The last confession Short story by Foster K.K Gondwe It was January 15, three days after Chipata had been arrested at his own house for armed robbery and murder. As he spread himself on the freezing floor, a reek of urine and fresh human shit embraced his nose. He did not long for the milk of human kindness. The frosty floor stung his naked body but still he did not long for a fresh breeze. He accepted that if he had to die, he had to die, even if it meant being strangled like a dog. He told himself for times without number that he deserved any kind of punishment that would be meted on him. It was like a figment of the imagination as his eyes saw the handcuffs filled with cruelty and belligerence unwind serenely and gradually in front of him. It has just been like fantasy as the door hinges had squeaked and he had finally been thrown into a puny room called a police cell. But now he thought that every punishment was necessary for him. He relied on God and he was not afraid of dying. After living an extremely wicked life, he had decided to change and now he decided that living was Christ and dying was gain. For many times he told himself that he had confessed, yes, but that it did not mean that he was innocent. The confession only rid him of a guilty conscience that would be nagging him. Now the bible was his weapon; a weapon he would take with him wherever he went. It was his food, his light, his sword and his compass. It was everything to him and he desired nothing else. Finally Chipata was tried and convicted of murder and he was given capital punishment. It was just like another figment of the imagination as he felt the loftiness of the puny scaffold where he was to be executed. The dreadful noose was placed around hid naked neck but still he did not think of his closing stages, a ruthless end which was fit for dogs. A gruff voice of the hangman rasped into Chipata’s ears informing him that it was time for him to say his final word. He sighed through the air without fear and hesitation and said that every end was essential for his destiny. He was stopped before he could finish all what he wanted to say. The trapdoor beneath his feet swung open and the noose around his neck tightened. The bible slipped from his hand and landed on the ground floor as his body turned floppy. Here was a man who had defied all odds to confess his wicked actions in the public without caring about the consequences. All what he had cared about was his destiny; the destiny of his soul which he decided that he had fully prepared. He had taken his death without any reservations. Soon after his arrest, he had gone through a series of tribulations, but during all these moments of returned tribulations, he had clung to his newly-found hope which was Christ. He had never thought of abandoning it and evade his punishment. He had been transferred from one cell to another. This other day he was transferred from a poky cell where he had been in solitary confinement into another that was practically jam-packed. Then he and other detainees were hustled and crushed into another tiny windowless lock-up. He did not think painfully about where he was neither did he seek a face of sympathy. He only smiled, a thing that remained a mystery to his fellow inmates who knew very well why he had joined them in such a musty place where life itself appeared to be a temporary affair. Outside, the rain was pelting down and kept sending a damp mass of hot air into the cell where Chipata and his fellow prisoners were. The room was already hot like hell and the hot mass was only crowning it all. The police officer on duty opened the door of the cell carefully and slowly. It was a door only because it prevented inmates from going outside; otherwise it would be described as a frame scantly crisscrossed with iron bars. The officer told Chipata to follow him. It was a journey to the high court where he had to hear the final ruling on his cases. He carried with him his bible. It was something that he would never leave behind because in it he had found the ultimate redemption. He had been one of the worst criminals the district of Chipwera had ever known. He robbed banks and other big money institutions and always went away with it. Although the police suspected he was the one behind the horrendous robberies, they could not prefer charges against him because of lack of evidence. They had already arrested him twice only for the prosecutor to fail to prove beyond reasonable doubt that he was indeed the one behind the robberies. He continued wrecking havoc in the district and he was feared by many. One day he was sitting in the drawing room of his house when suddenly a flash of light struck him and he fell down. While in the state of unconsciousness he heard a voice which informed him that he was being given the last chance to repent. His conscience insisted that he should change and the impulse for the same was too strong. That moment marked Chipata’s turning point. As he looked back at his dirty past, tears of remorse coursed down his cheeks. He rushed to the cathedral where he sat for five solid hours, meditating upon his life. It had been a wicked life, characterized by all sorts of evil deeds. He had robbed the richest and the poorest; he had broken into trivial people’s houses and into big money institutions. He had raped both the young and the old. And above all, he had shed innocent blood – snuffing out gentle souls. But now he had found the ultimate redemption. It was that kind of redemption that did not condemn him but that told him to be grateful for the salvation that he had found. It taught him that many longed for it but never found it. He believed that his hands were now clean. He prayed for forgiveness on end. He felt like praying forever and developed a very strong yearning to let people know his transformation. It was a testimony which he thought would move the lives of many. Thus, one Sunday morning he walked across the church lobby towards the raised platform where the preacher and his crew were. Many people who knew Chipata quite well were shocked to the bone upon seeing him in that holy sanctuary. They expected that he would wield any weapon any time and this thought made most of them fidgety. They thought that perhaps he had come to rob the church of the money which the congregation gave to the Lord as offerings. But they were all sadly mistaken. He stopped near the preacher and opened his mouth slowly. Everyone became silent. No one wanted to miss any word that he would utter. No one moved and mothers suppressed the cries of their babies. The room was so quiet that a pin-drop could be heard. “Brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began with enthusiasm. “This place is where I belong, where I was supposed to be many years ago. Many of you have known me to be a very dangerous person but now I have found redemption in Jesus Christ.” Tears trickled down his cheeks as he continued narrating myriad atrocities that he had committed. The listeners just shook their heads for some of them were so horrendous, yet he had not yet mentioned the final confession. “Brothers and sisters, I have shed innocent blood. I killed that guard who was found dead at the Natives Bank. I murdered a certain woman after raping her...,” he said amidst sobs. News about Chipata’s transformation was disseminating like nobody’s business. Those who took themselves to have first hand information did not hesitate to narrate it to whoever was willing to listen. They mostly emphasized on the last confession which had murder items. The police got the wind and Chipata was subsequently arrested. He did not resist. He could not resist because he had made the revelation himself. Above all, he had confessed. When he was told the charges that had been leveled against him, he pleaded guilty. He thought that every punishment was essential for him. And finally he was sentenced to death; a death that he thought was his destiny which had only been delayed but could not be denied.