Read The Executioner's Song Online
Authors: Norman Mailer
Gibbs now said he wasn't going to pull any punches with Gary when he knew how jealous a man could get, so he also wanted to tell him that Phil Hansen was reputed to have a yearn for attractive ladies.
Gary sat right down and wrote Nicole what Gibbs had said, then remarked it was up to her if she wanted to hitch a ride to see Hansen.
But "If the guy makes any suggestive motions, get up and walk out."
Same night, a guard gave him a note from Nicole, "He didn't ask for my bod, but will meet me at 2 o'clock Saturday at the jail and talk with you."
She had seen Hansen in a big office and he did treat her like she was sure attractive, only he didn't put any pressure on. He was middle-aged, kept smoking a cigar, and liked to laugh a lot. After a while, he told her a story. Said the last man executed in Utah was named Rogers, and he had been asked to defend him, and told Rogers to get some money together. Phil was informed there'd be no problem. Rogers had a sister in Chicago who was well off.
Well, no telling about the sister, Rogers never called back. Hansen let it slide. Then the man was executed.
The lawyer never knew if it was coincidental, but the morning Rogers met his death, Hansen bolted out of bed. Didn't even know it was the day. Just woke up in a cold sweat.
Hearing about the execution over the radio, he swore he would never turn another person down for lack of funds if a life was involved.
Look, Hansen said, even if there was no money, he would represent Gilmore. Then he made the arrangements to meet Saturday afternoon at the jail.
Before she left, he put his arms around her, and gave a nice hug and said, "Don't worry. Don't look so sad. They're not going to execute him." He told Nicole he had never seen a case yet, didn't matter how bad it looked when you first took it, as you got into the story, you could explain it to the Jury.
For instance, he said, even a person who would swear by capital punishment might have to change their mind if it was their own mother on trial. "My mother's not like that," they would say. "Something went wrong." People were ready for capital punishment only if they were sentencing a stranger. The approach was to get the Jury feeling they understood the criminal.
Saturday came. Even though Hansen had said two o'clock, she was there at one-thirty.
She waited until three, but Mr. Hansen never showed up. Christ, she made an idiot of herself waiting. She called him later that afternoon, but it was Saturday, and his office didn't answer. While visiting Gary, Nicole began to cry. She couldn't help it. She had really been counting on getting a good lawyer,
She was even more depressed when she received Gary's next letter:
Sept. 26
All Snyder and Esplin want to do is leave themselves a good case for appeal. Thats the way they're paid by the state to think. I'm not saying they are paid to sell me out, I'm not paranoid about it. But they are court appointed lawyers, they don't have the resource to do a proper job. I'll get no more than a token defense from them.
Sept. 27
I can't sleep in the daytime. Sometimes I try but I always wake up in a cold sweat and I hear the cars on the hiway and see the light coming brightly thru the bars and know how far away I am from it all.
I know that dying is just changin form. I don't expect to escape any of my debts, I'll meet them and I'll pay them. I want to quit racking up such heavy debts thought.
I fucked you all night in my mind Nicole. I sent love over all the distance to Springville, which is not at all a ball o'chalk, I could run that meagre distance without stopping. I loved you so hard and wet and long last nite Angel and I held you to me tite tite tite and you felt good. I kissed your forehead your nose your eyes, your cheeks and long and wet on your lips your neck I fucked your ears with my tongue and heard you cry out oh oh oh ooooh baby I kissed all down your body, put your tits in my mouth all I could get in there and l put my face between them sucked your big nipples fucked your belly button pushed my tongue in your mouth in your cunt in your ass your pretty fuckin ass. God I love your pretty pretty ass. Whew! You got ass that won't quit! You got a blue ribbon first prize ass. You got an elf ass.
You're an elf. And I'm stone in love with you.
Your honesty astounds me. I've thought long and hard of you, little elf, of your experience—the men who have known you, have loved you, been loved in return, have used, abused, and hurt you, made you love—I've thought of Uncle Lee. I understand as well as I can Nicole.
I don't want you to live like a hermit without friends. I don't give you any order or impose my restrictions.
But I don't like the idea of all those guys coming to see you.
Because somebody gives you a ride hitch-hiking, does he have to become a friend, come and see you again and again, every few days? Fuck that.
I felt something yesterday that l didn't like. Vague, haunting—you smelled of beer . . .
I know the guys that come to see you must want more than company, l don't doubt you, but I know the flesh is weak.
You have always been so very honest and open with me, you are just Nicole and you present yourself just as you are, without pretense.
Something jarred me yesterday and made me feel something l don't want to feel. Your face your tears, it reminded me of another time not long ago—Baby I guess I'm just an insanely jealous son of a bitch and a selfish motherfucker.
I don't like those friends of yours that come again and again for your company. Jesus Christ I've never heard of any men like that.
Baby I'm a man—l know what guys want. I don't want you having all of them men friends.
Nicole had been living with true intentions, but she still went to bed with Cliff and Tom a couple of times in that long month of September, and it was hell afterward to visit Gary and shy away from the subject. Finally she decided that the only way she'd be able to find out if she loved Gary enough to be able to break through these fucking sloppy habits was to tell him one more time. So when she read, "you smelled of beer," Nicole got her nerve together, and bought some stationery in Waleen's and wrote him a long loving letter with everything rich and sweet she could put into it, and then at the end, as if she didn't want to spoil the good stationery, she picked up a paper napkin from the soda counter, and added a few words. Tried to say, When I get into situations, it isn't anything. Nothing is happening.
Finally, she wrote, "Why not just say what I mean? Gary, nobody is ever going to fuck me but you."
