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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Bring the Jubilee - -Author: Ward Moore - -Release Date: March 18, 2022 [eBook #67652] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from images made available by the HathiTrust - Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRING THE JUBILEE *** - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation -remains unchanged. Note in particular that the apostrophe is very -rarely used to indicate abbreviation. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - - - - - - Bring - the - Jubilee - - - - - By Ward Moore - - - _Breathe the Air Again_ - _Greener Than You Think_ - _Bring the Jubilee_ - - This is an original novel—not a reprint—published by FARRAR, STRAUS & -YOUNG, INC. The low price of $2.00 is made possible by large printings - of combined editions. - - - - - Bring - the - Jubilee - - WARD - MOORE - - - FARRAR, STRAUS and YOUNG, Inc. - NEW YORK - - - - - Copyright 1952 Fantasy House, Inc. - Copyright 1953 Ward Moore - All rights reserved. Manufactured in the U. S. A. - Library of Congress catalog card number: 53-10417 - - BACK COVER MAP: BETTMANN ARCHIVE - - - - - _For - TONY BOUCHER and MICK McCOMAS - who liked this story_ - - - - - What he will he does, and does so much - That proof is call’d impossibility - —_Troilus and Cressida_ - - It is always the puzzle of the nature of time that brings our thoughts - to a standstill. And if time is so fundamental that an understanding - of its true nature is for ever beyond our reach, then so also in - all probability is a decision in the age-long controversy between - determination and free will. - —_The Mysterious Universe_ by James Jeans - - - - - Contents - - - I _Life in the Twenty-Six States_ 1 - - II _Of Decisions, Minibiles, and Tinugraphs_ 12 - - III _A Member of the Grand Army_ 22 - - IV _Tyss_ 32 - - V _Of Whigs and Populists_ 42 - - VI _Enfandin_ 50 - - VII _Of Confederate Agents in 1942_ 61 - - VIII _In Violent Times_ 71 - - IX _Barbara_ 76 - - X _The Holdup_ 86 - - XI _Of Haggershaven_ 95 - - XII _More of Haggershaven_ 106 - - XIII _Time_ 116 - - XIV _Midbin’s Experiment_ 124 - - XV _Good Years_ 132 - - XVI _Of Varied Subjects_ 142 - - XVII _HX-1_ 156 - - XVIII _The Woman Tempted Me_ 166 - - XIX _Gettysburg_ 175 - - XX _Bring the Jubilee_ 181 - - XXI _For the Time Being_ 191 - - - - -_1. LIFE IN THE TWENTY-SIX STATES_ - - -Although I am writing this in the year 1877, I was not born until 1921. -Neither the dates nor the tenses are error—let me explain: - -I was born, as I say, in 1921, but it was not until the early 1930’s, -when I was about ten, that I began to understand what a peculiarly -frustrate and disinherited world was about me. Perhaps my approach to -realization was through the crayon portrait of Granpa Hodgins which -hung, very solemnly, over the mantel. - -Granpa Hodgins after whom I was named, perhaps a little -grandiloquently, Hodgins McCormick Backmaker, had been a veteran of -the War of Southron Independence. Like so many young men he had put on -a shapeless blue uniform in response to the call of the ill-advised -and headstrong—or martyred—Mr Lincoln. Depending on which of my lives’ -viewpoints you take. - -Granpa lost an arm on the Great Retreat to Philadelphia after the fall -of Washington to General Lee’s victorious Army of Northern Virginia, so -his war ended some six months before the capitulation at Reading and -the acknowledgment of the independence of the Confederate States on -July 4, 1864. One-armed and embittered, Granpa came home to Wappinger -Falls and, like his fellow veterans, tried to remake his life in a -different and increasingly hopeless world. - -On its face the Peace of Richmond was a just and even generous -disposition of a defeated foe by the victor. (Both sides—for different -reasons—remembered the mutiny of the Unreconstructed Federals in -the Armies of the Cumberland and the Tennessee who, despite defeat -at Chattanooga, could not forget Vicksburg or Port Hudson and fought -bloodily against the order to surrender.) The South could easily have -carved the country up to suit its most fiery patriots, even to the -point of detaching the West and making a protectorate of it. Instead -the chivalrous Southrons contented themselves with drawing the new -boundary along traditional lines. The Mason-Dixon gave them Delaware -and Maryland, but they generously returned the panhandle of western -Virginia jutting above it. Missouri was naturally included in the -Confederacy, but of the disputed territory Colorado and Deseret were -conceded to the old Union; only Kansas and California as well as—for -obvious defensive reasons—Nevada’s tip went to the South. - -But the Peace of Richmond had also laid the cost of the war on the -beaten North and this was what crippled Granpa Hodgins more than the -loss of his arm. The postwar inflation entered the galloping stage -during the Vallandigham Administration, became dizzying in the time -of President Seymour and precipitated the food riots of 1873 and ’74. -It was only after the election of President Butler by the Whigs in -1876 and the reorganization and drastic deflation following that money -and property became stable, but by this time all normal values were -destroyed. Meanwhile the indemnities had to be paid regularly in gold. -Granpa and hundreds of thousands like him just never seemed to get back -on their feet. - -How well I remember, as a small boy in the 1920’s and ’30s, my mother -and father talking bitterly of how the War had ruined everything. They -were not speaking of the then fairly recent Emperors’ War of 1914-16, -but of the War of Southron Independence which still, nearly seventy -years later, blighted what was left of the United States. - -Nor were they unique or peculiar in this. Men who slouched in the -smithy while Father shod their horses, or gathered every month around -the postoffice waiting for the notice of the winning lottery numbers -to be put up, as often cursed the Confederates or discussed what might -have been if Meade had been a better general or Lee a worse one, as -they did the new-type bicycles with clockwork auxiliaries to make -pedaling uphill easier, or the latest scandal about the French Emperor, -Napoleon VI. - -I tried to imagine what it must have been like in Granpa Hodgins’ day, -to visualize the lost past—that strange bright era when, if it could -be believed, folk like ourselves and our neighbors had owned their -farms outright and didnt pay rent to the bank or give half the crop to -a landlord. I searched the wiggling crayon lines that composed Granpa -Hodgins’ face for some sign that set him apart from his descendants. - -“But what did he _do_ to lose the farm?” I used to ask my mother. - -“Do? Didnt do anything. Couldnt help himself. Go along now and do your -chores; Ive a terrible batch of work to get out.” - -How could Granpa’s not doing anything result so disastrously? I could -not understand this any more than I could the bygone time when a man -could nearly always get a job for wages which would support himself -and a family, before the system of indenture became so common that -practically the only alternative to pauperism was to sell oneself to a -company. - -Indenting I understood all right, for there was a mill in Wappinger -Falls which wove a shoddy cloth very different from the goods my mother -produced on her handloom. Mother, even in her late forties, could have -indented there for a good price, and she admitted that the work would -be easier than weaving homespun to compete with their product. But, as -she used to say with an obstinate shake of her head, “Free I was born -and free I’ll die.” - -In Granpa Hodgins’ day, if one could believe the folktales or family -legends, men and women married young and had large families; there -might have been five generations between him and me instead of two. And -many uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers and sisters. Now late marriages -and only children were the rule. - -If it hadnt been for the War—This was the basic theme stated with -variations suited to the particular circumstance. If it hadnt been -for the War the most energetic young men and women would not turn -to emigration; visiting foreigners would not come as to a slum; and -the great powers would think twice before sending troops to restore -order every time one of their citizens was molested. If it hadnt been -for the War the detestable buyer from Boston—detestable to my mother, -but rather fascinating to me with his brightly colored vest and smell -of soap and hair tonic—would not have come regularly to offer her a -miserable price for her weaving. - -“Foreigner!” she would always exclaim after he left; “sending good -cloth out of the country.” - -Once my father ventured, “He’s only doing what he’s paid for.” - -“Trust a Backmaker to stand up for foreigners. Like father, like son; -suppose you’d let the whole thieving crew in if you had your way.” - -So was first hinted the scandal of Grandfather Backmaker. No enlarged -portrait of him hung anywhere, much less over the mantel. I got the -impression my father’s father had been not only a foreigner by birth, -but a shady character in his own right, a man who kept on believing -in the things for which Granpa Hodgins fought after they were proved -wrong. I don’t know how I learned that Grandfather Backmaker had made -speeches advocating equal rights for Negroes or protesting the mass -lynchings so popular in the North, in contrast to the humane treatment -accorded these non-citizens in the Confederacy. Nor do I remember where -I heard he had been run out of several places before finally settling -in Wappinger Falls or that all his life people had muttered darkly -at his back, “Dirty Abolitionist!”—a very deep imprecation indeed. -I only know that as a consequence of this taint my father, a meek, -hardworking, worried little man, was completely dominated by my mother -who never let him forget that a Hodgins or a McCormick was worth dozens -of Backmakers. - -I must have been a sore trial to her for I showed no sign of proper -Hodgins gumption, such as she displayed herself and which surely kept -us all—though precariously—free. For one thing I was remarkably unhandy -and awkward, of little use in the hundred necessary chores around our -dilapidated house. I could not pick up a hammer at her command to do -something about fixing the loose weatherboards on the east side without -mashing my thumb or splitting the aged, unpainted wood. I could not hoe -the kitchen garden without damaging precious vegetables and leaving -weeds intact. I could shovel snow in the winter at a tremendous rate -for I was strong and had endurance, but work requiring manual dexterity -baffled me. I fumbled in harnessing Bessie, our mare, or hitching her -to the cart for my father’s trips to Poughkeepsie, and as for helping -him on the farm or in his smithy I’m afraid my efforts drove that mild -man nearest to a temper he ever came. He would lay the reins on the -plowhorse’s back or his hammer down on the anvil and say mournfully: - -“Better see if you can help your mother, Hodge. Youre only in my way -here.” - -On only one score did I come near pleasing Mother: I learned to read -and write early, and exhibited some proficiency. But even here there -was a flaw; she looked upon literacy as something which distinguished -Hodginses and McCormicks from the ruck who had to make their mark, as -an accomplishment which might somehow and unspecifiedly lead away from -poverty. I found reading an end in itself, which probably reminded her -of my father’s laxity or Grandfather Backmaker’s subversion. - -“Make something of yourself, Hodge,” she admonished me often. -“You can’t change the world”—an obvious allusion to Grandfather -Backmaker—“but you can do something with it as it is if you try hard -enough. There’s always some way out.” - -Yet she did not approve of the postoffice lottery, on which so many -pinned their hopes of escape from poverty or indenture. In this she and -my father were agreed; both believed in hard work rather than chance. - -Still, chance could help even the steadiest toiler. I remember the -time a minibile—one of the small, trackless locomotives—broke down -not a quarter of a mile from Father’s smithy. This was a golden, -unparalleled, unbelievable opportunity. Minibiles, like any other -luxury, were rare in the United States though they were common enough -in prosperous countries like the German Union or the Confederacy. We -had to rely for our transportation on the never-failing horse or on the -railroads, wornout and broken down as they were. For decades the great -issue in Congress was the never completed Pacific transcontinental -line, though British America had one and the Confederate States seven. -(Sailing balloons, economical and fairly common, were still looked -upon with some suspicion.) Only a rare millionaire with connections in -Frankfurt, Washington-Baltimore or Leesburg could afford to indulge -in a costly and complicated minibile requiring a trained driver to -bounce it over the rutted and chuckholed roads. Only an extraordinarily -adventurous spirit would leave the tar-surfaced streets of New York or -its sister city of Brooklyn, where the minibiles’ solid rubber tires -could at worst find traction on the horse or cable-car rails, for the -morasses or washboard roads which were the only highways north of the -Harlem River. - -When one did, the jolting, jouncing and shaking inevitably broke or -disconnected one of the delicate parts in its complex mechanism. Then -the only recourse—apart from telegraphing back to the city if the -traveler broke down near an instrument—was to the closest blacksmith. -Smiths rarely knew much of the principles of the minibiles, but with -the broken part before them they could fabricate a passable duplicate -and, unless the machine had suffered severe damage, put it back in -place. It was customary for such a craftsman to compensate himself -for the time taken away from horseshoeing or spring-fitting—or just -absently chewing on an oatstraw—by demanding exorbitant remuneration, -amounting to perhaps twenty-five or thirty cents an hour, thus avenging -his rural poverty and self-sufficiency upon the effete wealth and -helplessness of the urban excursionist. - -Such a golden opportunity befell my father, as I said, during the fall -of 1933, when I was twelve. The driver had made his way to the smithy, -leaving the owner of the minibile marooned and fuming in the enclosed -passenger seat. A hasty visit convinced Father, who could repair a -clock or broken rake with equal dexterity, that his only course was -to bring the machine to the forge where he could heat and straighten -a part not easy to disassemble. (The driver, the owner, and Father -all repeated the name of the part often enough, but so inept have I -been with “practical” things all my life that I couldnt recall it ten -minutes, much less thirty years later.) - -“Hodge, run and get the mare and ride over to Jones’s. Don’t try to -saddle her—go bareback. Ask Mr Jones to kindly lend me his team.” - -“I’ll give the boy a quarter dollar for himself if he’s back with the -team in twenty minutes,” added the owner of the minibile, sticking his -head out of the window. - -I won’t say I was off like the wind, for my life’s work has given me a -distaste for exaggeration or hyperbole, but I moved faster than I ever -had before. A quarter, a whole shining silver quarter, a day’s full -wage for the boy who could find odd jobs, half the day’s pay of a grown -man who wasnt indented or worked extra hours—all for myself, to spend -as I wished! - -I ran all the way back to the barn, led Bessie out by her halter and -jumped on her broad back, my enthralling daydream growing and deepening -each moment. With my quarter safely got I could perhaps persuade my -father to take me along on his next trip to Poughkeepsie; in the shops -there I could find some yards of figured cotton for Mother, or a box of -cigars to which Father was partial but rarely bought for himself, or an -unimagined something for Mary McCutcheon, some three years older than -I, with whom it had so recently become disturbing as well as imperative -to wrestle—in secret of course so as not to show oneself unmanly in -sporting with a weak girl instead of another boy. - -It never even occurred to me, as it would have to most, to invest in an -eighth of a lottery ticket. Not only were my parents sternly against -this popular gamble, but I myself felt a strangely puritanical aversion -to meddling with my fortune. - -Or I could take the entire quarter into Newman’s Book and Clock Store. -Here I could not afford one of the latest English or Confederate -books—even the novels I disdained cost fifty cents in their original -and thirty in the pirated United States’ edition—but what treasures -there were in the twelve-and-a-half cent reprints and the dime classics! - -With Bessie’s legs moving steadily beneath me I pored over in my -imagination Mr Newman’s entire stock, which I knew by heart from -examinations lulled by the steady ticking of his other, and no doubt -more salable, merchandise. My quarter would buy two reprints, but I -would read them in as many evenings and be no better off than before -until their memory faded and I could read them again. Better to invest -in paperbacked adventure stories giving sharp, breathless pictures -of life in the West or rekindling the glories of the War. True, they -were written almost entirely by Confederate authors and I was, perhaps -thanks to Granpa Hodgins and my mother, a devout partisan of the lost -cause of Sheridan and Sherman and Thomas. But patriotism couldnt steel -me against the excitement of the Confederate paperbacks; literature -simply ignored the boundary stretching to the Pacific. - -I had finally determined to invest all my twenty-five cents, not -in five paperbound volumes but in ten of the same in secondhand or -shopworn condition, when I suddenly realized that I had been riding -Bessie for some considerable time. I looked around, rather dazed by -the abrupt translation from the dark and slightly musty interior of -Newman’s store to the bright countryside, to find with dismay that -Bessie hadnt taken me to the Jones farm after all but on some private -tour of her own in the opposite direction. - -I’m afraid this little anecdote is pointless—it was momentarily pointed -enough for me that evening, for in addition to the loss of the promised -quarter I received a thorough whacking with a willow switch from my -mother after my father had, as usual, dolefully refused his parental -duty—except perhaps that it shows how in pursuing the dream I could -lose the reality. - -My feeling that books were a part of life, and the most important part, -was no passing phase. Other boys in their early teens dreamed of going -to the wilds of Dakotah, Montana or Wyoming, indenting to a company -run by a young and beautiful woman—this was also a favorite paperback -theme—discovering the loot hidden by a gang, or emigrating to Australia -or the South African Republic. Or else they faced the reality of -indenture, carrying on the family farm, or petty trade. I only wanted -to be allowed to read. - -I knew this ambition, if that is the proper word, to be outrageous and -unheard of. It was also practically impossible. The school at Wappinger -Falls, a survival from the days of compulsory attendance and an object -of doubt in the eyes of the taxpayers, taught as little as possible -as quickly as possible. Parents needed the help of their children to -survive or to build up a small reserve in the illusory hope of buying -free of indenture. Both my mother and my teachers looked askance at -my longing to persist past an age when my contemporaries were making -themselves economically useful. - -Nor, even supposing I had the fees, could the shabby, fusty Academy -at Poughkeepsie—originally designed for the education of the -well-to-do—provide what I wanted. Not that I was clear at all as to -just what this was; I only knew that commercial arithmetic, surveying, -or any of the other subjects taught there, were not the answer to my -desires. - -There was certainly no money for any college. Our position had grown -slowly worse; my father talked of selling the smithy and indenting. -My dreams of Harvard or Yale were as idle as Father’s of making a -good crop and getting out of debt. Nor did I know then, as I was to -find out later, that the colleges were increasingly provincialized -and decayed, contrasting painfully with the flourishing universities -of the Confederacy and Europe. The average man asked what the United -States needed colleges for anyway; those who attended them only -learned discontent and to question time-honored institutions. Constant -scrutiny of the faculties, summary firing of all instructors suspected -of abnormal ideas, did not seem to improve the situation or raise the -standards of teaching. - -My mother, now that I was getting beyond the switching age, lectured -me firmly and at length on idleness and self-indulgence. “It’s a hard -world, Hodge, and no one’s going to give you anything you don’t earn. -Your father’s an easy-going man; too easy-going for his own good, but -he always knows where his duty lies.” - -“Yes, maam,” I responded politely, not quite seeing what she was -driving at. - -“Hard, honest work—that’s the only thing. Not hoping or wishing or -thinking miracles will happen to you. Work hard and keep yourself free. -Don’t depend on circumstances or other people, and don’t blame them for -your own shortcomings. Be your own man. That’s the only way you’ll ever -be where you want to.” - -She spoke of responsibility and duty as though they were measurable -quantities, but the gentler parts of such equations, the factors of -affection and pity, were never mentioned. I don’t want to give the -impression that ours was a particularly puritanical family; I know -our neighbors had of necessity much the same grim outlook. But I felt -guiltily vulnerable, not merely on the score of wanting more schooling, -but because of something else which would have shocked my mother beyond -forgiveness. - -My early tussles with Mary McCutcheon had the natural consequences, but -she had found me a too-youthful partner and had taken her interests -elsewhere. For my part I now turned to Agnes Jones, a suddenly alluring -young woman grown from the skinny kid I’d always brushed away. Agnes -sympathized with my aspirations and encouraged me most pleasantly. -However her specific plans for my future were limited to marrying her -and helping her father on his farm, which seemed no great advance over -what I could look forward to at home. - -And there I was certainly no asset; I ate three hearty meals a day and -occupied a bed. I was conscious of the looks and smiles which followed -me. A great lout of seventeen, too lazy to do a stroke of work, always -wandering around with his head in the clouds or lying with his nose -stuck in a book. Too bad; and the Backmakers such industrious folks -too. I could feel what the shock of my behavior with Agnes added to my -idleness would be to my mother. - -Yet I was neither depraved nor very different from the other youths of -Wappinger Falls, who not only took their pleasures where they found -them, but often more forcibly than persuasively. I did not analyze -it fully or clearly, but I was at least to some extent aware of the -essentially loveless atmosphere around me. The rigid convention -of late marriages bred an exaggerated respect for chastity which -had two sides: sisters’ and daughters’ honor was sternly avenged -with no protest from society, and undiscovered seduction produced -that much more gratification. But both retribution and venery -were somewhat mechanical; they were the expected rather than the -inescapable passions. Revivalists—and we country people had a vast -fondness for those itinerants who came periodically to castigate us -for our sins—denounced our laxity and pointed to the virtues of our -grandparents and greatgrandparents. We accepted their advice with such -modifications as suited us, which was not at all what they intended. - -And this was how I took my mother’s admonition to be my own man. What -debts I owed her and my father seemed best discharged by relieving them -of the burden of my keep, since I was clearly not fitting myself to -reverse the balance. The notion that there was an emotional obligation -on either side hardly occurred to me; I doubt if it did to them. Toward -Agnes Jones I felt no debt at all. - -A few months after my seventeenth birthday I packed my three most -cherished books in my good white cotton shirt, and having bade a most -romantic goodbye to Agnes, one which would certainly have consummated -her hopes had her father come upon us, I left Wappinger Falls and set -out for New York. - - - - -_2._ _OF DECISIONS, MINIBILES, AND TINUGRAPHS_ - - -I thought I could do the walk of some eighty miles in four days, -allowing time to swap work for food, supposing I found farmers or -housewives agreeable to the exchange. June made it no hardship to sleep -outdoors, and the old post road ran close enough to the Hudson for any -bathing I might want to do. - -The dangers of the trip were part erf the pattern of life in the United -States in 1938. I didnt particularly fear being robbed by a roving -gang for I was sure organized predators would disdain so obviously -unprofitable a prey, and individual thieves I felt I could take care -of, but I was not anxious to be picked up as a vagrant by any of the -three police forces, national, state, or local. As a freeman I was -more exposed to this chance than an indent would be, with a work-card -on his person and a company behind him. A freeman was fair game for -the constables, state troopers, or revenuers to recruit, after a -perfunctory trial, into one of the chain gangs upon whom the roads, -canals and other public works were dependent. - -Some wondered why the roads were so bad in spite of all this apparent -surplus of labor and were dubious of the explanation that surfacing -was expensive and it was impossible to maintain unsurfaced highways -in good condition. Only the hint that prisoners had been seen working -around the estates of the great Whig families or had been lent to some -enterprise operated by foreign capital brought knowing nods. - -At seventeen possible disasters are not brooded over. I resolved -to be wary, and then dismissed thoughts of police, gangs and all -unpleasantness. The future was mine to make as my mother had insisted, -and I was taking the first steps in shaping it. - -I started off briskly, passing at first through villages long familiar; -then, getting beyond the territory I had known all my life, I slowed -down often enough to gaze at something new and strange, or to wander -into wood or pasture for wild strawberries or early blueberries. -I covered less ground than I had intended by the time I found a -farmhouse, after inquiring at several others, where the woman was -willing to give me supper and even let me sleep in the barn in return -for splitting a sizable stack of logs into kindling and milking two -cows. - -Exercise and hot food must have counteracted the excitement of the -day, for I fell asleep immediately and didnt waken till quite a while -after sunup. It was another warm, fine morning; soon the post road led, -not between shabby villages and towns or struggling farms, but past -the stone or brick walls of opulent estates. Now and then I caught a -glimpse between old, well-tended trees of magnificent houses either -a century old or built to resemble those dating from that prosperous -time. I could not but share the general dislike for the wealthy Whigs -who owned these places, their riches contrasting with the common -poverty and deriving from exploitation of the United States as a -colony, but I could not help enjoying the beauty of their surroundings. - -The highway was better traveled here also; I passed other walkers, -quite a few wagons, a carriage or two, several peddlers and a number -of ladies and gentlemen on horseback. This was the first time I’d seen -women riding astride, a practice shocking to the sensitivities of -Wappinger Falls which also condemned the fashion, imported from the -Chinese Empire by way of England, of feminine trousers. Having learned -that women were bipedal, both customs seemed sensible to me. - -I had the post road to myself for some miles between turns when I heard -a commotion beyond the stone wall to my left. This was followed by an -angry shout and shrill words impossible to distinguish. My progress -halted, I instinctively shifted my bundle to my left hand as though to -leave my right free for defence, but against what I had no idea. - -The shouts came closer; a boy of about my own age scrambled frantically -over the wall, dislodging some of the smaller lichen-covered rocks on -top and sending them rolling into the ditch. He looked at me, startled, -then paused for a long instant at the road’s edge, undecided which way -to run. - -He was barefoot and wore a jute sack as a shirt, with holes cut for his -arms, and ragged cotton pants. His face was little browner than my own -had often been at the end of a summer’s work under a burning sun. - -He came to the end of indecision and started across the highway, legs -pumping high, head turned watchfully. A splendid tawny stallion cleared -the wall in a soaring jump, his rider bellowing, “There you are, you -damned black coon!” - -He rode straight for the fugitive, quirt upraised, lips thickened and -eyes rolling in rage. The victim dodged and turned; in no more doubt -than I that the horseman meant to ride him down. He darted by me, so -close I heard the labored rasp of breathing. - -The rider swerved, and he too twisted around me as though I were the -post at the far turn of a racecourse. Reflexively I put out my hand to -grab at the reins and stop the assault. Indeed, my fingers actually -touched the leather and grasped it for a fraction of a second before -they fell away. - -Then I was alone in the road again as both pursued and pursuer vaulted -back over the fence. The whole scene of anger and terror could not have -lasted two minutes; I strained my ears to hear the shouts coming from -farther and farther away. Quiet fell again; a squirrel flirted his tail -and sped down one tree trunk and up another. The episode might never -have happened. - -I shifted my bundle back and began walking again—less briskly now. My -legs felt heavy and there was an involuntary twitch in the muscles of -my arm. - -Why hadnt I held on to the rein and delayed the hunter, at least long -enough to give his quarry a fair start? What had made me draw back? -It had not been fear, at least in the usual sense, for I knew I wasnt -timorous of the horseman. I was sure I could have dragged him down if -he had taken his quirt to me. - -Yet I had been afraid. Afraid of interfering, of meddling in affairs -which were no concern of mine, of risking action on quick judgment. -I had been immobilized by the fear of asserting my sympathies, my -presumptions, against events. - -Walking slowly down the road I experienced deep shame. I might, I could -have saved someone from hurt; I had perhaps had the power for a brief -instant to change the course of a whole life. I had been guilty of a -cowardice far worse than mere fear for my skin. I could have wept with -mortification—done anything, in fact, but turn back and try to rectify -my failure. - -The rest of the day was gloomy as I alternately taunted and feebly -excused myself. The fugitive might have been a trespasser or a servant; -his fault might have been slowness, rudeness, theft or attempted -murder. Whatever it was, any retaliation the white man chose could be -inflicted with impunity. He would not be punished or even tried for it. -Popular opinion was unanimous for Negro emigration to Africa, voluntary -or forced; those who went westward to join the unconquered Sioux or -Nez Perce were looked upon as depraved. Any Negro who didnt embark for -Liberia or Sierra Leone, regardless of whether he had the fare or not, -deserved anything that happened to him in the United States. - -It was because I held, somewhat vaguely, a stubborn refusal to accept -this conventional view, a refusal never precisely reasoned and little -more, perhaps, than romantic rebellion against my mother in favor of -my disreputable Grandfather Backmaker, that I suffered. I couldnt -excuse my failure on the grounds that action would have been considered -outrageous. It would not have been considered outrageous by me. - -I pushed self-contempt at my passivity aside as best I could and strove -to recapture the mood of yesterday, succeeding to some extent as the -memory of the scene came back less insistently. I even tried pretending -the episode had perhaps not been quite as serious as it seemed, or that -the pursued had somehow in the end evaded the pursuer. I could not -make what had happened not happen; the best I could do was minimize my -culpability. - -That night I slept a little way from the road and in the morning -started off at dawn. Although I was now little more than twenty miles -from the metropolis the character of the country had hardly changed. -Perhaps the farms were smaller and closer together, their juxtaposition -to the estates more incongruous. But traffic was continual now, with no -empty stretches on the roads, and the small towns had horse-drawn cars -running on iron tracks embedded in the cobbles. - -It was late afternoon when I crossed Spuyten Duyvil Creek to Manhattan. -Between me and the city now lay a wilderness of squatters’ shacks -made of old boards, barrel-staves and other discarded rubbish. Lean -goats and mangy cats nosed through rubble heaps of broken glass and -earthenware demijohns. Mounds of garbage lay beside aimless creeks -struggling blindly for the rivers. As clearly as though it had been -proclaimed on signposts this was an area of outcasts and fugitives, of -men and women ignored and tolerated by the law so long as they kept -within the confines of their horrible slum. - -Strange and repugnant as the place was, I hesitated to keep on going -and arrive in the city at nightfall, but it seemed unlikely there was a -place to sleep among the shacks. Once away from the order and sobriety -of the post road one could be lost in the squalid maze; undefined -threats of vaguely dreadful fates seemed to rise from it like vapors. - -Then the fading light revealed the anomaly of a venerable mansion -set far back from the highway, with grounds as yet unusurped by the -encroaching stews. The house was in ruins; the surrounding gardens -lost in brush and weeds. Evidently a watchman or caretaker guarded its -forlorn dignity or had very recently abandoned it; I could not imagine -its remaining long without being entirely overrun otherwise. - -It was almost fully dark as I made my way cautiously toward the -remains of an old summerhouse. Its roof was fallen in and it was -densely enclosed by ancient rosebushes whose thorns, I thought, when -they pricked my fingers as I struggled through them, ought to give -warning of any intruder. For weatherworthiness this shelter had little -advantage over the hovels, yet somehow the fact that it had survived -seemed to make it a more secure retreat. - -I stretched out on the dank boards and slept fitfully, disturbed by -dreams that the old mansion was filled with people from a past time -who begged me to save them from the slumdwellers and their house from -being further ravaged. Brokenly I protested I was helpless—in true -dream manner I then became helpless, unable to move—that I could not -interfere with what had to happen; they moaned and wrung their hands -and faded away. Still, I slept, and in the morning the cramps in my -muscles and the aches in my bones disappeared in the excitement of the -remaining miles to the city. - -And how suddenly it grew up around me, not as though it was a fixed -collection of buildings which I approached, but as if I stood still -while the wood and stone, iron and brick, sprang into being all about. - -New York, in 1938, had a population of nearly a million, having grown -very slowly since the close of the War of Southron Independence. -Together with the half million in the city of Brooklyn this represented -by far the largest concentration of people in the United States, though -of course it could not compare with the great Confederate centers -of Washington, now including Baltimore and Alexandria, St Louis, or -Leesburg (once Mexico City). - -The change from the country and the dreadful slums through which I -had passed was startling. Cable-cars whizzed northward as far as -Fifty-ninth Street on the west side and all the way to Eighty-seventh -on the east, while horse-cars furnished convenient crosstown -transportation every few blocks. Express steam trains ran through -bridged cuts on Madison Avenue, an engineering achievement of which -New Yorkers were vastly proud. - -Bicycles, rare around Wappinger Falls, were thick as flies, darting -ahead and alongside drayhorses pulling wallowing vans, carts or -wagons. Prancing trotters drew private carriages, buggies, broughams, -victorias, hansoms, dogcarts or sulkies; neither the cyclists, coachmen -nor horses seemed overawed or discommoded by occasional minibiles -chuffing their way swiftly and implacably over cobblestones or asphalt. - -Incredibly intricate traceries of telegraph wires swarmed overhead, -crossing and recrossing at all angles, slanting upward into offices -and flats or downward to stores, a reminder that no urban family with -pretensions to gentility would be without the clacking instrument in -the parlor, that every child learned the Morse code before he could -read. Thousands of sparrows considered the wires properly their own; -they perched and swung, quarreled and scolded on them, leaving only to -satisfy their voracity upon the steaming mounds of horsedung below. - -The country boy who had never seen anything more metropolitan than -Poughkeepsie was tremendously impressed. Buildings of eight or ten -storeys were common, and there were many of fourteen or fifteen, -serviced by pneumatic English lifts, that same marvelous invention -which permitted the erection of veritable skyscrapers in Washington and -Leesburg. - -Above them balloons moved gracefully through the air, guided and -controlled as skillfully as old-time sailing vessels. These were not -entirely novel to me; I had seen more of them than I had minibiles, -but never so many as here. In a single hour, gawking upward, I counted -seven, admiring how nicely calculated their courses were, for they -seldom came so low as to endanger lives beneath by having to throw out -sandbags in order to rise. That they could so maneuver over buildings -of greatly uneven height showed this to be the air age indeed. - -Most exciting of all was the great number of people who walked, rode, -or merely stood around on the streets. It seemed hardly believable -so many humans could crowd themselves so closely. Beggars pleaded, -touts wheedled, peddlers hawked, newsboys shouted, bootblacks chanted. -Messengers pushed their way, loafers yawned, ladies shopped, drunks -staggered. For long moments I paused, standing stock still, not -thinking of going on, merely watching the spectacle. - -How far I walked, how many different parts of the city I explored that -day, I have no idea. I felt I had hardly begun to fondle the sharp edge -of wonder when it was twilight and the gas lamps, lit simultaneously by -telegraph sparks, gleamed and shone on nearly every corner. Whatever -had been drab and dingy in daylight—and even my eyes had not been -blind to the dirt and decay—became in an instant magically enchanting, -softened and shadowed into mysterious beauty. I breathed the dusty air -with a relish I had never known in the country and felt I was inhaling -some elixir for the spirit. - -But spiritual sustenance is not quite enough for a seventeen-year-old, -especially one who is beginning to be hungry and tired. I was -desperately anxious to hoard the three precious dollars in my pocket, -for I had little idea how to go about replacing them, once they were -spent. I could not do without eating, however, so I stopped in at the -first gaslit bakery, buying, after some consideration, a penny loaf, -and walked on through the entrancing streets, munching at it and -feeling like an historical character. - -Now the fronts of the tinugraph lyceums were lit up by porters with -long tapers, so that they glowed yellow and inviting, each heralded -with a boldly lettered broadside or dashingly drawn cartoon advertising -the amusement to be found within. I was tempted to see for myself this -magical entertainment of pictures taken so close together