Forty Words for Sorrow

Oh, I know what's coming, Eric. I know what you're going to say. Finding the page, she felt a throbbing in her belly like a second heart. "The wheel. Stretched out, naked, on his or her back, the victim's arms and legs were fixed to the outer rim of the wheel. Blocks of wood were placed beneath all the important bones and joints. Wielding an iron bar, the torturer smashed arms and legs into pulp, using all his skill to avoid actually killing his victim."

"They just smashed people to bits," Eric said. "But keeping them alive the whole time. What a thrill it must have been. Can you imagine? Read the rest."

"The report of one eyewitness described how the victim was turned into 'a sort of huge screaming puppet writhing in rivulets of blood, a puppet with four tentacles, like a sea monster, of raw, slimy, and shapeless flesh mixed up with splinters of smashed bones.' When there was nothing left to break, the limbs were woven among the spokes of the wheel. The wheel was then raised horizontally on a pole. Birds of prey pecked at the eyes and tore off bits of flesh. Wheeling was probably the slowest and most agonizing death the human mind has ever conceived."

"Read what comes after. Bottom of the page."

"Wheelings were extremely common and considered good fun. Woodcuts, drawings, and paintings through four centuries depict crowds of people laughing and chatting, clearly enjoying the hideous pain of a fellow human being."

"People used to love it, Edie. People still love it. They just won't admit it."

Edie knew. Even Gram loved watching wrestling or a boxing match. Well, it was better than staring at this godforsaken sea of ice. You bet Gram loved it. Watching some guy get beaten half to death.

Perfectly normal, according to Eric. It just didn't happen to be perfectly legal at the moment, that was all. It had fallen out of fashion. But it might come back- look at the United States. Look at the gas chamber, the electric chair. "You can't tell me people don't love it, Edie. It would have died out centuries ago if people didn't get a big bang out of inflicting death. It's just the biggest thrill known to man."

It's coming, now, Edie thought. I can see the words forming in the air before he even says them. "I agree," she said quietly.

"Good."

"No, no. I mean I agree with what you're going to say. Not just what you said."

"Oh you do, do you?" Eric smiled slyly. "What was I going to say? Come on, Madame Rosa. Tell me my thoughts. Read my mind."

"I can, Eric. I know exactly what you were going to say."

"So go ahead. Tell me my thoughts."

"You were going to say, 'Let's do him tonight.' "

Eric gave her his profile. Blew smoke in a thin stream into the gathering darkness. "Not bad," he said quietly. "Not bad at all."

"I don't know about you, Eric, but I'd say it's party time."

Eric rolled down the window and flicked his cigarette into the snow. "Party time."

32

THE house was much smaller than it had looked from the outside. The upstairs had only two bedrooms- Woody could have sworn there would be three- and a tiny bathroom.

As he had so carefully explained to that foxy Officer Delorme, Arthur "Woody" Wood was not in the burglary business to enhance his social life. Like all professional burglars, he went to great lengths to avoid meeting people on the job. At other times, well, Woody was as sociable as the next fellow.

He had seen the weaselly-looking guy from the music store coming by here all the time. In fact, he had followed him home from the mall one day, after watching him load a tasty-looking Sony box into his van. He knew the couple was out, now, because he had sat outside in the van for the past hour and a half. It was perfectly safe to watch a place that way; nobody worries about a beat-up old ChevyVan labeled COMSTOCK ELECTRICAL INSTALLATIONS AND REPAIRS, nobody pays the slightest attention. Even so, Woody changed the lettering every three months, just to be on the safe side.

So he had sat out there listening to the Pretenders on his tape machine (a Blaupunkt he'd happened across while doing a little inventory enhancement up in Cedarvale last winter. Man, those Germans knew their engineering) and reading the sports pages of the Lode. In between worrying about the Maple Leafs, he was thinking about his shopping. Woody, besides being an industrious thief, was also a conscientious father and husband, and it was time to pick up a little something for the son and heir, whom he referred to affectionately as Dumptruck.

The kid needed a nifty toy- a set of blocks would be nice; he'd see what was around. Of course, this couple didn't have any children, he'd watched long enough to know that, but you never know what people will have cluttering up their closets. He'd picked up a little plastic Yogi Bear a couple of weeks ago that Truckie carried with him everywhere.