I'm the only one in this whole damn crowd who doesn't want to be here. Skirt clinging to my legs in the heat, I make my way through the streets, drawn along with the happy surge of people heading to the Hill. This is the second time the Iron Shirt has been worn since the Church reinstated the old laws. The other time was five years ago, and then it was only Mad Joel.
It's like the annual Spring Festival with street vendors selling tea and warm bread twists. The smell of fresh bread reminds me I haven't eaten in two days. I push the thought away, it's misery that's causing this ache inside me, not hunger.
A small body cannons into mine with a shriek and then is gone again as a group of children chase each other, hiding behind abandoned cars.
There are no divisions today.
Jade from the bakery is exchanging gossip with Mrs Mott from Upper Bay and Serge from Pandit's Waste. Even old Mrs Wilbow has risen from her death bed to be here, supported by her son and daughters.
I reach the top of the Hill and the stage they've erected, then try to work through to the front of the crowd. I'm not a tall woman and I want to find a position where I can make eye contact with Dan before they buckle him into the Iron Shirt and send him on his way. If I'm more than three people back I won't be able to see a thing.
"It's Maggie Shipway," someone whispers. The words ripple through the throng. People turn to look at me and then away again, reluctantly letting me through. I welcome their stares. I'm used to dealing with scorn, it's the way my heart is biting inside my ribcage that I don't know how to control. They blame me, but not any more than I do myself.
I'm closer now. Through the crush ahead I see Sadie. I call her name and she turns, the familiar planes of her unremarkable face lighting up as her eyes meet mine. She beckons me to the front row to stand at her side. "Are you all right?" she asks. I nod. She takes my hot hand in hers and holds it close by her side, like she did on our first day of school.
Dan, Sadie and I. That's how it was then, that's how it's always been until now.
*
Superintendent Sweeney stands at the top of the Hill in his blue uniform, silver buttons shining in the harsh midday sun. Next to him is Mayor Lowe and then my Dan, bright hair uncovered, eyes staring out across the crowd. He's tall now, and solid where he was once soft.
A strand of hair blows across my eyes as a warm breeze moves the trees, drying my skin, bringing the taste of dust to my mouth.
My mother brought me here as a child once. We collected olives and lay on the grassy slope, side by side, watching puffs of white cloud pass overhead.
Mayor Lowe steps forward and the crowd silences. I can see perspiration running down his face, dripping onto the ruff of his murder-red robes. I'm glad it's hot. Let him suffer for this.
"To determine Dan Langdon's guilt or innocence in the death of Albert Cavanagh he will walk, wearing the Iron Shirt, from here to the church steps. Let us pray." The Mayor lifts his arms to the sky and starts praying for divine intervention.
This hasn't got anything to do with God's justice. It's about having a scapegoat and giving the crowd a show.
Dan stands stiffly, still sore from the fight, a yellow bruise under his left eye.
It takes two men to lift the Iron Shirt, the sun reflecting dully off blue-black metal. Like a box, but open on either side with buckles to fasten it. The inside is lined with lead penance.
Muscles quivering, the men lift it above Dan's head, lowering it over his torso, weighing down his shoulders and reflecting a circle of light up on his chin like an eye watching for a reaction. As the shirt comes to rest all colour fades from Dan's face and I imagine the internal shoulder spikes digging into his flesh. There's no need for decorations on the shirt, its true purpose is not one of beauty.
At least Dan's strong, he's carrying more weight than Mad Joel did. When the shirt is buckled in position and arm plates attached, Dan steps forward and the crowd cheers.
Mad Joel only made it a few paces down the Hill before he tripped and rolled the rest of the way to town, spikes tearing into him, cutting through sinew, muscle and vein.
The crowd is moving with Dan; Sadie and I go too, keeping stride with him, never straying more than a few metres. He hasn't seen us and I don't want to call out, to distract him from his careful progress as he winds his way down the Hill.
At the top of the stairs he pauses, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead. Then, moving with caution, he climbs down the uneven sandstone steps leading through Olive Grove Park. I imagine he's trying not to jolt the shirt, not to give the spikes inside a chance to gouge deeper.
A bird calls, voice raised in harsh laughter, its cry releasing the tension in the mob around. There's a nervous twitter and people start to talk, breaking the solemn mood.
Diverted by the chatter I almost miss the moment that Dan stumbles on a loose flagstone falling heavily to one knee. A collective gasp draws my attention back to Dan. He must stand up and go on. For both of us. He falters then rises shakily. A disappointed sigh moves its way around the crowd.
*
It's my fault he's here.
Dan and Sadie dropped into The White Horse for a drink with me. They arrived together letting in a cloud of fresh air and lighting the room with their laughter. I took off my red hair ribbon and joined them.
"I'm not working tonight darling," I said to Albert when he came up, pulling the ribbon from my pocket to show him.
"What's the matter? Isn't my money good enough for you?" Albert asked, grabbing my breast, his breath beery and stale. Dan took offence on my behalf.
"Come on mate," Dan dragged him out to the dock where the beer deliveries come. I followed, telling him to forget it. I can deal with my own problems. The next thing I know Albert took a swing at Dan, hitting him in the eye.
Some of the local rugby lads followed us out. One of them started clapping, calling, "Fight!"
Albert didn't need the encouragement. Dan tried to fend him off, calm him down, but the rugby boys joined in pushing Albert from one person to the next.
The jostling got harder and punches were thrown. I didn't see who struck the blow that sent Albert stumbling backwards. Falling, his head hit the concrete. He lay, blood pooling around his split skull.
It was never meant to happen.