they gave -the illusion of motion, but the lowest admission price was five cents. -Some of the more garish theaters, which specialized in the incredible -phonotos—tinugraphs ingeniously combined with a sound-producing machine -operated by compressed air, so that the pictures seemed not only to -move but to talk—actually charged ten or even fifteen cents for an -hour’s spectacle. - -By this time I ached with tiredness; the insignificant bundle of shirt -and books had become a burden. I was pressed by the question of where -to sleep and began thinking more kindly than I would have believed -possible of last night’s slum. I didnt connect my need with the glass -transparencies behind which gaslight shone through the unpainted -letters of BEDS, ROOMS, or HOTEL, for my mind was hazily fixed on -some urban version of the inn at Wappinger Falls or the Poughkeepsie -Commercial House. - -I became more and more confused as fatigue blurred impressions of still -newer marvels, so that I am not entirely sure whether it was one or a -succession of girls who offered delights for a quarter. I know I was -solicited by crimps for the Confederate Legion who operated openly in -defiance of United States law, and an incredible number of beggars -accosted me. - -At last I thought of asking directions. But without realizing it I had -wandered from the thronged wooden or granite sidewalks of the brightly -lit avenues into an unpeopled, darkened area where the buildings were -low and frowning, where the flicker of a candle or the yellow of a -kerosene lamp in windows far apart were uncontested by any streetlights. - -All day my ears had been pressed by the clop of hooves, the rattling -of iron tires or the puffing of minibiles; now the empty street was -unnaturally still. The suddenly looming figure of another walker seemed -the luckiest of chances. - -“Excuse me, friend,” I said. “Can you tell me where’s the nearest inn, -or anywhere I can get a bed for the night cheap?” - -I felt him peering at me. “Rube, huh? Much money you got?” - -“Th—Not very much. That’s why I want to find cheap lodging.” - -“OK, Reuben. Come along.” - -“Oh, don’t trouble to show me. Just give me an idea how to get there.” - -He grunted. “No trouble, Reuben. No trouble at all.” - -Taking my arm just above the elbow in a firm grip be steered me along. -For the first time I began to feel alarm. However, before I could -attempt to shrug free he had shoved me into the mouth of an alley, -discernible only because its absolute blackness contrasted with the -relative darkness of the street. - -“Wait—” I began. - -“In here, Reuben. Soundest night’s sleep youve had in a long time. And -cheap—it’s free.” - -I started to break loose and was surprised to find he no longer held -me. Before I could even begin to think, a terrific blow fell on the -right side of my head and I traded the blackness of the alley for the -blackness of insensibility. - - - - -_3._ _A MEMBER OF THE GRAND ARMY_ - - -I was recalled to consciousness by a smell. More accurately a cacophony -of smells. I opened my eyes and shut them against the unbearable pain -of light; I groaned at the equally unbearable pain in my skullbones. -Feverishly and against my will I tried to identify the walloping odors -around me. - -The stink of death and rottenness was thick. I knew there was an -outhouse—many outhouses—nearby. The ground I lay on, where it was not -stony, was damp with the water of endless dishwashings and launderings. -The noisomeness of offal suggested that the garbage of many families -had never been buried, but left to rot in the alley or near it. In -addition there was the smell of death, not the sweetish effluvium of -blood, such as any country boy who has helped butcher a bull-calf or -hog knows, but the unmistakable stench of corrupt, maggotty flesh. -Besides all this there was the spoor of humanity. - -A new discomfort at last forced my eyes open for the second time. A -hard surface was pressing painful knobs into my exposed skin. I looked -and felt around me. - -The knobs were the scattered cobbles of a fetid alley; not a foot away -was the cadaver of a dog, thoroughly putrescent; beyond him a drunk -retched and groaned. A trickle of liquid swill wound its way delicately -over the moldy earth between the stones. My coat, shirt, and shoes were -gone, so was the bundle with my books. There was no use searching my -pocket for the three dollars. I knew I was lucky the robber had left me -my pants and my life. - -A middleaged man, at least he looked middleaged to my youthful -eye, regarded me speculatively over the head of the drunk. A pale, -elliptical scar interrupted the wrinkles on his forehead, its upper -point making a permanent part in his thin hair. Tiny red veins marked -his nose; his eyes were bloodshot. - -“Pretty well cleaned yuh out, huh boy?” - -I nodded—and then was sorry for the motion. - -“Reward of virtue. Assuming you was virtuous, which I assume. Come to -the same end as me, stinking drunk. Only I still got my shirt. Couldnt -hock it no matter how thirsty I got.” - -I groaned. - -“Where yuh from boy? What rural—see, sober now—precincts miss you?” -“Wappinger Falls, near Poughkeepsie. My name’s Hodge Backmaker.” - -“Well now, that’s friendly of you, Hodge. I’m George Pondible. -Periodic. Just tapering off.” - -I hadnt an idea what Pondible was talking about. Trying to understand -made my head worse. - -“Took everything, I suppose? Havent a nickel left to help a hangover?” - -“My head,” I mumbled, quite superfluously. - -He staggered to his feet. I slowly sat up, tenderly touching the lump -over my ear with my fingertips. - -“Best thing—souse it in the river. Take more to fix mine.” -“But ... can I go through the streets like this?” - -“Right,” he said. “Quite right.” - -He stooped down and put one hand beneath the drunk, who murmured -unintelligibly. With the other he removed the jacket, a maneuver -betraying practice, for it elicited no protest from the victim. He -then performed the still more delicate operation of depriving him of -his shirt and shoes, tossing them all to me. They were a loathsome -collection of rags not fit to clean a manurespreader. The jacket was -torn and greasy, the pockets hanging like the ears of a dog; the shirt -was a filthy tatter, the shoes shapeless fragments of leather with -great gapes in the soles. - -“It’s stealing,” I protested. - -“Right. Put them on and let’s get out of here.” - -The short walk to the river was through streets lacking the glamour of -those of the day before. The tenements were smokestreaked, with steps -between the parting bricks where mortar had fallen out; great hunks -of wall were kept in place only by the support of equally crazy ones -abutting. The wretched things I wore were better suited than Pondible’s -to this neighborhood, though his would have marked him tramp and -vagrant in Wappinger Falls. - -The Hudson too was soiled, with an oily scum and debris, so that I -hesitated to dip even the purloined shirt, much less my aching head. -But urged on by Pondible I climbed down the slimy stones between two -docks and pushing the flotsam aside, ducked myself in the unappetizing -water. - -“Fixes your head,” said Pondible with more assurance than accuracy. -“Now for mine.” - -The sun was hot and the shirt dried on my back as we walked away from -the river, the jacket over my arm. Now that my mind was clearing my -despair grew rapidly; for a moment I wished I had waded farther into -the Hudson and drowned. - -Admitting any plans I’d had were nebulous and impractical, they had -yet been plans of a kind, something in which I could put, or force, -my hopes. My appearance had been presentable, I had the means to keep -myself fed and sheltered for a few weeks at least. Now everything was -changed, any future was gone, literally knocked out of existence and I -had nothing to look forward to, nothing on which to exert my energies -and dreams. To go back to Wappinger Falls was out of the question, not -simply to dodge the bitterness of admitting defeat so quickly, but -because I knew how relieved my mother and father must have been to be -freed of my uselessness. Yet I had nothing to expect in the city except -starvation or a life of petty crime. - -Pondible guided me into a saloon, a dark, secretive place, gaslit even -this early, with a steam piano tinkling the popular, mournful tune, -_Mormon Girl_: - - There’s a girl in the state of Deseret - I love and I’m trying to for-get. - Forget her for my tired feet’s sake - Don’t wanna walk to the Great Salt Lake. - They ever build that railroad toooo the ocean - I’d return my Mormon girl’s devotion. - But the tracks stop short in Ioway.... - -I couldnt remember the next line. Something about Injuns say. - -“Shot,” Pondible ordered the bartender, “and buttermilk for my chum -here.” - -The bartender kept on polishing the wood in front of him with a wet, -dirty rag. “Got any jack?” - -“Pay you tomorrow, friend.” - -The bartender’s uninterrupted industry said clearly, then drink -tomorrow. - -“Listen,” argued Pondible; “I’m tapering off. You know me. Ive spent -plenty of money here.” - -The bartender shrugged. “I don’t own the place; anything goes over the -bar has to be rung up on the cash register.” - -“Youre lucky to have a job that pays wages.” - -“Times I’m not so sure. Why don’t you indent?” - -Pondible looked shocked. “At my age? What would a company pay for a -wornout old carcass? A hundred dollars at the top. Then a release in a -couple of years with a med holdback so I’d have to report every week -somewhere. No, friend, Ive come through this long a free man—in a -manner of speaking—and I’ll stick it out. Let’s have that shot; you can -see for yourself I’m tapering off. Youll get your jack tomorrow.” -I could see the bartender was weakening; each refusal was less surly -and at last, to my astonishment, he set out a glass and bottle -for Pondible and an earthenware mug of buttermilk for me. To my -astonishment, I say, for credit was rarely extended on any scale, large -or small. The inflation, though sixty years in the past, had left -indelible impressions; people paid cash or did without. Debt was not -only disgraceful, it was dangerous; the notion things could be paid -for while, or even after, they were being used was as unthinkable as -was the idea of circulating paper money instead of silver or gold. - -I drank my buttermilk slowly, gratefully aware Pondible had ordered -the most filling and sustaining liquid in the saloon. For all his -unprepossessing appearance and peculiar moral notions, my new -acquaintance seemed to have a rude wisdom as well as a rude kindliness. - -He swallowed his whiskey and called for a quart pot of light beer which -he sipped slowly. “That’s the trick of it, Hodge. Avoid the second -shot. If you can.” He sipped again. “Now what?” - -“What?” I repeated. - -“Now what are you going to do? What’s your aim in life anyway?” - -“None—now. I ... wanted to learn. To study.” -He frowned. “Out of books?” - -“How else?” - -“Books is mostly written and printed in foreign countries.” - -“There might be more written here if more people had time to learn.” - -Pondible wiped specks of froth from his beard with the back of his -hand. “Might and mightnt. Oh, some of my best friends are book-readers, -don’t get me wrong, boy.” - -“I’d thought,” I burst out, “I’d thought to try Columbia College. To -offer—to beg to be allowed to do any kind of work for tuition.” - -“Hmm. I doubt it would have worked.” - -“Anyway I can’t go now, looking like this.” - -“Might be as well. We need fighters, not readers.” - -“‘We?’ ” - -He did not explain. “Well, you could always take the advice our friend -here gave me and indent. A young healthy lad like you could get -yourself a thousand or twelve hundred dollars—” - -“Sure. And be a slave for the rest of my life.” - -“Oh, indenting aint slavery. It’s better. And worse. For one thing the -company buys you won’t hold you after you arent worth your keep. Not -that long, on account of bookkeeping; they lose when they break even. -So they cancel your indenture without a cent payment. Course theyll -take a med holdback so as to get a dollar or two for your corpse, but -that’s a long time away for you.” - -An inconceivably long time. The medical holdback was the least of my -distaste, though it had played a large part in the discussions at -home. My mother had heard that cadavers for dissection were shipped -to foreign medical schools like so much cargo. She was shocked not so -much at the thought of the scientific use of her dead body as at its -disposal outside the United States. - -“Yes,” I said. “A long time away. So I wouldnt be a slave for life; -just thirty or forty years. Till I wasnt any good to anyone, including -myself.” - -He seemed to be enjoying himself as he drank his beer. “Youre a gloomy -gus, Hodge. Taint’s bad’s that. Indenting’s pretty strictly regulated. -That’s the idea anyway. I aint saying the big companies don’t get -away with a lot. You can’t be made to work over sixty hours a week. -Ten hours a day. With twelve hundred dollars you could get all the -education you want in your spare time and then turn your learning to -account by making enough to buy yourself free.” - -I tried to think about it dispassionately, though goodness knows I’d -been over the ground often enough. It was true the amount, a not -improbable one, would see me through college. But Pondible’s notion of -turning my “learning to account” I knew to be a fantasy. Perhaps in -the Confederate States or the German Union knowledge was rewarded with -wealth, or at least a comfortable living, but any study I pursued—I -knew my own “impracticality” well enough by now—was bound to yield few -material benefits in the backward United States, which existed as a -nation at all only on the sufferance and unresolved rivalries of the -great powers. I’d be lucky to struggle through school and eke out some -kind of living as a freeman; I could hardly hope to earn enough to buy -back an indenture on what was left of my time after subtracting sixty -hours a week. - -“It wouldnt work,” I said despondently. - -Pondible nodded, as though this were the conclusion he had expected me -to come to. “Well then,” he said, “there’s the gangs.” - -I looked my horror. - -He laughed. “Forget your country rearing. What’s right? What the -strongest country or the strongest man says it is. The government says -gangs are wrong, but the government aint strong enough to stop them. -And maybe they don’t do as much killing as people think. Only when -somebody works against them—just like the government. Sure they have -to be paid off, but it’s just like taxes. If you leave the parsons’ -sermons out of it there’s no difference joining the gangs than the -army—if we had one—or the Confederate Legion—” - -“They tried to recruit me yesterday. Are they always so....” - -“Bold?” For the first time Pondible looked angry and I thought the scar -on his forehead turned whiter. “Yes, damn them. The Legion must be half -United States citizens. When they have to put down a disturbance or run -some little cockroach country they send off the Confederate Legion—made -up of men who ought to be the backbone of an army of our own.” - -“But the police—don’t they ever try to stop them?” - -“What’d I tell you about right being what the strongest country says -it is? Sure we got laws against recruiting into a foreign army. So we -squawk. And what have we got to back it up with? So the Confederate -Legion goes right on recruiting the men who have to beg for a square -meal in their own country. Well, the government is pretty near as bad -off when it comes to the gangs. Best it can do is pick off some of the -little ones and forget about the big ones. Most of the gangsters never -even get shot at. They all live high, high as anybody in the twenty-six -states, and every so often there’s a dividend—more than a workman makes -in a lifetime.” - -I began to be sure my benefactor was a gangster. And yet ... if this -were so why had he wheedled credit from the barkeep? Was it simply an -elaborate blind? It seemed hardly worth it. - -“A dividend,” I said, “or a rope.” - -“Most gangsters die of old age. Or competition. Aint one been hung I -can think of the last five-six years. But I see youve no stomach for -it. Tell me, Hodge—you Whig or Populist?” - -The sudden change of subject bewildered me. “Why ... Populist, I guess.” - -“Why?” - -“Oh ... I don’t know....” I thought of some of the discussions that -used to go on among the men around the smithy. “The Whigs’ ‘Property, -Protection, Permanent Population’ —what does it mean to me?” -“Tell you, boy, means this: Property for the Confederates who own -factories here and don’t want to pay taxes. Protection for foreign -capital to come in and buy or hire. Permanent Population—cheap native -labor. Build up a prosperous employing class.” - -“Yes, I know. I can’t see how it helps. Ive heard Whigs at home say the -money’s bound to seep down from above, but it seems awfully roundabout. -And not very efficient.” - -He reached over and clapped me lightly on the shoulder. “That’s my -boy,” he said. “They can’t fool you.” - -I wasnt entirely pleased by his commendation. “And protection means -paying more for things than theyre worth.” - -“Taint only that, Hodge, it’s a damn lie as well. Whigs never even -tried protection when they was in. Didnt dast. Knew the other countries -wouldnt let them.” - -“As for ‘permanent population’ ... well, those who can’t make a living -are going to go on emigrating to prosperous countries. Permanent -population means dwindling population if it means anything.” - -“Ah,” he said. “You got a head on your shoulders, Hodge. Youre all -right; books won’t hurt you. But what about emigrating? Yourself, I -mean?” - -I shook my head. - -He nodded, chewing on a soggy corner of his mustache. “Don’t want to -leave the old ship, huh?” - -I don’t suppose I would have put it exactly that way, or even fully -formulated the thought. I was willing to exchange the familiar for the -unknown—up to a certain point. The thought of giving up the country -in which I’d been born was repugnant. Call it loyalty, or a sense of -having ties with the past, or just stubbornness. “Something like that,” -I said. - -“Well now, let’s see what weve got.” He stuck up a dirty and slightly -tremulous hand, turning down a finger as he stated each point. “One, -patriot; two, Populist; three, don’t like indenting; four, prosperity’s -got to come from the poor upward, not the rich down.” He hesitated, -holding his thumb. “You heard of the Grand Army?” - -“Who hasnt? Not much difference between them and the regular gangs.” - -“Now what makes you say that?” - -“Why ... everybody knows it” - -“Do, huh? Maybe they know it all wrong. Look here now—and remember -about the Confederate Legion riding over the laws of the United -States—what would you think ought to be done about foreigners from the -strong countries who come here and walk all over us? Or the Whigs who -do their dirty work for them?” - -“I don’t know,” I said. “Not murder, certainly.” - -“Murder,” he repeated. “That’s a word, Hodge. Means what you want it -to mean. Wasnt murder back during the War when Union soldiers was -trying to keep the country from being split up. Taint murder today when -somebody’s hung for rape or counterfeiting. Anyhow the Grand Army don’t -go in for murder.” - -I said nothing. - -“Oh, accidents happen; wouldnt deny it. Maybe they get a little rougher -than they intend with Whig traitors or Confederate agents, but you -can’t make bacon out of a live hog. Point is the Grand Army’s the only -thing in the country that even tries to restore it to what it once was. -What was fought for in the War.” - -I don’t know whether it was the thought of Grandfather Backmaker or the -unassuaged guilt for the miserable figure I had cut only three days -back that made me ask, “And do they want to give the Negroes equality?” - -He drew back sharply, shock showing clearly on his face. “Touch of the -tarbrush in you, boy? By—” He bent forward, looking at me searchingly. -“No, I can see you aint. Just some notions youll outgrow. You just -don’t understand. We might have won that war if it hadnt been for the -Abolitionists.” - -Would we? I’d heard it said often enough; it would have been -presumptuous to doubt it. - -“The darkies are better off among their own,” he said; “they never -should have been here in the first place; black and white can’t mix. -Leave ideas like that alone, Hodge; there’s plenty and enough to be -done. Chase the foreigners out, teach their flunkies a lesson, build -the country up again.” - -“Are you trying to get me to join the Grand Army?” - -Pondible finished his beer. “Won’t answer that one, boy. Let’s say I -just want to get you somewheres to sleep, three meals a day, and some -of that education youre so fired up about. Come along.” - - - - -_4._ _TYSS_ - - -He took me to a bookseller’s and stationery store on Astor Place with -a printshop in the basement and the man to whom he introduced me was -the owner, Roger Tyss. I spent almost six years there, and when I left -neither the store nor its contents nor Tyss himself seemed to have -changed or aged. - -I know books were sold and others bought to take their places on the -shelves or to be piled towerwise on the floor. I helped cart in many -rolls of sulphide paper and bottles of printers’ ink, and delivered -many bundles of damp pamphlets, broadsides, letterheads and envelopes. -Inked ribbons for typewriting machines, penpoints, ledgers and -daybooks, rulers, paperclips, legal forms and cubes of indiarubber -came and went. Yet the identical, invincible disorder, the synonymous -dogeared volumes, the indistinguishable stock, the unaltered cases of -type seemed fixed for six years, all covered by the same film of dust -which responded to vigorous sweeping only by rising into the air and -immediately settling back on precisely the same spots. - -Roger Tyss grew six years older and I can only charge it to the -heedless eye of youth that I saw no signs of that aging. Like Pondible -and, as I learned, so many members of the Grand Army, he wore a beard. -His was closely trimmed, wiry and grizzled. Above the beard and across -his forehead were many fine lines which always held some of the grime -of the store or printing press. You did not dwell long on either beard -or wrinkles however; what held you were his eyes: large, dark, fierce -and compassionate. You might have dismissed him at first glance as -simply an undersized, stoopshouldered, slovenly printer, had it not -been for those eyes which seemed in perpetual conflict with his other -features. - -“Robbed and bludgeoned, ay?” he said with a curious disrespect for -sequence after Pondible had explained me to him. “Dog eats dog, and the -survivors survive. Backmaker, ay? Is that an American name?” - -So far as I knew, I said, it was. - -“Well, well; let’s not pry too deeply. So you want to learn. Why?” - -“Why?” The question was too big for an answer, yet an answer of some -kind was expected. “I guess because there’s nothing else so important.” - -“Wrong,” he said triumphantly, “wrong and illusory. Since nothing is -ultimately important there can be no degrees involved. Books are the -waste-product of the human mind.” - -“Yet you deal in them,” I ventured. - -“I’m alive and I shall die too; this doesnt mean I approve of either -life or death. Well, if you are going to learn you are going to learn; -there’s nothing I can do about it As well here as another place.” - -“Thank you, sir.” - -“Gratitude, Hodgins”—he never then nor later condescended to the -familiar “Hodge” nor did I ever address or even think of him except as -Mr Tyss—“Gratitude, Hodgins, is an emotion disagreeable both to the -giver and to the receiver. We do what we must; gratitude, pity, love, -hate, all that cant, is superfluous.” - -I considered this statement reflectively. - -“Look you,” he went on, “I’ll feed you and lodge you, teach you to set -type and give you the run of the books. I’ll pay you no money; you can -steal from me if you must You can learn as much here in four months as -in a college in four years—if you persist in thinking it’s learning you -want—or you can learn nothing. I’ll expect you to do the work I think -needs doing; any time you don’t like it youre free to go.” - -And so our agreement, if so simple and unilateral a statement can be -called an agreement, was made within ten minutes after he met me for -the first time. For six years the store was home and school, and Roger -Tyss was employer, teacher and father to me. He was never my friend. -Rather he was my adversary. I respected him and the longer I knew him -the deeper became my respect, but it was an ambivalent feeling and -attached only to those qualities which he himself would have scorned. -I detested his ideas, his philosophy and many of his actions, and this -detestation grew until I was no longer able to live near him. But I am -getting ahead of my story. - -Tyss knew books, not merely as a bookman knows them—binding, size, -edition, value—but as a scholar. He seemed to have read enormously and -on every conceivable subject, many of them quite useless in practical -application. (I remember a long discourse on heraldry, filled with -terms like “paley-bendy” or, “fusils conjoined in fess, gules” and -“sable demi-lions.” He regarded such erudition, indeed any erudition, -contemptuously. When I asked why he had bothered to pick it up, his -retort was, “Why have you bothered to pick up calluses, Hodgins?”) - -As a printer he followed the same pattern; he was not concerned solely -with setting up a neat page; he sometimes spent hours laying out some -trivia, which could have interested only its author, until he struck a -proof which satisfied him. He wrote much on his own account: poetry, -essays, manifestoes, composing directly from the font, running off a -single proof which he read—always expressionlessly—and immediately -destroyed before pieing the type. - -I slept on a mattress kept under one of the counters during the day; -Tyss had a couch hardly more luxurious, downstairs by the flatbed -press. Each morning before it was time to open he sent me across -town on the horse-cars to the Washington Market to buy six pounds of -beef—twelve on Saturdays, for the market, unlike the bookstore, was -closed Sundays. It was always the same cut, heart of ox or cow, dressed -by the butcher in thin strips. After I had been with him long enough to -tire of the fare, but not long enough to realize the obstinacy of his -nature, I begged him to let me substitute pork or mutton, or at least -some other part of the beef, like brains or tripe which were even -cheaper. He always answered, “The heart, Hodgins. Purchase the heart; -it is the vital food.” - -While I was on my errand he would buy three loaves of yesterday’s -bread, still tolerably fresh; when I returned he took a long -two-pronged fork, our only utensil, for the establishment was innocent -of either cutlery or dishes, and spearing a strip of heart held it -over the gas flame of a light standard until it was sooted and toasted -rather than broiled. We tore the loaves with our fingers and with a -hunk of bread in one hand and a strip of heart in the other we each ate -a pound of meat and half a loaf of bread for breakfast, dinner, and -supper. - -“Man is uniquely a savage eater of carrion,” he informed me, chewing -vigorously. “What lion or tiger would relish another’s ancient, -putrefying kill? What vulture or hyena displays human ferocity? Too, we -are cannibals at heart. We eat our gods; we have always eaten our gods.” - -“Isnt that figurative, or poetic, Mr Tyss? I mean, doesnt it refer to -the grain of wheat which is ‘killed’ by the harvester and buried by the -sower?” - -“You think the gods were modelled on John Barleycorn and not John -Barleycorn on them—to conceal their fate? I fear you have a higher -opinion of mankind than is warranted, Hodgins.” - -“I’m not sure I know what you mean by gods.” - -“Embodiments or personifications of human aspirations. The good, the -true, the beautiful—with winged feet or bull’s body.” - -“How about ... oh, Chronos? Or Satan?” - -He licked his fingers of the meat juices, obviously pleased. “Satan. An -excellent example. Epitome of man’s futile longing to upset and defy -the divine plan—I use the word ‘divine’ derisively, Hodgins—; who does -not admire and reverence Lucifer in his heart? Well, having made a god -out of the devil we eat him daily in a two-fold sense: by swallowing -the myth of his enmity (a truer friend there never was), and by -digesting his great precepts of pride and curiosity and strength. And -you see for yourself how he finds interesting thoughts for idle minds -to speculate on. Let’s get to work.” - -He expected me to work, but he was far from a hard or inconsiderate -master. In 1938-44, when the country was being ground deeper into -colonialism, there were few employers so lenient. I read much, -generally when I pleased, and despite his jeers at learning in the -abstract he encouraged me, even going to the length, if a particular -book was not to be found in his considerable stock, of letting me get -it from one of his competitors, to be written up against his account. - -Nor was he scrupulous about the time I took on his errands. I continued -to ramble and sight-see the city much as though I had nothing else to -do. And if, from time to time, I discovered there were girls in New -York who didnt look too unkindly on a tall youth even though he still -carried some of the rustic air of Wappinger Falls, he never questioned -why the walk of half a mile took me a couple of hours. - -True, he kept to his original promise never to pay me wages, but he -often handed me coins for pocketmoney, evidently satisfied I wasnt -stealing, and he replaced my makeshift wardrobe with worn but decent -clothing. - -He had not exaggerated the possibilities of the books surrounding -me. His brief warning, “—you can learn nothing,” was lost on me. I -suppose a different temperament might have become surfeited with -paper and print; I can only say I wasnt. I nibbled, tasted, gobbled -books. After the store was shut I hooked a student lamp to the nearest -gasjet by means of a long tube, and lying on my pallet with a dozen -volumes handy, I read till I was no longer able to keep my eyes open -or understand the words. Often I woke in the morning to find the light -still burning and my fingers holding the pages open. - -I think one of the first books to influence me strongly was the -monumental _Causes of American Decline and Decay_ by the always popular -expatriate historian, Henry Adams. I was particularly impressed by -the famous passage in which he reproves the “stay-at-home” Bostonian -essayists, William and Henry James, for their quixotic sacrifice -and espousal of a long-lost cause. History, said Sir Henry, who -had renounced his United States citizenship and been knighted by -William V, history is never directed or diverted by well-intentioned -individuals; it is the product of forces with geographical, not moral -roots. - -Possibly the learned expatriate was right, but my instinctive -sympathies lay with the Jameses, in spite of the fact that I had not -found their books enjoyable. This was due at least partly to the fact -that the small editions were badly printed and marred, at least so -foreign critics claimed, by an excessive use of Yankee colloquialisms, -consciously employed to demonstrate patriotism and disdain of imported -elegance. For some reason, obscure to me then, I did not mention -Adams to Tyss, though I usually turned to him with each of my fresh -discoveries. When he came upon me with an open book he would glance at -the running title over my shoulder and begin talking, either of the -particular work or of its topic. What he had to say gave me an insight -I might otherwise have missed, and turned me to other writers, other -aspects. He respected no authority simply because it was acclaimed or -established; he prodded me to examine every statement, every hypothesis -no matter how commonly accepted. - -Early in my employment I was attracted to a large framed parchment -he kept hanging, slightly askew and highly attractive to dust, over -his typecase. It was simply but beautifully printed in 16 point -Baskerville; I knew without being told that he had set it himself: - - _The Body of - Benjamin Franklin - Printer - Like the Cover of an Old Book - Stripped of Its Lettering and Gilding - Lies Here - Food for Worms. - But the Work Shall Not Be Lost - For it will, As he Believed, - Come Forth Again - In a new and Better Edition - Revised & Corrected - By - The Author._ - -When he caught me admiring it Tyss laughed. “Felicitous, isnt it, -Hodgins? But a lie, a perverse and probably hypocritical lie. There is -no Author; the book of life is simply a mess of pied type, a tale told -by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. There is no -plan, no synopsis to be filled in with pious hopes or sanctimonious -actions. There is nothing but a vast emptiness in the universe.” - -“The other day you told me we admired the devil for rebelling against a -plan.” - -He grinned. “So you expect consistency instead of truth from me, -Hodgins. There is no plan, authored by a Mind; it is this no-plan -against which Lucifer fought. But there is a plan too, a mindless plan, -which accounts for all our acts.” - -I had been reading an obscure Irish theologian, a Protestant curate of -some forsaken parish, so ill-esteemed he had been forced to publish his -sermons himself, named George B Shaw, and I had been impressed by his -forceful style. I quoted him to Tyss, perhaps as much to preen myself -as to counter his argument. - -“Nonsense. Ive seen the good parson’s book with its eighteenth-century -logic and its quaint rationalism, and know it for a waste of ink and -paper. Man does not think; he only thinks he thinks. An automaton, he -responds to external stimuli; he cannot order his thought.” - -“You mean that there’s no free will? Not even a marginal minimum of -choice?” - -“Exactly. The whole thing is an illusion. We do what we do because -someone else has done what he did; he did it because still another -someone did what he did. Every action is the rigid result of another -action.” - -“But there must have been a beginning,” I objected. “And if there was a -beginning, choice existed if only for that split second. And if choice -exists once it can exist again.” - -“You have the makings of a metaphysician, Hodgins,” he said -witheringly, for metaphysics was one of the most despised words in his -vocabulary. “The reasoning is infantile. Answering you and the Reverend -Shaw on your own level, I could say that time is a convention and that -all events occur simultaneously. Or if I grant its dimension I can ask, -What makes you think time is a simple straight line running flatly -through eternity? Why do you assume that time isnt curved? Can you -conceive of its end? Can you really imagine its beginning? Of course -not; then why arent both the same? The serpent with its tail in its -mouth?” - -“You mean we not only play a prepared script but repeat the identical -lines over and over and over for infinity? There’s no heaven in your -cosmos, only an unimaginable, never-ending hell.” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “That you should spout emotional apologetics -at me is part of what you call the script, Hodgins. You didnt select -the words nor speak them voluntarily. They were called into existence -by what I said, which in turn was mere response to what went before.” - -Weakly I was forced back to a more elementary attack. “You don’t act in -accordance with your own conviction.” - -He snorted. “A thoughtless remark, excusable only because automatic. -How could I act differently? Like you, I am a prisoner of stimuli.” - -“How pointless to risk ruin and imprisonment as a member of the Grand -Army when no one can change what’s predestined.” - -“Pointless or not, emotions and reflections are responses just as much -as actions. I can no more help engaging myself in the underground than -I can help breathing, or my heart beating, or dying when the time -comes. Nothing, they say, is certain but death and taxes; actually -everything is certain. Everything,” he repeated firmly. - -I went back to sorting some pamphlets which were to be sold for -wastepaper, shaking my head. His theory was unassailable; every -attack was discounted by the very nature of the thesis. That it was -false I didnt doubt; its impregnability made its falseness still more -terrifying. - -There were fully as many imaginary discussions with Tyss as real ones. -Yet even in these disembodied arguments I could gain no advantage. Why -do you look back on the War of Southron Independence with regret for -what might have been, if no might-have-been is possible? I asked him -mentally, knowing his answer, I cannot help myself, was no answer at -all. - -The logical illogic of it was only one of the multitude of -contradictions in him. The Grand Army to which he was devoted was -a violent organization of violent men. He himself was an advocate -and implement of violence—one illegal paper, the _True American_, -came from his press and I often saw crumpled proofs of large type -warnings to “Get Out of Town you Conf. TRAITOR or the GA will HANG -YOU!” Yet cruelty, other than intellectually, was repugnant to him; -his vindictiveness toward the Whigs and Confederates rose from -commiseration for the condition into which they had plunged the country. - -Pondible and the others who bore an indefinable resemblance to each -other, bearded or not, came to the store on Grand Army business, and I -was sure many of the errands I was sent on advanced or were supposed -to advance the Grand Army’s cause. Those who signed receipts with an -X—and in the beginning at least Tyss was strict about assurance of -delivery—seemed unlikely customers for the sort of merchandise we -handled. - -I was relieved, but puzzled and perhaps a little piqued, that aside -from the very first conversation with Pondible, no attempt was made to -persuade me into the organization. Tyss must have perceived this, for -he explained obliquely. - -“There’s the formative type, Hodgins, and the spectator type. One acts, -and the other is acted upon. One changes events, the other observes -them. Of course,” he went on hastily, “I’m not talking metaphysical -rubbish. When I say the formative type changes events I merely mean he -reacts to a given stimulus in a positive way while the spectator reacts -to the same circumstances negatively, both reactions being inevitable -and inescapable. Naturally, events are never changed.” - -“Why can’t one be one type sometimes and the other at other times? -Ive certainly heard of men of action who have sat down to write their -memoirs.” - -“You are confusing the after-effect of action with nonaction, the -dying ripples on a pond into which a stone has been tossed with the -still surface of one which has never been disturbed. No, Hodgins, the -two types are completely distinct and unchangeable. The Swiss police -chief, Carl Jung, has refined and improved the classifications of -Lombroso, showing how the formative type can always be detected.” - -I felt he was talking pure nonsense, even though I had never read -Lombroso or heard of Chief Jung. - -“To the formative type the spectator seems useless, to the spectator -the man of action is faintly absurd. A born observer would find the -earnest efforts of the Grand Army—the formation of skeleton companies, -the appointment of officers, the secret drills, the serious attempt to -become a real army—lacking in humor and repellent.” - -“You think I’m the spectator type, Mr Tyss?” - -“No doubt about it, Hodgins. Certain features might be deceptive at -first sight: the wide-spaced eyes, the restrained fleshiness of the -mouth, the elevation of the nostril; but they subordinate to more -subtle indicators. No question but that Chief Jung would put you down -as an observer.” - -If his fantastic reasoning and curious manner of classifying -personalities as though they were zoological specimens could relieve me -of having to refuse pointblank to join the Grand Army I was content. -While this hardly alleviated my disturbance at being, no matter how -remotely, accessory to mayhem, kidnaping and murder I compromised with -my conscience by trying to believe I might after all be mistaken in -thinking I was being used. There were times when I felt I ought boldly -to declare myself and leave the store but when I faced the prospect -of having to find a way to eat and sleep, even if I put aside the -imperative necessity of books, I lacked the courage. - -Spectator? Why not? Spectators had no difficult decisions to make. - - - - -_5._ _OF WHIGS AND POPULISTS_ - - -A country defeated in a bitter war and divested of half its territory -loses its drive and spirit and suffers a shock which is communicated -to all its people. For generations its citizens brood over what has -happened, preoccupied with the past and dreaming of a miraculous -change, until time brings apathy or a reversal of history. The Grand -Army, with its crude and brutal philosophy and methods, was pride’s -answer to defeat. - -It was not the only answer; the two major political parties had others. -The realistic Whigs wanted to fit the country and its economy into -actual world conditions, to subordinate it wholly and openly to the -great manufacturing nations and accept with gratitude foreign capital -and foreign protection. The immediate result would be more prosperity -for the propertied classes; they contended this would mean a gradual -raising of the standard of living since employers could hire more -hands, and indenture, faced by competition with wages, would dwindle -away. - -This the Populists denied. The government, they insisted when they were -out of office, should create industries, forbid indenting, buy up the -indentures of skilled workers and offer high enough pay to create new -markets, and defy the world by building a new army and navy. That they -never put their program into effect they laid to the wily tricks of the -Whigs. - -The presidential election of 1940 was as violent as if the office were -really a prize to be sought rather than a practically empty title, -with all real power now held by the Majority Leader of the House and -his cabinet of Committee Chairmen. As early as May one of the leading -contenders for the Populist nomination was shot and badly crippled; the -Cleveland hall where the Whig convention was being held was fired by an -arsonist. - -I would not be old enough to vote for two years, yet I too had campaign -fever. Jennings Lewis, the Populist, was perhaps the ugliest candidate -ever offered, with a hairless, skeletonlike face; Dewey, the Whig -nominee, had a certain handsomeness, which might have been an asset if -the persistent advocates of woman suffrage had ever gotten their way. - -Traditionally, candidates never ventured west of Chicago, concentrating -their appearances in New York and New England and leaving the campaign -in the sparsely settled trans-Mississippi to local politicians. This -year both office-seekers used every device to reach the greatest -number of voters. Dewey made a grand tour in his balloon-train; Lewis -was featured in a series of short phonotos which were shown free. -Dewey spoke several times daily to small groups; Lewis specialized in -enormous weekly rallies followed by torchlight parades. - -One of these Populist rallies was held in Union Square early in -September; outgoing President George Norris spoke, and ex-President -Norman Thomas, the only Populist to serve two terms since the beloved -Bryan. Tyss indulgently gave me permission to leave the store a couple -of hours before the meeting was to commence so I might get a place from -which to see and hear all that was going on. Though he characterized -all elections as meaningless exercises devised to befuddle, he had been -active in this one in some mysterious and secretive way. - -The square was already well filled when I arrived, with the more -acrobatic members of the audience perched on the statues of LaFayette -and Washington. Calliopes played patriotic airs, and a compressed -air machine shot up puffs of smoke which momentarily spelled out the -candidate’s name. Resigned to pantomime glimpses of what was going on, -I moved around the outside edge of the crowd, thinking I might just as -well leave altogether. - -“Please don’t step on my foot so firmly. Or is that part of the -Populist tradition?” - -“Excuse me, Miss; I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” - -We were close enough to a light standard for me to see she was young -and well-dressed, hardly the sort of girl to be found at a political -meeting, few of which ever counted much of a feminine audience. - -She rubbed her instep briefly. “It’s all right,” she conceded -grudgingly. “Serves me right for being curious about the mob.” - -She was plump and pretty, with a small, discontented mouth and pale -hair worn long over her shoulders. “There’s not much to see from here,” -I said; “unless youre enthusiastic enough to be satisfied with a bare -look at the important people, perhaps you’d let me help you to the -streetcar. For my clumsiness.” - -She looked at me thoughtfully. “I can manage by myself. But if you feel -you owe me something for trampling me, maybe you’ll explain why anyone -comes to these ridiculous gatherings.” - -“Why ... to hear the speakers.” - -“Hardly any of them can. Only those close up.” - -“Well then, to show their support of the party, I guess.” - -“That’s what I thought. It’s a custom or rite or something like that. A -stupid amusement.” - -“But cheap,” I said. “And those who vote for Populists usually havent -much money.” - -“Maybe that’s why,” she answered. “If they found more useful things to -do they’d earn money; then they wouldnt vote for Populists.” - -“A virtuous circle. If everyone voted Whig we’d all be rich as Whigs.” - -She shrugged her shoulders, a gesture I found pleasing. “It’s easy -enough to be envious of those who are better off; it’s a lot harder to -become better off yourself.” - -“I can’t argue with you on that, Miss ... um ...?” - -“Why Mister Populist, do ladies always tell you their names when you -step on their feet?” - -“I’m not usually lucky enough to find feet to step on that have lovely -ladies attached,” I answered boldly. “I won’t deny Populist leanings, -but my name is really Hodge Backmaker.” - -Hers was Tirzah Vame, and she was indentured to a family of wealthy -Whigs who owned a handsome modern castiron and concrete house near the -Reservoir at Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue. She had used the -apt word “curious” in characterizing herself but it was, as I soon -found out, a cold and inflexible curiosity which explored only what -she thought might be useful or which impressed her as foolish. She -was interested in the nature of anything fashionable or popular or -much talked of, the idea of being concerned with anything even vaguely -abstract struck her as preposterous. - -She had indented, not out of stark economic necessity, but -calculatedly, believing she could achieve economic security through -indenture. This seemed paradoxical to me, even when I contrasted my -“free” condition with her bound one. Certainly she seemed to have -minimum restriction on her time; soon after our introduction at the -rally she was meeting me almost every evening in Reservoir Square where -we sat for hours talking on a bench or walking briskly when the autumn -weather chilled our blood. - -I did not long flatter myself that her interest—perhaps tolerance would -be a better word—was due to any strong attraction exerted by me. If -anything she was, I think, slightly repelled by my physical presence, -which carried to her some connotation of ordinary surroundings and -contrasted with the well-fed smooth surfaces of her employers and their -friends. The first time I kissed her she shuddered slightly; then, -closing her eyes, she allowed me to kiss her again. - -She did not resist me when I pressed my lovemaking; she led me quietly -to her room in the big house on my transparent plea that the outdoors -was now too cold even for conversation. I was no accomplished seducer, -but even in my awkward eagerness I could see she had made up her mind I -was to succeed. - -That her complaisance was not the result of passion was soon obvious; -there was not so much a failure on my part to arouse her as a refusal -on hers to be aroused beyond an inescapable degree. Even as she -permitted our intimacy she remained as virginal, aloof and critical as -before. - -“It seems hardly worth the trouble. Imagine people talking and writing -and thinking about nothing else.” - -“Tirzah dear—” - -“And the liberties that seem to go with it. I don’t think of you as any -more dear than I did an hour ago. If people must indulge in this sort -of thing, and I suppose they must since it’s been going on for a long -time, I think it could be conducted with more dignity.” - -As my infatuation increased her coolness did not lessen; curiosity -alone seemed to move her. She was amused at my pathetic search for -knowledge. “What good is your learning ever going to do you? It’ll -never get you a penny.” - -I smoothed the long, pale hair and kissed her ear. “Suppose it doesnt?” -I argued lazily; “There are other things besides money.” - -She drew away. “That’s what those who can’t get it always say.” - -“And what do people who can get it say?” - -“That it’s the most important thing of all,” she answered earnestly. -“That it will buy all the other things.” - -“It will buy you free of your indenture,” I admitted, “but you have to -get it first.” - -“Get it first? I never let it go. I still have the contract payment.” - -“Then what was the point of indenting at all?” - -She looked at me wonderingly. “Havent you ever thought about serious -things? Only books and politics and all that? How could I get -opportunities without indenting? I doubt if the Vames are much of a cut -above the Backmakers; well, youre a general drudge and I’m a governess -and tutor and even in a way a sort of distant friend to Mrs Smythe.” - -“That sounds suspiciously like snobbery to me.” - -“Does it? Well, I’m a snob; Ive never denied it. I want to live like a -lady, to have a good house with servants and carriages and minibiles, -to travel to civilized countries, with a place in Paris or Rome or -Vienna. You can love the poor and cheer for the Populists; I love the -rich and the Whigs.” - -“That’s all very well,” I objected, “but even though you have your -indenting money and can buy back your freedom any moment you want it, -how does this help you get rich?” - -“Do you think I keep my money in my pocket? It’s invested, every cent. -People who come to this house give me tips; not just money, though -there’s enough of that to add a bit to my original capital, but tips on -what to buy and sell. By the time I’m thirty I should be well off. Of -course I may marry a rich man sooner.” - -“That’s an awfully cold-blooded way of looking at marriage,” I -remonstrated. - -“Is it?” she asked indifferently. “Well, youve been telling me I’m -cold-blooded anyway. I may as well be cold-blooded profitably.” - -“If that’s the way you feel I don’t understand what we’re doing here -at this moment. I’d have thought you’d have picked a more profitable -lover.” - -She was unruffled. “You didnt think about it at all. If you had, you -would have seen I could hardly encourage any of the men from the class -into which I intend to marry. Great ladies can laugh at gossip, but the -faintest whisper about someone like me would be damaging. Scandal would -be unavoidable if I appeared to be anything in this house but a chilly -prude.” - -An appearance not too deceitful, I considered, sickly jealous at -the thought of men who might have been in my place if they had been -as anonymous, as inconsequential as I. But this writhing jealousy -was little more painful than my frustration at having been made a -convenience, a trial experiment. Almost anyone of equal unimportance, -anyone who was not a fellow-servant or a familiar in the house would -have done as well as I, anyone unlikely ever to come face to face with -Mrs Smythe, much less talk to her. - -Looking back, trying to recapture for a moment that vanished past, -I have a sad, quizzical welling of pity for the girl Tirzah and the -boy Hodge. How gravely we took our moral and political differences; -how lightly the flying moments of union. We said and did all the -wrong things, all the things which fostered the antagonism between -us and none of the things which might have softened our youthful -self-assurance. We wrangled and argued: Dewey and Lewis, Whig versus -Populist, materialist against idealist, reality opposing principle. It -all seems so futile now; it all appeared so vital then. - -Added to the almost unanimous distrust and hatred of all foreigners -in the United States, we regarded the Confederates in particular as -the cause of all our misfortunes. We not only blamed and feared them, -but looked upon them as sinister, so Populist orators had a ready-made -response every time they referred to the Whigs as Southron tools. - -Contrary to the accepted view in the United States, I was sure the -victors in the War of Southron Independence had been men of the highest -probity, and the noblest among them was their second president. Yet I -also knew that immediately after the Peace of Richmond less dedicated -individuals became increasingly powerful in the new nation. As Sir John -Dahlberg remarked, “Power tends to corrupt.” - -From his first election in 1865 until his death ten years later, -President Lee had been the prisoner of an increasingly strong and -imperialistic congress. He had opposed the invasion and conquest of -Mexico by the Confederacy, undertaken on the pretext of restoring order -during the conflict between the republicans and the emperor. However he -had too profound a respect for the constitutional processes to continue -this opposition in the face of joint resolutions by the Confederate -House and Senate. - -Lee remained a symbol, but as the generation which had fought for -independence died, the ideals he symbolized faded. Negro emancipation, -enacted largely because of pressure from men like Lee, soon revealed -itself as a device for obtaining the benefits of slavery without its -obligations. The freedmen on both sides of the new border were without -franchise, and for all practical purposes without civil rights. Yet -while the old Union first restricted and then abolished immigration, -the Confederacy encouraged it, making the newcomers subjects like -the Latin-Americans who made up so much of the Southron population -after the Confederacy expanded southward, limiting full citizenship to -posterity of enfranchised residents in the Confederate States on July -Fourth 1864. - -The Populists claimed the Whigs were Confederate agents; the Whigs -retorted that the Populists were visionaries and demagogues who -tolerated if they did not actually encourage the activities of the -Grand Army. The Populists replied by pointing to their platform which -denounced illegal organizations and lawless methods. I was not too -impressed by this, knowing how busy Tyss, Pondible and their associates -had been ever since the campaign started. - -On election night Tyss closed the store and we walked the few blocks -to Wanamaker & Stewarts drygoods store where a big screen showed the -returns between tinugraphs puffing the firm’s merchandise. From the -first it was apparent the unpredictable electorate preferred Dewey to -Lewis. State after state, hitherto staunchly Populist, turned to the -Whigs for the first time since William Hale Thompson defeated President -Thomas R Marshall back in 1920 and again Alfred E Smith in 1924, before -Smith gained the great popularity which gave him the presidency four -years later. Only Massachusetts, Connecticut, Dakotah and Oregon went -for Lewis; his own Minnesota along with twenty-one other states plumped -for Dewey. - -Disappointed as I was, I could not but note Tyss’s cheerful air. When I -asked him what satisfaction he could find in so overwhelming a defeat -he smiled and said, “What defeat, Hodgins? Did you think we wanted the -Populists to win? To elect Jennings Lewis with his program of world -peace conferences? Really Hodgins, I’m afraid you learn nothing day by -day.” - -“You mean the Grand Army wanted Dewey all along?” - -“Dewey or another; we prefer a Whig administration which presents a -fixed target to a Populist one wavering all over the place.” - -Of course it should have occurred to me that Tyss and Tirzah would wind -up on the same side. It was a measure of my innocence that it never -had. - - - - -_6._ _ENFANDIN_ - - -Tirzah’s question, “What good is your learning ever going to do you?” -bothered me from time to time. Not that I was burdened by any vast -amount of knowledge, but presumably I would get more—and then what? -It was true I expected no rewards from reading except the pleasure -it gave me, but the future, to use a topheavy word, could not be -entirely disregarded. I could not see myself spending a lifetime in the -bookstore. I was grateful to Tyss, despite his disdain of this emotion, -for the opportunities he had given me, but not grateful enough to -reconcile myself to becoming another Tyss, especially one without his -vitalizing involvement with the Grand Army. - -Other courses were neither numerous nor inviting. To follow Tirzah’s -own example might have seemed feasible if one ignored the vast -differences of situation and character, to say nothing of those between -a hulking youth and a pretty girl. I could hardly hope to find a -wealthy family who would buy my services, put me to congenial tasks, -and look with tolerance on my efforts to advance myself right out -of their employment. Even if such a chance existed I could not have -utilized it as she did; I should undoubtedly confuse one stock with -another or neglect to buy what I was told until too late, winding up -with lottery tickets and losing the stubs. - -My helpless uncertainty only added to my disadvantage with her. I -had no hope her coolness would change to either ardor or affection. -At any moment she might decide her curiosity was satisfied and find -the awkwardness, inconveniences, and what must have been to her the -sordidness of the affair too great. - -We were a strange pair of young lovers. When we talked we argued -opposing views or spoke sedately of things not near our hearts. -When we walked together in the streets or fled the gaslit pavements -for the moon over Reservoir Square we neither held hands nor kissed -impulsively. Because prudence forbade the slightest physical contact -save in utmost privacy there were no innocent touchings or accidental -brushing of hands against hips or arms against arms, and our secret -embraces were guilty simply because they were secret. - -Often I dreamed of a miraculous change, either in circumstances or -in her attitude, to dissolve the walls between us; beneath the hope -was only expectation of an abrupt and final break. Yet when it came -at last, after more than a year, it was not the result, as I had -agonizedly anticipated, of some successful speculation or an offer of -marriage, but of natural and normal actions of my own. - -Among the customers to whom I frequently delivered parcels of books was -a Monsieur René Enfandin who lived on Eighth Street, not far from Fifth -Avenue. M Enfandin was Consul for the Republic of Haiti; the house he -occupied was distinguished from otherwise equally drab neighbors by -a large red and blue escutcheon over the doorway. He did not use the -entire dwelling himself, reserving only the parlor floor for the office -of the consulate and living quarters; the rest was let to other tenants. - -Tyss’s anti-foreign bias caused him to jeer at Enfandin behind his back -and embark on discourses which proved by anthropometry and frequent -references to Lombroso and Chief Jung that Negroes were incapable -of self-government. I noticed however that he treated the consul no -differently, either in politeness or honesty, from his other patrons, -and by this time I knew Tyss well enough to attribute this courtesy not -to the self-interest of a tradesman but to that compassion which he -suppressed so sternly under the contradictions of his nature. - -For a long time I paid little attention to Enfandin, beyond noting the -wide range of interests revealed by the books he bought. I sensed -that, like myself, he was inclined to shyness. He had an arrangement -whereby he turned back most of his purchases for credit on others. I -saw that if he hadnt, his library would have soon dispossessed him; -as it was, books covered all the space not taken by the paraphernalia -of his office and bedroom with the exception of a bit of bare wall on -which hung a large crucifix. He seemed always to have a volume in his -large, dark brown hand, politely closed over his thumb or open for -eager sampling. - -Enfandin was tall and strong-featured, notable in any company. In -the United States where a black man was, more than anything else, -a reminder of the disastrous war and Mr Lincoln’s proclamation, he -was the permanent target of rowdy boys and adult hoodlums. Even the -diplomatic immunity of his post was poor protection, for it was -believed, not without justification, that Haiti, the only American -republic south of the Mason-Dixon line to preserve its independence, -was disrupting the official if sporadically executed policy of -deporting Negroes to Africa by encouraging their emigration to its own -shores or, what was even more annoying, assisting them to flee to the -unconquered Indians of Idaho or Montana. - -Beyond a “Good morning” or “Thank you” I doubt if we exchanged a -hundred words until the time I saw a copy of Randolph Bourne’s -_Fragment_ among his selections. “That’s not what you think it is,” I -exclaimed brashly; “it’s a novel.” - -He looked at me gravely. “You also admire Bourne?” - -“Oh yes.” I felt a trifle foolish, not only for having thrust my advice -upon him, but for the inadequacy of my comment on a writer who had so -many pertinent things to say and had been persecuted for saying them. -I was conscious too of Tyss’s opinion: How could a cripple like Bourne -speak to whole and healthy men? - -“But you do not approve of fiction, is that so?” Enfandin had no -discernible accent but often his English was uncolloquial and sometimes -it was overly careful and stiff. - -I thought of the adventure tales I had once swallowed so breathlessly. -“Well ... it does seem to be a sort of a waste of time.” - -He nodded. “Time, yes.... We waste it or save it or use it—one would -almost think we mastered it instead of the other way around. Yet are -all novels really a waste of the precious dimension? Perhaps you -underestimate the value of invention.” - -“No,” I said; “but what value has the invention of happenings that -never happened, or characters who never existed?” - -“Who is to say what never happened? It is a matter of definition.” - -“All right,” I said; “suppose the characters exist in the author’s -mind, like the events; where does the value of the invention come in?” - -“Where the value of any invention comes in,” he answered. “In its -purpose or use. A wheel spinning aimlessly is worth nothing; the same -wheel on a cart or a pulley changes destiny.” - -“You can’t learn anything from fairy tales,” I persisted stubbornly. - -He smiled. “Maybe you havent read the right fairy tales.” - -I soon discovered in him a quick and penetrating sympathy which was at -times almost telepathic. He listened to my callow opinions patiently, -offering observations of his own without diffidence and without -didacticism. The understanding and encouragement I did not expect or -want from Tyss he gave me generously. To him, as I never could to -Tirzah, I talked of my hopes and dreams; he listened patiently and did -not seem to think them foolish or impossible of accomplishment. I do -not minimize what Tyss did for me by saying that without Enfandin I -would have taken much less profit from the books my employer gave me -access to. - -I was drawn to him more and more; I’m not sure why he interested -himself in me, unless there was a reason in the remark he made once: -“Ay, we are alike, you and I. The books, always the books. And for -themselves, not to become rich or famous like sensible people. Are -we not foolish? But it is a pleasant folly and a sometimes blameless -vice.” - -I wanted anxiously to speak of Tirzah, not only because it is an urgent -necessity for lovers to mention the name at least of their beloved a -hundred times a day or more, but in the nebulous hope he could somehow -give me an answer to her as well as to her question. I approached the -topic in a number of different ways; each time our conversation moved -on without my having told him about her. - -Often, after I had delivered an armful of books to the consulate and -we had talked of a wide range of things—for, unlike me, he had no -self-consciousness about what interested him, whether others might -consider it trivial or not—he would walk back to the bookstore with -me, leaving a note on his door. The promise that he would be “Back in -10 minutes” was, I’m afraid, seldom fulfilled, for he became so deeply -engrossed that he was unaware of time. - -The occasion which was to be so important to me sprang from a -discussion of non-resistance to evil, a subject on which he had much -to say. We were just passing Wanamaker & Stewarts and he had just -triumphantly reviewed the amazing decision of the Japanese Shogun to -abolish all police forces, when I became conscious that someone was -staring fixedly at me. - -A minibile, highslung and obviously custom-built, moved slowly down the -street. Its brass brightwork, bumpers like two enormous tackheads, hub -rims like delicate eyelets in the center of the great spokes, rococo -lamps, rain gutters and door handles, was dazzling. In the jump-seat, -facing a lady of majestic demeanor, was Tirzah. Her head was turned -ostentatiously away from us. - -Enfandin halted as I did. “Ah,” he murmured; “you know the ladies?” - -“The girl. The lady is her employer.” - -“I caught only a glimpse of the face, but it is a pretty one.” - -“Yes. Oh yes....” I wanted desperately to say more, to thank him as -though Tirzah’s looks were somehow to my credit, to praise her and at -the same time call her cruel and hardhearted. “Oh yes....” - -“She is perhaps a particular friend?” - -I nodded. “Very particular.” We walked on in silence. - -“That is nice. But she is perhaps a little unhappy over your prospects?” - -“How did you know?” - -“It was not too hard to infer. You have been concealed from the -mistress; the young lady is impressed by wealth; you are the idealistic -one who is not.” - -At last I was able to talk. I explained her indenture, her ambitious -plans, and how I expected her to end everything between us at any -moment. “And there’s nothing I can do about it,” I finished bitterly. - -“That is right, Hodge. There is nothing you can do about it because—You -will forgive me if I speak plainly, brutally even?” - -“Go ahead. Tirzah—” what a joy it was just to say the name “—Tirzah has -told me often enough how unrealistic I am.” - -“That was not what I meant. I would say there is nothing you can do -about it because there is nothing you wish to do about it.” - -“What do you mean? I’d do anything I could....” - -“Would you? Give up books, for instance?” - -“Why should I? What good would that do?” - -“I do not say you should or that it would do good. I only try to show -that the young lady, charming and important as she is, is not the most -magnetic or important thing in your life. Romantic love is a curious -byproduct of west European feudalism that Africans and Asiatics can -only criticize gingerly. You shake your head with obstinacy; you do not -believe me. Good, then I have not hurt you.” - -“I can’t see that youve helped me much, either.” - -“Ay! What did you expect from the black man of Haiti? Miracles?” - -“Nothing less will do any good I’m afraid. Now I suppose youll tell -me I’ll get over it in time; that it’s just an adolescent languishing -anyway.” - -He looked at me reproachfully. “No, Hodge. I hope I should never be -the one to think suffering is tied to age or time. As for getting -over it, why, we all get over everything in the end, but no matter -how desirable absolute peace is, few of us are willing to give up -experience prematurely.” - -Later, I compared what Enfandin told me with what Tyss might have said. -Did the responsibility of holding Tirzah lie with me and not with both -of us, or with fate or chance? Or were events so circumscribed by -inevitabilities that even to think of struggling with them was foolish? - -I also asked myself if I had been too proud, too hypersensitive. I had -tried to make her see my viewpoint by arguing, by fighting hers; might -it not be possible, without giving up essentials, to approach her more -gently? To divert her, not from her ambitions, but from her contempt -for mine? - -Full of resolves, I left the store after eight; eager walking brought -me to our meeting place in Reservoir Square early, but the nearby -churchbells had hardly sounded the quarter hour when she said, “Hodge.” - -Her unusual promptness was a good omen; I was filled with warm -optimism. “Tirzah, I saw you this afternoon—” - -“Did you? I thought you were so busy with Sambo you would never look -up.” - -“Why do you call him that? Do you think—” -“Oh for Heavens sake, don’t start making speeches at me. I call him -Sambo because it sounds nicer than Rastus.” - -All my resolutions about trying to see her point of view! “I call him -M’sieu Enfandin because that’s his name.” - -“Have you no pride? No, I suppose you havent. Just some strange -manners. Well, I can put up with your eccentricities, but other people -wouldnt understand. What do you think Mrs Smythe would say?” - -“Never having met the lady, I havent the faintest idea.” - -“I have, and I agree with her. Would you like me to be chummy with a -naked cannibal with a ring in his nose?” - -“But Enfandin doesnt wear a ring in his nose, and you must have seen -he was fully dressed. Maybe he eats missionaries in secret, but that -couldnt offend Mrs Smythe since appearances would be saved.” - -“I’m serious, Hodge.” - -“So am I. Enfandin is my only friend.” - -“You may be above appearances and considerations of decency but I’m -not. If you ever appear in public with him again you can stop coming -here. Because I won’t have anything more to do with you.” - -“But Tirzah ...” I began helplessly, overwhelmed by the impossibility -of coping with the irrelevancies and inconsistencies of her stand. “But -Tirzah....” - -“No,” she said firmly; “you’ll simply have to grow up, Hodge, and stop -such childish exhibitions. Only friend indeed! Why I suppose if he -appeared here right this minute, you’d talk to him.” - -“Well naturally. You’d hardly expect me to—” -“But I do. That’s exactly what I’d expect. You to act like a civilized -man.” - -I wasnt angry. I couldnt be angry with her. “If that’s civilization -then I guess I don’t want to be civilized.” - -I detected astonishment in her voice. “You mean, actually mean, you -intend to keep on acting this way?” - -Grandfather Backmaker must have been a stubborn man; I had my -mother’s word I possessed no Hodgins traits. “Tirzah, what would you -think of me if I turned on my only friend, the only thoroughly kind -and understanding friend Ive ever had, just because Mrs Smythe has -different notions of propriety than I have?” - -“I’d think you were beginning to understand things at last.” - -“I’m sorry, Tirzah.” - -“I mean it, Hodge, you know. I’ll never see you again.” - -“If you’d only listen to my side—” -“You mean if I would only become a crank like you. But I don’t want to -be a crank or a martyr. I don’t want to change the world. I’m normal.” - -“Tirzah—” -“Goodbye, Hodge.” - -She walked away. I had the irrational feeling that if I called after -her she might come back. Or at least stand still and wait to hear what -I had to say. I kept my mouth obstinately closed; Enfandin had been -right, the responsibility was mine. There were things I would not give -up. - -My heroic mood must have lasted fully fifteen minutes. Then I hurried -through the little park and across the street to the Smythe house. -There were lights in the upper floors, but the basement, as always, -was dark. I dared not knock or ring the bell; her admonitions were -too firmly impressed on my mind. Instead, in a turmoil of emotions, I -paced the flagged sidewalk until the suspicious eye of a patrolman was -attracted; then I fled cravenly. - -I couldnt wait for the next day to write a long, chaotic letter -begging her to let me talk to her, just to talk to her, for an hour, -ten minutes, a minute. I offered to indent, to emigrate, to make a -fortune by some inspired means if only she would hear me. I recalled -moments together, I told her I loved her, said I would die without her. -Having covered several pages with these sentiments I began all over and -repeated them. It was dawn when I posted the letter in the pneumatic -mail. - -Sleepless and tormented, I was of little use to Tyss next day. Would -she telegraph? If she answered by pneumatic post her letter might be -delivered in the afternoon. Or would she come to the bookstore? - -The second day I sent off two more letters and went up to Reservoir -Square on the chance she might appear. I watched the house as though my -concentration would force her to emerge. On the third day my letters -came back, unopened. - -There is some catchphrase or other about the elasticity of youth. It is -true it was only weeks before my misery abated, and weeks more before I -was heart-whole again. But those weeks were long. - -The subject of Tirzah did not come up again between Enfandi and me. He -must have sensed I had lost her, perhaps he even guessed his connection -with the break, but he was too tactful to mention it and I was too sore. - -I don’t know if the episode precipitated some maturity in me, or if, as -a result of grief and anger I tried to turn my mind away from the easy -emotions and shield myself against further hurt. At any rate, whether -there was a logical connection or not, it is from this period that I -date my resolve to center my reading on history. Somewhat diffidently I -spoke of this to him. - -“History? But certainly, Hodge. It is a noble study. But what is -history? How is it written? How is it read? Is it a dispassionate -chronicle of events scientifically determined and set down in the -precise measure of their importance? Is this ever possible? Or is it -the transmutation of the ordinary into the celebrated? Or the cunning -distortion which gives a clearer picture than accurate blueprints?” - -“It seems to me facts are primary and interpretations come after,” I -answered. “If we can find out the facts we can form our individual -opinions on them.” - -“Perhaps. Perhaps. But take what is for me the central fact of all -history.” He pointed to the crucifix. “As a Catholic the facts are -plain to me; I believe what is written in the Gospels to be literally -true: that the Son of Man died for me on that cross. But what were -the facts for a contemporary Roman statesman? That an obscure local -agitator threatened the stability of an uneasy province and was -promptly executed in the approved Roman fashion as a warning to others. -And for a contemporary fellow-countryman? That no such person existed. -You think these facts are mutually exclusive? Yet you know no two -people see exactly the same thing; too many honest witnesses have -contradicted each other. Even the Gospels must be reconciled.” - -“You are saying that truth is relative.” - -“Am I? Then I shall have my tongue examined, or my head. Because I mean -to say no such thing. Truth is absolute and for all time. But one man -cannot envisage all of truth; the best he can do is see a single aspect -of it whole. That is why I say to you, be a skeptic, Hodge. Always be -the skeptic.” - -“Ay?” I was finding the admonition a little difficult to harmonize with -his previous confession of faith. - -“For the believer skepticism is essential. How else is he to know false -gods from true except by doubting both? One of the most pernicious of -folk-sayings is, ‘I could scarcely believe my eyes?’ Why should you -believe your eyes? You were given eyes to see with, not to believe -with. Believe your mind, your intuition, your reason, your feelings if -you like—but not your eyes unaided by any of these interpreters. Your -eyes can see the mirage, the hallucination, as easily as the actual -scenery. Your eyes will tell you nothing exists but matter—” -“Not my eyes only, but my boss.” - -“Ay? What are you saying?” For all his amiability Enfandin enjoyed -interruption in mid-discourse no more than any other teacher. But in -a moment his irritation vanished and he listened to my description of -Tyss’s mechanistic creed. - -“God have mercy on his soul,” he muttered at last. “Poor creature. He -has liberated himself from the superstitions of religion in order to -fall into superstition so abject no Christian can conceive it. Imagine -to yourself—” he began to pace the floor “—time is circular, man is -automaton, we are doomed to repeat the same gestures over and over, -forever. Oh I say to you, Hodge, this is monstrous. The poor man. The -poor man.” - -I nodded. “Yes. But what is the answer? Limitless space? Limitless -time? They are almost as horrifying, because they are inconceivable and -awful.” - -“And why should the inconceivable and awful be horrifying? Is our -small human understanding the ultimate measuring stick and guide? But -of course this is not the answer. The answer is that all—time, space, -matter—all is illusion. All but the good God Himself. Nothing is real -but Him. We are creatures of His fancy, figments of His imagination....” -“Then where does free will come in?” - -“As a gift, naturally. Or supernaturally. How else? The greatest gift -and the greatest responsibility.” - -I can’t say I was entirely satisfied with his exposition, though it was -certainly more to my taste than Tyss’s. I returned to the conversation -at intervals, both in my thoughts and when I saw him, but in the end I -suppose all I really accepted was his admonition to be skeptical, which -I doubt I always applied the way he meant me to. - - - - -_7._ _OF CONFEDERATE AGENTS IN 1942_ - - -To anyone but the mooncalf I still was in the year of my majority -it would have long since occurred with considerable force that -Enfandin ought to be told of Tyss’s connection with the Negro-hating, -anti-foreign Grand Army. And the thought once entertained, no matter -how belatedly, would have been immediately translated into warning. For -me it became a dilemma. - -If I exposed Tyss to Enfandin I would certainly be basely ungrateful to -the man who had saved me from destitution and given me the opportunity -I wanted so much. Membership in the Grand Army was a crime, even though -the laws were laxly enforced, and I could hardly expect an official -receiving the hospitality of the United States to conceal knowledge of -a felony against his host, especially when the Grand Army was what it -was. Yet if I kept silent I would be less than a friend. - -If I spoke I would be an informer; if I didnt, a hypocrite and worse. -The fact that neither man, for totally different reasons, would -condemn me whichever course I took increased rather than diminished my -perplexity. I procrastinated, which meant I was actually protecting -Tyss, and that this was against my sympathies increased my feeling of -guilt. - -At this juncture a series of events involved me still deeper with the -Grand Army and further complicated my relationship to both Tyss and -Enfandin. It began the day a customer called himself to my attention -with a selfconscious clearing of his throat. - -“Yes sir. Can I help you?” - -He was a fat little man with palpably false teeth, and hair hanging -down behind over his collar. However the sum of his appearance was in -no way ludicrous; rather he gave the impression of ease and authority, -and an assurance so strong there was no necessity to buttress it. - -“Why, I was looking for—” he began, and then scrutinized me sharply. -“Say, aint you the young fella I saw walking with a Nigra? Big black -buck?” - -Seemingly everyone had been fascinated by the spectacle of two people -of slightly different shades of color in company with each other. I -felt myself reddening. “There’s no law against it, is there?” - -He made a gargling noise which I judged was laughter. “Wouldnt know -about your damyankee laws, boy. For myself I’d say there’s no harm in -it, no harm in it at all. Always did like to be around Nigras myself. -But then I was rared among em. Most damyankees seem to think Nigras -aint fitten company. Only goes to show how narrerminded and bigoted you -folks can be. Present company excepted.” - -“M’sieu Enfandin is consul of the Republic of Haiti,” I said; “he’s a -scholar and a gentleman.” As soon as the words were out I was bitterly -sorry for their condescension and patronage. I felt ashamed, as if I -had betrayed him by offering credentials to justify my friendship and -implying it took special qualities to overcome the handicap of his -color. - -“A mussoo, huh? Furrin and educated Nigra? Well, guess theyre all -right.” His tone, still hearty, was slightly dubious. “Ben working here -long?” - -“Nearly four years.” - -“Kind of dull, aint it?” - -“Oh no—I like to read, and there are plenty of books around here.” -He frowned. “Should think a hefty young fella’d find more interesting -things. Youre indented, of course? No? Well then youre a mighty lucky -fella. In a way, in a way. Naturally youll be short on cash, ay? Unless -you draw a lucky number in the lottery.” - -I told him I’d never bought a lottery ticket. - -He slapped his leg as though I’d just repeated a very good joke. “Aint -that the pattrun,” he exclaimed; “aint that the pattrun! Necessity -makes em have a lottery; Puritanism keeps em from buying tickets. Aint -that the pattrun!” He gargled the humor of it for some time, while his -eyes moved restlessly around the dim interior of the store. “And what -do you read, ay? Sermons? Books on witches?” - -I admitted I’d dipped into both, and then, perhaps trying to impress -him, explained my ambitions. - -“Going to be a professional historian, hey? Little out of my line, but -I don’t suppose they’s many of em up North here.” - -“Not unless you count a handful of college instructors who dabble in it” - -He shook his head. “Young fella with your aims could do better down -South, I’d think.” - -“Oh yes; some of the most interesting research is going on right now in -Leesburg, Washington-Baltimore and the University of Lima. You are a -Confederate yourself, sir?” - -“Southron, yes sir, I am that and mighty proud of it. Now look a-here, -boy: I’ll lay all my cards on the table, face up. Youre a free man and -you aint getting any pay here. Now how’d you like to do a little job -for me? They’s good money in it; and I imagine I’d be able to fix up -one of those deals—what do they call em? scholarships—at the University -of Leesburg, after.” - -A scholarship at Leesburg. Where the Department of History was engaged -on a monumental project—nothing less than a compilation of all known -source material on the War of Southron Independence! It was only with -the strongest effort that I refrained from agreeing blindly. - -“It sounds fine, Mr—?” -“Colonel Tolliburr. Jest call me cunnel.” - -There wasnt anything remotely military in his bearing. “It sounds good -to me, Colonel. What is the job?” - -He clicked his too regular teeth thoughtfully. “Hardly anything at all, -m’boy, hardly anything at all. Just want you to keep a list for me.” - -He seemed to think this a complete explanation. “What kind of list, -Colonel?” - -“Why, list of the people that come in here steady. Especially the ones -don’t seem to buy anything, just talk to your boss. Names if you know -em, but that aint real important, and a sort of rough description. -Like five foot nine, blue eyes, dark hair, busted nose, scar on right -eyebrow. And so on. Nothing real detailed. And a list of deliveries.” - -Was I tempted? I don’t really know. “I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m afraid I -can’t help you.” - -“Not even for that scholarship and say, a hundred dollars in real -money?” - -I shook my head. - -“They’s no harm in it, boy. Likely nothing’ll come of it.” - -“I’m sorry.” - -“Two hundred? I’m not talking about yankee slugs, but good CSA bills, -each with a picture of President Jimmy right slapdash on the middle of -it.” - -“It’s not a matter of money, Colonel Tolliburr.” - -He looked at me shrewdly. “Think it over, boy. No use being hasty.” He -handed me a card. “Any time you change your mind come and see me or -send me a telegram.” - -I watched him out of the store. The Grand Army must be annoying the -mighty Confederacy. Tyss ought to know about the agent’s interest. And -I knew I would be unable to tell him. - -“Suppose,” I asked Enfandin the next day, “suppose one were placed in -the position of being an involuntary assistant in a—to a....” -I was at a loss for words to describe the situation without being -incriminatingly specific. I could not tell him about Tolliburr and -my clear duty to let Tyss know of the colonel’s espionage without -revealing Tyss’s connection with the Grand Army and thus uncovering my -deceit in not warning Enfandin earlier. Whatever I said or failed to -say, I was somehow culpable. - -He waited patiently while I groped, trying to formulate a question -which was no longer a question. “You can’t do evil that good may come -of it,” I burst out at last. - -“Quite so. And then?” - -“Well.... That might mean eventually giving up all action entirely, -since we can never be sure even the most innocent act may not have bad -consequences.” - -He nodded. “It might. The Manichaeans thought it did; they believed -good and evil balanced and man was created in the image of Satan. But -certainly there is a vast difference between this inhuman dogma and -refusing to do consciously wicked deeds.” - -“Maybe,” I said dubiously. - -He looked at me speculatively. “A man is drowning in the river. I have -a rope. If I throw him the rope he may not only climb to safety but -take it from me and use it to garrote some honest citizen. Shall I -therefore let him drown because I must not do good lest evil come of -it?” - -“But sometimes they are so mixed up it is impossible to disentangle -them.” - -“Impossible? Or very difficult?” - -“Um.... I don’t know.” - -“Are you not perhaps putting the problem too abstractly? Is not perhaps -your situation—your hypothetical situation—one of being accessory -to wrong rather than facing an alternative which means personal -unhappiness?” - -Again I struggled for noncommittal words. He had formulated my dilemma -about the Grand Army so far as it connected with giving up my place in -the bookstore or telling him of Tyss’s bias. Yet not entirely. And why -could I not let Tyss know of Colonel Tolliburr’s visit, which it was -certainly my duty to do? Was this overscrupulousness only a means of -avoiding any unpleasantness? - -“Yes,” I muttered at last. - -“It would be very nice if there were no drawbacks ever attached to the -virtuous choice. Then the only ones who would elect to do wrong would -be those of twisted minds, the perverse, the insane. Who would prefer -the devious course if the straight one were just as easy? No, no, my -dear Hodge; one cannot escape the responsibility for his choice simply -because the other way means inconvenience or hardships or tribulation.” - -“Must we always act, whether we are sure of the outcome of our action -or not?” - -“Not acting is also action; can we always be sure of the outcome of -refusing to act?” - -Was it pettiness that made me contrast his position as an official of -a small yet fairly secure power, well enough paid to live comfortably, -with mine where a break with Tyss meant beggary and no further chance -of fulfilling the ambition every day more important to me? _Did_ -circumstances alter cases, and was it easy for Enfandin to talk as he -did, unconfronted with harsh alternatives? - -“You know, Hodge,” he said as though changing the subject, “I am what -they call a career man, meaning I have no money except my salary. This -might seem much to you, but it is really little, particularly since -protocol says I must spend more than necessary. For the honor of my -country. At home I have an establishment to keep up where my wife and -children live—” - -I had wondered about his apparent bachelorhood. - -“—because to be rudely frank, I do not think they would be happy or -safe in the United States on account of their color. Besides these -expenses I make personal contributions for the assistance of black men -who are—how shall we say it?—unhappily circumstanced in your country, -for I have found the official allotment is never enough. Now I have -been indiscreet; you know state secrets. Why do I tell you this? -Because, my friend, I should like to help. Alas, I cannot offer money. -But this I can do, if it will not offend your pride: I suggest you live -here—it will be no more uncomfortable than the arrangements you have -described in the store—and attend one of the colleges of the city. A -medal or an order from the Haitian government judiciously conferred -on an eminent educator—decorations cut so nicely across color-lines, -perhaps because they don’t show their origin to the uninitiated—should -take care of tuition fees. What do you say?” - -What could I say? That I did not deserve his generosity? The statement -would be meaningless, a catchphrase, unless I explained that I’d not -been open with him, and now even less than before was I able to do -this. Or could I say that bare minutes earlier I had thought enviously -and spitefully of him? Wretched and happy, I mumbled incoherent -thanks, began a number of sentences and left them unfinished, lapsed -into dazed silence. - -But the newly opened prospect cut through my introspection and -scattered my self-reproaches. The future was too exciting to dwell in -any other time; in a moment we were both sketching rapid plans and -supplementing each other’s designs with revisions of our own. Words -tumbled out; ideas were caught in mid-expression. We decided, we -reconsidered, we returned to the first decisions. - -I was to give Tyss two weeks’ notice despite the original agreement -making such nicety superfluous; Enfandin was to discuss matriculation -with a professor he knew. My employer raised a quizzical eyebrow at my -information. - -“Ah, Hodgins, you see how neatly the script works out. Nothing left to -chance or choice. If you hadnt been relieved of your trifling capital -by a man of enterprise whose methods were more successful than subtle -you might have fumbled at the edge of the academic world for four years -and then, having substituted a wad of unrelated facts for common sense -and whatever ability to think you may have possessed, fumbled for the -rest of your life at the edge of the economic world. You wouldnt have -met George Pondible or gotten here where you could discover your own -mind without adjustment to a professorial iron maiden.” - -“I thought it was all arbitrary.” - -He gave me a reproachful look. “Arbitrary and predetermined are not -synonymous, Hodgins, nor does either rule out artistry. Mindless -artistry of course, like that of the snowflake or crystal. And how -artistic this development is! You will go on to become a professor -yourself and construct iron maidens for promising students who might -become your competitors. You will write learned histories, for you -are—havent I said this before?—the spectator type. The part written -for you does not call for you to be a participant, an instrument -for—apparently—influencing events. Hence it is proper that you report -them so future generations may get the illusion they arent puppets.” -He grinned at me. At another time I would have been delighted to pounce -on the assortment of inconsistencies he had just offered; at the moment -I could think of nothing but my failure to mention the Confederate -agent’s visit. It almost seemed his mechanist notions were valid and I -was destined always to be the ungrateful recipient of kindness. - -“All right,” he said, swallowing the last of his bread and half-raw -meat; “so long as your sentimentality impels you to respect obligations -I can find work for you. Those boxes over there go upstairs. Pondible’s -bringing a van around for them this afternoon.” - -Ive heard the assumption that working in a bookstore must be light and -pleasant. Many times during the years with Roger Tyss I had reason -to be thankful for my strength and farm training. The boxes were -deceptively small but so heavy they could only have been solidly packed -with paper. Even with Tyss carrying box for box with me I was vastly -relieved when I had to quit to run an errand. - -When I got back he went out to make an offer on someone’s library. -“There are only four left. The last two are paper-wrapped; didnt have -enough boxes.” - -It was characteristic of him to leave the lighter packages for me. I -ran up the stairs with one of the two remaining wooden containers. -Returning, I tripped on the lowest step and sprawled forward. -Reflexively I threw out my hands and landed on one of the paper -parcels. The tight-stretched covering cracked and split under the -impact; the contents—neatly tied rectangular bundles—spilled out. - -I had learned enough of the printing trade to recognize the brightly -colored oblongs as lithographs, and I wondered as I stooped over to -gather them up why such a job should have been given Tyss rather than a -shop specializing in this work. Even under the gaslight the colors were -hard and vigorous. - -Then I really looked at the bundle I was holding. ESPAÑA was enscrolled -across the top; below it was the picture of a man with long nose and -jutting underlip, flanked by two ornate figure fives, and beneath -them the legend, CINCO PESETAS. Spanish Empire banknotes. Bundles and -bundles of them. - -I needed neither expert knowledge nor minute scrutiny to tell me there -was a fortune here in counterfeit money. The purpose in forging Spanish -currency I could not see; that it was no private undertaking of Tyss’s -but an activity of the Grand Army I was certain. Puzzled and worried, -I rewrapped the bundles of notes into as neat an imitation of the -original package as I could contrive. - -The rest of the day I spent casting uneasy glances at the mound of -boxes and watching with apprehension the movement of anyone toward -them. Death was the penalty for counterfeiting United States coins; I -had no idea of the punishment for doing the same with foreign paper but -I was sure even so minor an accessory as myself would be in a sad way -if some officious customer should stumble against one of the packages. - -Tyss in no way acted like a guilty man, or even one with an important -secret. He seemed unaware of any peril; doubtless he was daily in -similar situations, only chance and my own lack of observation had -prevented my discovering this earlier. - -Nor did he show anxiety when Pondible failed to arrive. Darkness came -and the gaslamps went on in the streets. The heavy press of traffic -outside dwindled, but the incriminating boxes remained undisturbed near -the door. At last there was the sound of uncertain wheels slowing up -outside and Pondible’s voice admonishing, “Wh-whoa!” - -I rushed out just as he was dismounting with slow dignity. “Who goes?” -he asked; “Vance and give a countersign.” - -“It’s Hodge,” I said. “Let me help you.” - -“Hodge! Old friend; not seen long time!” (He had been in the store only -the day before.) “Terrible sfortune, Hodge. Dri-driving wagon. Fell -off. Fell off wagon I mean. See?” - -“Sure, I see. Let me hitch the horse for you. Mr Tyss is waiting.” - -“Avoidable,” he muttered, “nuvoidable, voidable. Fell off.” - -Tyss took him by the arm. “You come with me and rest awhile. Hodgins, -you better start loading up; youll have to do the delivering now.” - -Rebellious refusal formed in my mind. Why should I be still further -involved? He had no right to demand it of me; in self-protection I was -bound to refuse. “Mr Tyss....” - -“Yes?” - -Two weeks would see me free of him, but nothing could wipe out the debt -I owed him. “Nothing. Nothing,” I murmured and picked up one of the -boxes. - - - - -_8._ _IN VIOLENT TIMES_ - - -He gave me an address on Twenty-Sixth Street. “Sprovis is the name.” - -“All right,” I said as stolidly as I could. - -“Let them do the unloading. I see there’s a full feedbag in the van; -that’ll be a good time to give it to the horse.” - -“Yes.” - -“They’ll load up another consignment and drive with you to the -destination. Take the van back to the livery stable. Here’s money for -your supper and carfare back here.” - -He thinks of everything, I reflected bitterly. Except that I don’t want -to have anything to do with this. - -Driving slackly through the almost empty streets my resentment -continued to rise, drowning, at least partly, my fear of being for some -unfathomable reason stopped by a police officer and apprehended. Why -should I be stopped? Why should the Grand Army counterfeit pesetas? - -The address, which I had trouble finding on the poorly lit -thoroughfare, was one of those four-storey stuccos at least a century -old, showing few signs of recent repair. Mr Sprovis, who occupied the -basement, had one ear distinctly larger than the other, an anomaly I -could not help attributing to a trick of constantly pulling on the -lobe. He, like the others who came out with him to unload the van, wore -the Grand Army beard. - -“I had to come instead of Pon—” -“No names,” he growled. “Hear? No names.” - -“All right. I was told you’d unload and load up again.” - -“Yeah, yeah.” - -I slipped the strap of the feedbag over the horse’s ear and started -toward Eighth Avenue. - -“Hey! Where you going?” - -“To get something to eat. Anything wrong with that?” - -I felt him peering suspiciously at me. “Guess not. But don’t keep us -waiting, see? We’ll be ready to go in twenty minutes.” - -I did not like Mr Sprovis. In the automatic lunchroom where the dishes -were delivered by a clever clockwork device as coins were deposited -in the right slots, I gorged on fish and potatoes, but my pleasure at -getting away for once from the unvarying bread and heart was spoiled by -the thought of him. And I was at best no more than half through with -the night’s adventure. What freight Sprovis and his companions were now -loading in the van I had no idea. Except that it was nothing innocent. - -When I turned the corner into Twenty-Sixth Street again, the shadowy -mass of the horse and van was gone from its place by the curb. Alarmed, -I broke into a run and discovered it turning in the middle of the -block. I jumped and caught hold of the dash, pulling myself aboard. -“What’s the idea?” - -A fist caught me in the shoulder, almost knocking me back into the -street. Zigzags of shock ran down my arm, terminating in numbing pain. -Desperately I clung to the dash. - -“Hold it,” someone rumbled; “it’s the punk who came with. Let him in.” - -Another voice, evidently belonging to the man who’d hit me, admonished, -“Want to watch yourself, chum. Not go jumping like that without -warning. I might of stuck a shiv in your ribs instead of my hand.” - -I could only repeat, “What’s the idea of trying to run off with the -van? I’m responsible for it.” - -“He’s responsible, see,” mocked another voice from the body of the van. -“Aint polite not to wait on him.” - -I was wedged between the driver and my assailant; my shoulder ached and -I was beginning to be really frightened now my first anger had passed. -These were “action” members of the Grand Army; men who regularly -committed battery, mayhem, arson, robbery and murder. I had been both -foolhardy and lucky; realizing this it seemed diplomatic not to try for -possession of the reins. - -I could hear the breathing and mumbling of others in back, but it didnt -need this to tell me the van was over-loaded. We turned north on Sixth -Avenue; the street lights showed Sprovis driving. “Gidap, gidap,” he -urged, “get going!” - -“That’s a horse,” I protested; “not a locomotive.” - -“What do you know?” came from behind; “And we thought we was on the -Erie.” - -“He’s tired,” I persisted, “and he’s pulling too much weight.” - -“Shut up,” ordered Sprovis quietly. “Shut up.” The quietness was not -deceptive; it was ominous. I shut up. - -Speed was stupid on several counts. For one thing it called attention -to the van at a time when most commercial vehicles had been stabled for -the night and the traffic was almost entirely carriages, buggies, hacks -and minibiles. I visualized the suspicious crowd which would gather -immediately if our horse dropped from exhaustion. There was no hope -that consciousness of an innocuous cargo made Sprovis bold; whatever we -carried was bound to be as incriminating as the counterfeit bills. - -Disconnected scraps of conversation drifted from Sprovis’ companions. -“I says, ‘Look here, youre making a nice profit from selling abroad. -Either you....’” - -“And of course he put it all on a twenty-dollar ticket even though....” - -“‘ ... my taxes,’ he says. ‘You worry about your taxes,’ I says; ‘I’m -worried about your contributions.’” - -A monotonous chuffing close behind us forced itself into my -consciousness; when we turned eastward in the Forties I exclaimed, -“There’s a minibile following us!” - -Even as I spoke the trackless engine pulled alongside and then darted -ahead to pocket us by nosing diagonally toward the curb. The horse must -have been too weak to shy; he simply stopped short and I heard the -curses of the felled passengers behind me. - -“Not the cops anyway!” - -“Cons for a nickel!” - -“Only half a block from—” -“Quick, break out the guns—” -“Not those guns; one bang and we’re through. Air pistols, if anybody’s -got one. Hands or knives. Get them all!” - -They piled out swiftly past me; I remained alone on the seat, an -audience of one, properly ensconced. A few blocks away was the small -park where Tirzah used to meet me. It was not believable that this was -happening in one of New York’s quietest residential districts in the -year 1942. - -An uneven, distorting light emphasized the abnormal speed of the -incident that followed, making the action seem jumpy, as though the -participants were caught at static moments, changing their attitudes -between flashes of visibility. The tempo was so swift any possible -spectators in the bordering windows or on the sidewalks wouldnt have -had time to realize what was going on before it was all over. - -Four men from the minibile were met by five from the van. The odds were -not too unequal, for the attackers had a discipline which Sprovis’ -force lacked. Their leader attempted to parley during one of those -seconds of apparent inaction. “Hay you men—we got nothing against you. -They’s a thousand dollars apiece in it for you—” - -A fist smacked into his mouth. The light caught his face as he -was jolted back, but I hardly needed its revelation to confirm my -recognition of Colonel Tolliburr’s voice. - -The Confederate agents had brass knuckles and black-jacks, Colonel -Tolliburr had a sword-cane which he unsheathed with a glinting -flourish. The Grand Army men flashed knives; no one seemed to be using -air pistols or spring-powered guns. - -Both sides were intent on keeping the clash as quiet and inconspicuous -as possible; no one shouted with anger or screamed in pain. This -muffled intensity made the struggle more gruesome; the contenders -fought their natural impulses as well as each other. I heard the impact -of blows, the grunts of effort, the choked-back cries, the scraping of -shoes on pavement and the thud of falls. One of the defenders fell, and -two of the attackers, before the two remaining Southrons gave up the -battle and attempted escape. - -With united impulse they started for the minibile, evidently realized -they wouldnt have time to get up power, and began running down the -street. Their moment of indecision did for them. As the four Grand -Army men closed in I saw the Confederates raise their arms in the -traditional gesture of surrender. Then they were struck down. - -I crept noiselessly down on the off-side of the van and hastened -quietly away in the protection of the shadows. - - - - -_9._ _BARBARA_ - - -For the next few days reading was pure pretense. I used the opened -book to mask my privacy while I trembled not so much with fear as -with horror. I had been brought up in a harsh enough world and murder -was no novelty in New York; I had seen slain men before, but this was -the first time I had been confronted with naked, merciless savagery. -Though I believed Sprovis would have had no qualms about despatching an -inconvenient witness if I had stayed on the van, I had no particular -fear for my own safety, for my knowledge of what had happened became -less dangerous daily. The terror of the deed itself however remained -constant. - -I was not concerned solely with revulsion. Inquisitiveness looked out -under loathing to make me wonder what lay behind the night’s events. -What had really happened, and what did it all mean? - -From scraps of conversation accidentally heard or deliberately -eavesdropped, from the newspapers, from deduction and remembered -fragments, I reconstructed the picture which made the background. Its -borders reached a long way from Astor Place. - -For years the world had been waiting, half in dread, half in -resignation, for war to break out between the world’s two Great Powers, -the German Union and the Confederate States. Some expected the point -of explosion would be the Confederacy’s ally, the British Empire; most -anticipated at least part of the war would be fought in the United -States. - -The scheme of the Grand Army, or of that part of it which included -Tyss, was apparently a farfetched and fantastic attempt to circumvent -the probable course of history. The counterfeiting was an aspect of -this attempt which was nothing less than trying to force the war to -start, not through the Confederacy’s ally, but through the German -Union’s—the Spanish Empire. With enormous amounts of the spurious -currency circulated by emissaries posing as Confederate agents, the -Grand Army hoped to embroil the Confederacy with Spain and possibly -preserve the neutrality of the United States. It was an ingenuous idea -evolved, I see now, by men without knowledge of the actual mechanics of -world politics. - -If I ever had any sentimental notions about the Army they vanished now. -Tyss’s mechanism may not have been purposefully designed to palliate, -but it made it easy to justify actions like Sprovis’. I had no such -convenient way of numbing my conscience. But even as I brooded over the -weakness and cowardice which made me an accomplice, I looked forward to -my release. I had not seen Enfandin since his offer; in a week I would -leave the bookstore for his sanctuary, and I resolved my first act -should be to tell him everything. And then that dream was exploded just -as it was about to be realized. - -I do not know who it was broke into the consulate or for what reason, -and was surprised in the act, shooting and wounding Enfandin so -seriously he was unable to speak for the weeks before he was finally -returned to Haiti to recuperate or die. He could not have gotten in -touch with me and I was not permitted to see him; the police guard -was doubly zealous to keep him from all contact since he was both an -accredited diplomat and a black man. - -I did not know who shot him. It was most unlikely to be anyone -connected with the Grand Army, but I did not know. I could not know. -He _might_ have been shot by Sprovis or George Pondible. Since the -ultimate chain could have led back to me, it did lead back to me. If -this were the Manichaeism of which Enfandin had spoken, I could not -help it - -The loss of my chance to escape from the bookstore was the least of my -despair. It seemed to me I was caught by the inexorable, choiceless -circumstance in which Tyss so firmly believed and Enfandin denied. I -could escape neither my guilt nor the surroundings conducive to further -guilt. I could not change destiny. - -Was all this merely the self-torture of any introverted young man? -Possibly. I only know that for a long time, long as one in his early -twenties measures time, I lost all interest in life, even dallying with -thoughts of suicide. I put books aside distastefully or, which was -worse, indifferently. - -I must have done my work around the store; certainly I recall no -comments from Tyss about it. Neither can I remember anything to -distinguish the succession of days. Obviously I ate and slept; there -were undoubtedly long hours free from utter hopelessness. The details -of those months have simply vanished. - -Nor can I say precisely when it was my despair began to lift. I know -that one day—it was cold and the snow was deep on the ground, deep -enough to keep the minibiles off the streets and cause the horse-cars -trouble—I saw a girl walking briskly, red-cheeked, breathing in quick -visible puffs, and my glance was not apathetic. When I returned to the -bookstore I picked up Field Marshal Liddell-Hart’s _Life of General -Pickett_ and opened it to the place where I had abandoned it. In a -moment I was fully absorbed. - -Paradoxically, once I was myself again I was no longer the same Hodge -Backmaker. For the first time I was determined to do what I wanted -instead of waiting and hoping events would somehow turn out right for -me. Somehow I was going to free myself from the bookstore and all its -frustrations and evils. - -This resolution was reinforced by the discovery that I was exhausting -the volumes around me. The books I sought now were rare and ever more -difficult to find. Innocent of knowledge about academic life I imagined -them ready to hand in any college library. - -Nor was I any longer satisfied with the printed word alone. My -friendship with Enfandin had shown me how fruitful a personal, -face-to-face relationship between teacher and student could be, and -it seemed to me such ties could develop into ones between fellow -scholars, a mutual, uncompetitive pursuit of knowledge. - -Additionally I wanted to search the real, the original sources: -unpublished manuscripts of participants or onlookers, old diaries and -letters, wills or accountbooks, which might shade a meaning or subtly -change the interpretation of old, forgotten actions. - -My problems could be solved ideally by an instructorship at some -college, but how was this to be achieved without the patronage of -a Tolliburr or an Enfandin? I had no credentials worth a second’s -consideration. Though the immigration bars kept out graduates of -foreign universities, no college in the United States would accept a -self-taught young man who had not only little Latin and less Greek, -but no mathematics, languages, or sciences at all. For a long time I -considered possible ways and means, both drab and dramatic; at last, -more in a spirit of whimsical absurdity than sober hope, I wrote out -a letter of application, setting forth the qualifications I imagined -myself to possess, assaying the extent of my learning with a generosity -only ingenuousness could palliate, and outlining the work I projected -for my future. With much care and many revisions I set this composition -in type. It was undoubtedly a foolish gesture, but not having access to -so costly a machine as a typewriter, and not wanting to reveal this by -penning the letters by hand, I resorted to this transparent device. - -Tyss picked up one of the copies I struck off and glanced over it. His -expression was critical. “Is it too bad?” I asked despondently. - -“You should have used more leading. And lined it up and justified -the lines and eliminated hyphens. Setting type can never be done -mechanically or half-heartedly—that’s why no one yet has been able to -invent a practical typesetting machine. I’m afraid you’ll never make a -passable printer, Hodgins.” - -He was concerned only with typesetting, uninterested in the outcome. Or -satisfied, since it was predetermined, that comment was superfluous. - -Government mails, never efficient and always expensive, being one of -the favorite victims of holdup men, and pneumatic post limited to local -areas, I dispatched the letters by Wells, Fargo to a comprehensive list -of colleges. I can’t say I then waited for the replies to flow in, for -though I knew the company’s system of heavily armed guards would insure -delivery of my applications, I had little anticipation of any answers. -As a matter of fact I put it pretty well out of my mind, dredging it up -at rarer intervals, always a trifle more embarrassed by my presumption. - -It was several months later, toward the end of September, that the -telegram came signed Thomas K Haggerwells. It read, ACCEPT NO OFFER -TILL OUR REPRESENTATIVE EXPLAINS HAGGERSHAVEN. - -I hadnt sent a copy of my letter to York, Pennsylvania, where the -telegram had originated, or anywhere near it. I knew of no colleges in -that vicinity. And I had never heard of Mr (or Doctor or Professor) -Haggerwells. I might have thought the message a mean joke, except that -Tyss’s nature didnt run to such humor and no one else knew of the -letters except those to whom they were addressed. - -I found no reference to Haggershaven in any of the directories I -consulted, which wasnt too surprising considering the slovenly way -these were put together. I decided that if such a place existed I could -only wait patiently until the “representative,” if there really was -one, arrived. - -Tyss having left for the day, I swept a little, dusted some, -straightened a few of the books—any serious attempt to arrange the -stock would have been futile—and took up a recent emendation of -Creasy’s _Fifteen Decisive Battles_ by one Captain Eisenhower. - -I was so deep in the good captain’s analysis (he might have made a -respectable strategist himself, given an opportunity) that I heard no -customer enter, sensed no impatient presence. I was only recalled from -my book by a rather sharp, “Is the proprietor in?” - -“No maam,” I answered, reluctantly abandoning the page. “He’s out for -the moment. Can I help you?” - -My eyes, accustomed to the store’s poor light, had the advantage over -hers, still adjusting from the sunlit street. Secure in my audacity, I -measured her vital femininity, a quality which seemed, if such a thing -is possible, impersonal. There was nothing overtly bold or provocative -about her, though I’m sure my mother would have thinned her lips at the -black silk trousers and the jacket which emphasized the contour of her -breasts. At a time when women used every device to call attention to -their helplessness and consequently their desirability and the implied -need for men to protect them, she carried an air which seemed to say, -Why yes, I am a woman: not furtively or brazenly or incidentally but -primarily; what are you going to do about it? - -I recognized a sturdy sensuality as I recognized the fact that she was -bareheaded, almost as tall as I, and rather large-boned; certainly -there was nothing related to me about it. Nor was it connected with -surface attributes; she was not beautiful and still further from being -pretty, though she might have been called handsome in a way. Her hair, -ginger-colored and clubbed low on her neck, waved crisply; her eyes -appeared slate gray. (Later I learned they could vary from pale gray to -blue-green.) The fleshly greediness was betrayed, if at all, only by -the width and set of her lips, and that insolent expression. - -She smiled, and I decided I had been quite wrong in thinking her -tone peremptory. “I’m Barbara Haggerwells. I’m looking for a Mr -Backmaker”—she glanced at a slip of paper—“a Hodgins M Backmaker who -evidently uses this as an accommodation address.” - -“I’m Hodge Backmaker,” I muttered in despair. “I—I work here.” I was -conscious of not having shaved that morning, that my pants and jacket -did not match, that my shirt was not clean. - -I suppose I expected her to say nastily, So I see! or the usual, It -must be fascinating! Instead she said, “I wonder if youve run across -_The Properties of X_ by Whitehead? Ive been trying to get a copy for a -long time.” - -“Uh—I.... Is it a mystery story?” -“I’m afraid not. It’s a book on mathematics by a mathematician very -much out of favor. It’s hard to find, I suppose because the author is -bolder than he is tactful.” - -So naturally and easily she led me away from my embarrassment and into -talking of books, relieving me of self-consciousness and some of the -mortification in being exposed at my humble job by the “representative” -of the telegram. I admitted deficient knowledge of mathematics and -ignorance of Mr Whitehead though I maintained, accurately, that the -book was not in stock, while she assured me that only a specialist -would have heard of so obscure a theoretician. This made me ask, with -the awe one feels for an expert in an alien field, if she were a -mathematician, to which she replied, “Heavens, no. I’m a physicist. But -mathematics is my tool.” - -I looked at her with respect. Anyone, I thought, can read a few books -and set himself up as an historian; to be a physicist means genuine -learning. And I doubted she was much older than I. - -She said abruptly, “My father is interested in knowing something about -you.” - -I acknowledged this with something between a nod and a bow. She had -been examining and gauging me for the past half hour. “Your father is -Thomas Haggerwells?” - -“Haggerwells of Haggershaven,” she confirmed, as though explaining -everything. There was pride in her voice and a hint of superciliousness. - -“I’m dreadfully sorry, Miss Haggerwells, but I’m afraid I’m as ignorant -of Haggershaven as of mathematics.” - -“I thought you said you’d been reading history. Odd youve come upon no -reference to the Haven in the records of the past seventy-five years.” - -I shook my head helplessly. “I suppose my reading has been scattered.” -Her look indicated agreement but not absolution. “Haggershaven is a -college?” - -“No. Haggershaven is ... Haggershaven.” She resumed her equanimity, -her air of smiling tolerance. “It’s hardly a college since it has no -student body nor faculty. Rather, both are one at the haven. Anyone -admitted is a scholar or potential scholar anxious to devote himself to -learning. I mean for its own sake. Not many are acceptable.” - -She need hardly have added this; it seemed obvious I could not be -one of the elect, even if I hadnt offended her by never having heard -of Haggershaven. I knew I couldnt pass the most lenient of entrance -examinations to ordinary colleges, much less to the dedicated place she -represented. - -“There arent any formal requirements for fellowship,” she went on, -“beyond the undertaking to work to full capacity, to pool all knowledge -and hold back none from scholars anywhere, to contribute economically -to the Haven in accordance with decisions of the majority of fellows, -and to vote on questions without consideration of personal gain. There! -That certainly sounds like the stuffiest manifesto delivered this year.” - -“It sounds too good to be true.” - -“Oh, it’s true enough.” She moved close and I caught the scent of her -hair and skin. “But there’s another side. The haven is neither wealthy -nor endowed. We have to earn our living. The fellows draw no stipend; -they have food, clothes, shelter, whatever books and materials they -need—no unessentials. We often have to leave our own individual work to -do manual labor to bring in food or money for all.” - -“Ive read of such communities,” I said enthusiastically. “I thought -they’d all disappeared fifty or sixty years ago.” - -“Have you and did you?” she asked contemptuously. “Youll be surprised -to learn that Haggershaven is neither Owenite nor Fourierist. We are -not fanatics nor saviors. We don’t live in phalansteries, practice -group marriage or vegetarianism. Our organization is expedient, subject -to revision, not doctrinaire. Contribution to the common stock is -voluntary and we are not concerned with each other’s private lives.” - -“I beg your pardon, Miss Haggerwells. I didnt mean to annoy you.” - -“It’s all right. Perhaps I’m touchy; all my life Ive seen the squinty -suspiciousness of the farmers all around, sure we were up to something -immoral, or at least illegal. Youve no idea what a prickly armor you -build around yourself when you know that every yokel is cackling, -‘There goes one of them; I bet they ...’ whatever unconventional -practice their imaginations can conceive at the moment. And the -parallel distrust of the respectable schools. Detachedly, the haven may -indeed be a refuge for misfits, but is it necessarily wrong not to fit -into the civilization around us?” - -“I’m prejudiced. I certainly havent fitted in myself.” - -She didnt answer and I felt I had gone too far in daring an impulsive -identification. Awkwardness made me blurt out further, “Do you ... do -you think there’s any chance Haggershaven would accept me?” Whatever -reserve I’d tried to maintain deserted me; my voice expressed only -childish longing. - -“I couldnt say,” she answered primly. “Acceptance or rejection depends -entirely on the vote of the whole fellowship. All I’m here to offer is -train fare. Neither you nor the haven is bound.” - -“I’m perfectly willing to be bound,” I said fervently. - -“You may not be so rash after a few weeks.” - -I was about to reply when Little Aggie—so called to distinguish her -from Fat Aggie who was in much the same trade, but more successful—came -in. Little Aggie supplemented her nocturnal earnings around Astor Place -by begging in the same neighborhood during the day. - -“Sorry, Aggie,” I said; “Mr Tyss didnt leave anything for you.” - -“Maybe the lady would help a poor working girl down on her luck,” she -suggested, coming close. “My, that’s a pretty outfit you have. Looks -like real silk, too.” - -Barbara Haggerwells drew away with anger and loathing on her face. -“No,” she refused sharply. “No, nothing!” She turned to me. “I must be -going. I’ll leave you to entertain your friend.” - -“Oh, I’ll go,” said Little Aggie cheerfully, “no need to get in an -uproar. Bye-bye.” - -I was frankly puzzled; the puritanical reaction didnt seem consistent. -I would have expected condescending amusement, disdainful tolerance -or even haughty annoyance, but not this furious aversion. “I’m sorry -Little Aggie bothered you. She’s really not a wicked character and she -does have a hard time getting along.” - -“I’m sure you must enjoy her company immensely. I’m sorry we can’t -offer similar attractions at the haven.” - -Apparently she thought my relations with Aggie were professional. -Even so her attitude was odd. I could hardly flatter myself she -was interested in me as a man, yet her flare-up seemed to indicate -jealousy, a strange kind of jealousy, perhaps like the sensuality I -attributed to her, as though the mere presence of another woman was an -affront. - -“Please don’t go yet. For one thing—” I cast around for something -to hold her till I could restore a more favorable impression. “—for -one thing you havent told me how Haggershaven happened to get my -application.” - -She gave me a cold, angry look. “Even though we’re supposed to be -cranks, orthodox educators often turn such letters over to us. After -all, they may want to apply themselves someday.” - -The picture this suddenly presented, of a serene academic life which -was not so serene and secure after all, but prepared for a way to -escape if necessary, was startling to me. I had taken it for granted -that our colleges, even though they were far inferior to those of other -countries, were stable and sheltered. - -When I expressed something of this, she laughed. “Hardly. The -colleges have not only decayed, they have decayed faster than other -institutions. They are mere hollow shells, ruined ornaments of the -past. Instructors spy on each other to curry favor with the trustees -and assure themselves of reappointment when the faculty is out -periodically. Loyalty is the touchstone, but no one knows any more what -the object of loyalty is supposed to be. Certainly it is no longer -toward learning, for that is the least of their concerns.” - -She slowly allowed herself to be coaxed back into her previous mood, -and again we talked of books. And now I thought there was a new warmth -in her voice and glance, as though she had won some kind of victory, -but how or over whom there was no indication. - -When she left I hoped she was not too prejudiced against me. For myself -I readily admitted it would be easy enough to want her—if one were not -afraid of the humiliations it was in her nature to inflict. - - - - -_10._ _THE HOLDUP_ - - -This time I didnt offer Tyss two weeks’ notice. “Well Hodgins, I made -all the appropriate valedictory remarks on a previous occasion, so -I’ll not repeat them, except to say the precision of the script is -extraordinary.” - -It seemed to me he was saying in a roundabout way that everything was -for the best. For the first time I saw Tyss as slightly pathetic rather -than sinister; extreme pessimism and vulgar optimism evidently met, -like his circular time. I smiled indulgently and thanked him sincerely -for all his kindness. - -In 1944 almost a hundred years had passed since New York and eastern -Pennsylvania were first linked in a railroad network, yet I don’t -suppose my journey differed much in speed or comfort from one which -might have been taken by Granpa Hodgins’ father. The steam ferry -carried me across the Hudson to Jersey. I had heard there were only -financial, not technical obstacles to a bridge or tunnel. If the -English and French could burrow under the Channel, as they had early -in the century, and the Japanese complete their great tube beneath the -Korea Strait, it was hard to see why a lesser work here was dismissed -as the impractical suggestion of dreamers who believed the cost would -be saved in a few years by running trains directly to Manhattan. - -Nor was the ferry the only antique survival on the trip. The cars were -all ancient, obvious discards from Confederate or British American -lines. Flat wheels were common; the wornout locomotives dragged them -protestingly over the wobbly rails and uneven roadbed. First class -passengers sat on napless plush or grease-glazed straw seats; second -class passengers stood in the aisles or on the platforms; third class -rode the roofs—safe enough at the low speed except for sudden jerks or -jolts. - -There were so many different lines, each jealous of exclusive rights -of way, that the traveler hardly got used to his particular car before -he had to snatch up his baggage and hustle for the connecting train, -which might be on the same track or at the same sooty depot, but was -more likely to be a mile away. Even the adjective “connecting” was -often ironical for it was not unusual to find time-tables arranged so a -departure preceded an arrival by minutes, necessitating a stopover of -anywhere from one hour to twelve. - -If anything could have quieted my excitement on the trip it was the -view through the dirt-sprayed windows. “Fruitless” and “unfulfilled” -were the words coming oftenest to my mind. I had forgotten during the -past six years just how desolate villages and towns could look when -their jerrybuilt structures were sunk in apathetic age without even -the false rejuvenation of newer jerrybuilding. I had forgotten the -mildewed appearance of tenant farmhouses, the unconvincing attempt to -appear businesslike of false-fronted stores with clutters of hopeless -merchandise in their dim windows, or the inadequate bluff of factories -too small for any satisfactory production. - -Once away from New York it was clear how atypical the city was in its -air of activity and usefulness. The countryside through which the -tracks ran, between fields and pastures or down the center of main -streets, should have been the industrial heart of a country bustling -and vigorous. Instead one saw potentialities denied, projects withered, -poverty and dilapidation. - -We crossed the Susquehanna on an old, old stone bridge that made -one think of Meade’s valiant men, bloodily bandaged many of them, -somnambulistically marching northward, helpless and hopeless after the -Confederate triumph at Gettysburg, their only thought to escape Jeb -Stuart’s pursuing cavalry. Indeed, every square mile now carried on -its surface an almost visible weight of historical memories. - -York seemed old, gray and crabbed in the afternoon, but when I got off -the train there I was too agitated with the prospect of being soon at -Haggershaven to take any strong impression of the town. I inquired the -way, and the surly response confirmed Barbara Haggerwells’ statement -of local animosity. The distance, if my informant was accurate, was a -matter of some ten miles. - -I started off down the highway, building and demolishing daydreams, -thinking of Tyss and Tirzah, Enfandin and Miss Haggerwells, trying to -picture her father and the fellows of the haven and for the thousandth -time marshaling arguments for my acceptance in the face of scornful -scrutiny. The early October sun was setting on the rich red and yellow -leaves of the maples and oaks; I knew the air would become chilly -before long, but exertion kept me warm. I counted on arriving at the -haven in plenty of time to introduce myself before bedtime. - -Less than a mile out of town the highway assumed the familiar aspect of -the roads around Wappinger Falls and Poughkeepsie: rutted, wavering, -with deep, unexpected holes. The stone or rail fences on either side -enclosed harvested cornfields, the broken stalks a dull brass with -copper-colored pumpkins scattered through them. But the fences were in -poor repair and the oft-mended wooden covered bridges over the creeks -all had signs, DANGEROUS, Travel At Your Own Risk. - -There were few to share the highway with me: a farmer with an empty -wagon, urging his team on and giving me a churlish glance instead of -an invitation to ride; a horseman on an elegant chestnut picking his -course carefully among the chuckholes, and a few tramps, each bent on -his solitary way, at once defensive and aggressive. The condition of -the bridges accounted for the absence of minibiles. However, just about -twilight a closed carriage, complete with coachman and footman on the -box, rolled haughtily by, stood for a moment outlined atop the slope up -which I was trudging and then disappeared down the other side. - -I paid little attention except—remembering my boyhood and my father’s -smithy—to visualize automatically the coachman pulling back on the -reins and the footman thrusting forward with the brake as they eased -the horses downward. So when I heard first a shout and then feminine -screams my instant conclusion was that the carriage had overturned -on the treacherous downgrade, broken an axle, or otherwise suffered -calamity. - -My responsive burst of speed had almost carried me to the top when -I heard the shots. First one, like the barking of an uncertain dog, -followed by a volley, as though the pack were unleashed. - -I ran to the side of the road, close to the field, where I could see -with less chance of being seen. Already the dusk was playing tricks, -distorting the shape of some objects and momentarily hiding others. It -could not however falsify the scene in the gully below. Four men on -horseback covered the carriage with drawn revolvers; a fifth, pistol -also in hand, had dismounted. His horse, reins hanging down, was -peacefully investigating the roadside weeds. - -None of them attempted to stop the terrified rearing of the carriage -team. Only their position, strung across the road, prevented a runaway. -I could not see the footman, but the coachman, one hand still clutching -the reins, was sprawled backward with his foot caught against the -dashboard and his head hanging down over the wheel. - -The door on the far side was swung open. I thought for a moment the -passengers had managed to escape. However as the unmounted highwayman -advanced, waving his pistol, the other door opened and a man and two -women descended into the roadway. Slowly edging forward I could now -plainly hear the gang’s obscene whistles at sight of the women. - -“Well boys, here’s something to warm up a cold night. Hang on to them -while I see what the mister has in his pockets.” - -The gentleman stepped in front, and with a slight accent said, “Take -the girl by all means. She is but a peasant, a servant, and may afford -you amusement. But the lady is my wife; I will pay you a good ransom -for her and myself. I am Don Jaime Escobar y Gallegos, attached to the -Spanish legation.” - -One of the men on horseback said, “Well now, that’s real kind of you, -Don High-me. We might have taken you up on that, was you an American. -But we can’t afford no company of Spanish Marines coming looking for -us, so I guess we’ll have to pass up the ransom and settle for whatever -youve got handy. And Missus Don and the hired girl. Don’t worry about -her being a peasant; we’ll treat her and the madam exactly the same.” - -“Madre de Dios,” screamed the lady. “Mercy!” - -“It will be a good ransom,” said the Spaniard, “and I give you my word -my government will not bother you.” - -“Sorry, chum,” returned the gangster. “You foreigners have a nasty -habit of interfering with our domestic institutions and hanging men who -make a living this way. Just can’t trust you.” - -The man on foot took a step forward. The nearest rider swung the maid -up before him and another horseman reached for her mistress. Again she -screamed; her husband brushed the hand aside and put his wife behind -him. At that the gangster raised his pistol and shot twice. The man and -woman dropped to the ground. The maid shrieked till her captor covered -her mouth. - -“Now what did you want to do that for? Cutting our woman supply in half -that way?” - -“Sorry. Mighty damn sorry. These things always happen to me.” - -Meanwhile another of the gang slid off his horse and the two went -through the dead, stripping them of jewelry and whatever articles of -clothing caught their fancy before searching the luggage and the coach -itself for valuables. By the time they had finished it was fully dark -and I had crept to within a few feet of them, crouching reasonably -secure and practically invisible while they debated what to do with the -horses. One faction was in favor of taking them along for spare mounts; -the other, arguing that they were too easily identifiable, for cutting -them out and turning them loose. The second group prevailing, they at -last galloped away. - -A sudden thrashing in the cornstalks just beyond the fence startled -me into rigidity. Something which might be human stumbled and crawled -toward the carriage, snuffling and moaning, to throw itself down by the -prostrate bodies, its anguished noises growing more high-pitched and -chilling. - -I was certain this must be a passenger who had jumped from the off-side -of the carriage at the start of the holdup, but whether man or woman it -was impossible to tell. I moved forward gingerly, but somehow I must -have betrayed my presence, for the creature, with a terrified groan, -slumped inertly. - -My hands told me it was a woman I raised from the ground and the smell -of her was the smell of a young girl. “Don’t be afraid, Miss,” I tried -to reassure her; “I’m a friend.” - -I could hardly leave the girl lying in the road, nor did I feel equal -to carrying her to Haggershaven which I reckoned must be about six -miles further. I tried shaking her, rubbing her hands, murmuring -encouragement, all the while wishing the moon would come up, feeling -somehow it would be easier to revive her in the moonlight. - -“Miss,” I urged, “get up. You can’t stay here—they may come back.” -Had I reached her? She stirred, whimpering with strange, muffled -sounds. I dragged her to her knees and managed to get her arm over my -shoulder. “Get up,” I repeated. “Get on your feet.” - -She moaned. I pulled her upright and adjusted my hold. Supporting her -around the waist and impeded by my valise, I began an ungraceful, -shuffling march. I could only guess at how much time had been taken -up by the holdup and how slow our progress would be. It didnt seem -likely we could get to Haggershaven before midnight, an awkward hour to -explain the company of a strange girl. The possibility of leaving her -at a hospitable farmhouse was remote; no isolated rural family in times -like these would open their door with anything but deep suspicion or a -shotgun blast. - -We had made perhaps a mile, a slow and arduous one, when the moon -rose at last. It was full and bright, and showed my companion to be -even younger than I had thought. The light fell on masses of curling -hair, wildly disarrayed about a face unnaturally pale and lifeless yet -extraordinarily beautiful. Her eyes were closed in a sort of troubled -sleep, and she continued to moan, though at less frequent intervals. - -I had just decided to stop for a moment’s rest when we came upon one of -the horses. The clumsily cut traces trailing behind him had caught on -the stump of a broken sapling. Though still trembling he was over the -worst of his fright; after patting and soothing him I got us onto his -back and we proceeded in more comfortable if still not too dignified -fashion. - -It wasnt hard to find Haggershaven; the sideroad to it was well kept -and far smoother than the highway. We passed between what looked to be -freshly plowed fields and came to a fair sized group of buildings, in -some of which I was pleased to see lighted windows. The girl had still -not spoken; her eyes remained closed and she moaned occasionally. - -Dogs warned of our approach. From a dark doorway a figure came forward -with a rifle under his arm. “Who is it?” - -“Hodge Backmaker. Ive got a girl here who was in a holdup. She’s had a -bad shock.” - -“All right,” he said, “let me hitch the horse. Then I’ll help you with -the girl. My name’s Dorn. Asa Dorn.” - -I slid off and lifted the girl down. “I couldnt leave her in the road,” -I offered in inane apology. - -“I’ll water and feed the horse after. Let’s go into the main kitchen; -it’s warm there. Here,” he addressed the girl, “take my arm.” - -She made no response and I half carried her, with Dorn trying -helpfully to share her weight. The building through which we led her -was obviously an old farmhouse, enlarged and remodelled a number of -times. Gaslights of a strange pattern, brighter than any I’d ever seen, -revealed Asa Dorn as perhaps thirty with very broad shoulders and very -long arms, and a dark, rather melancholy face. “There’s a gang been -operating around here,” he informed me; “tried to shake the haven down -for a contribution. That’s why I was on guard with the gun. Must be the -same bunch.” - -We bustled our charge into a chair before a big fieldstone fireplace -which gave the large room its look of welcome, though the even heat -came from sets of steampipes under the windows. “Should we give her -some soup? Or tea? Or shall I get Barbara or one of the other women?” - -His fluttering brushed the outside of my mind. Here in the light I -instinctively expected to see some faint color in the girl’s cheeks -or hands, but there was none. She looked no more than sixteen, -perhaps because she was severely dressed in some school uniform. Her -hair, which had merely been a disordered frame for her face in the -moonlight, now showed itself as deeply black, hanging in thick, soft -curls around her shoulders. Her features, which seemed made to reflect -emotions—full, mobile lips, faintly slanted eyes, high nostrils—were -instead impassive, devoid of vitality, and this unnatural quiescence -was heightened by the dark eyes, now wide open and expressionless. Her -mouth moved slowly, as though to form words, but nothing came forth -except the faintest of guttural sounds. - -“She’s trying to say something.” I leaned forward as though by -sympathetic magic to help the muscles which seemed to respond with such -difficulty. - -“Why,” exclaimed Dorn, “she’s ... dumb!” - -She looked agonizedly toward him. I patted her arm helplessly. - -“I’ll go get—” he began. - -A door opened and Barbara Haggerwells blinked at us. “I thought I heard -someone ride up, Ace. Do you suppose....” Then she caught sight of the -girl. Her face set in those lines of strange anger I had seen in the -bookstore. - -“Miss Haggerwells—” -“Barbara—” -Dorn and I spoke together. Either she did not hear us or we made no -impression. She faced me in offended outrage. “Really, Mr Backmaker, I -thought I’d explained there were no facilities here for this sort of -thing.” - -“You misunderstand,” I said, “I happened—” -Dorn broke in. “Barbara, she’s been in a holdup. She’s dumb....” - -Fury made her ugly. “Is that an additional attraction?” - -“Miss Haggerwells,” I tried again, “you don’t understand—” -“I think I understand very well. Dumb or not, get the slut out of here! -Get her out right now, I say!” - -“Barbara, youre not listening—” -She continued to face me, her back to him. “I should have remembered -you were a ladies’ man, Mr Self-taught Backmaker. No doubt you imagined -Haggershaven to be some obscene liberty hall. Well, it isnt! You’d be -wasting any further time you spent here. Get out!” - - - - -_11._ _OF HAGGERSHAVEN_ - - -I suppose—recalling the inexplicable scene with Little Aggie—I was -less astonished by her frenzy than I might have been. Besides, her -rage and misunderstanding were anticlimactic after the succession of -excitements I had been through that day. Instead of amazement I felt -only uneasiness and tired annoyance. - -Dorn steered Barbara out of the room with a combination of persuasion -and gentle force disguised as solicitous soothing, leaving the girl and -me alone. “Well,” I said, “well....” - -The large eyes regarded me helplessly. - -“Well, youve certainly caused me a lot of trouble....” - -Dorn returned with two women, one middleaged, the other slightly -younger, who flowed around the girl like soapy water, effectually -sealing her away from all further masculine blunders, uttering little -bubbly clucks and sudsy comfortings. - -“Overwork, Backmaker,” Dorn mumbled. “Barbara’s been overworking -terribly. You mustnt think—” - -“I don’t,” I said. “I’m just sorry she couldnt be made to realize what -actually happened.” - -“Hypersensitive; things that wouldnt ordinarily ... it’s overwork. -Youve no idea. She wears herself out. Practically no nerves left.” - -His face, pleading for understanding, looked even more melancholy than -before. I felt sorry for him and slightly superior; at the moment at -least I didnt have to apologize for any female unpredictability. “OK, -OK; there doesnt seem to be any great harm done. And the girl appears -to be in good hands now.” - -“Oh she is,” he answered with evident relief at dropping the subject of -Barbara’s behavior. “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do for -her now; in fact I’d say we’re only in the way. How about meeting Mr -Haggerwells now?” - -“Why not?” The last episode had doubtless finished me for good so far -as Barbara was concerned; whatever neutral report she might have given -her father originally could now be counted on for a damning revision. I -might as well put a nonchalant face on matters before returning to the -world outside Haggershaven. - -Thomas Haggerwells, large-boned like his daughter, with the ginger hair -faded, and a florid, handsome complexion, made me welcome. “Historian -ay, Backmaker? Delighted. Combination of art and science; Clio, most -enigmatic of the muses. The ever-changing past, ay?” - -“I’m afraid I’m no historian yet, Mr Haggerwells. I’d like to be one. -If Haggershaven will let me be part of it.” - -He patted me on the shoulder. “The fellows will do what they can, -Backmaker; you can trust them.” - -“That’s right,” said Dorn cheerfully; “you look strong as an ox and -historians can be kept happy with books and a few old papers.” - -“Ace is our cynic,” explained Mr Haggerwells; “very useful antidote to -some of our soaring spirits.” He looked absently around and then said -abruptly, “Ace, Barbara is quite upset.” - -I thought this extreme understatement, but Dorn merely nodded. -“Misunderstanding, Mr H.” - -“So I gathered.” He gave a short, selfconscious laugh. “In fact that’s -all I did gather. She said something about a woman....” - -“Girl, Mr H, just a girl.” He gave a quick outline of what had -happened, glossing over Barbara’s hysterical welcome. - -“I see. Quite an adventure in the best tradition, ay Backmaker? And -the victims killed in cold blood; makes you wonder about civilization. -Savagery all around us.” He began pacing the flowered carpet. -“Naturally we must help the poor creature. Shocking, quite shocking. -But how can I explain to Barbara? She ... she came to me,” he said -half proudly, half apprehensively. “I wouldnt want to fail her; I -hardly know....” He pulled himself together. “Excuse me, Backmaker. My -daughter is high-strung. I fear I’m allowing concern to interfere with -our conversation.” - -“Not at all, sir,” I said. “I’m very tired; if you’ll excuse me....” - -“Of course, of course,” he answered gratefully. “Ace will show you -your room. Sleep well—we’ll talk more tomorrow. And Ace—come back here -afterward, will you?” - -Barbara Haggerwells had both Dorn and her father well cowed, I thought -as I lay awake. Clearly she could brook not even the suspicion of -rivalry, even when it was entirely imaginary. It would be rather -frightening to be her father, or—as I suspected Ace might be—her lover, -and subject to her tyrannical dominance. - -But it was neither Barbara nor overstimulation from the full day which -caused my insomnia. A torment, successfully suppressed for hours, -invaded me. Connecting the trip of the Escobars—“attached to the -Spanish legation”—with the counterfeit pesetas was pure fantasy. But -what is logic? I could not argue myself into reasonableness. I could -not quench my feeling of responsibility with ridicule nor convincingly -charge myself with perverse conceit in magnifying my trivial errands -into accountability for all that flowed from the Grand Army—for much -which might have flowed from the Grand Army. Guilty men cannot sleep -because they feel guilty. It is the feeling, not the abstract guilt -which keeps them awake. - -Nor could I pride myself on my chivalry in rescuing distressed -maidens. I had only done what was unavoidable, grudgingly, without -warmth or charity. There was no point in being aggrieved by Barbara’s -misinterpretation with its disastrous consequences to my ambitions. I -had not freely chosen to help; I had no right to resent a catastrophe -which should properly have followed a righteous choice. - -At last I slept, only to dream Barbara Haggerwells was a great fish -pursuing me over endless roads on which my feet bogged in clinging, -tenacious mud. Opening my mouth to shout for help was useless; nothing -came forth but a croak which sounded faintly like my mother’s favorite -“Gumption!” - -In the clear autumn morning my notions of the night dwindled, even -if they failed to disappear entirely. By the time I was dressed Ace -Dorn showed up; we went to the kitchen where Ace introduced me to a -middleaged man, Hiro Agati, whose close-cut stiff black hair stood -perfectly and symmetrically erect all over his head. - -“Dr Agati’s a chemist,” remarked Ace, “condemned to be head chef for a -while on account of being too good a cook.” - -“Believe that,” said Agati, “and you’ll believe anything. Truth is -they always pick on chemists for hard work. Physicists like Ace never -soil their hands. Well, so long as you can’t eat with the common folk, -what’ll you have, eggs or eggs?” - -Agati was the first Oriental I’d ever seen. The great anti-Chinese -massacres of the 1890’s, which generously included Japanese and indeed -all with any sign of the epicanthic eyefold, had left few Asians to -have descendants in the United States. I’m afraid I stared at him more -than was polite, but he was evidently used to such rudeness for he paid -no attention. - -“They finally got the girl to sleep,” Ace informed me. “Had to give her -opium. No report yet this morning.” - -“Oh,” I said lamely, conscious I should have asked after her without -waiting for him to volunteer the news. “Oh. Do you suppose we’ll find -out who she is?” - -“Mr H telegraphed the sheriff first thing. It’ll all depend how -interested he is, and that’s not likely to be very. What’s to drink, -Hiro?” - -“Imitation tea, made from dried weeds; imitation coffee made from burnt -barley. Which’ll you have?” - -I didnt see why he stressed the imitation; genuine tea and coffee were -drunk only by the very rich. Most people preferred “tea” because it was -less obnoxious than the counterfeit coffee. Perversely, I said, “Coffee -please.” - -He set a large cup of brown liquid before me which had a tantalizing -fragrance quite different from that given off by the beverage I was -used to. I added milk and tasted, aware he was watching my reaction. - -“Why,” I exclaimed, “this is different. I never had anything like it in -my life. It’s wonderful.” - -“C eight H ten O two,” said Agati with an elaborate air of -indifference. “Synthetic. Specialty of the house.” - -“So chemists are good for something after all,” remarked Ace. - -“Give us a chance,” said Agati; “we could make beef out of wood and -silk out of sand.” - -“Youre a physicist like B—like Miss Haggerwells?” I asked Ace. - -“I’m a physicist, but not like Barbara. No one is. She’s a genius. A -great creative genius.” - -“Chemists create,” said Agati sourly; “physicists sit and think about -the universe.” - -“Like Archimedes,” said Ace. - - * * * * * - -How shall I write of Haggershaven as my eyes first saw it twenty-two -years ago? Of the rolling acres of rich plowed land, interrupted here -and there by stone outcroppings worn smooth and round by time, and -trees in woodlots or standing alone strong and unperturbed? Of the main -building, grown by fits and starts from the original farmhouse into a -great, rambling eccentricity stopping short of monstrosity only by its -complete innocence of pretense? Shall I describe the two dormitories, -severely functional, escaping harshness because they had not been built -by carpenters and though sturdy enough, betrayed the amateur touch in -every line? Or the cottages and apartments, two, four, at most six -rooms, for the married fellows and their families? These were scattered -all over, some so avid for privacy that one could pass unknowing within -feet of the concealing trees or shrubbery, others bold in the sunshine -on knolls or in hollows. - -I could tell of the small shops, the miniature laboratories, the -inadequate observatory, the heterogeneous assortment of books which -was both less and more than a library, the dozens of outbuildings. But -these things were not the haven. They were merely the least of its -possessions. For Haggershaven was not a material place at all, but a -spiritual freedom. Its limits were only the limits of what its fellows -could do or think or inquire. It was circumscribed only by the outside -world, not by internal rules and taboos, competition or curriculum. - -Most of this I could see for myself, much of it was explained by Ace. -“But how can you afford the time to take me all around this way?” I -asked; “I must be interfering with your own work.” - -He grinned. “This is my period to be guide, counselor and friend to -those whove strayed in here, wittingly or un. Don’t worry, after youre -a fellow youll get told off for all the jobs, from shoveling manure to -gilding weathercocks.” - -I sighed. “The chances of my getting to be a fellow are minus nothing. -Especially after last night.” - -He didnt pretend to misunderstand. “Barbara’ll come out of it. She’s -not always that way. As her father says, she’s high-strung, and she’s -been working madly. And to tell the truth,” he went on in a burst of -frankness, “she really doesnt get on too well with other women. She has -a masculine mind.” - -I have often noticed that men not strikingly brilliant themselves -attribute masculine minds to intelligent women on the consoling -assumption that feminine minds are normally inferior. Ace however was -manifestly innocent of any attempt to patronize. - -“Anyway,” he concluded, “she has only one vote.” - -I didnt know whether to take this as a pledge of support or mere -politeness. “Isnt it wasteful, assigning a chemist like Dr Agati to -kitchen work? Or isnt he a good chemist?” - -“Just about the best there is. His artificial tea and coffee would -bring a fortune to the haven if there were a profitable market; even as -it is it’ll bring a good piece of change. Wasteful? What would you have -us do, hire cooks and servants?” - -“Theyre cheap enough.” - -“Or frightfully expensive. Specialization, the division of labor, is -certainly not cheap in anything but dollars and cents, and not always -then. And it’s unquestionably wasteful in terms of equality. And I -don’t think there’s anyone at the haven who isn’t an egalitarian.” - -“But you do specialize and divide labor. Don’t tell me you swap your -physics for Agati’s chemistry.” - -“In a way we do. Of course I don’t set up as an experimenter, any more -than he does as a speculator. But there have been plenty of times Ive -worked under his direction when he needed an assistant who didnt know -anything but had a strong back.” - -“All right,” I said; “but I still don’t see why you can’t hire a cook -and some dishwashers.” - -“Where would our equality be then? What would happen to our fellowship?” - -Haggershaven’s history, which I got little by little, was more than -a link with the past; it was a possible hint of what might have been -if the War of Southron Independence had not interrupted the American -pattern. Barbara’s great-great-grandfather, Herbert Haggerwells, -had been a Confederate major from North Carolina who, as conquerors -sometimes do, had fallen in love with the then fat Pennsylvania -countryside. After the war he had put everything—not much by Southron -standards, but a fortune in depreciated, soon to be repudiated, United -States greenbacks—into the farm which later formed the nucleus of -Haggershaven. Then he married a local girl and transformed himself into -a Northerner. - -Until I became too accustomed to notice it anymore I used to stare at -his portrait in the library, picturing in idle fancy a possible meeting -on the battlefield between this aristocratic gentleman with his curling -mustache and daggerlike imperial and my own plebian Granpa Hodgins. But -the chance of their ever having come face to face was much more than -doubtful; I, who had studied both their likenesses, was the only link -between them. - -“Hard looking character, ay?” commented Ace. “This was painted when -he was mellow; imagine him twenty years earlier. Pistols cocked and -Juvenal or Horace or Seneca in the saddlebags.” - -“He was a cavalry officer, then?” - -“I don’t know. Don’t think so as a matter of fact. Saddlebags was just -my artistic touch. They say he was a holy terror; discipline and all -that—it sort of goes with a man on horseback. And the old Roman boys -are pure deduction; he was that type. Patronized several writers and -artists; you know: ‘Drop down to my estate and stay a while’ and they -stayed five or ten years.” - -But it was Major Haggerwells’ son who, seeing the deterioration of -Northern colleges, had invited a few restive scholars to make their -home with him. They were free to pursue their studies under an elastic -arrangement which permitted them to be selfsupporting through work on -the farm. - -Thomas Haggerwells’ father had organized the scheme further, attracting -a larger number of schoolmen who contributed greatly to the material -progress of the haven. They patented inventions, marketless at home, -which brought regular royalties from more industrialized countries. -Agronomists improved the haven’s crops and took in a steady income from -seed. Chemists found ways of utilizing otherwise wasted byproducts; -proceeds from scholarly works—and one more popular than scholarly—added -to the funds. In his will, Volney Haggerwells left the properties to -the fellowship. - -I suppose I expected there would be some uniformity, some basic type -characterizing the fellows. Not that Barbara, or Ace, or Hiro Agati -resembled a stereotype at any point, any more than I did myself, but -then I was not one of the elect nor likely to be. Even after I had met -more than half of them the notion persisted that there must be some -stamp on them proclaiming what they were. - -Yet as I wandered about the haven, alone or with Ace, the people I met -were quite diverse, more so by far than in the everyday world. There -were the ebullient and the glum, the talkative and the laconic, the -bustling and the slow-moving. Some were part of a family, others lived -ascetically, withdrawn from the pleasures of the flesh. - -In the end I realized there was, if not a similarity, a strong bond. -The fellows, conventional or eccentric, passionate or reserved, were -all earnest, purposeful and, despite individual variations, tenacious. -They were, though I hesitate to use so emotional a word, dedicated. -The cruel struggle and suspicion, the frantic endeavor to improve -one’s own financial, social, or political standing by maiming or -destroying someone else intent on the same endeavor was either unknown -or so subdued as to be imperceptible at the haven. Disagreements and -jealousies existed, but they were different in kind rather than in -degree from those to which I had been accustomed all my life. The -pervasive fears which fostered the latter, the same fears which made -lotteries and indenture frantic gambles to escape the wretchedness of -life, could not circulate in the security of the haven. - -After the scene at my arrival, I didnt see Barbara again for some ten -days. Even then it was but a glimpse, caught as she hurried in one -direction and I sauntered in another. She threw me a single frigid -glance and went on. Later, I was talking with Mr Haggerwells, who had -proved to be not quite an amateur of history but more than a dabbler, -when, without knocking, she burst into the room. - -“Father, I—” Then she caught sight of me. “Sorry. I didnt know you were -entertaining.” - -His tone was that of one found in a guilty act. “Come in, come in, -Barbara. Backmaker is after all something of a protégé of yours. -Urania, you know—if one may stretch the ascription a bit—encouraging -Clio.” - -“Really, Father!” She was regal. Wounded, scornful, but majestic. “I’m -sure I don’t know enough about self-taught pundits to sponsor them. It -seems too bad they have to waste your time—” - -He flushed. “Please, Barbara. You must, you really must control....” - -Her disapproval became open anger. “Must I? Must I? And stand by while -every pretentious swindler usurps your attention? Oh, I don’t ask -for any special favors as your daughter; I know too well I have none -coming. But I should think at least the consideration due a fellow -of the haven would prompt ordinary courtesy even where no natural -affection exists!” - -“Barbara, please.... Oh, my dear girl, how can you ...?” - -But she was gone, leaving him distressed and me puzzled. Not at her -lack of restraint but at her accusation that he lacked a father’s -love for her. Nothing was clearer than his pride in her or his -protective, baffled tenderness. It did not seem possible so willful a -misunderstanding could be maintained. - -“You can’t judge Barbara by ordinary standards,” insisted Ace -uncomfortably, when I told him what had happened. - -“I’m not judging her by any standards or at all,” I said; “I just don’t -see how anyone could get things so wrong.” - -“She.... Her nature needs sympathy. Lots of it. She’s never had the -understanding and encouragement she ought to have.” - -“It looks the other way around to me.” - -“That’s because you don’t know the background. She’s always been -lonely. From childhood. Her mother was impatient of children and never -found time for her.” - -“How do you know?” I asked. - -“Why ... she told me, of course.” - -“And you believed her. Without corroborative evidence. Is that what’s -called the scientific attitude?” - -He stopped stock-still. “Look here, Backmaker—” a moment before I had -been Hodge to him—“Look here, Backmaker, I’m damned tired of all the -things people say about Barbara; the jeers and sneers and gossip by -people who just aren’t good enough to breathe the same air with her, -much less have the faintest notion of her mind and spirit—” -“Come off it, Ace,” I interrupted. “I havent got anything against -Barbara. The shoe is on the other foot. Tell her I’m all right, will -you? Don’t waste time trying to convince me; I’m just trying to get -along.” - -It was clear, not only from the slips which evaded Ace’s guard, but -from less restrained remarks by other fellows, that Barbara’s tortured -jealousy was a fixture of her character. She had created feuds, -slandered and reviled fellows who had been guilty of nothing except -trying to interest her father in some project in which she herself -was not concerned. I learned much more also, much Ace had no desire -to convey. But he was a poor hand at concealing anything, and it was -clear he was helplessly subject to her, but without the usual kindly -anesthetic of illusion. I guessed he had enjoyed her favors, but she -evidently didnt bother to hide the fact that the privilege was not -exclusive; perhaps indeed she insisted on his knowing. I gathered she -was a fiercely moral polyandrist, demanding absolute fidelity without -offering the slightest hope of reciprocal singlemindedness. - - - - -_12._ _MORE OF HAGGERSHAVEN_ - - -Among the fellows was an Oliver Midbin, a student of what he chose to -call the new and revolutionary science of Emotional Pathology. Tall -and thin, with an incongruous little potbelly like an enlarged and -far-slipped adamsapple, he pounced on me as a ready-made and captive -audience for his theories. - -“Now this case of pseudo-aphonia—” -“He means the dumb girl,” explained Ace, aside. - -“Nonsense. Dumbness is not even the statement of a symptom, but a very -imperfect description. Pseudo-aphonia. Purely of an emotional nature. -Of course if you take her to some medical quack he’ll convince himself -and you and certainly her that there’s an impairment, or degeneration, -or atrophy of the vocal cords—” - -“I’m not the girl’s guardian, Mr Midbin—” -“Doctor. Philosophiae, Göttingen. Trivial matter.” - -“Excuse me, Dr Midbin. Anyway, I’m not her guardian so I’m not taking -her anywhere. But, just as a theoretical question, suppose examination -did reveal physical damage?” - -He appeared delighted, and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, it would. I -assure