Sept. 28
Baby the jailer just brought me your letter. You're always writing and telling me about getting fucked, getting fucked, getting fucked, getting fucked. Everybody fucks Nicole. Everybody. Everybody picks her up hitchhiking or sees her 3 or 4 times a week just for the vibes the beautiful vibes feel the beauty just friends just company don't even have to know her just sit and listen to her talk about how much she loves Gary then fuck her. Goddam motherfuckin son of a goddam bitch.
That was a neat napkin you wrote. "But man Baby you must understand what I mean by friends these friends are those that come to see me again and again for company and have not once demanded physical or mentally my physical attentions."
You write me that goddam motherfuckin lie . . . just sat down and wrote me that fuckin lie and signed it love. If you feel so much motherfuckin sympathy for someone that you'll fuck him why oh Jesus Jesus Jesus fucking Christ Goddam Goddam fucking damn Baby Jesus Christ help me to understand. I don't look at life like that. I've never been in love before I've been locked up all my fuckin life I guess I'm emotionally crippled or something cause I'm one person that can't share his woman. Other people might be able to do that, might not give a fuck if somebody fucks what is theirs but I'm Gary. Somebody fucked you. Somebody kissed you. Somebody kissed you saw your eyes roll back, well, I guess its your bod and your life.
Fuck everybody in Utah if you want to. What do I care? What do I care? I care all. I care everything.
Nicole—is my love not enough to suffice for even one small lifetime—my love for you can it not be enough? Do you have to give your body, yourself? Your love to other men? Am I not enough? I can't fuck. I'm locked up. Why can't you go without too?
Don't fuck those "lovely" cocksuckers that want to fuck you.
They make me want to commit murder again and I hate to feel that kind of thing. Get those bastards away from our life. Get rid of those motherfuckers. I'll feel like murder it doesn't necessarily matter who gets murdered. Don't you know that about me? Murder is just a thing of itself, a rage and rage is not reason—so why does it matter who vents a rage. That's the first time I've consciously acknowledged that insane truth. Perhaps I'm beginning to grow . . . grow with me.
Love me. Teach me. Learn from me. Softly grow stronger with me. 0 Fair Nicole.
Jesus what a letter. I guess them ghosts will attack me tonite. I can't stand the thought of some son of a bitch fucking you. You know what hurts so bad? Not only the thought of you getting fucked sucking some motherfucker's cock all the way down your throat but they kiss you too. And you would have to kiss them back, put your arms around them AND FUCK GODDAM THAT SHIT MOTHERFUCKER JESUS CHRIST makes me wish I could erase the whole world. Cause all creation to cease to be. My Nicole? My Nicole? Who's Nicole? Take your life? Thats what you wrote you said you fucked one guy twice. I think that's what you said I ain't gonna read it again. Why not just fuck everybody all the time its the same thing to me. You know Lonny the red haired jailer here who gave you a ride one day. Was it him that you fucked? Does he look at me and think "I'm fucking Gilmore's girl?" Oh Jesus. I can't stand this. I can't take it. Fuck this shit. Fuck you. Goddam mother fucker can't you break your fuck habit? Nicole, Nicole, Nicole. Them are ugly ghosts aren't they?
Jesus. Ugly. Ugly. oooooH GODDAM. Fuck. l think I got it under control and it gets away again. Nicole I ain't trying to do anything.
Probably shouldn't let you read this.
Goddam. Your letters both of them that I got today smell so good they smell like you. Baby this is an ugly letter. It goes from reason to rage.
Honey when you read this letter know that I love you. That I don't understand this thing as well as I thought I did, that I hurt immensely, go back and cross out the parts that hurt you. don't want to hurt you Angel Angel Angel Fair Angel. I can't decide to give you this letter or not am I just sitting here writing words that won't be read? OOOOOH Baby. You'll read this. You knew before you got it that you would be reading this right now. You can read it over and over.
But you'll never get another letter like this from me again. I know the emotion here and if you want to feel this you'll just have to read this letter over. Cause I'll never tell you again of my hurt.
NOTHING IN THE WORLD, NOT BLINDNESS, LOSS OF MY VERY EYES, LOSS OF MY ARMS OR LEGS, BEING TOTALLY PARALYZED, PUT ON PROLIXIN, NOTHING COULD HURT ME WORSE THAN TO KNOW YOU GIVE YOUR BODY YOUR LOVE TO SOMEONE ELSE.
His letter had more pain in it than she had known anyone could feel. She felt modest in the middle of her own sorrow, as if some quiet person in heaven was crying with her too. So she wrote to him that she would never again do any of the things that tore his heart.
She told him that she'd rather be dead than cause such pain again.
That she would want her life taken away if her eyes ever lied to him again. She left the letter at the jail.
Sometime toward dawn this morning I felt love returning—it flowed warm and tenderly . . . it had never left, of course, was just waiting for me to become acceptable to it again. I hurt you again but in a different way and I think it will hurt you for a long time.
Oh, Nicole.
I wrote you an unnecessarily ugly letter. You're a good girl.
You get by on very little money and love and raise your kids to the very best of your ability. I'm not blind to any of those things.
You're a beautiful girl. I love you utterly.
Right now I hurt again. It is something that I didn't ever want to feel again. But it's here once more, my darling, and it's coupled with a rage that is blinding my reason. Please try to know what I feel. A voice in me tells me to be gentle—to go slow, to understand, to love and know my angel, my elf. Know her many hurts—the things that have happened to her through her young life. But more than that—know of her love for you. Her trust in You, shown by the fact that she 'doesn't lie to you, that she is able to bare her soul and trust you—Know GARY that you too have habits that are not so easy to break. That you GARY are not perfect—that you GARY will be a fool if you do not now understand this woman who loves you.