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One Last Leaf

Thom Mahoney

    1962. A small, rock house, with three rooms, in Jefferson City, Missouri.

    “Can you bring me a leaf, Joe?”
    “A leaf?”
    “You know, a green one. Like from a tree.”
    “A leaf from a tree?”
    “I ain’t talking about a leaf from a table, Joe.” Billy laughs. “Just a plain ol’ ordinary leaf. A big one would be nice.”
    “What do you want a leaf for?”
    “It ain’t against the law, Joe. You asked if I wanted you to bring anything back this afternoon, and I said I want a leaf. Plain and simple.”
    “Sure, Billy. I can bring you a leaf, if that’s what you want. But what do you want it for?”
    “’Cause, do you know how long it’s been since I seen a leaf ? I get outside an hour a day in that crummy courtyard, all by myself. No grass, no trees, nothing but pea gravel. Ain’t even allowed to touch it. Bend down to touch the earth, the actual dirt, Joe, and it’s a week in solitary, a month without outdoor privileges, Joe. A whole month. So, I figure a leaf would be a nice thing to hold onto for a bit.”
    “Sure, Billy. I can bring you a leaf.”
    Father Joe puts his hand on Billy’s shoulder. Billy puts his hand on top of the priest’s and squeezes it gently. They are comforting each other.
    The room is small and close. It is hot. Joe tugs at his collar. Billy wipes his face.
    Noises come from the next room. Clanging, the scraping of something across the floor, the muffled sounds of men talking.
    The room beyond that is silent, air tight. The gas chamber.
    “I didn’t mean to do it, you know. You believe me, don’t you, Joe?”
    “Yeah, Billy, I know. I wish I understood, though.”
    “I’m awful sorry for what I done, but I’m grateful Ma and Pa wasn’t around to...you know.”
    “They would have forgiven you, too, Billy.”
    “Had to do that a lot with me, I guess, didn’t they? You know, one son a priest. And then me.”
    “I got myself in some trouble, too, Billy. Pa had his hands full with me when I was in high school, remember?”
    “They was going to send you off to the Army.”
    “Which seemed a good time for me to join the seminary.”
    They laugh. It is a shared, commonly recalled, memory. Brothers who went different directions.
    “After I’m gone, will you be sure to tell them families again how sorry I was? Try to make them understand I really didn’t know what I was doing, will you?”
    “Sure, Billy. Sure.”
    There was a storm that afternoon as Father Joe was returning to the prison for the last time. Billy never got his leaf.

    The last execution in Missouri by means of lethal gas was on January 26, 1965.

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