you it would. These fellows always find what theyre looking for. -If your disposition is sour theyll find warts on your duodenum. In a -postmortem. In a postmortem. Whereas Emotional Pathology deals with the -sour disposition and lets the warts, if any, take care of themselves. -Matter is a function of the mind. People are dumb or blind or deaf for -a purpose. Now what purpose can the girl have for muteness?” - -“No conversation?” I suggested. I didnt doubt Midbin was an authority, -but his manner made flippancy almost irresistible. - -“I shall find out,” he said firmly. “This is bound to be a simpler -maladjustment than Barbara’s—” - -“Aw, come on,” protested Ace. - -“Nonsense, Dorn; obscurantic nonsense. Reticence is a necessary -ingredient of those medical ethics by which the quacks conceal -incompetence. Mumbo jumbo to keep the layman from asking annoying -questions. Priestly, not scientific approach. Art and mystery of -phlebotomy. Don’t hold back knowledge; publish it to the world.” - -“I think Barbara wouldnt want her private thoughts published to the -world. You have to draw the line somewhere.” - -Midbin put his head on one side and looked at Ace as though he were -difficult to see. “Now that’s interesting, Dorn,” he said; “I wonder -what turns a seeker after knowledge into a censor.” - -“Are you going to start exploring my emotional pathology now?” - -“Not interesting enough; not nearly interesting enough. Diagnosis while -you wait; treatment in a few easy instalments. Barbara now—there’s a -really beautiful case. Beautiful case; years of treatment and little -sign of improvement. Of course she wouldnt want her thoughts known. -Why? Because she’s happy with her hatred for her dead mother. Shocking -to Mrs Grundy; doubly ditto to Mister. Exaggerated possessiveness -toward her father makes her miserable. Thoughts known, misery -ventilated: shame, condemnation, fie, fie. Her fantasy—” -“Midbin!” - -“Her fantasy of going back to childhood (fascinating; adult employs -infantile time-sequence, infantile magic, infantile hatreds) in order -to injure her mother is a sick notion she cherishes the way a dog licks -a wound. But without analogous therapy. Ventilate it. Ventilate it. Now -this girl’s case is bound to be simpler. Younger if nothing else. And -nice, overt symptoms. Bring her around tomorrow and we’ll begin.” - -“Me?” I asked. - -“Who else? Youre the only one she doesnt seem to distrust.” - -It was annoying to have the girl’s puppylike devotion observed and -commented on. I realized she saw me as the only connection, however -tenuous, with a normal past; I had assumed she would turn naturally -after a few days to the women who took such open pleasure in fussing -over her affliction. However she merely suffered their attentions; no -matter how I tried to avoid her she sought me out, running to me with -muted cries which should have been touching but were only painful. - -Mr Haggerwells’ telegram to the sheriff’s office at York had brought -the reply that a deputy sheriff would visit the haven “when time -permitted.” He had also telegraphed the Spanish legation who answered -they knew no other Escobars than Don Jaime and his wife. The girl might -be a servant or a stranger; it was no concern of His Most Catholic -Majesty. - -The school uniform made it unlikely she was a servant but beyond this, -little was deducible. She did not respond to questions in either -Spanish or English, and it was impossible to tell if she understood -their meaning, for her blank expression remained unchanged. When -offered pencil and paper she handled them curiously, then let them -slide to the floor. - -I wondered briefly if perhaps her intelligence was slightly subnormal, -but this was met by a firm, even belligerent denial from Midbin, whose -conclusion was confirmed, at least in my opinion, by her apparently -excellent coordination, her personal neatness and fastidiousness which -were far more delicate than any I’d been accustomed to. - -Midbin’s method of treatment smacked of the mystical. His subjects -were supposed to relax on a couch and say whatever came into their -minds. At least this was the clearest part of the explanation he gave -when I rebelliously escorted the girl to his “office,” a large, bare -room decorated only by some old European calendars by the popular -academician, Picasso. The couch was a cot which Midbin himself used -more conventionally at night. - -“All right,” I said; “just how are you going to manage?” - -“Convince her everything’s all right and I’m not going to hurt her.” - -“Sure,” I agreed. “Sure. Only: how?” - -He gave me one of his head-on-shoulder looks and turned to the girl who -waited apathetically, with downcast eyes. “You lie down,” he suggested. - -“Me? I’m not dumb.” - -“Pretend you are. Lie down, close your eyes, say the first thing on -your tongue. Without stopping to think about it.” - -“How can I say anything if I’m pretending to be dumb?” Grudgingly -I complied, fancying a faint look of curiosity passing over the -too-placid face. “‘No man bathes twice in the same stream,’” I muttered. - -He made me repeat the performance several times, then by pantomime -urged her to imitate me. It was doubtful if she understood; in the end -we nudged her gently into the required position. There was no question -of relaxation; she lay there warily, tense and stiff even with her eyes -closed. - -The whole business was so manifestly useless and absurd, to say nothing -of being undignified, that I was tempted to walk out on it. Only -ignoble calculation on Midbin’s voting for my acceptance in the haven -kept me there. - -Looking at the form stretched out so rigidly, I could not but admit -again that the girl was beautiful. But the admission was dispassionate; -the beauty was abstract and neutral, the lovely young lines evoked no -lust. I felt only vexation because her plight kept me from the wonders -of Haggershaven. - -“What good can this possibly do?” I burst out after ten fruitless -minutes. “Youre trying to find out why she can’t talk and she can’t -talk to tell you why she can’t talk.” - -“Science explores all methods of approach,” Midbin answered loftily; -“I’m searching for a technique which will reach her. Bring her back -tomorrow.” - -I swallowed my annoyance and started out. The girl jumped up and -pressed close to my side. Outdoors the air was crisp; I felt her -suppress a slight shiver. “Now I suppose I’ll have to take you where -it’s warm or find a wrap for you,” I scolded irritably. “I don’t know -why I have to be your nursemaid.” - -She whimpered very softly and I was remorseful. None erf this was her -fault; my callousness was inexcusable. But if she could only attach -herself to some other protector and leave me alone.... - -As one about to be banished I tried to cram everything into short days. -I realized that these autumn weeks, spent in casual conversation or -joining the familiar preparations for rural winter, were a period of -thorough and critical probation. There was little I could do to sway -the decision beyond the exhibition of an honest willingness to turn to -whatever work needed doing, and to repeat, whenever the opportunity -offered, that Haggershaven was literally a revelation to me, an island -of civilization in the midst of a chaotic and savage sea. My dream was -to make a landfall there. - -Certainly my meager background and scraps of reading would not persuade -the men and women of the haven; I could only hope they might divine -some promise in me. Against this hope I put Barbara’s enmity, a -hostility now exacerbated by rage at Oliver Midbin for daring to devote -to another, particularly another woman, the attention which had been -her due, and the very technique used for her. I knew her persistence -and I could not doubt she would move enough of the fellows to insure my -rejection. - -The gang which had been operating in the vicinity, presumably the -same one I had encountered, moved on. At least no further crimes were -attributed to it. Once they were gone, Deputy Sheriff Beasley finally -found time to visit Haggershaven in response to the telegram. He had -evidently been there before without attaining much respect on either -side. I got the distinct impression he would have preferred a more -formal examination than the one which took place in Mr Haggerwells’ -study, with fellows drifting in and out, interrupting the proceedings -with comments of their own. - -I think he doubted the girl’s dumbness. He barked his questions so -loudly and brusquely they would have terrified a far more securely -poised individual. She promptly went into dry hysterics, whereupon he -turned his attention to me. - -I was apprehensive lest his questions explore my life with Tyss and -my connection with the Grand Army, but apparently mere presence at -Haggershaven indicated an innocence not unrelated to idiocy, at least -so far as the more popular crimes were concerned. My passage of -the York road and all the events leading up to it were outside his -interest; he wanted only a succinct story of the holdup, reminding me -of the late Colonel Tolliburr in his assumption that the lay eye ought -normally to be photographic of the minutest detail. - -He was clearly dissatisfied with my account and left grumbling that -it would be more to the point if bookworms learned to identify a man -properly, instead of logarithms or trigonometry. I didn’t see exactly -how this applied to me, since I was laudably ignorant of both subjects. - -If Officer Beasley was disappointed, Midbin was enchanted. Of course he -had heard my narrative before, but this was the first time he’d savored -its possible impact on the girl. - -“You see, her pseudo-aphonia is neither congenital nor of long -standing. All logic leads to the conclusion that it’s the result of her -terror during the experience. She must have wanted to scream, it must -have been almost impossible for her not to scream, but for her very -life she dared not. The instinctive, automatic reaction was the one she -could not allow herself. She had to remain mute while she watched the -murders.” - -For the first time it seemed possible there was more to Midbin than his -garrulity. - -“She crushed back that natural, overwhelming impulse,” he went on. “She -had to; her life depended on it. It was an enormous effort and the -effect on her was in proportion; she achieved her object too well; when -it was safe for her to speak again she couldnt.” - -It all sounded so plausible it was some time before I thought to ask -him why she didnt appear to understand what we said, or why she didnt -write anything when she was handed pencil and paper. - -“Communication,” he answered. “She had to cut off communication, and -once cut off it’s not easy to restore. At least that’s one aspect. -Another is more tricky. The holdup happened more than a month ago, but -do you suppose the affected mind reckons so precisely? Is a precise -reckoning possible? Duration may, for all we know, be an entirely -subjective thing. Yesterday for you may be today for me. We recognize -this to some extent when we speak of hours passing slowly or quickly. -The girl may still be undergoing the agony of repressing her screams; -the holdup, the murders, are not in the past for her, but the present. -They are taking place in a long drawn out instant of time which may -never end during her life. And if this is so, is it any wonder she is -unable to relax, to let down her guard long enough to realize that the -present is present and the crisis is past?” - -He pressed his middle thoughtfully. “Now, if it is possible to recreate -in her mind by stimulus from without rather than by evocation from -within the conditions leading up to and through the climacteric, she -would have a chance to vent the emotions she was forced to swallow. She -might, I don’t say she would, she might speak again.” - -I understood such a process would necessarily be lengthy, but as time -passed I saw no indication he was reaching her at all, much less that -he was getting any results. One of the Spanish-speaking fellows, -a botanist who came and went from the haven at erratic intervals, -translated my account of our meeting and read parts of it to the -recumbent girl, following Midbin’s excited stage directions and -interpolations. Nothing happened. - -Outside the futile duty of coaxing the girl to participate in Midbin’s -sessions I had no obligations except those I took upon myself or could -persuade others to delegate to me. Hiro Agati declared me hopelessly -incompetent to help him in the kiln he had set up to make “hard -glass,” a thick substance he hoped might take the place of cast iron -in such things as woodstoves, or clay tile in flues. He conceded I was -not entirely useless in the small garden surrounding their cottage -where he, Mrs Agati—an architect, much younger than her husband and -extremely diminutive—and their three children spent their spare time -transplanting, rearranging, or preparing for the following season. - -Dr Agati was not only the first American Japanese I had ever met; his -was the first family I had known who broke the unwritten rule of having -only one child. Both he and Kimi Agati seemed unaware of the stern -injunctions by Whigs and Populists alike that disaster would follow if -the population of the country increased too fast. Fumio and Eiko didnt -care, while Yoshio, at two, was just not interested. - -The Agatis represented for me one more pang at the thought of -banishment from the haven. Since I knew neither chemistry nor -architecture, our conversation had limits, but this was no drawback to -the pleasure I took in their company. Often, after I was assured I was -welcome there, I sat reading or simply silent while Hiro worked, the -children ran in and out, and Kimi, who was conservative and didnt care -for chairs, sat comfortably on the floor and sketched or calculated -stresses. - -Gradually I progressed from the stage where I wanted decision on my -application postponed as long as possible to one where I was impatient -to have it over and done with. “Why?” asked Hiro. “Suspense is the -condition we live in all our lives.” - -“Well, but there are degrees. You know about what you will be doing -next year.” - -“Do I? What guarantees have I? The future is happily veiled. When I -was your age I despaired because no one would accept the indentures of -a Japanese. (We are still called Japanese even though our ancestors -migrated at the time of the abortive attempt to overthrow the Shogunate -and restore the Mikado in 1868.) Suspense instead of certainty would -have been a pleasure.” - -“Anyway,” said Kimi practically, “it may be months before the next -meeting.” - -“What do you mean? Isnt there a set time for such business?” Sure there -must be, I had never dared ask the exact date. - -Hiro shook his head. “Why should there be? The next time the fellows -pass on an appropriation or a project, we’ll decide whether there’s -room for an historian.” - -“But ... as Kimi says, it might not be for months.” - -“Or it might be tomorrow,” replied Hiro. - -“Don’t worry, Hodge,” said Fumio, “Papa will vote for you, and Mother -too.” - -Hiro grunted. - -When it did come it was anticlimactic. Hiro, Midbin, and several others -with whom I’d scarcely exchanged a word recommended me, and Barbara -simply ignored my existence. I was a full fellow of Haggershaven, with -all the duties and privileges appertaining. I was also securely at home -for the first time since I left Wappinger Falls more than six years -before. I knew that in all its history few had ever cut themselves off -from the haven, still fewer had ever been asked to resign. - -At a modest celebration in the big kitchen that night, the haven -revealed more of the talents it harbored. Hiro produced a gallon -of liquor he had distilled from sawdust and called cellusaki. Mr -Haggerwells pronounced it fit for a cultivated palate, following with -an impromptu discourse on drinking through the ages. Midbin sampled -enough of it to imitate Mr. Haggerwells’ lecture and then, as an -inspired afterthought, to demonstrate how Mr Haggerwells might mimic -Midbin’s parody. Ace and three others sang ballads; even the dumb girl, -persuaded to sip a little of the cellusaki under the disapproving eyes -of her self-appointed guardians, seemed to become faintly animated. If -anyone noted the absence of Barbara Haggerwells, no one commented on it. - -Fall became winter. Surplus timber was hauled in from the woodlots and -the lignin extracted by compressed air, a method perfected by one of -the fellows. Lignin was the fuel used in our hot water furnaces and -provided the gas for the reflecting jets which magnified a tiny flame -into strong illumination. All of us took part in this work, but just as -I had not been able to help Hiro to his satisfaction in the laboratory, -so here too my ineptness with things mechanical soon caused me to be -set to more congenial tasks in the stables. - -I did not repine at this, for though I was delighted with the society -of the others, I found it pleasurable to be alone, to sort out my -thoughts, to slow down to the rhythm of the heavy percherons or enjoy -the antics of the two young foals. The world and time were somewhere -shut outside; I felt contentment so strong as to be beyond satisfaction -or any active emotion. - -I was currying a dappled mare one afternoon and reflecting how the -steam-plow used on the great wheat ranches of British America deprived -the farmers not merely of fertilizer but also of companionship, when -Barbara, her breath still cloudy from the cold outside, came in and -stood behind me. I made an artificial cowlick on the mare’s flank, then -brushed it glossy smooth again. - -“Hello,” she said. - -“Uh ... hello, Miss Haggerwells.” - -“Must you, Hodge?” - -I roughed up the mare’s flank once more. “Must I what? I’m afraid I -don’t understand.” - -She came close, as close as she had in the bookstore, and I felt my -breath quicken. “I think you do. Why do you avoid me? And call me -‘Miss Haggerwells’ in that prim tone? Do I look so old and ugly and -forbidding?” - -This, I thought, is going to hurt Ace. Poor Ace, befuddled by a -Jezebel; why can’t he attach himself to a nice quiet girl who won’t -tear him in pieces every time she follows her inclinations? - -I smoothed the mare’s side for the last time and put down the currycomb. - -“I think you are the most exciting woman Ive ever met, Barbara,” I -said. - - - - -_13._ _TIME_ - - -“Hodge.” - -“Barbara?” - -“Is it really true youve never written your mother since you left home?” - -“Why should I write her? What could I say? Perhaps if my first plans -had come to something, I might have. But to tell her I worked for -six years for nothing would only confirm her opinion of my lack of -gumption.” - -“I wonder if your ambitions in the end don’t amount to a wish to prove -her wrong.” - -“Now you sound like Midbin,” I said, but I wasnt annoyed. I much -preferred her present questions to those I’d heard from her in the past -weeks: Do you love me? Are you sure? Really love, I mean; more than any -other woman? Why? - -“Oliver has had accidental flashes of insight.” - -“Arent you substituting your own for what you think might be my -motives?” - -“My mother hated me,” she stated flatly. - -“Well, it isnt a world where love is abundant; substitutes are cheap -and available. But hate—that’s a strong word. How do you know?” -“I know. What does it matter how? I’m not unfeeling, like you.” - -“Me? Now what have I done?” - -“You don’t care about anyone. Not me or anyone else. You don’t want me; -just any woman would do.” - -I considered this. “I don’t think so, Barbara—” -“See! You don’t think so. Youre not sure, and anyway you wouldnt hurt -my feelings needlessly. Why don’t you be honest and tell the truth. -You’d just as soon it was that streetwalker in New York. Maybe you’d -rather. You miss her, don’t you?” - -“Barbara, Ive told you a dozen times I never—” -“And Ive told you a dozen times youre a liar! I don’t care. I really -don’t care.” - -“All right.” - -“How can you be so phlegmatic? So unfeeling? Nothing means anything to -you. Youre a real, stolid peasant. And you smell like one too, always -reeking of the stable.” - -“I’m sorry,” I said mildly; “I’ll try to bathe more often.” - -Her taunts and jealous fits, her insistent demands did not ruffle me. -I was too pleased with the wonders of life to be disturbed. All I’d -dreamed Haggershaven could mean when I was sure I would never be part -of it was fulfilled and more than fulfilled. Haggershaven and Barbara; -Eden and Lilith. - -At first it seemed the bookstore years were wasted, but I soon realized -the value of that catholic and serendipitous reading as a preparation -for this time. I was momentarily disappointed that there was no one -at the haven to whom I could turn for that personal, face-to-face, -student-teacher relationship on which I’d set so great a store, but -if there was no historical scholar among the fellows to tutor me, I -was surrounded by those who had learned the discipline of study. There -was none to discuss the details of the industrial revolution or the -failure of the Ultramontane Movement in Catholicism and the policies of -Popes Adrian VII, VIII and IX, but all could show me scheme and method. -I began to understand what thorough exploration of a subject meant -as opposed to sciolism, and I threw myself into my chosen work with -furious zest. - -I also began to understand the central mystery of historical theory. -When and what and how and where, but the when is the least. Not -chronology but relationship is ultimately what the historian deals in. -The element of time, so vital at first glance, assumes a constantly -more subordinate character. That the past is past becomes ever less -important. Except for perspective it might as well be the present or -the future or, if one can conceive it, a parallel time. I was not -investigating a petrification but a fluid. Were it possible to know -fully the what and how and where one might learn the why, and assuredly -if one grasped the why he could place the when at will. - -During that winter I read philosophy, psychology, archaeology, -anthropology. My energy and appetite were prodigious, as they needed to -be. I saw the field of knowledge, not knowledge in the abstract, but -things I wanted to know, things I had to know, expanding in front of me -with dizzying speed while I crawled and crept and stumbled over ground -I should have covered years before. - -Yet if I had studied more conventionally I would never have had the -Haven or Barbara. Novelists speak lightly of gusts of passion, but it -was nothing less than irresistible force which drove me to her, day -after day. Looking back on what I had felt for Tirzah Vame with the -condescension twenty-four has toward twenty, I saw my younger self -only as callow, boyish and slightly obtuse. I was embarrassed by the -torments I had suffered. - -With Barbara I lived only in the present, shutting out past and future. -This was only partly due to the intensity, the fierceness of our -desire; much came from Barbara’s own troubled spirit. She herself was -so avid, so demanding, that yesterday and tomorrow were irrelevant to -the insistent moment. The only thing saving me from enslavement like -poor Ace was the belief, correct or incorrect I am to this day not -certain, that to yield the last vestige of detachment and objectivity -would make me helpless, not just before her, but to accomplish my ever -more urgent ambitions. - -Still I know much of my reserve was unnecessary, a product of fear, not -prudence. I denied much I could have given freely and without harm; -my guard protected what was essentially empty. My fancied advantage -over Ace, based on my having always had an easy, perhaps too easy -way with women, was no advantage at all. I foolishly thought myself -master of the situation because her infidelities, if such a word can -be used where faithfulness is explicitly ruled out, did not bother -me. I believed I had grown immensely wise since the time when the -prospect of Tirzah’s rejection had made me miserable. I was wrong; my -sophistication was a lack, not an achievement - -Do I need to say that Barbara was no wanton, moved by light and fickle -voluptuousness? The puritanism of our time, expressing itself in -condemnations and denials, molded her as it molded our civilization. -She was driven by urges deeper and darker than sensuality; her -mad jealousies were provoked by an unappeasable need for constant -reassurance. She had to be dominant, she had to be courted by more -than one man; she had to be told constantly what she could never truly -believe: that she was uniquely desired. - -I wondered that she did not burn herself out, not only with conflicting -passions, but with her fury of work. Sleep was a weakness she despised, -yet she craved far more of it than she allowed herself; she rationed -her hours of unconsciousness and drove herself relentlessly. Ace’s -panegyrics on her importance as a physicist I discounted, but older -and more objective colleagues spoke of her mathematical concepts, not -merely with respect, but with awe. - -She did not discuss her work with me; our intimacy stopped short of -such exchanges. I got the impression she was seeking the principles of -heavier-than-air flight, a chimera which had long intrigued inventors. -It seemed a pointless pursuit, for it was manifest such levitation -could no more replace our safe, comfortable guided balloons than -minibiles could replace the horse. - -Spring made all of us single-minded farmers until the fields were -plowed and sown. No one grudged these days, for the Haven’s economic -life was based first of all on its land, and we were happy in the work -itself. Not until the most feverish competition with time began to -slacken could we return to our regular activities. - -I say “all of us,” but I must except the dumb girl. She greeted the -spring with the nearest approach to cheerfulness she had displayed; -there was a distinct lifting of her apathy. Unexpectedly she revealed -a talent which had survived the shock to her personality or had been -resurrected like the pussywillows and crocuses by the warm sun. She -was a craftsman with needle and thread. Timidly at first, but gradually -growing bolder, she contrived dresses of gayer and gayer colors in -place of the drab school uniform; always, on the completion of a new -creation, running to me as though to solicit my approval. - -This innocent if embarrassing custom could hardly escape Barbara’s -notice, but her anger was directed at me, not the girl. My “devotion” -was not only absurd, she told me, it was also conspicuous and -degrading. My taste was inexplicable, running as it did to immature, -deranged cripples. - -Naturally when the girl took up the habit of coming to the edge of the -field where I was plowing, waiting gravely motionless for me to drive -the furrow toward her, I anticipated still further punishment from -Barbara’s tongue. The girl was not to be swayed from her practice; at -least I did not have the heart to speak roughly to her, and so she -daily continued to stand through the long hours watching me plow, -bringing me a lunch at noon and docilely sharing a small portion of it. - -The planting done, Midbin began the use of a new technique, showing -her drawings of successive stages of the holdup, again nagging and -pumping me for details to sharpen their accuracy. Her reactions pleased -him immensely, for she responded to the first ones with nods and the -throaty sounds we recognized as understanding or agreement. The scenes -of the assault itself, of the shooting of the coachman, the flight of -the footman, and her own concealment in the cornfield evoked whimpers, -while the brutal depiction of the Escobars’ murder made her cower and -cover her eyes. - -I suppose I am not particularly tactful; still I had been careful -not to mention any of this to Barbara. Midbin, however, after a very -gratifying reaction to one of the drawings, said casually, “Barbara -hasnt been here for a long time. I wish she would come back.” - -When I repeated this she stormed at me. “How dare you discuss me with -that ridiculous fool?” - -“Youve got it all wrong. There wasnt any discussion. Midbin only said—” -“I know what Oliver said. I know his whole silly vocabulary.” - -“He only wants to help you.” - -“Help me? Help _me_? What’s wrong with me?” - -“Nothing, Barbara. Nothing.” - -“Am I dumb or blind or stupid?” - -“Please, Barbara.” - -“Just unattractive. I know. Ive seen you with that creature. How you -must hate me to flaunt her before everyone!” - -“You know I only go with her to Midbin’s because he insists.” - -“What about your little lovers’ meetings in the woodlot when you were -supposed to be plowing? Do you think I didnt know about them?” - -“Barbara, I assure you they were perfectly harmless. She—” -“Youre a liar. More than that, youre a sneak and a hypocrite. Yes, and -a mean, crawling sycophant as well. I know you must detest me, but it -suits you to suffer me because of the haven. I’m not blind; youve used -me, deliberately and calculatedly for your own selfish ends.” - -Midbin could explain and excuse her outbursts by his “emotional -pathology.” Ace accepted and suffered them as inescapable, so did her -father, but I saw no necessity of being always subject to her tantrums. -I told her so, adding, not too heatedly I think, “Maybe we shouldn’t -see each other alone after this.” - -She stood perfectly immobile and silent, as if I were still speaking. -“All right,” she said at last. “All right; yes ... yes. Don’t.” - -Her apparent calm deceived me completely; I smiled with relief. - -“That’s right, laugh. Why shouldnt you? You have no feelings, no more -than you have an intelligence. You are an oaf, a clod, a real bumpkin. -Standing there with a silly grin on your face. Oh I hate you! How I -hate you!” - -She wept, she shrilled, she rushed at me and then turned away, crying -she hadnt meant it, not a word of it. She cajoled, begging forgiveness -for all she’d said, tearfully promising to control herself after this, -moaning that she needed me, and finally, when I didnt repulse her, -exclaiming it was her love for me which tormented her so and drove her -to such scenes. It was a wretched, degrading moment, and not the least -of its wretchedness and degradation was that I recognized the erotic -value of her abjection. Detachedly I might pity, fear or be repelled; -at the same time I had to admit her sudden humility was exciting. - -Perhaps this storm changed our relationship for the better, or at -least eased the constraint between us. At any rate it was after this -she began speaking to me of her work, putting us on a friendlier, less -furious plane. I learned now how completely garbled was my notion of -what she was doing. - -“Heavier-than-air flying-machines!” she cried. “How utterly absurd!” - -“All right. I didnt know.” - -“My work is theoretical. I’m not a vulgar mechanic.” - -“All right, all right.” - -“I’m going to show that time and space are aspects of the same entity.” - -“All right,” I said, thinking of something else. - -“What is time?” - -“Uh?... Dear Barbara, since I don’t know anything I can slide -gracefully out of that one. I couldnt even begin to define time.” - -“Oh, you could probably define it all right—in terms of itself. I’m not -dealing with definitions but concepts.” - -“All right, conceive.” - -“Hodge, like all stuffy people your levity is ponderous.” - -“Excuse me. Go ahead.” - -“Time is an aspect.” - -“So you mentioned. I once knew a man who said it was an illusion. And -another who said it was a serpent with its tail in its mouth.” - -“Mysticism.” The contempt with which she spoke the word brought a -sudden image of Roger Tyss saying “metaphysics” with much the same -inflection. “Time, matter, space and energy are all aspects of the -cosmic entity. Interchangeable aspects. Theoretically it should be -possible to translate matter into terms of energy and space into terms -of time; matter-energy into space-time.” - -“It sounds so simple I’m ashamed of myself.” - -“To put it so crudely the explanation is misleading: suppose matter is -resolved into its component....” - -“Atoms?” I suggested, since she seemed at loss for a word. - -“No, atoms are already too individualized, too separate. Something more -fundamental than atoms. We have no word because we can’t quite grasp -the concept yet. Essence, perhaps, or the theological ‘spirit.’ If -matter....” - -“A man?” - -“Man, turnip or chemical compound,” she answered impatiently; “if -resolved into its essence it can presumably be reassembled, another -wrong word, at another point of the time-space fabric.” - -“You mean ... like yesterday?” - -“No—and yes. What is ‘yesterday’? A thing? An aspect? An idea? Or a -relationship? Oh, words are useless things; even with mathematical -symbols you can hardly.... But someday I’ll establish it. Or lay the -groundwork for my successors. Or the successors of my successors.” -I nodded. Midbin was at least half right; Barbara was emotionally -sick. For what was this “theory” of hers but the rationalization of -a daydream, the daydream of discovering a process for reaching back -through time to injure her dead mother and so steal all of her father’s -affections? - - - - -_14._ _MIDBIN’S EXPERIMENT_ - - -At the next meeting of the fellows Midbin asked an appropriation for -experimental work and the help of haven members in the project. Since -the extent of both requests was modest, their granting would ordinarily -have been a formality. But Barbara asked politely if Dr Midbin wouldnt -like to elaborate a little on the purposes of his experiment. - -I knew her manner was a danger signal. Nevertheless Midbin merely -answered goodhumoredly that he proposed to test a theory of whether -an emotionally induced physical handicap could be cured by recreating -in the subject’s mind the shock which had caused—to use a loose, -inaccurate term—the impediment. - -“I thought so. He wants to waste the haven’s money and time on a little -tart he’s having an affair with while important work is held up for -lack of funds.” - -One of the women called out, “Oh, Barbara, no,” and there were -exclamations of disapproval. I saw Kimi Agati look steadfastly down -in embarrassment. Mr Haggerwells, after trying unsuccessfully to hold -Barbara’s eye, said, “I must apologize for my daughter—” -“It’s all right,” interrupted Midbin. “I understand Barbara’s notions. -I’m sure no one here really thinks there is anything improper between -the girl and me. Outside of this, Barbara’s original question seems -quite in order. Quite in order. Briefly, as most of you know, I’ve -been trying to restore speech to a subject who lost it—again I use -an inaccurate term for convenience—during an afflicting experience. -Preliminary explorations indicate good probability of satisfactory -response to my proposed method, which is simply to employ a kinematic -camera like those making entertainment photinugraphs—” - -“He wants to turn the haven into a tinugraph mill with the fellows as -mummers!” - -“Only this once, Barbara, only this once. Not regularly; not as -routine.” - -At this point her father insisted the request be voted on without -any more discussion. I was tempted to vote with Barbara, the only -dissident, for I foresaw Midbin’s tinugraph would undoubtedly rely -heavily on cooperation from me, but I didnt have the courage. Instead I -merely abstained, like Midbin himself and Ace. - -The first effect of Midbin’s program was to free me from obligation, -for he decided there was no point continuing the sessions with the dumb -girl as before. All his time was taken up anyway with photography—no -one at the haven had specialized in it—kinematic theory, the art of -pantomime, and the relative merit of different makes of cameras, all -manufactured abroad. - -The girl, who had never lost her tenseness and apprehension during -the interviews, nevertheless clung to the habit of being escorted to -Midbin’s workroom. Since it was impossible to convey to her that the -sessions were temporarily suspended, she appeared regularly, always in -a dress with which she had taken manifest pains, and there was little I -could do but walk her to Midbin’s and back. I was acutely conscious of -the ridiculousness of these parades and expectant of retribution from -Barbara afterward, so I was to some extent relieved when Midbin finally -made his decision and procured camera and film. - -Now I had to set the exact scene where the holdup had taken place, not -an easy thing to do, for one rise looks much like another at twilight -and all look differently in daylight. Then I had to approximate the -original conditions as nearly as possible. Here Midbin was partially -foiled by the limitations of his medium, being forced to use the camera -in full sunlight instead of at dusk. - -I dressed and instructed the actors in their parts, rehearsing and -directing them throughout. The only immunity I got was Midbin’s -concession that I neednt play the role of myself, since in my early -part of spectator I would be hidden anyway, and the succor was omitted -as irrelevant to the therapeutic purpose. Midbin himself did nothing -but tend the camera. - -Any tinugraph mill would have snorted at our final product and -certainly no tinugraph lyceum would have condescended to show it. After -some hesitation Midbin had decided not to make a phonoto, feeling the -use of sound would add no value and considerable expense, so the film -didnt even have this feature to recommend it. Fortunately for whatever -involuntary professional pride was involved, no one was present at the -first showing but the girl and me, Ace to work the magic-lantern, and -Midbin. - -In the darkened room the pictures on the screen gave—after the first -minutes—such an astonishing illusion that when one of the horsemen -rode toward the camera we all reflexively shrank back. Despite its -amateurishness the tinugraph seemed an artistic success to us, but -it was no triumph in justifying its existence. The girl reacted no -differently than she had toward the drawings; if anything her response -was less satisfactory. The inarticulate noises ran the same scale from -dismay to terror; nothing new was added. Nevertheless Midbin, his -adamsapple working joyously up and down, slapped Ace and me on the -back, predicting he’d have her talking like a politician before the -year was out. - -I suppose the process was imperceptible; certainly there was no -discernible difference between one showing and the next. The boring -routine continued day after day and so absolute was Midbin’s confidence -that we were not too astonished after some weeks when, at the moment -“Don Jaime” folded in simulated death, she fainted and remained -unconscious for some time. - -After this we expected—at least Ace and I did, Midbin only rubbed his -palms together—that the constraint on her tongue would be suddenly -and entirely lifted. It wasnt, but a few showings later, at the same -crucial point, she screamed. It was a genuine scream, clear and -piercing, bearing small resemblance to the strangling noises we were -accustomed to. Midbin had been vindicated; no mute could have voiced -that full, shrill cry. - -Pursuing another of his theories, he soon gave up the idea of helping -her express the words in her mind in Spanish. Instead he concentrated -on teaching her English. His method was primitive, consisting of -pointing solemnly to objects and repeating their names in an artificial -monotone. - -“She’ll have an odd way of speaking,” remarked Ace; “all nouns, -singular nouns at that, said with a mouthful of pebbles. I can just -imagine the happy day: ‘Man chair wall girl floor;’ and you bubbling -back, ‘Carpet ceiling earth grass.’” - -“I’ll supply the verbs as needed,” said Midbin; “first things first.” - -She must have been paying at least as much attention to our -conversation as to his instruction for, unexpectedly, one day she -pointed to me and said quite clearly, “Hodge ... Hodge ...” - -I was discomposed, but not with the same vexation I had felt at her -habit of seeking me out and following me around. There was a faint, -bashful pleasure, and a feeling of gratitude for such steadfastness. - -She must have had some grounding in English, for while she utilized -the nouns Midbin had supplied, she soon added, tentatively and -questioningly, a verb or adjective here and there. “I ... walk ...?” -Ace’s fear of her acquiring Midbin’s dead inflection was groundless; -her voice was low and charmingly modulated; we were enchanted listening -to her elementary groping among words. - -Conversation or questioning was as yet impossible. Midbin’s, “What -is your name?” brought forth no response save a puzzled look and a -momentary sinking back into dullness. But several weeks later she -touched her breast and