"3-2-1": A Short Story

Jean-Charles II

“I do not care, just get it done.” This is the third incompetent servant that I had to direct today. Coming into the possession of my deceased older brother’s belongings was both a blessing and a curse. Of course, I never expected to inherit my father’s property in the first place, so this all came as a bit of a surprise. As the younger son of a lord, my best hope was to marry a wealthy noblewoman with a hefty dowry, which I did. Despite Marie’s expensive tastes and overall vanity, she is a nice enough woman. She, fortunately, gave me an heir, which is more than my brother’s wife could say. My son, with my namesake, will one day inherit all the property and material goods I will leave behind. But first, I have to get my staff together.

“I will be departing for Versailles at dawn tomorrow, and I want my best carriage at the ready and at least two servants with me.”

“Of course, my lord.”

About a week ago, King Louis XVI summoned 300 representatives from the First and Second Estates, including me. The other 600 are from the Third Estate. We must travel to the palace in Versailles in order to give our opinions on the matter of money in France. The Estates General has not been called in 175 years, which alludes to our country's positively dire situation. No one knows exactly how much debt we are in, but everyone knows who to blame: the king. Hopefully, with the thoughts and viewpoints of the people of France in play, we will come up with a solution beneficial for everyone.

Pierre

“Hurry up, Daddy!”

“I’m coming!”

I run to catch up to my daughter, but decades of farmwork put a toll on me. Not that I would let her know. She deserves all the happiness she can get, being born poor and impoverished.

“Slow down, Colette!” I bend to scoop her up before she runs too far into the fields. “You have to look where you are going, Lettie. You know we can’t go past Monsieur Jean-Charles’ property.”

“I always forget that he owns us now.”

“No. No one owns us. Ever.”

“Okay.” Colette still seems skeptical, but she accepts this answer for now. “How did he get the land anyway? I thought it belonged to Monsieur Laurent.”

“It did, sweetheart. But remember? He died of smallpox. And unfortunately, he had no heirs to leave his land to. I believe his widow recently got remarried to Monsieur Antoine. He owns the land in the next village over.”

“Oh, right. How sad.”

I carry Colette back to the house and pass her on to Estelle. My wife is looking thinner and paler than ever, due to lack of sleep or lack of food I cannot tell. The price of bread is rising ever higher, while our income is not. Estelle is not only malnourished but worried for our darling girl. It kills me that I can’t do anything about it.

“When will you hear back from Jean-Charles?” she asks me.

“I am not sure.” Jean-Charles promised to visit as soon as he returned from the Meeting of the Estates General in Versailles. As far as Estelle knows, he is simply a very kind noble who takes care of his tenants. I know better. “I do not want to rely on that nobleman for information.”

“Well, we need to know somehow. I am tired of going to sleep every night hungry. The Estates General is the first hope we have had in years.”

“Yes, I know, Darling. I know.”

Jean-Charles II

The ride back from the palace was agony. Who knew coming home in a horse-drawn carriage from a royal palace could be such misery? I ask the coachman to take a turn, heading toward the countryside instead of the city. I must visit Pierre and his family.

It is looked down upon for an upperclassman such as myself to go and see a peasant such as Pierre, but old habits never die.

As we pull up to the farmland that Pierre and his family live on, I am overwhelmed by nostalgia. Pierre and I grew up on these rolling green hills, these vast lands that span as far as the eye can see, dotted with the occasional oak tree. I still don’t consider this property as mine. In my mind, it is still my father’s or my brother’s. Jean-Charles I was not a bad father, but rather a person stuck in his ways. He drew a very definitive line when it came to Estates, though most people did. Most people do. I will never forget the disappointment and pure hatred in my father’s eyes when he first sat me down to talk about Pierre.

“You are not to be seen with that peasant boy again,” he had said.

“But–but he is my friend, Father.”

“Nonsense! Get out of my office, I never want to look at your face again.”

But he is not here to look at me anymore. However, just as old habits never die, never do old prejudices.

Pierre

I hear the dreadful stomping of the horses before I see the carriage. I do not turn around to face Jean-Charles II. As far as I know, he is not even here. I just keep plowing and plowing and plowing.

He clears his throat. “Pierre. I–,”

“Save it. I know what happened at the meeting. No taxes for the rich, all the taxes for the poor. Makes perfect sense.”

