Lesser of Two

He was not a cruel man. Nor was he unjust or unfair. He was shrewd, yes, and he remained bound to his duty. But he was not unkind to those around him, and he was not impolite. He respected authority, he respected his superiors, and he respected those of high morals.

Yet he was called cruel, wicked, and unjust.

He bore these injustices with a cold, hard stare and little show of emotion.  He did not give the appearance of a man who cared what people thought of him or what they said of him.  He simply ignored them.  And perhaps he was right in doing so.

But even those who have taught themselves to ignore the world cannot ignore themselves.  No matter how hard they try.  And try he did.

He tried to train himself that emotion was needless, and that he needn't care for anyone but himself.  He tried to teach himself to ignore the slightest pang of guilt, sting of pity, or blink of sorrow that might befall him.  He tried for years to customize himself to these standards.  But he failed.  And it very nearly drove him mad.

He was a man very much ruled by the law.  He was a zealot in the truest sense of the word.  He was a man who believed everything in the Bible and who took matters to their greatest extreme.  For him, there was the path of the Good, and the path of the Evil.  Once a man turned down the path of Evil, he could not turn back.  Not in his eyes.

So when the convict Valjean released him, when the man whom he had hunted for so long had mercy on him and let him live, it was far too much for him to handle.

He walked that night with a posture he had never before assumed: his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly behind his back.  He was lost in thought, gazing at the pavement as he contemplated his choices.  For the first time in his life, he did not have the choice between Good and Evil.  He must choose the lesser of the two evils; he must choose the path that would be right… but neither path was right.

He could choose to let his quarry go.  He was wrong to do this because it would cause him to fail in his duty.

He could take his prey while he had the chance and finally be rid of the sheer annoyance that he had caused him.  But how could he do this?  The man had spared his life!  He had the chance to kill him, he had been looking into the barrel of his gun, at the blade of his knife, and the convict had chosen to set him free.  Why?  He could not say.  But that was of no consequence.  The matter before him troubled him much more than Valjean's motives.

He stopped and stared into the icy blackness of the Seine.  In the depths of the water he saw not the river, but a vision of two literal paths.  Down the one road there was disgrace, down the other, dishonor.  How could he choose?

Then his vision cleared and he saw the rushing water for what seemed like the first time.  "Ah!" he said to himself, as though he had found a solution to his dilemma.

~*~

A little over an hour later, a tall, shadowy black figure was seen standing on the railway overlooking the river.  It stood there for a few moments, and seemed to be speaking to itself.  Or to God, who shall ever know?  The figure looked up at the stars and closed its eyes…

And Javert threw himself to the river.

~Fin~