"Let me tell you a story." He said.
"I thought I asked you a question." I was getting irritated.
"Do you want your answers?"
"By all means, go ahead. I'm dying to hear your story." I faked interest and started listening. I think he noticed too but didn't say anything.
"A man kills another out of anger and desperation. What would be your justice?"
I didn't know where he was going with this question but I complied. "It's not that easy. What was the situation? Motive? Why did he kill him? Without these answers it's impossible to pass the right judgement."
"The one that died was a thief. He tried to steal something from the other one and in the struggle, the thief died because the owner had hit him hard a couple of times on the head."
"I don't support thieves but killing them is just extreme. He could've disabled him and escaped. But wait... what was the thief trying to steal anyway?"
"A year of hard work. If it was lost, well, all would be lost for his family. And the thief tried to steal that. The future of an entire family."
Now I wasn't sure about my judgement. If it were me in that place, my rage would've known no bounds. "I'm not sure if the thief deserved it but I'd say he had it coming. But still, that doesn't mean the other man can kill him.
"The thief had a son with a terminal illness. The cure was far out of his reach because he was poor. He wanted to save his son. He tried to steal something that would give him enough money to save his son."
Oh, shit. Now I wasn't sure if he just made that up. "Doesn't matter. Thieving is wrong and so is killing."
"The owner came to know about the son. He helped him. Cured him. Gave him a life. The owner thought the boy deserved the truth. He told the son about the incident, after a few years when he was in his twenties."
"That's just downright stupid. Why would he do that? I mean, that's the last thing the boy should've known." I realized my outburst when he looked at me with one eye raised. "Sorry. Continue."
"The boy killed him a couple years later. In this story, who do you think should suffer? The thief, the owner or the boy? Who do you think deserves punishment?" He looked at me intently.
As far as I know, he just made up the story. But the story in itself, was... disturbingly logical. I couldn't pass a judgement. The thief and the owner, they both had a greater moral obligation. Protect their family's future. They did what could save their family. It wasn't necessarily what would've saved their family but it's all they had.
But the boy... In my heart, I knew what he did was wrong. A man who gave him his life back. A man who helped him grow. A man who didn't want to lie to a son about his father. I mean, that's a role model dad right there. He didn't have the heart to forgive. Most of all, he didn't have the heart to forgive a good man.
But when I put myself in the boy's shoes and I'm looking at the man that killed my loving father, yes, it didn't matter. It didn't matter what he did for me. It didn't matter he was there for me. It may hurt me in the future but in the moment, yes, I will dream a hundred ways to kill this man.
There is no justice in this story. The more I started thinking about it, the more confused I became. In the typical justice system, the boy should be tried for his crime and sentenced to prison for life except if he had a good lawyer, maybe get a reduced sentence.
I sensed a deep stare on me boring down on my consciousness. I was so deep in my mind, I totally forgot who I was sitting with. He made up this story. Why should I stress myself over it?
"You made up this story. Why should I bother? But if you really want me to answer your question, the boy should be tried but with a lesser sentence. Happy?!"
He just smiled. I sat there for some time in, what seemed to be, an awkward silence.
He said, "I'll get in touch when you need it", just when I was about to ask, 'shall we go?'
"Sure. You know where to find me." I stood up and walked towards the back entrance of the Hall. Before I walked inside, I turned and looked behind me. He was just sitting there. Still as stone. And then I walked into the building.
The moment I stepped in, my mind screamed, 'Rahul'. I ran towards the elevator and shouted, "Call Noulin Ahmed", into my communicator. When I reached the elevator however, there were a lot of people waiting. I took to the stairs without a second thought.
"Yes, John." I heard Noulin on the other side.
"Come to the rooftop. Bring something to...", I didn't know what to say. "To wake someone who's knocked out. Right away."
This is the second time in this week that I had to scale this building on foot. Damn. I was getting tired of this but I remembered how I felt that day on the rooftop. No, I can't stop. After what seemed like a long time, I reached the twenty fourth floor. Noulin was waiting for me.
"What's happ..." Before she could finish, I grabbed her arm and pulled her behind me.
"Sorry. One of our snipers, Rahul, I think has been knocked out. I need your help."
When we reached the rooftop, Rahul was there alright. He was still looking into the scope of his rifle with his trigger finger ready.
"Thank God, nothing happened to you. Hey, is he still there? Can you see him?" I stepped next up to him but he didn't answer. I touched his shoulder and shook him.
"Rahul." And he just slid off the rifle and fell on the floor facing the sky. "Rahul", I shouted. I checked him. There were no signs of blood. Noulin was already sitting next to me and started working on him. As I shook him again, he turned a little, said something and went back to sleep again.
I walked to the rifle and looked into the scope. It was focused on the bench we were sitting in the park. With one thing different.
Antony wasn't there anymore.
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