*
Dan reaches the outskirts of town, pulling the crowd in his wake. Past cheap tumble-down houses and tenements, burnt out cars and discarded mattresses. Stepping between piles of uncollected rubbish, head held high to avoid the smell of rotting fruit and effluent.
Sadie takes my hand. My mother came here after the terror years, when everyone left the city, before the Government forgot about us. This is where I was born, where I fear I'll end up.
A woman slumps on the curb, her skirt hitched so high you can see she's not wearing underpants. An empty bottle dangling from one hand.
Someone throws a stone, it hits the Iron Shirt with a dull clunk. A can flies through the air and misses, I hear a couple of chuckles.
A slow rain of objects starts. A stick hits Dan's face, leaving a red dripping cut on his cheek. The blood rolls down dripping from his jaw onto the Iron Shirt, feeding it.
I'm close enough to touch him, to see the lines of pain etching themselves around his eyes. I reach a hand to my own face, feeling his pain.
"We've got to stop them," I say, but Sadie holds me back.
"You can't, you'll just make it worse," she says in my ear.
I've never told him how I feel. I never expected to be loved, not until Dan's eyes met mine across Albert's body after the fight and I saw something in his expression that gave me hope.
*
Dan turns the corner, leading us out of the stench and into High Street with its once fine houses and shuttered up shops.
"Murderer!" Bianca Cavanagh, Albert's widow, is standing in front of Dan blocking his way. People stop throwing things, silence falling as everyone strains to hear.
Bianca's face looks different, jaw more prominent, eyes watery, as if they'll roll down her cheeks any minute. She holds up a framed picture of Albert, "He was a good man." Her chin wobbles and she starts crying, shoulders heaving in soundless shudders.
I could tell them all a few things about Albert. Sadie's grip on my hand tightens, warning me not to.
He's a more popular man dead than he ever was alive.
"I'm sorry he died," Dan's voice carries across the street.
Bianca focuses on a pothole in the road for a minute, then she looks up, eyes meeting Dan's. She's the first to move, anger beaten back by the force of his sympathetic gaze. Inclining her head a fraction she steps out of his way.
He's passing the cracked façade of the Civic Centre now, up the incline to the high side of town. Muscles straining as he comes up the rise. Only two more blocks to the Church.
As he steps from the shade of the Civic Centre sun catches the Iron Shirt, reflecting bright rays of light. Blinded, he raises an ironclad arm, trying to shield his eyes, and falls.
"Dan!" My voice is a whisper, breath fading with his.
Sadie's fingers dig into my arm and I'm glad of the physical pain.
Dan lies, all colour drained from his face. It's over.
Once again the crowd falls silent. The buzz of a distant radio race call is the only sound in the still heat.
Superintendent Sweeney steps forward to deliver the sentence and, with a shout Dan pushes up with his arms, lifting himself onto his knees.
Legs shaking he rises, mouth open in an unspoken cry, until he's once more standing in the sun.
Cloaked in brilliance he makes his way past the Mall with its flickering fluorescent lighting, and speakers blaring out the best bargains.
They'll do well from this day, people's purse strings loosened by the drama. None of them care for Dan, it's the charade he's enacting that draws them.
Someone throws a flower at his feet, and he lifts his head, a smile playing at the corners of his eyes. He's still handsome despite the blood and bruises.
The priest is waiting at the top of the church stairs; high hat, white robes, indigo sash. Three flights to elevate the mind and body.
Dan starts the climb his legs trembling with the strain of carrying the weighted jacket. On the third step he falters, something dark is staining his trousers, blood running down from inside the Iron Shirt. He can't have come this far to fail.
Background talk and chatter dies away as we watch him struggle up the next few stairs. The sun beats down and the air is so dry it hurts to breathe.
I've never heard a silence this loud.
"Almost there," I shout, voice sounding insubstantial in the quiet. "You can do it, Dan." His head lifts.
Sadie joins in, "Keep going."
"That's it son," Ralph Monsted coach of the rugby team calls.
Other voices join in, spurring him on. Someone starts to clap, and he staggers drunkenly to the top stair amongst a wave of applause. He doesn't so much lower himself to both knees in front of the priest as drop like a stone.
The priest makes the sign of the cross and splashes holy water over Dan's down turned head.
He's made it.
For a moment I think I'm going to faint, the rush of relief overwhelming me. I grab Sadie's shoulder, body shaking. "He made it!"
In her eyes I see my own tears reflected.
Half a dozen men rush forward to help Dan back to his feet and out of the Iron Shirt. Men who yesterday would have seen him convicted for murder.
His shirt is in tatters, torn apart at the shoulder seams, blood crusting the ruined cloth and forming dark tears down his chest and back.
I wait to one side with Sadie. Butterflies stir my stomach. Dan turns and sees us, his face lights up with a smile. Reaching out a shaking hand he steps towards me, wrapping my body up in a brief hug, for a moment my cheek rests against his shirt, the smell of his sweat and blood filling my senses. Now is the moment to do it, to tell him how I feel, but he pulls away.
He turns and hugs Sadie, holding her tight, eyes closed. She murmurs something in his ear and his grip on her increases.
It's something more than friendship.
The gnawing in my chest starts again.
I should have gone with Albert that night. Then there wouldn't have been the fight and I would never have made the mistake of hoping.
I don't wait to see them kiss, or hear them tell me what I now see. Did Sadie love Dan from that first day of school when she insisted we invite him to play?
Above the church bells start ringing a celebratory peal. I pull a crumpled red ribbon from my pocket and tie it into my hair as I walk through the crowd.
There's a pain in the back of my skull, gouging through my head and all the way down to my chest like a spike.
Click here for commentary by Susan Wardle
Copyright © Susan Wardle 2006
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