said shyly, “Catalina.” - -Her memory then, was not impaired, at least not totally. There was no -way of telling yet what she remembered and what self-protection had -forced her to forget, for direct questions seldom brought satisfactory -answers at this stage. Facts concerning herself she gave out -sporadically and without relation to our curiosity. - -Her name was Catalina García; she was the much younger sister of Doña -Maria Escobar, with whom she lived. So far as she knew she had no other -relatives. She did not want to go back to school; they had taught her -to sew, they had been kind, but she had not been happy there. Please—we -would not send her away from Haggershaven, would we? - -Midbin acted now like a fond parent who was both proud of his child’s -accomplishments and fearful lest she be not quite ready to leave his -solicitous care. He was far from satisfied at restoring her speech; -he probed and searched, seeking to know what she had thought and felt -during the long months of muteness. - -“I do not know, truly I do not know,” she protested toward the end of -one of these examinations. “I would say, yes; sometimes I knew you -were talking to me, or Hodge.” Here she looked at me steadily for an -instant, to make me feel both remorseful and proud. “But it was like -someone talking a long way off, so I never quite understood, nor was -even sure it was I who was being spoken to. Often—at least it seemed -often, perhaps it was not—often, I tried to speak, to beg you to tell -me if you were real people talking to me, or just part of a dream. That -was very bad, because when no words came I was more afraid than ever, -and when I was afraid the dream became darker and darker.” -Afterward, looking cool and fresh and strangely assured, she came upon -me while I was cultivating young corn. A few weeks earlier I would have -known she had sought me out; now it might be an accident. - -“But I knew more surely when it was you who spoke, Hodge,” she said -abruptly. “In my dream you were the most real.” Then she walked -tranquilly away. - -Barbara, who had studiedly said nothing further about what Midbin was -doing, commented one day, apparently without rancor, “So Oliver appears -to have proved a theory. How nice for you.” - -“What do you mean?” I inquired guardedly; “How is it nice for me?” - -“Why, you won’t have to chaperone the silly girl all over any more. She -can ask her way around now.” - -“Oh yes; that’s right,” I mumbled. - -“And we won’t have to quarrel over her any more,” she concluded. - -“Sure,” I said. “That’s right.” - -Mr Haggerwells again communicated with the Spanish diplomats, recalling -his original telegram and mentioning the aloof reply. He was answered -in person by an official who acted as though he himself had composed -the disclaiming response. Perhaps he had, for he made it quite clear -that only devotion to duty made it possible to deal at all with such -savages as inhabited the United States. - -He confirmed the existence of one Catalina García and consulted a -photograph, carefully shielded in his hand, comparing it with the -features of our Catalina, at last satisfying himself they were the -same. This formality finished, he spoke rapidly to Catalina in Spanish. -She shook her head and looked confused. “Tell him I can hardly -understand, Hodge; ask him to speak in English, please.” - -The diplomat looked furious. Midbin explained hastily that the shock -which had caused her muteness had not entirely worn off. Unquestionably -she would recover her full memory in time, but for the present there -were still areas of forgetfulness. Her native language was part of the -past, he went on, happy with a new audience, and the past was something -to be pushed away since it contained the terrible moment. English on -the other hand—” - -“I understand,” said the diplomat stiffly, resolutely addressing -none of us. “It is clear. Very well then. The Señorita García is -heir—heiress to an estate. Not a very big one, I regret to say. A -moderate estate.” - -“You mean land and houses?” I asked curiously. - -“A moderate estate,” he repeated, looking attentively at his gloved -hand. “Some shares of stock, some bonds, some cash. The details will be -available to the señorita.” - -“It doesnt matter,” said Catalina timidly. - -Having put us all, and particularly me, in our place as rude and nosey -barbarians, he went on more pleasantly, “According to the records of -the embassy, the señorita is not yet eighteen. As an orphan living in -foreign lands she is a ward of the Spanish Crown. The señorita will -return with me to Philadelphia where she will be suitably accommodated -until repatriation can be arranged. I feel certain that in the proper -surroundings, hearing her natural tongue, she will soon regain its use. -The—ah—institution may submit a bill for board and lodging during her -stay.” - -“Does he mean—take me away from here? For always?” Catalina, who had -seemed so mature a moment before, suddenly acted like a frightened -child. - -“He only wants to make you comfortable and take you among your own -people,” said Mr Haggerwells. “Perhaps it is a bit sudden....” - -“I can’t. Do not let him take me away. Hodge, Hodge—do not let him take -me away.” - -“Señorita, you do not understand—” -“No, no. I won’t. Hodge, Mr Haggerwells, do not let him!” - -“But my dear—” -It was Midbin who cut Mr Haggerwells off. “I cannot guarantee against -a relapse, even a reversion to the pseudo-aphonia if this emotional -tension is maintained. I must insist that Catalina is not to continue -the conversation now.” - -“No one’s going to take you away by force,” I assured her, finally -finding my courage once Midbin had asserted himself. - -The official shrugged, managing to intimate in the gesture his opinion -that the haven was of a very shady character indeed and had quite -possibly engineered the holdup itself. - -“If the señorita genuinely wishes to remain for the present—” a lifted -eyebrow loaded the “genuinely” with meaning “—I have no authority at -the moment to inquire into influences that have persuaded her. No, none -at all. Nor can I remove her by—ah—I will not insist. No. Not at all.” -“That is very understanding of you, sir,” said Mr Haggerwells. “I’m -sure everything will be all right eventually.” - -The diplomat bowed stiffly. “Of course the—ah—institution understands -it can hope for no further compensation—” - -“None has been given or asked for. None will be,” said Mr Haggerwells -in what was, for him, a sharp tone. - -The gentleman from the legation bowed. “The señorita will naturally be -visited from time to time by an official. Without note—notification. -She may be removed whenever His Most Catholic Majesty sees fit. And -of course none of her estate will be released before the eighteenth -birthday. The whole affair is entirely irregular.” - -After he left I reproached myself for not asking what Don Jaime’s -mission had been that fateful evening, or at least for not trying to -find out what his function with the Spanish legation was. Probably he -could in no way be connected with the counterfeiting of the pesetas. By -making no attempt to learn any facts which might have lessened the old -feeling of guilty responsibility I kept it uneasily alive. - -These reproaches were pushed aside when Catalina put her head against -my collarbone, sobbing with relief. “There, there,” I said, “there, -there.” - -“Uncouth,” reflected Mr Haggerwells. “Compensation indeed!” - -“Dealing with natives,” said Midbin. “Probably courteous enough to -Frenchmen or Afrikanders.” - -I patted Catalina’s quivering shoulders. Child or not, now she was able -to talk I had to admit I no longer found her devotion so tiresome. -Though I was definitely uneasy lest Barbara discover us in this -attitude. - - - - -_15._ _GOOD YEARS_ - - -And now I come to the period of my life which stands in such sharp -contrast to what had gone before. Was it really eight years I spent -at Haggershaven? The arithmetic is indisputable: I arrived in 1944 -at the age of twenty-three; I left in 1952 at the age of thirty-one. -Indisputable, but not quite believable; as with the happy countries -which are supposed to have no history I find it hard to go over those -eight years and divide them by remarkable events. They blended too -smoothly, too contentedly into one another. - -Crops were harvested, stored or marketed; the fields were plowed in the -fall and again in the spring and sown anew. Three of the older fellows -died, another became bedridden. Five new fellows were accepted; two -biologists, a chemist, a poet, a philologist. It was to the last I -played the same part Ace had to me, introducing him to the sanctuary of -the haven, seeing its security and refuge afresh and deeply thankful -for the fortune that had brought me to it. - -There was no question about success in my chosen profession, not even -the expected alternation of achievement and disappointment. Once -started on the road I kept on going at an even, steady pace. For what -would have been my doctoral thesis I wrote a paper on _The Timing -of General Stuart’s Maneuvers During August 1863 in Pennsylvania_. -This received flattering comment from scholars as far away as the -Universities of Lima and Cambridge; because of it I was offered -instructorships at highly respectable schools. - -I could not think of leaving the haven. The world into which I had -been born had never been fully revealed for what it was until I had -escaped from it. Secrecy and ugliness; greed, fear and callousness; -meanness, avarice, cunning, deceit and self-worship were as close -around as the nearest farmhouses. The idea of returning to that world -and of entering into daily competition with other underpaid, overdriven -drudges striving fruitlessly to apply a dilute coating of culture to -the unresponsive surface of unwilling students had little attraction. - -In those eight years, as I broadened my knowledge I narrowed my -field. Undoubtedly it was presumptuous to take the War of Southron -Independence as my specialty when there were already so many -comprehensive works on the subject and so many celebrated historians -engaged with this special event. However, my choice was made not out of -self-importance but fascination, and undoubtedly it was the proximity -of the scene which influenced the selection of my goal, the last -thirteen months of the war, from General Lee’s invasion of Pennsylvania -to the capitulation at Reading. I saw the whole vast design: -Gettysburg, Lancaster, the siege of Philadelphia, the disastrous Union -counter-thrust in Tennessee, the evacuation of Washington, and finally -the desperate effort to break out of Lee’s trap which ended at Reading. -I could spend profitable years filling in the details. - -My monographs were published in learned Confederate and British -journals—there were none in the United States—and I rejoiced when -they brought attention, not so much to me as to Haggershaven. I could -contribute only this notice and my physical labor; on the other hand -I asked little beyond food, clothing and shelter—just books. My -field trips I took on foot, often earning my keep by casual labor -for farmers, paying for access to private collections of letters or -documents by indexing and arranging them. - -The time devoted to scholarship did not alone distinguish those eight -years, nor even the security of the haven. I have spoken of the simple, -easy manner in which the Agatis admitted me to their friendship, but -they were not the only ones with whom there grew ties of affection and -understanding. With very few exceptions the fellows of Haggershaven -quickly learned to shed the suspicion and aloofness, so necessary a -protection elsewhere, and substitute acceptance. The result was a -tranquillity I had never experienced before, so that I think of those -years as set apart, a golden period, a time of perpetual warm sunshine. - -Between Barbara and me the turbulent, ambivalent passion swept back and -forth, the periods of estrangement seemingly only a generating force -to bring us together again. Hate and love, admiration and distaste, -impatience and pity were present on both sides. Only on hers there was -jealousy as well; perhaps if I had not been indifferent whenever she -chose to respond to some other man she might not have felt the errant -desire so strongly. Perhaps not; there was a moral urge behind her -behavior. She sneered at women who yielded to such temptations. To her -they were not temptations but just rewards; she did not yield, she took -them as her due. - -Sometimes I wondered if her neurosis did not verge on insanity; I’m -sure for her part she must often have stood off and appraised me as a -mistake. I know there were many times when I wished there would be no -more reconciliation between us. - -Yet no amount of thinking could cancel the swift hunger I felt in her -presence or the deep mutual satisfaction of physical union. Frequently -we were lovers for as long as a month before the inevitable quarrel, -followed by varying periods of coolness. During the weeks of distance I -remembered how she could be tender and gracious as well as ardent, just -as during our intimacy I remembered her ruthlessness and dominance. - -It was not only her temperamental outbursts nor even her unappeasable -craving for love and affection which thrust us apart. Impediments -which, in the beginning, had appeared inconsequential assumed more -importance all the time. It was increasingly hard for her to leave her -work behind even for moments. She was never allowed to forget, either -by her own insatiable drive or by outside acknowledgment that she -was already one of the foremost physicists in the world. She had been -granted so many honorary degrees she no longer traveled to receive -them; offers from foreign governments of well-paid jobs connected with -their munitions industries were common. Articles were written about -her equation of matter, energy, space and time, acclaiming her as a -revolutionary thinker; though she dismissed them as evaluation of -elementary work, they nevertheless added to her isolation and curtailed -her freedom. - -Midbin was, in his way, as much under her spell as Ace or myself. -His triumph over Catalina’s dumbness he took lightly now it was -accomplished; stabilizing Barbara’s emotions was the victory he wanted. -She, on her side, had lost whatever respect she must have had for him -in the days when she had submitted to his treatment. On the very rare -occasions when the whim moved her to listen to his entreaties—usually -relayed through Ace or me—and grant him time, it seemed to be only for -the opportunity of making fun of his efforts. Patiently he tried new -techniques of exploration and expression. - -“But it’s not much use,” he said once, dolefully; “she doesnt _want_ to -be helped.” - -“Wanting seemed to have little to do with making Catty talk,” I pointed -out. “Couldnt you....” - -“Make a tinugraph of Barbara’s traumatic shock? If I had the materials -there would be no necessity.” - -Perhaps there was less malice in her mockery now Catty was no longer -the focus of his theories about emotional pathology; perhaps she -forgave him for her temporary displacement, but she did not withhold -her contempt. “Oliver, you should have been a woman,” she told him; -“you would have been impossible as a mother, but what a grandmother you -would have made!” - -That Catty herself had in her own way as strong a will as Barbara was -demonstrated in her determination to become part of Haggershaven. Her -reaction to the visit of the Spanish official was translated into an -unyielding program. She had gone resolutely to Thomas Haggerwells, -telling him she knew quite well she had neither the aptitudes nor -qualifications for admission to fellowship, nor did she ask it. All -she wanted was to live in what she regarded as her only home. She would -gladly do any work from washing dishes to making clothes—anything she -was asked. When she came of age she would turn over whatever money she -inherited to the haven without conditions. - -He had patiently pointed out that a Spanish subject was a citizen of -a far wealthier and more powerful nation than the United States; as -an heiress she could enjoy the luxuries and distractions of Madrid or -Havana and eventually make a suitable marriage. How silly it would -be to give up all these advantages to become an unnoticed, penniless -drudge for a group of cranks near York, Pennsylvania. - -“He was quite right you know, Catty,” I said when she told me about the -interview. - -She shook her head vigorously, so the loose black curls swirled back -and forth. “You think so, Hodge, because you are a hard, prudent -Yankee.” - -I opened my eyes rather wide; this was certainly not the description I -would have applied to myself. - -“And also because you have Anglo-Saxon chivalry, always rescuing -maidens in distress and thinking they must sit on a cushion after -that and sew a fine seam. Well, I can sew a fine seam, but sitting on -cushions would bore me. Women are not as delicate as you think, Hodge. -Nor as terrifying.” - -Was this last directed toward Barbara? Perhaps Catty had claws. -“There’s a difference,” I said, “between cushion-sitting and living -where books and pictures and music are not regarded with suspicion.” - -“That’s right,” she agreed; “Haggershaven.” - -“No, Haggershaven is an anomaly in the United States and in spite of -everything it cannot help but be infected by the rest of the country. I -meant the great, successful nations who can afford the breathing-spaces -for culture.” - -“But you do not go to them.” - -“No. This is my country.” - -“And it will be mine too. After all it was made in the first place -by people willing to give up luxuries. Besides you are contradicting -yourself: if Haggershaven cannot avoid being infected by what is -outside it, neither can any other spot. Part of the world cannot be -civilized if another part is backward.” - -There was no doubt her demure expression hid stern resolution. Whatever -else it hid was not so certain. Evidently Mr Haggerwells realized the -quality of her determination for eventually he proposed to the fellows -that she be allowed to stay and the offer of her money be rejected. -The motion was carried, with only Barbara, who spoke long and bitterly -against it, voting “no.” - -In accepting Catty out of charity, the fellows unexpectedly made an -advantageous bargain. Not merely because she was always eager to help, -but for her specific contribution to the haven’s economy. Before this, -clothing the haven had been a haphazard affair; suits or dresses were -bought with money which would otherwise have been contributed to the -general fund, or if the fellow had no outside income, by a grant from -the same fund. Catty’s artistry with the needle made a revolution. Not -only did she patch and mend and alter; she designed and made clothes, -conveying some of her enthusiasm to the other women. The haven was -better and more handsomely clad and a great deal of money was saved. -Only Barbara refused to have her silk trousers and jackets made at home. - -It was not entirely easy to adjust to the new Catty, the busy, -efficient, selfreliant creature. Her expressive voice could be -enchanting even when she was speaking nonsense—and Catty rarely -spoke nonsense. I don’t mean she was priggish or solemn, quite the -contrary; her spontaneous laughter was quick and frequent. But she was -essentially not frivolous; she felt deeply, her loyalties were strong -and enduring. - -I missed her former all too open devotion to me. It had caused -embarrassment, impatience, annoyance; now it was withdrawn I felt -deprived and even pettish at its lack. Not that I had anything to offer -in return or considered that any emotion was called for from me. Though -I didnt express it to myself so openly at the time, what I regretted -was the sensually valuable docility of a beautiful woman. Of course -there was a confusion here: I was regretting what had never been, for -Catty and the nameless dumb girl were different individuals. Even her -always undeniable beauty was changed and heightened; what I really -wanted was for the Catty of now to act like the Catty of then. And -without any reciprocal gesture from me. - -The new Catty no more than the old was disingenuous or coquettish. She -was simply mature, dignified, selfcontained and just a trifle amusedly -aloof. Also she was very busy. She did not pretend to any interest -in other men; at the same time she had clearly outgrown her childish -dependence on me. She refused any competition with Barbara. When I -sought her out she was there, but she made no attempt to call me to her. - -I was not so unversed that I didnt occasionally suspect this might be -a calculated tactic. But when I recalled the utter innocence of her -look I reflected I would have to have a very nice conceit of myself -indeed to believe the two most attractive women at Haggershaven were -contending for me. - -I don’t know precisely when I began to see Catty with a predatory male -eye. Doubtless it was during one of those times when Barbara and I had -quarrelled, and when she had called attention to Catty by accusing me -of dallying with her. I was essentially as polygamous as Barbara was -polyandrous or Catty monogamous; once the idea had formed I made no -attempt to reject it. - -Nor, for a very long time, did I accept it in any way except -academically. There are sensual values also in tantalizing, and if -these values are perverse I can only say I was still immature in -many ways. Additionally there must have been an element of fear of -Catty, the same fear which maintained a reserve against Barbara. For -the time being at least it seemed much pleasanter to talk lightly -and inconsequentially with her; to laugh and boast of my progress, -to discuss Haggershaven and the world, than to face our elementary -relationship. - -My fourth winter at the haven had been an unusually mild one; spring -was early and wet. Kimi Agati who, with her children, annually gathered -quantities of mushrooms from the woodlots and pastures, claimed this -year’s supply was so large that she needed help, and conscripted -Catty and me. Catty protested she didnt know a mushroom from a -toadstool; Kimi immediately gave her a brief but thorough course in -thallophytology. “And Hodge will help you; he’s a country boy.” - -“All right,” I said. “I make no guarantees though; I havent been a -country boy for a long time.” - -“I’m not so sure,” said Kimi thoughtfully. “You two take the small -southeast woodlot; Fumio can have the big pasture, Eiko the small one; -Yosh and I will pick in the west woodlot.” - -We carried a picnic lunch and nests of large baskets which were to be -put by the edge of the woodlots when full; late in the afternoon a cart -would pick them up and bring them in for drying. The air was warm even -under the leafless branches; the damp ground steamed cosily. - -“Kimi was certainly right,” I commented. “Theyre thick as can be.” - -“I don’t see....” She stooped gracefully; “Oh, is this one?” - -“Yes,” I said, “And there, and there. Not that white thing over there -though.” - -We filled our first baskets without moving more than a few yards. “At -this rate we’ll have them all full by noon.” - -“And go back for more?” - -“I suppose. Or just wander around.” - -“Oh.... Look, Hodge—what’s this?” -“What?” - -“This.” She showed me the puffball in her hands, looking inquiringly up. - -I looked down casually; suddenly there was nothing casual between us -any more, nor ever would be again. I looked down at a woman I wanted -desperately, feverishly, immediately. The shock of desire was a weight -on my chest, expelling the air from my lungs. - -“Goodness—is it some rare specimen or something?” -“Puffball,” I managed to say. “No good.” - -I hardly spoke, I could hardly speak, as we filled our second baskets. -I was sure the pounding of my heart must show through my shirt, and -several times I thought I saw her looking curiously at me. “Let’s eat -now,” I suggested hoarsely. - -I found a pine with low-hanging boughs and tore down enough to make -a dry, soft place to sit while Catty unpacked our picnic. “Here’s an -egg,” she said; “I’m starved.” - -We ate; that is, she ate and I pretended to. I was half dazed, half -terrified. I watched her swift motions, the turn of her head, the -clean, sharp way she bit into the food, and averted my eyes every time -her glance crossed mine. - -“Well,” she murmured at last; “I suppose we mustnt sit idle any longer. -Come on, lazy; back to work.” - -“Catty,” I whispered. “Catty.” - -“What is it, Hodge?” - -“Wait.” - -Obediently she paused. I reached over and took her in my arms. She -looked at me, not startled, but questioning. Just as my mouth reached -hers she moved slightly so that I kissed her cheek instead of her lips. -She did not struggle but lay passively, with the same questioning -expression. - -I held her, pressing her against the pine boughs, and found her mouth. -I kissed her eyes and throat and mouth again. Her eyes stayed open and -she did not respond. I undid the top of her dress and pressed my face -between her breasts. - -“Hodge.” - -I paid no attention. - -“Hodge, wait. Listen to me. If this is what you want you know I will -not try to stop you. But Hodge, be sure. Be very sure.” - -“I want you, Catty.” - -“Do you? Really want _me_, I mean.” - -“I don’t know what you mean. I want you.” - -But it was already too late; I had made the fatal error of pausing to -listen. Angrily I moved away, picked up my basket and sullenly began -to search for mushrooms again. My hands still trembled and there was a -quiver in my legs. To complement my mood a cloud drifted across the sun -and the warm woods became chilly. - -“Hodge.” - -“Yes?” - -“Please don’t be angry. Or ashamed. If you are I shall be sorry.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -She laughed. “Oh my dear Hodge. Isnt that what men always say to women? -And isnt it always true?” - -Suddenly the day was no longer spoiled. The tension melted and we went -on picking mushrooms with a new and fresh innocence. - -After this I could no longer keep all thoughts of Catty out of the -intimacy with Barbara; now for the first time her jealousy had grounds. -I felt guilty toward both, not because I desired both, but because I -didnt totally desire either. - -Now, years later, I condemn myself for the lost rapturous moments; at -the time I procrastinated and hesitated as though I had eternity in -which to make decisions. I was, as Tyss had said, the spectator type, -waiting to be acted upon, waiting for events to push me where they -would. - - - - -_16._ _OF VARIED SUBJECTS_ - - -“I can’t think of anything more futile,” said Kimi, “than to be an -architect at this time in the United States.” - -Her husband grinned. “You forgot to add, ‘of Oriental extraction.’” - -Catty said, “Ive never understood. Of course I don’t remember too -well, but it seems to me Spanish people don’t have the same racial -fanaticism. Certainly the Portuguese, French and Dutch don’t. Even the -English are not quite so certain of Anglo-Saxon superiority. Only the -Americans, in the United States and the Confederate States too, judge -everything by color.” - -“The case of the Confederacy is reasonably simple,” I said. “There are -about fifty million Confederate citizens and two hundred and fifty -million subjects. If white supremacy wasnt the cornerstone of Southron -policy a visitor couldnt tell the ruling class at a glance. Even as -it is he sometimes has a hard time, what with sunburn. It’s more -complicated here. Remember, we lost a war, the most important war in -our history, which was not unconnected with skin color.” - -“In Japan,” said Hiro, “the lighter colored people, the Ainu, used to -be looked down on. Just as the Christians were once driven underground -at exactly the same time they themselves drove the Jews underground in -Spain and Portugal.” - -“The Jews,” murmured Catty vaguely; “are there still Jews?” - -“Oh yes,” I said. “Several millions in Uganda-Eretz which the British -made a self-governing dominion back in 1933 under the first Labour -cabinet. And numbers most everywhere else, except in the German Union -since the massacres of 1905-1913.” - -“Which were much more thorough than the anti-Oriental massacres in the -United States,” supplied Hiro. - -“Much more thorough,” I agreed. “After all, scattered handfuls of -Asians were left alive here.” - -“My parents and Kimi’s grandparents among them. How lucky they were to -be American Japanese instead of European Jews.” - -“There are Jews in the United States,” announced Kimi. “I met one once. -She was a theosophist and told me I ought to learn the wisdom of the -East.” - -“Very few of them. There were about two hundred thousand at the close -of the War of Southron Independence on both sides of the border. After -the election of 1872, General Grant’s Order Number Ten, expelling all -Jews from the Department of the Missouri, which had been rescinded -immediately by President Lincoln, was retroactively re-enacted by -President Butler, in spite of the fact that the United States no longer -controlled that territory. Henceforth Jews were treated like all other -colored peoples, Negroes, Orientals, Indians and South Sea Islanders: -as undesirables to be bribed to leave or to be driven out of the -country.” - -“This is very dull stuff,” said Hiro. “Let me tell you about a hydrogen -reaction—” - -“No, please,” begged Catty. “Let me listen to Hodge.” - -“Good heavens,” exclaimed Kimi, “when do you ever do anything else? I’d -think you’d be tired by now.” - -“She will marry him one of these days,” predicted Hiro; “then the poor -fellow will never be allowed to disguise a lecture as a conversation -again.” - -Catty blushed, a deep red blush. I laughed to cover some constraint. -Kimi said, “Go-betweens are out of fashion; youre a century behind -times, Hiro. I suppose you think a woman ought to walk two paces -respectfully behind her husband. Actually, it’s only in the United -States women can’t vote or serve on juries.” - -“Except in the state of Deseret,” I reminded her. - -“That’s just bait; the Mormons gave us equality because they were -running short of women.” - -“Not the way I heard it. The Latter Day Saints have been the nearest -thing to a prosperous group in the country. Women have been moving -there for years, it’s so easy to get married. All the grumbling about -polygamy has come from men who can’t stand the competition.” - -Catty glanced at me, then looked away. - -Had she, I wondered afterward, been thinking how Barbara would have -rejected my observation furiously? Or about that day in the spring? Or -about Hiro’s earlier comment? I thought about it, briefly, myself. - -I also thought of how easily Catty fitted in with the Agatis and -contrasted it with the tension everyone would have felt if Barbara had -been there. One could love Barbara, or hate her or dislike her or even, -I supposed, be indifferent to her; the one thing impossible was to be -comfortable with her. - -The final choice (was it final? I don’t know. I shall never know now) -hardened when I had been nearly six years at Haggershaven. It had been -“on” between Barbara and me for the longest stretch I could recall and -I had even begun to wonder if some paradoxical equilibrium had not been -established which would allow me to be her lover without vexation and -at the same time innocently enjoy a bond with Catty. - -As always when the hostility between us slackened, Barbara spoke of -her work. In spite of such occasional confidences it was still not her -habit to talk of it with me. That intimacy was obviously reserved for -Ace, and I didnt begrudge him it, for after all he understood what it -was all about and I didnt. This time she was so full of the subject she -could not hold back, even from one who could hardly distinguish between -thermodynamics and kinesthetics. - -“Hodge,” she said, gray eyes greenish with excitement, “I’m not going -to write a book.” - -“That’s nice,” I answered idly. “New, too. Saves time, paper, -ink. Sets a different standard; from now on scholars will be known -as ‘Jones, who didnt write _The Theory of Tidal Waves’_,‘Smith, -unauthor of _Gas and Its Properties_,’ or ‘Backmaker, non-recorder of -_Gettysburg And After_.’” - -“Silly. I only meant it’s become customary to spend a lifetime -formulating principles; then someone else comes along and puts your -principles into practice. It seems more sensible for me to demonstrate -my own conclusions instead of writing about them.” - -“Yes, sure. Youre going to demonstrate ... uh ...?” - -“Cosmic entity, of course. What do you think Ive been talking about?” - -I tried to remember what she had said about cosmic entity. “You mean -youre going to try to turn matter into space or something like that?” - -“Something like that. I intend to translate matter-energy into terms of -space-time.” - -“Oh,” I said, “equations and symbols and all that.” - -“I just said I wasnt going to write a book.” - -“But how—” I started up as the impact struck me. “Youre going to ...” I -groped for words. “Youre going to build a ... an engine which will move -through time?” - -“Putting it crudely. But close enough for a layman.” - -“You once told me your work was theoretical. That you were no vulgar -mechanic.” - -“I’ll become one.” - -“Barbara, youre crazy! As a philosophical abstraction this theory of -yours is interesting—” - -“Thank you. It’s always nice to know one has amused the yokelry.” - -“Barbara, listen to me. Midbin—” -“I havent the faintest interest in Oliver’s stodgy fantasies.” - -“He has in yours though, and so have I. Don’t you see, this -determination of yours is based on the fantasy of going back through -time to—uh—injure your mother—” - -“Oliver Midbin is a coarse, stupid, insensate lout. He has taught the -dumb to speak, but he’s too much of a fool to understand anyone of -normal intelligence. He has a set of idiotic theories about diseased -emotions and he fits all facts into them even if it means chopping them -up to do it or inventing new ones to piece them out. Injure my mother -indeed! I have no more interest in her than she ever had in me.” - -“Ah, Barbara—” -“‘Ah Barbara,’” she mimicked. “Run along to your pompous windbag of a -Midbin or your oh-so-willing cow-eyed Spanish doxy—” - -“Barbara, I’m talking as a friend. Leave Midbin and Catty and -personalities out of it and just look at it this way. Don’t you see -the difference between promulgating a theory and trying a practical -demonstration which will certainly appear to the world as going over -the borderline into charlatanism? Like a spiritualist medium or—” -“That’s enough! ‘Charlatan’! You unspeakable guttersnipe. What do you -know of anything beyond the seduction of cretins? Go back to your -trade, you errand boy!” - -I seemed to remember that once before an incident had ended precisely -this way. “Barbara—” - -Her hand caught me across my mouth. Then she strode away. - -The fellows of Haggershaven were not enthusiastic for her project. -Even as she outlined it to them in more sober language than she had -to me it still sounded outlandish, like the recurrent idea of a -telegraph without wires or a rocket to the moon. Besides, 1950 was a -bad year. The war was coming closer; at the least, what was left of -the independence of the United States was likely to be extinguished. -Our energies had to be directed toward survival rather than new and -expensive ventures. Still, Barbara Haggerwells was a famous figure -commanding great respect, and she had cost them little so far, beyond -paper and pencils. Reluctantly the fellows voted an appropriation. - -An old barn, not utilized for years, but still sound, was turned over -to Barbara, and Kimi was delighted to plan, design and supervise the -necessary changes. Ace and a group of the fellows attacked the job -vigorously, sawing and hammering, bolting iron beams together, piping -in gas for reflecting lights to enable them to work at night as well. - -I believe I took no more interest than was inescapable as a fellow -of Haggershaven. I had no doubt that the money and labor were being -wasted, and I foresaw a terrible disappointment for Barbara when she -realized the impossibility of her project. For myself I did not think -she would play any further part of importance in my life. - -We had not spoken since the quarrel, nor was there inclination on -either side toward coming together again. I could not guess at -Barbara’s feelings; mine were those of relief, unmixed with regret. -I would not have erased all there had been between us, but I was -satisfied to have it in the past. The raging desire vanished, gradually -replaced by an affection of sorts; I wanted no more of that tempestuous -passion, instead I felt aloofly protective and understanding. - -For at last I was absorbed with Catty. The raw hunger of the moment -when I first realized I wanted her came back with renewed force, but -now other, more diffused feelings were equally part of my emotion. I -knew she could make me jealous as Barbara could not; at the same time I -could see tranquillity beyond turbulent wanting, a tranquillity never -possible with Barbara. - -But my belated realization of what Catty meant to me was no reaction to -Barbara or connected with the breaking of that tie. The need for Catty -was engendered by Catty alone, and for Catty apart from anything I had -ever felt for another. It was in some ways an entirely new hunger, -as the man’s need transcends the youth’s. I understood now what her -question in the woodlot meant and at last I could truthfully answer. - -She kissed me back, freely and strongly. “I love you, Hodge,” she said; -“I have loved you even through the bad dream of not being able to -speak.” - -“When I was so unfeeling.” - -“I loved you even when you were impatient; I tried to make myself -prettier for you. You know you have never said I was pretty.” - -“You arent, Catty. Youre extraordinarily beautiful.” - -“I think I would rather be pretty. Beauty sounds forbidding. Oh, Hodge, -if I did not love you so much I would not have stopped you that day.” - -“I’m not sure I understand that.” - -“No? Well, it is not necessary now. Sometimes I wondered if I had been -right after all, or if you would think it was because of Barbara.” - -“Wasnt it?” - -“No. I was never jealous of her. We Garcías are supposed to have -Morisco blood; perhaps I have the harem outlook of my dark Muslim -ancestors. Would you like me to be your black concubine?” - -“No,” I said. “I’d like you to be my wife. In any colors you have.” - -“Spoken with real gallantry; you will be a courtier yet, Hodge. But -that was a proposal, wasnt it?” - -“Yes,” I answered grimly; “if you will consider one from me. I can’t -think of any good reason why you should.” - -She put her hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I don’t -know what reason has to do with it. It is what I always intended; that -was why I blushed so when Hiro Agati blurted out what everyone could -see.” - -Later I said, “Catty, can you ever forgive me for the wasted years? You -say you werent jealous of Barbara, but surely if she and I—that is ... -anyway, forgive me.” - -“Dear Hodge, there’s nothing to forgive. Love is not a business -transaction, nor a case at law in which justice is sought, nor a reward -for having good qualities. I understand you, Hodge, better I think than -you understand yourself. You are not satisfied with what is readily -obtained, otherwise you would have been content back in—what is the -name?