“Pierre, you are oversimplifying it. It is not like that.”

“Is it not thought, Jean-Charles? Are you telling me that you did not vote against the taxing of the First and Second Estates to keep your precious luxurious life?”

“It is not that simple, Pierre! You are talking about upending the entire social and political structure of France! And even if I did want to vote for the tax reform, one little vote would not make much difference in a meeting such as this. It would still be two votes versus one. The first two Estates versus the last. It is not fair, but there is nothing I or anyone can do about it.”

“Then why are you still here? What is the point in arguing with a peasant like me when you could just go home to your mansion of a house in Paris with everything you could ever want?”

I do not turn around to watch him go. The only indication of his absence was the subtle shift in the soil, the movement in the air that hints at the loss of a human presence.

“Good riddance,” I muttered.

4 Years Later

“He did not have my back then, why should I have his now?”

“Because he is your friend!”

“He was never my friend, Estelle. My friend, the boy I grew up with, died long ago. In his place is a man whose only loyalties are to himself. No honor. I do not care what happens to that man.”

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. But I cannot take them back now. I worked too hard for this. The revolution worked too hard for this. No one, not even my wife, can take this away from me.

“Robespierre is a madman,” she says now. “You and I both know he does not deserve this.”

“He deserves this and more.”

Estelle, Colette, and I travel to the guillotine in Paris to witness the latest executions. One of which is the one and only Jean-Charles II.

Jean-Charles II

I have never been more scared in my life. They lead me through the crowds of people, all waiting to watch my death. I am in a cart with several other men and women from all over France and the different Estates. There are no more social classes in the Reign of Terror.

My gaze travels through the masses, searching for a particular set of hazel eyes that I would know anywhere. Finally, I spot Pierre, looking defiant as always. I hold his stare, which in his case is more of a glare, for a few moments before I mouth the words I should’ve said a long time ago, back when we were young farmboys with no money or status, back when we were still ignorant to kings and poverty and debt and revolutions. I’m sorry. He is the first to look away.

Pierre

I watch as the executioners take the prisoners, the traitors to the revolution, out of the cart one by one. I watch as they strap the prisoners onto a table and slide their heads underneath the blade. I even watch as the blade falls, swiftly cutting off the individual’s head to be paraded about later. My wife and daughter turn away at the spectacle, but I intently watch, waiting for the moment all of my life’s grievances will disappear.

Jean-Charles II

I start to shake when it is my turn. A nobleman never shows fear, my father used to say. I hold up my chin.

Pierre

Jean-Charles looks frightened walking up to the stage. A man being led to his death, I think. But I shake off this thought quickly. He deserves it.

My former landlord gets unchained at the hands of a murderer, gets strapped onto the table, and gets slid underneath the blade.

But at that moment, a cloud seemed to pass over the bright, shining sun. I was now looking into the eyes of my former best friend, the boy I shared my childhood with, the boy I ran through miles and miles of endless fields with, the boy I laughed with, cried with, and everything in between. I did not want to lose him. I did not want to watch him die.

But it was too late. The countdown has already begun.

“3!” the executioner calls out.

No, I think. No, no, no. He cannot die.

“2!”

I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. This is not happening. But it was.

“1!”

The blade falls. And just like that, Jean-Charles II is gone.

A Few Months Later

Nothing has been the same. A few weeks after Jean-Charles II’s execution, they took Estelle and Colette as well. To think, killing a 9-year-old little girl.

Now, I roll along the streets of Paris on my own way to the National Razor. The wooden floorboards are stained with blood, evidence of the many lives that couldn’t wait for the public stage, or simply did not want to be humiliated in such a way. I deserve to be ended in the same way my wife and daughter were, the same way my best friend was.

As I am led to the raised platform, I realize I am not afraid. There is nothing left for me in this life.

I get strapped to the board and slid underneath the blade, just like all the other prisoners that came before. And, as with all the other executions, the executioner begins his dreadful countdown.

“3!” he shouts.

Estelle, please forgive me. I was trying my best to be a good husband but failed. Colette, please forgive me. I was trying to be a good father but failed.

“2!”

Jean-Charles. I can’t expect your forgiveness, for I have not always tried to be the best friend. But I hope you know, in the end, it was you whom I dedicate my fondest moment. Thank you.

“1!”

I close my eyes as the blade falls, and everything goes dark.

The End