It was a secret shared by very few, precisely so that I could inform the revolutionaries of what Torres was doing in the town and of what he was planning each time he undertook a rebel-hunting excursion. So it was going to be very difficult to explain that I had him right in my hands and let him go peacefully -alive and shaved.
A little more lathers here, under his chin, on his Adam's apple, on this big vein. How hot it is getting! Torres must be sweating as much as I. But he is not afraid. He is a calm man, who is not even thinking about what he is going to do with the prisoners this afternoon. On the other hand I, with this razor in my hands, stroking and re-stroking this skin, trying to keep blood from oozing from these pores, can't even think clearly. Damn him for coming, because I'm a revolutionary and not a murderer. And how easy it would be to kill him. And he deserves it. Does he?
I'm sure that one solid stroke, one deep incision, would prevent any pain. He wouldn't suffer. But what would I do with the body? Where would I hide it? I would have to flee, leaving all I have behind, and take refuge far away, far, far away. But they would follow until they found me.
"They told me that you'd kill me. I came to find out. But killing isn't easy. You can take my word for it." And he headed on down the street.
Review:
The barber in the town was facing a dilemma whether to let his enemy, Captain Torres go, sound and alive.
He could become the hero of his people by taking away Captain Torres life, which was just under his razor blade. However, his conscience told him that he was just a revolutionist, not a murderer. Besides, he did not want his reputation as a good barber as well as his professional ethics in his job to be spoilt by the murder.
He realised that Captain Torres was an executioner and he was just only a barber. Each person has his own place in the scheme of things. That's right. His own place.
No comments:
Post a Comment