“But the war’s not the end of the story,” Viola says quietly.
“No,” Ben says. “The story ain’t finished, ain’t even half finished.”
And I know it ain’t. And I know where it’s heading.
And I changed my mind. I don’t want it to finish.
But I do, too.
I look into Ben’s eyes, into his Noise.
“The war didn’t stop with the Spackle,” I say. “Not in Prentisstown.”
Ben licks his lips and I can feel unsteadiness in his Noise and hunger and grief at what he’s already imagining is our next parting.
“War is a monster,” he says, almost to himself. “War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows.” He’s looking at me now. “And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.”
“They couldn’t stand the silence,” Viola says, her voice still. “They couldn’t stand women knowing everything about them and them knowing nothing about women.”
“Some men thought that,” Ben says. “Not all. Not me, not Cillian. There were good men in Prentisstown.”
“But enough thought it,” I say.
“Yes,” he nods.
There’s another pause as the truth starts to show itself.
Finally. And forever.
Viola is shaking her head. “Are you saying . . . ?” she says. “Are you really saying . . . ?”
And here it is.
Here’s the thing that’s the centre of it all.
Here’s the thing that’s been growing in my head since I left the swamp, seen in flashes of men along the way, most clearly in Matthew Lyle’s but also in the reakshuns of everyone who even hears the word Prentisstown.
Here it is.
The truth.
And I don’t want it.
But I say it anyway.
“After they killed the Spackle,” I say, “the men of Prentisstown killed the women of Prentisstown.”
Viola gasps even tho she’s got to have guessed it, too.
“Not all the men,” Ben says. “But many. Allowing themselves to be swayed by Mayor Prentiss and the preachings of Aaron, who used to say that what was hidden must be evil. They killed all the women and all the men who tried to protect them.”
“My ma,” I say.
Ben just nods in confirmayshun.
I feel a sickness in my stomach.
My ma dying, being killed by men I probably saw every day.
I have to sit down on a gravestone.
I have to think of something else, I just do. I have to put something else in my Noise so I can stand it.
“Who was Jessica?” I say, remembering Matthew Lyle’s Noise back in Farbranch, remembering the violence in it, the Noise that now makes sense even tho it don’t make no sense at all.
“Some people could see what was coming,” Ben says. “Jessica Elizabeth was our Mayor and she could see the way the wind was blowing.”
Jessica Elizabeth, I think. New Elizabeth.
“She organized some of the girls and younger boys to flee across the swamp,” Ben continues. “But before she could go herself with the women and the men who hadn’t lost their minds, the Mayor’s men attacked.”
“And that was that,” I say, feeling numb all over. “New Elizabeth becomes Prentisstown.”
“Yer ma never thought it would happen,” Ben says, smiling sadly to himself at some memory. “So full of love that woman, so full of hope in the goodness of others.” He stops smiling. “And then there came a moment when it was too late to flee and you were way too young to be sent away and so she gave you to us, told us to keep you safe, no matter what.”
I look up. “How was staying in Prentisstown keeping me safe?”
Ben’s staring right at me, sadness everywhere around him, his Noise so weighted with it, it’s a wonder he can stay upright.
“Why didn’t you leave?” I ask.
He rubs his face. “Cuz we didn’t think the attack would really happen either. Or I didn’t, anyway, and we had put the farm together and I thought it would blow over before anything really bad happened. I thought it was just rumours and paranoia, including on the part of yer ma, right up to the last.” He frowns. “I was wrong. I was stupid.” He looks away. “I was wilfully blind.”
I remember his words comforting me about the Spackle.
We’ve all made mistakes, Todd. All of us.
“And then it was too late,” Ben says. “The deed was done and word of what Prentisstown had done spread like wildfire, starting with the few who’d managed to escape it. All men from Prentisstown were declared criminals. We couldn’t leave.”
Viola’s arms are still crossed. “Why didn’t someone come and get you? Why didn’t the rest of New World come after you?”
“And do what?” Ben says, sounding tired. “Fight another war but this time with heavily armed men? Lock us up in a giant prison? They laid down the law that if any man from Prentisstown crossed the swamp, he’d be executed. And then they left us to it.”
“But they must have . . .” Viola says, holding her palms to the air. “Something. I don’t know.”
“If it ain’t happening on yer doorstep,” Ben says, “it’s easier to think, Why go out and find trouble? We had the whole of the swamp twixt us and New World. The Mayor sent word that Prentisstown would be a town in exile. Doomed, of course, to a slow death. We’d agree never to leave and if we ever did, he’d hunt us down and kill us himself.”
“Didn’t people try?” Viola says. “Didn’t they try and get away?”
“They tried,” Ben says, full of meaning. “It wasn’t uncommon for people to disappear.”
“But if you and Cillian were innocent–” I start.
“We weren’t innocent,” Ben says strongly, and suddenly his Noise tastes bitter. He sighs. “We weren’t.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, raising my head. The sickness in my stomach ain’t leaving. “What do you mean you weren’t innocent?”
“You let it happen,” Viola says. “You didn’t die with the other men who were protecting the women.”
“We didn’t fight,” he says, “and we didn’t die.” He shakes his head. “Not innocent at all.”
“Why didn’t you fight?” I ask.
“Cillian wanted to,” Ben says quickly. “I want you to know that. He wanted to do whatever he could to stop them. He would have given his life.” He looks away once more. “But I wouldn’t let him.”