended before but now did:

'Never has true justice existed without the presence of compassion'.

It was only without compassion that what was causing his eyes to be in the dark and his ears in silence, but still burned him inside could take place. It could only take place when instead of compassion there was 'justice's eternal nemesis: indifference'.

When he saw these trucks and these metal cages and these Wretches and these men with the steel rods and the guns he knew- witnessing this sufficed to know it without any shadow of doubt- that here there was no justice. And if here there was no justice, then everywhere there was no justice. Because he understood now what Jessica had been trying to say through the thick walls of indifference that had collapsed upon her- justice doesn't belong to anyone. Justice either is or it isn't. Either it belongs to everyone, or it belongs to no one.

Here, it belonged to no one.

There was so much Leonardo wanted to do- so much he felt he had to do when he returned home with a tear-drenched face and a torn heart, but there was only one thing he could do. He ran into his bedroom, shut the door, and climbed onto his bed. And he wept.

He wept for a long time, uncontrollably, and neither cared nor was able to respond to the knocking on his bedroom door. The door creaked open and someone walked in. He wanted to be alone, to cry until he'd suffered as much as any one of the Wretches on any one of those trucks did. Then, he felt a hand touch his shoulder, and a man's consoling voice (a voice that sounded like a stranger's):

"I know son, I know."

And his father sat beside him and took him in his lap, and they wept together.

A few minutes after Steve had left the room (and after their tears had dried) there was another knock on the door, and this time Hailey entered.

"What's the matter, honey?" She said with all the love and empathy in the world- so much love and empathy, in fact, that only a mother could fit it all in a single sentence- though she had a strong premonition as to the cause of Leonardo's pain.

In his current condition, after what he'd seen, Leonardo couldn't hold back. He began to tell his mother what he'd witnessed, the chilling reality of it all-

"That's enough! I don't want to hear it!" She bellowed like an awakened monster. "Enough with this nonsense!" She was so reluctant to hear what he had to say that it overcame her anger for his putting himself at risk (which is what any mother would think under such circumstances), her concern for anything that may have happened to him in the process, or her instinctive need to console him. The most important thing was not to listen to what he had to say. She turned and made for the door, but Leonardo refused to hold his silence.

"But it's the truth!" He insisted. "'I'm for the truth, no matter who tells it.'"

But she didn't respond.

"Is this it, mom?" He said softly, causing her to stop in her tracks. "This is what you were telling me about, isn't it? This is the darkest corner of your mind."

There was only one request Leonardo had. He wanted to give 462 a present. A big present. The biggest present a 9-year-old boy with Asperger Syndrome could give, aside from compassion, to someone who had no light in their life. He wanted to give him the glass chessboard. He didn't even know why he wanted it, or if 462 would have any use for it. Or even if there existed any chance that it would survive the loading to the trucks. He could hide it on the floor so that it didn't take up any precious space, but who knew.

"Please", he whispered to it during their last chess match together. "Please let me give it to you." The tears formed so fast that he couldn't stop them cascading down his face.

462 looked into the boy's transparent eyes and nodded. The game continued as usual, as though these were two legitimate opponents in a fierce competition with nothing bigger or more important than the game itself hovering over that beautiful glass board. And when Leonardo's rook checkmated the black king, this time without the slightest consideration or concession made by the black side, a furry hand was extended over the board. Leonardo looked with great excitement at his opponent and shook the hand that had been offered him. Underneath the fur there was skin. Rough, uneven skin that wasn't pleasant to the touch but exuded the warmth of life.

Leonardo knew that his father would allow him to give away such a precious thing as the chess board, and that he would do whatever was necessary to convince his mom. And he was right.

That evening 462 was the first Wretch to ever receive a gift, packed in a brown bag and camouflaged under his arm, from the family it served.

It was also the last time anyone in the family would ever see 462, as the next day, for the first time in over a year, a different servant with the number 642 on its back entered the apartment as the family's new Wretch.

Publication Date: 09-03-2013

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