“But if one life is sacrificed to save many lives, it is then justifiable,” the African said.
“That’s easy to say,” Blaine said.
“It is true. The Romans used to throw unarmed Christians to their lions. Men, women, and children. Yet the pagans in their cushioned seats witnessed the manner in which the Christians died, in prayer and in peace. Thus the True Faith was spread. In time the whole of the Empire became converted.”
It made Blaine nervous, the way the African looked, stared, right into Blaine’ eyes. Those dark eyes were the eyes of a zealot. “A victory bought with blood,” the man said. “As are all great victories.”
“See there?” Hamm said. “That’s all we’re doin’. Throwin’ one old lady to the lions. Or to the lion, as the case stands.” He chuckled.
“It’s murder,” Blaine said, choking on the word.
“Nobody said they was gonna kill her,” Hamm said. “She’s just a moldy old hunk a’ cheese they’re gonna use for bait. After they get done with her, they might turn her loose.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Blaine asked.
“Hell, she’s got one foot in the grave already,” Hamm said. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather see one old lady go under the wheels than cute little Maribelle?”
*Yes. God help me, yes.*
“Look,” the African said, pointing. “There. Is it her?”
Hamm grabbed the binoculars from the dashboard, handed them to Blaine. “That her?” he repeated the question.
Blaine pressed his eyes to the binoculars. He watched the homeless woman walking along the wet bottom of the drainage ditch, pushing her shopping cart. She still wore the long purple scarf he remembered from before, its bright color in such contrast to the rest of her clothing, with the gray concrete and the gray of the sky.
Do I love Maribelle enough to go through with this? Blaine asked himself. “Yeah,” he said, almost sobbing. “That’s her.”
“Alright, then” Hamm said, opening the door of the van. “Time to prove yourself, Sir Lancelot. Let’s go bag us a martyr for the cause.”