—Wappinger Falls. I have known this for a long time and I could, -I think—you must excuse my vanity—have interested you at any moment by -pretending fickleness. Just as I could have held you if I had given in -that day. Besides, I think you will make a better husband for realizing -you could not deal with Barbara.” - -I can’t say I entirely enjoyed this speech. I felt, in fact, rather -humiliated, or at least healthily humbled. Which was no doubt what she -intended, and as it should be. I never had the idea she was frail or -insipid. - -Nor did Catty’s explanation of a harem outlook satisfactorily account -for the sudden friendliness of the two women after the engagement was -announced. That Barbara should soften so toward a successful rival was -incomprehensible and also disturbing. - -Because both were fully occupied they actually spent little time -together, but Catty visited the workshop, as they called the converted -barn, whenever she had the chance and her real admiration for Barbara -grew so that I heard too often of her genius, courage and imagination. -I could hardly ask Catty to forego society I had so recently found -enchanting nor establish a taboo against mention of a name I had lately -whispered with ardor; still I felt a little foolish, and not quite as -important as I might otherwise have thought myself. - -Not that Catty didnt have proper respect and enthusiasm for my -fortunes. I had completed my notes for _Chancellorsville to the -End_—that is, I had a mass of clues, guideposts, keys, ideas, and -emphases which would serve as skeleton for a work which might take -years to write—and Catty was the audience to whom I explained and -expounded and used as a prototype of the reader I might reach. Volume -one was roughly drafted, and we were to be married as soon as it -was finished, shortly after my thirtieth and Catty’s twenty-fourth -birthday. There was little doubt the book would bring an offer from one -of the great Confederate universities, but Catty was firm for a cottage -like the Agatis’, and I could not conceive of being foolish enough to -leave Haggershaven. - -From Catty’s talk I knew Barbara was running into increasing -difficulties now the workshop was complete and actual construction -begun of what was referred to, with unnecessary crypticism I thought, -as HX-1. The impending war created scarcities, particularly of -such materials as steel and copper, of which latter metal HX-1 -seemed inordinately greedy. I was not surprised when the fellows -apologetically refused Barbara a new appropriation. - -Next day Catty said, “Hodge, you know the haven wouldnt take my money.” - -“And quite right too. Let the rest of us put in what we get; we owe it -to the haven anyway. But the debt is the other way round in your case -and you should keep your independence.” - -“Hodge, I’m going to give it all to Barbara for her HX-1.” - -“What? Oh, nonsense!” - -“Is it any more nonsensical for me to put in money I didnt do anything -to get than for her and Ace to put in time and knowledge and labor?” - -“Yes, because she’s got a crazy idea and Ace has never been quite sane -where she’s concerned. If you go ahead and do this you’ll be as crazy -as they are.” - -When Catty laughed I remembered with a pang the long months when that -lovely sound had been strangled by terror inside her. I also thought -with shame of my own failure; had I appreciated her when her need was -greatest I might have eased the long, painful ordeal of restoring her -voice. - -“Perhaps I am crazy. Do you think the haven would make me a fellow on -that basis? Anyway, I believe in Barbara even if the rest of you don’t. -Not that I’m criticizing; you were right to be cautious. You have more -to consider than demonstration of the truth of a theory which can’t -conceivably have a material value; I don’t have to take any such long -view. Anyway I believe in her. Or perhaps I feel I owe her something. -With my money she can finish her project. I only tell you this because -you may not want to marry me under the circumstances.” - -“You think I’m marrying you for your money?” - -She smiled. “Dear Hodge. You are in some ways so young; I hear the -wounded dignity in your voice. No, I know very well you arent marrying -me for money, that it never occurred to you it might be a good idea. -That would be too practical, too grown up, too un-Hodgelike. I think -you might not want to marry a woman who’d give all her money away. -Especially to Barbara Haggerwells.” - -“Catty, are you doing this absurd thing to get rid of me? Or to test -me?” - -This time she again laughed loud. “Now I’m sure you will marry me after -all and turn out to be a puzzled but amenable husband. You are my true -Hodge, who studies a war because he can’t understand anything simpler -or subtler.” - -She wasnt to be dissuaded from the quixotic gesture. I might not -understand subtleties but I was sure I understood Barbara well enough. -Foreseeing her request for more funds would be turned down, she must -have cultivated Catty deliberately in order to use her. Now she’d -gotten what she wanted I confidently expected her to drop Catty or -revert to her accustomed virulence. - -She did neither. If anything the amity grew. Catty’s vocabulary added -words like “magnet,” “coil,” “induction,” “particle,” “light-year,” -“continuum” and many others either incomprehensible or uninteresting to -me. Breathlessly she described the strange, asymmetric structure taking -shape in the workshop, while my mind was busy with Ewell’s Corps and -parrott guns and the weather chart of southern Pennsylvania for July, -1863. - -The great publishing firm of Ticknor, Harcourt & Knopf contracted for -my book—there was no publisher in the United States equipped to handle -it—and sent me a sizable advance in Confederate dollars which became -even more sizable converted into our money. I read the proofs of volume -one in a state of semiconsciousness, sent the inevitable telegram -changing a footnote on page 99, and waited for the infuriating mails to -bring me my complimentary copies. The day after they arrived (with a -horrifying typographical error right in the middle of page 12), Catty -and I were married. - -Dear Catty. Dear, dear Catty. - -With the approval of the fellows we used part of the publisher’s -advance for a honeymoon. We spent it—that part of it in which we -had time for anything except being alone together—going over nearby -battlefields of the last year of the War of Southron Independence. - -It was Catty’s first excursion away from Haggershaven since the -night I brought her there. Looking at the world outside through -her perceptions, at once insulated and made hypersensitive by her -new status, I was shocked afresh at the harsh indifference, the -dull poverty, the fear, brutality, frenzy and cynicism highlighting -the strange resignation to impending fate which characterized our -civilization. It was not a case of eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow -we die; rather it was, let us live meanly and trust to luck—tomorrow’s -luck is bound to be worse. - -We settled down in the autumn of 1951 in a cottage designed by -Kimi and built by the fellows during our absence. It gave on the -Agatis’ cherished garden and we were both moved by this evidence of -love, particularly after what we had seen and heard on our trip. Mr -Haggerwells made a speech, filled with classical allusions, welcoming -us back as though we had been gone for years; Midbin looked anxiously -into Catty’s face as though to assure himself I had not, in my new role -as husband, treated her so ill as to bring on a new emotional upset; -and the other fellows made appropriate gestures. Even Barbara stopped -by long enough to comment that the house was ridiculously small, but -she supposed Kimi’s movable partitions helped. - -I immediately began working on volume two and Catty took up her sewing -again. She also resumed her visits to Barbara’s workshop; again I heard -detailed accounts of my former sweetheart’s progress. HX-1 was to be -completed in the late spring, or early summer. I was not surprised at -Barbara’s faith surviving actual construction of the thing, but that -such otherwise level-headed people as Ace and Catty could envisage -breathlessly the miracles about to happen was beyond me. Ace, even -after all these years, was still bemused—but Catty ...? - -Just before the turn of the year I got the following letter: - - LEE & WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY - Department of History - - Leesburg, District of Calhounia, CSA. - December 19, 1951 - - Mr. Hodgins M. Backmaker - “Haggershaven” - York, - Pennsylvania, USA. - - _Sir_: - - _On page 407 of_ Chancellorsville to the End, _volume I_, Turning - Tides, _you write, “Chronology and topography—timing and the use of - space—were to be the decisive factors, rather than population and - industry. Stuart’s detachment, which might have proved disastrous, - turned out extraordinarily fortunate for Lee, as we shall see in the - next volume. Of course the absence of cavalry might have been decisive - if the Round Tops had not been occupied by the Southrons on July - 1....”_ - - _Now, sir, evidently in your forthcoming analysis of Gettysburg you - hold (as I presume most Yankees do) to the theory of fortuitousness. - We Southrons naturally ascribe the victory to the supreme genius of - General Lee, regarding the factors of time and space not as forces in - themselves but as opportunities for the display of his talents._ - - _Needless to say, I hardly expect you to change your opinions, rooted - as they must be in national pride. I only ask that before you commit - them, and the conclusions shaped by them, to print, you satisfy - yourself as an historian, of their validity in this particular case. - In other words, sir, as one of your readers (and may I add, one who - has enjoyed your work), I should like to be assured that you have - studied this classic battle as carefully as you have the engagements - described in volume I._ - - _With earnest wishes for your success, - I remain, sir - Cordially yours, - Jefferson Davis Polk_ - -This letter from Dr Polk, the foremost historian of our day, author -of the monumental biography, _The Great Lee_, produced a crisis in -my life. Had the Confederate professor pointed out flaws in my work, -or even reproached me for undertaking it at all without adequate -equipment I would, I trust, have acknowledged the reproof and continued -to the best of my ability. But this letter was an accolade. Without -condescension Dr Polk admitted me to the ranks of serious historians, -only asking me to consider the depth of my evaluation. - -Truth is, I was not without increasing doubts of my own. Doubts I had -not allowed to rise to the surface of my mind and disturb my plans. -Polk’s letter brought them into the open. - -I had read everything available. I had been over the ground between the -Maryland line, South Mountain, Carlisle and the haven until I could -draw a detail map from memory. I had turned up diaries, letters and -accounts which had not only never been published, but which were not -known to exist until I hunted them down. I had so steeped myself in -the period I was writing about that sometimes the two worlds seemed -interchangeable and I could live partly in one, partly in the other. - -Yet with all this, I was not sure I had the whole story, even in the -sense of wholeness that historians, knowing they can never collect -every detail, accept. I was not sure I had the grand scene in -perfectly proper perspective. I admitted to myself the possibility -that I had perhaps been too rash, too precipitate, in undertaking -_Chancellorsville to the End_ so soon. I knew the shadowy sign, the -one which says in effect, _You are ready_, had not been given. My -confidence was shaken. - -Was the fault in me, in my temperament and character, rather than in my -preparation and use of materials? Was I drawing back from committing -myself, from acting, from doing? That I had written the first volume -was no positive answer, for it was but the fraction of a whole deed; if -I withdrew now I could still preserve my standing as an onlooker. - -But not to act was itself an action and answered neither Dr Polk nor -myself. Besides, what could I do? The entire work was contracted for. -The second volume was promised for delivery some eighteen months hence. -My notes for it were complete; this was no question of revising, but -of wholly re-examining, revaluing and probably discarding them for an -entirely new start. It was a job so much bigger than the original, -one so discouraging, I felt I couldnt face it. It would be corrupt to -produce a work lacking absolute conviction and cowardly to produce none. - -Catty responded to my awkward recapitulation in a way at once -heartening and strange. “Hodge,” she said, “youre changing and -developing, and for the better, even though I love you as you were. -Don’t be afraid to put the book aside for a year—ten years if you have -to. You must do it so it will satisfy yourself; never mind what the -publishers or the public say. But Hodge, you mustnt, in your anxiety, -or your foolish fear of passiveness, you mustnt try any shortcuts. -Promise me that.” - -“I don’t know what youre talking about, Catty dear. There are no -shortcuts in writing history.” - -She looked at me thoughtfully. “Remember that, Hodge. Oh, remember it.” - - - - -_17._ _HX-1_ - - -I could not bring myself to follow the promptings of my conscience and -Catty’s advice, nor could I use my notes as though Dr Polk’s letter -had never come to shatter my complacency. As a consequence—without -deliberately committing myself to abandon the book—I worked not at -all, thus adding to my feelings of guilt and unworthiness. The tasks -assigned by the fellows for the general welfare of the haven were -not designed to take a major part of my time, and though I produced -all sorts of revolutions in the stables and barns, I still managed -to wander about, fretful and irritable, keeping Catty from her work, -interrupting the Agatis and Midbin—I could not bring myself to discuss -my problems with him—and generally making myself a nuisance. Inevitably -I found my way into Barbara’s workshop. - -She and Ace had done a thorough job on the old barn. I thought I -recognized Kimi’s touch in the structural changes of the walls, the -strong beams and rows of slanted-in windows which admitted light and -shut out glare, but the rest must have been shaped by Barbara’s needs. - -Iron beams held up a catwalk running in a circle about ten feet -overhead. On the catwalk there were at intervals what appeared to be -batteries of telescopes, all pointed inward and downward at the center -of the floor. Just inside the columns was a continuous ring of clear -glass, perhaps four inches in diameter, fastened to the beams with -glass hooks. Closer inspection proved the ring not to be in one piece -but in sections, ingeniously held together with glass couplings. Back -from this circle, around the walls, were various engines, all enclosed -except for dial faces and regulators and all dwarfed by a mammoth one -towering in one corner. From the roof was suspended a large, polished -reflector. - -There was no one in the barn and I wandered about, cautiously avoiding -the mysterious apparatus. For a moment I meditated, basely perhaps, -that all this had been paid for with my wife’s money. Then I berated -myself, for Catty owed all to the haven, as I did. The money might have -been put to better use, but there was no guarantee it would have been -more productive allotted to astronomy or zoology. During eight years -I’d seen many promising schemes come to nothing. - -“Like it, Hodge?” - -Barbara had come up, unheard, behind me. This was the first time we had -been alone together since our break, two years before. - -“It looks like a tremendous amount of work,” I evaded. - -“It was a tremendous amount of work.” For the first time I noticed -that her cheeks were flushed. She had lost weight and there were deep -hollows beneath her eyes. “This construction has been the least of it. -Now it’s done. Or has begun. Depending how you look at it.” - -“All done?” - -She nodded, triumph accenting the strained look on her face. “First -test today.” - -“Oh well ... in that case—” -“Don’t go, Hodge. Please. I meant to ask you and Catty to the more -formal trial, but now youre here for the preliminary I’m glad. Ace and -Father and Oliver will be along in a minute.” - -“Midbin?” - -The familiar arrogance showed briefly. “I insisted. It’ll be nice -to show him the mind can produce something besides fantasies and -hysterical hallucinations.” - -I started to speak, then swallowed my words. The dig at Catty was -insignificant compared with the supreme confidence, the abnormal -assurance prompting invitations to witness a test which could only -reveal the impossibility of applying her cherished theories. I felt -an overwhelming pity. “Surely,” I said at last, seeking to make some -preparation for the disillusionment certain to come, “surely you don’t -expect it to work the first time?” - -“Why not? There are sure to be adjustments to be made, allowances -for erratic chronology caused by phenomena like the pull of comets -and so forth. There might even have to be major alterations, though -I doubt it. It may be some time before Ace can set me down at the -exact year, month, day, hour and minute agreed upon. But the fact of -space-time-energy-matter correspondence can just as well be established -this afternoon as next year.” - -She was unbelievably at ease for someone whose lifework was about to be -weighed. I have shown more nervousness discussing a disputed date with -the honorary secretary of a local historical society. - -“Sit down,” she invited; “there’s nothing to do or see till Ace comes. -Ive missed you, Hodge.” - -I felt this was a dangerous remark, and wished I’d stayed far away from -the workshop. I hooked my leg over a stool—there were no chairs—and -coughed to hide the fact I was afraid to answer, Ive missed you too; -and afraid not to. - -“Tell me about your own work, Hodge. Catty says youre having -difficulties.” - -I was faintly annoyed with Catty, but whether for confiding in Barbara -at all or specifically for revealing something unheroic, I didnt -stop to consider. At any rate this annoyance diluted my feeling of -disloyalty for conversing with Barbara at all. Or it may be the old, -long-established bond—I almost wrote, of sympathy, but it was so much -more complex than the word indicates—was reawakened by proximity -and put me in the mood to tell my troubles. It is even possible I -had the altruistic purpose of fortifying Barbara against inevitable -disappointment on a misery-loves-company basis. Be that as it may, I -found myself pouring out the whole story. - -She jumped up and took my hands in hers. Her eyes were gray and warm. -“Hodge! It’s wonderful—don’t you see?” - -“Oh....” I was completely confused. “I ... uh....” - -“The solution. The answer. The means. Look: now you can go back, back -to the past in your own person. You can see everything with your own -eyes instead of relying on accounts of what other people said happened.” - -“But ... but—” -“You can verify every fact, study every move, every actor. You can -write history as no one ever did before, for youll be writing as a -witness, yet with the perspective of a different period. Youll be -taking the mind of the present, with its judgment and its knowledge of -the patterns, back to receive the impressions of the past. It almost -seems HX-1 was devised especially for this.” - -There was no doubt she believed, that she was really and unselfishly -glad her work could aid mine. I was overcome by pity, helpless -to soften the disillusionment so soon to come and filled with an -irrational hatred of the thing she had built and which was about to -destroy her. - -I was saved from having to mask my emotions by the arrival of her -father, Ace, and Midbin. Thomas Haggerwells began tensely, “Barbara, -Ace tells me you intend to try out this—this machine on yourself. I -can’t believe you would be so foolhardy.” - -Midbin didnt wait for her to reply. I thought with something of -a shock, Midbin has gotten old; I never noticed it. “Listen to -me. There’s no point now in saying part of your mind realizes the -impossibility of this demonstration and that it’s willing for you to -annihilate yourself in the attempt and so escape from conflicts which -have no resolution. Although it’s something you must be at least partly -aware of. But consider objectively the danger involved in meddling with -unknown natural laws—” - -Ace Dorn, who looked as strained as they in contrast to Barbara’s ease, -growled, “Let’s go.” - -She smiled reassuringly at us. “Please, Father, don’t worry; there’s no -danger. And Oliver....” - -Her smile was almost mischievous and very unlike the Barbara I had -known. “Oliver, HX-1 owes more to you than you will ever know.” - -She ducked under the transparent ring and walked to the center of the -floor, glancing up at the reflector, moving an inch or two to stand -directly beneath it. “The controls are already adjusted to minus -fifty-two years and a hundred and fifty-three days,” she informed us -conversationally. “Purely arbitrary. One date is good as another, but -January 1, 1900 is an almost automatic choice. I’ll be gone sixty -seconds. Ready, Ace?” - -“Ready.” He had been slowly circling the engines, checking the dials. -He took his place before the largest, the monster in the corner, -holding a watch in his hand. “Three forty-three and ten,” he announced. - -Barbara was consulting her own watch. “Three forty-three and ten,” she -confirmed. “Make it at three forty-three and twenty.” - -“OK. Good luck.” - -“You might at least try it on an animal first,” burst out Midbin, as -Ace twirled the valve under his hand. The transparent ring glowed, the -metal reflector threw back a dazzling light. I blinked. When I opened -my eyes the light was gone and the center of the workshop was empty. - -No one moved. Ace frowned over his watch. I stared at the spot where -Barbara had stood. I don’t think my mind was working; I had the feeling -my lungs and heart certainly were not. I was a true spectator, with all -faculties save sight and hearing suspended. - -“ ... on an animal first.” Midbin’s voice was querulous. - -“Oh, God ...” muttered Thomas Haggerwells. - -Ace said casually—too casually, “The return is automatic. Set -beforehand for duration. Thirty more seconds.” - -Midbin said, “She is ... this is....” He sat down on a stool and bent -his head almost to his knees. - -Mr Haggerwells groaned, “Ace, Ace—you should have stopped her.” -“Ten seconds,” said Ace firmly. - -Still I couldnt think with any clarity. She had stood there; then she -was gone. What ...? Midbin was right: we had let her go to destruction. -Certainly more than a minute had passed by now. - -The ring glowed and the brilliant light was reflected. “It did, oh, it -did!” Barbara cried. “It did!” - -She stood perfectly still, overwhelmed. Then she came out of the -circle and kissed Ace, who patted her gently on the back. I suddenly -noticed the pain of holding my breath and released a tremendous -sigh. Barbara kissed her father and Midbin—who was still shaking his -head—and, after the faintest hesitation, me. Her lips were ice-cold. - -The shock of triumph made her voluble. Striding up and down, she spoke -with extraordinary rapidity, without pause, almost a little drunkenly. -In her excitement her words cluttered her tongue; from time to time she -had to go back and repeat a phrase or sentence to make it intelligible. - -When the light flashed, she too involuntarily closed her eyes. She had -felt a strange, terrifying weightlessness, an awful disembodiment, -for which she had been unprepared. She thought she had not actually -been unconscious, even for an instant, though she had an impression -of ceasing to exist as a unique collection of memories, and of being -somehow dissolved. Then she had opened her eyes. - -At first she was shocked to find the barn as it had been all her life, -abandoned and dusty. Then she realized she had indeed moved through -time; the disappearance of the engines and reflector showed she had -gone back to the unremodelled workshop. - -Now she saw the barn was not quite as she had known it, even in her -childhood, for while it was unquestionably abandoned, it had evidently -not long been so. The thick dust was not so thick as she remembered, -the sagging cobwebs not so dense. Straw was still scattered on the -floor; it had not yet been entirely carried away by mice or inquisitive -birds. Alongside the door hung bits of harness beyond repair, some -broken bridles, and a faded calendar on which the ink of the numerals -1897 was still bright. - -The minute she had allotted this first voyage seemed fantastically -short and incredibly long. All the paradoxes she had brushed aside as -of no immediate concern now confronted her. Since she had gone back to -a time before she was born, she must have existed as a visitor prior -to her own conception; she could presumably be present during her own -childhood and growth, and by making a second and third visit, multiply -herself as though in facing mirrors, so that an infinite number of -Barbara Haggerwells could occupy a single segment of time. - -A hundred other parallel speculations raced through her mind without -interfering with her rapid and insatiable survey of the commonplace -features of the barn, features which could never really be commonplace -to her since they proved all her speculations so victoriously right. - -Suddenly she shivered with the bitter cold and burst into -teeth-chattering laughter. She had made such careful plans to visit on -the First of January—and had never thought to take along a warm coat. - -She looked at her watch; only twenty seconds had passed. The temptation -to defy her agreement with Ace not to step outside the tiny circle -of HX-1’s operating field on the initial experiment was almost -irresistible. She longed to touch the fabric of the past, to feel -the worn boards of the barn, to handle as well as look. Again her -thoughts whirled with speculation; again the petty moment stretched and -contracted. She spent eternity and instantaneity at once. - -Suppose.... But she had a thousand suppositions and questions. Was she -really herself in the flesh, or in some mental projection? A pinch -would do no good; that might be projection also. Would she be visible -to the people of the time, or was she a ghost from the future? Oh, -there was so much to learn, so much to encounter! - -When the moment of return came, she again experienced the feeling of -dissolution, followed immediately by the light. When she opened her -eyes she was back. - -Midbin rubbed his belly and then his thinning hair. “Hallucination,” he -propounded at last; “a logical, consistent hallucination. Answer to an -overriding wish.” - -“You mean Barbara was never gone?” asked Ace. “Was she visible to -you—or Mr H or Hodge—during that minute?” - -“Illusion,” said Midbin; “group illusion brought on by suggestion and -anxiety.” - -“Nonsense,” exclaimed Barbara. “Unless youre accusing Ace and me of -faking youll have to account for what you just called the logical -consistency of it. Your group illusion and my individual hallucination -fitting so neatly together.” - -Midbin recovered some of his poise. “The two phenomena are separate, -connected only by some sort of emotional hypnosis. Certainly your -daydream of having been back in 1900 is an emotionally induced -aberration.” - -“And your daydream that I wasn’t here for a minute?” - -“The eyes are quickly affected by the feelings. Note tears, ‘seeing -red’ and so forth.” - -“Very well, Oliver. The only thing to do is to let you try HX-1 -yourself.” - -“Hay, my turn’s supposed to be next,” protested Ace. - -“Of course. But no one is going to use it again today. Tomorrow -morning. Bring Catty, Hodge, if she wants to come, but please don’t -say anything to anyone else till weve made further demonstrations, -otherwise we’ll be besieged by fellows wanting to take short jaunts -into popular years.” - -I had little inclination to discuss what had happened with anyone, even -Catty. Not that I shared Midbin’s theory of nothing material having -taken place; I knew I’d not seen Barbara for sixty seconds and I was -convinced her account of them was accurate. What confused me was the -shock to my preconceptions involved in her proof. If time and space, -matter and energy were the same, as fog and ice and water are the same, -then I—the physical I at least—and Catty, the world and the universe -must be, as Enfandin had insisted, mere illusion. In that sense Midbin -had been right. - -I went furtively to the workshop next day without telling Catty, as -though we were all engaged in some dark necromancy, some sacrilegious -rite. Apparently I was the only one who had spent an anxious night; Mr -Haggerwells looked proud, Barbara looked satisfied, Ace cocky, and even -Midbin, for no understandable reason, benign. - -“All here?” inquired Ace. “I’m eager as a fox in a hen-house. Three -minutes in 1885. Why 1885? I don’t know; a year when nothing much -happened, I suppose. Ready, Barbara?” - -He returned to report he had found the barn well occupied by both -cattle and fowl, and been scared stiff of discovery when the dogs set -up a furious barking. - -“That pretty well settles the question of corporeal presence,” I -remarked. - -“Not at all,” said Mr Haggerwells unexpectedly. “Dogs are notoriously -psychic.” - -“Ah,” cried Ace, bringing his hands from behind his back; “look at -this. I could hardly have picked it up with psychic feelers.” - -“This” was a newlaid egg, sixty-seven years old. Or was it? Trips in -time are confusing that way. - -Barbara was upset, more than I thought warranted. “Oh, Ace, how could -you be so foolish? We darent be anything but spectators, as unseen as -possible.” - -“Why? Ive a notion to court my grandmother and wind up as my own -grandfather.” - -“Don’t be stupid. The faintest indication of our presence, the -slightest impingement on the past, may change the whole course of -events. We have no way of knowing what actions have no consequences—if -there can be any. Goodness knows what your idiocy with the egg has -done. It’s absolutely essential not to betray ourselves in any way. -Please remember this in future.” - -“You mean, ‘Remember this in past,’ don’t you?” - -“Ace, this isnt a joke.” - -“It isn’t a wake either. I can’t see the harm in bringing back tangible -proof. Loss of one egg isnt going to send the prices up for 1885 -and cause retroactive inflation. Youre making a mountain out of a -molehill—or an omelette out of a single egg.” - -She shrugged helplessly. “Oliver, I hope you won’t be so foolish.” - -“Since I don’t expect to arrive in, say, 1820, I can safely promise -neither to steal eggs nor court Ace’s female ancestors.” - -He was gone for five minutes. The barn had apparently not yet been -built in 1820 and he found himself on a slight rise in a field of wild -hay. The faint snick of scythes, and voices not too far off, indicated -mowers. He dropped to the ground. His view of the past was restricted -to tall grass and some persistent ants who explored his face and hands -until the time was up and he returned with broken spears of ripe hay -clinging to his clothes. - -“At least that’s what I imagined I saw,” he concluded. - -“Did you imagine these?” asked Ace, pointing to the straws. - -“Probably. It’s at least as likely as time-travel.” - -“But what about corroboration? Your experience, and Barbara’s and Ace’s -confirm each other. Doesnt that mean anything?” - -“Certainly. Only I’m not prepared to say what. The mind can do -anything; anything at all. Create boils and cancers. Why not ants and -grass? I don’t know. I don’t know....” - -After more fruitless argument, he and I left the workshop. I was again -reminded of Enfandin—Why should I believe my eyes? I felt though that -Midbin was carrying skepticism beyond rational limits; Barbara’s case -was proved. - -“Yes, yes,” he answered when I said this. “Why not?” - -I puzzled over his reply. Then he added abruptly, “No one can help her -now.” - - - - -_18._ _THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME_ - - -Gently, Catty said, “Ive never understood why you cut yourself off from -the past the way you have, Hodge.” - -“Ay? What do you mean?” - -“Well, youve not communicated with your father or mother since you left -home, fourteen years ago. You say you had a dear friend in the man from -Haiti, yet youve never tried to find out whether he lived or died.” - -“Oh, that way. I thought you meant ... something different.” By not -taking advantage of Barbara’s offer I certainly was cutting myself off -from the past. - -“Yes?” - -“Well, I guess more or less everyone at the haven has done the same -thing. Let outside ties grow weak, I mean. You for one—” -“But I have no parents, no friends anywhere else. All my life is here.” - -“Well, so is mine.” - -“Ah, dear Hodge; it is unlike you to be so indifferent.” - -“Catty darling, you were brought up comfortably in an atmosphere -knowing nothing of indenting or sharecropping, of realizing the only -escape from wretchedness was in a miracle—usually translated as a -winning number in the lottery. I can’t convey to you the meaning of -utterly loveless surroundings, I can only say that affection was a -luxury my mother and father couldnt afford.” - -“Perhaps not; but you can afford it. Now. And nothing of what you have -said applies to Enfandin.” - -I squirmed shamefacedly. My ingratitude and callousness must be -apparent to everyone; even Barbara, I remembered, had once asked me -much the same questions Catty asked now. How could I explain, even to -my own satisfaction, how procrastination and guilt made it impossible -for me to take the simple steps to discover what had happened to my -friend? By a tremendous effort I might have broken through the inertia -years ago, just after Enfandin had been wounded, but each day and month -between confirmed the impossibility more strongly. “Let the past take -care of itself,” I muttered. - -“Oh Hodge! What a thing for an historian to say.” - -“Catty, I can’t.” - -The conversation made me nervous and fidgetty. It also made me remember -much I preferred to let fade: the Grand Army, Sprovis, the counterfeit -pesetas.... All the evil I had unwillingly abetted. If a man did -nothing, literally nothing, all his life, then he might be free of -culpability. Manichaeism, said Enfandin. No absolution. - -My idleness, I knew very well, heightened all these feelings of -degradation. Were I able to continue in the happy, cocksure way I -had gone about my note-gathering and the writing of volume one, I -would have neither the time nor susceptibility to be plagued by this -disquiet. As it was I seemed to be able to do nothing but act as -audience for what was going on in the workshop. - -With childish eagerness Barbara and Ace explored HX-1’s possibilities -for the next two months. They quickly learned that its range was -limited to little more than a century, though this limit was subject -to slight variations. When they tried to operate beyond this range -the translation simply didnt take place, though the same feeling of -dissolution occurred. When the light faded they were still in the -present. Midbin’s venture into the hayfield had been a freak, possibly -due to peculiar weather conditions at both ends of the journey. They -set 1850 as a safe limit, with an undefined marginal zone further back -which was not to be hazarded lest conditions change during the journey -and the traveler be lost. - -Why this limit existed at all was a matter of dispute between them, -a dispute of which I must admit I understood little. Barbara spoke -of subjective factors which seemed to mean that HX-1 worked slightly -differently in the case of each person it transported; Ace of magnetic -fields and power relays, which didnt mean anything to me at all. The -only thing they agreed on was that the barrier was not immutable; HX-2 -or 3 or 20, if they were ever built, would undoubtedly overcome it. - -Nor would HX-1 work in reverse; the future remained closed, probably -for similar reasons, whatever they were. Here again they disputed, Ace -holding an HX could be built for this purpose, Barbara insisting that -new equations would have to be worked out. - -They confirmed their tentative theory that time spent in the past -consumed an equal amount of time in the present; they could not return -to a point a minute after departure when they had been gone for an -hour. As near as I could understand, this was because duration was -set in the present. In order to come back to a time-point not in -correspondence with the period actually spent, another HX, or at least -another set of controls, would have to be taken into the past. And then -they would not work since HX-1 could not penetrate the future. - -The most inconvenient circumscription was the inability of one person -to visit the same past moment twice. When the attempt was made the -feeling of dissolution did not occur, the light went on and off with no -effect upon the would-be traveler standing beneath it. Here Barbara’s -“subjective factor” was triumphant, but why, or how it worked, they -did not know. Nor did they know what would happen to a traveler who -attempted to overlap by being already on the spot prior to a previous -visit; it was too dangerous to try. - -Within these limits they roamed almost at will. Ace spent a full -week in October 1896, walking as far as Philadelphia, enjoying the -enthusiasm and fury of the presidential campaign. Knowing President -Bryan was not only going to be elected, but would serve three terms, -he found it hard indeed to obey Barbara’s stricture and not cover -confident Whig bets on Major McKinley. - -Though both sampled the war years they brought back nothing useful to -me, no information or viewpoint I couldnt have got from any of a score -of books. Lacking historians’ interests or training, their tidbits were -those of curious onlookers, not probing chroniclers. It was tantalizing -to know that Barbara had seen Secretary Stanton at the York depot or -that Ace had overheard a farmer say casually that Southron scouts -had stopped at his place the day before and they had thought neither -incident worth investigating further. - -I grew increasingly fretful. I held long colloquies with myself which -always ended inconclusively. _Why not?_ I asked. _Surely this is the -unique opportunity. Never before has it been possible for an historian -to check back at will, to select a particular moment for personal -scrutiny, to write of the past with the detachment of the present and -the accuracy of an eyewitness knowing specifically what to look for. -Why don’t you take advantage of HX-1 and see for yourself?_ - -Against this I objected—what? Fear? Uneasiness? The “subjective factor” -in HX-1? The superstitious notion that I might be tampering with a -taboo, with matters forbidden to human shortcomings? _You mustnt try -any shortcuts. Promise me that, Hodge._ Well, Catty was a darling. She -was my beloved wife, but she was neither scholar nor oracle. On what -grounds did she protest? Woman’s intuition? A respectable phrase, but -what did it mean? And didnt Barbara, who first suggested my using HX-1, -have womanly intuition also? - -A half-dozen times I tried to steer our talk in the direction of my -thoughts; each time I allowed the words to drift to another topic. What -was the use of upsetting her? _Promise me that, Hodge._ But I had not -promised. This was something I had to settle for myself. - -What was I afraid of? Because I’d never grasped anything to do with -the physical sciences did I attribute some anthropomorphism to their -manifestations and like a savage fear the spirit imprisoned in what I -didnt understand? (But HX-1 _did_ have subjective factors.) I had never -thought of myself as hidebound, but I was acting like a ninety-yearold -professor asked to use a typewriter instead of a goose quill. - -I recalled Tyss’s, “You are the spectator type, Hodgins.” And once -I had called him out of my memory I couldnt escape his familiar, -sardonic, interminable argument. _Why are you fussing yourself, -Hodgins? What is the point of all this introspective debate? Don’t -you know your choice has already been made? And that you have acted -according to it an infinite number of times and will do so an infinite -number of times again? Relax, Hodgins; you have nothing to worry about. -Free will is an illusion; you cannot alter what you are about to decide -under the impression that you have decided._ - -My reaction to this imagined interjection was frenzied, unreasonable. I -cursed Tyss and his damnable philosophy. I cursed the insidiousness of -his reasoning which had planted seed in my brain to sprout at a moment -like this. - -Yet in spite of the violence of my rejection of the words I attributed -to Tyss, I accepted one of them. I relaxed. The decision had been made. -Not by mechanistic forces, nor by blind response to stimulus, but by my -own desire. - -And now to my aid came the image of Tyss’s antithesis, René Enfandin. -_Be a skeptic, Hodge; be always the skeptic. Prove all things; hold -fast to that which is true. Joking Pilate, asking,_ What is truth? _was -blind. But you can see more aspects of the absolute truth than any man -has had a chance to see before. Can you use the chance well, Hodge? -That is the only question._ - -Once I could answer it with a vigorous affirmative, and so buttress the -determination to go, I was faced with the problem of telling Catty. I -could not shut her out of so important a move. I told myself I could -not bear the thought of her anxiety; that she would worry despite -the fact others had frequently used HX-1, for my object could not be -accomplished in a matter of minutes or hours. I was sure she would be -sick with apprehension during the days I would be gone. No doubt this -was all true, but I also remembered, _Promise me, Hodge_.... - -I finally took the weak, the ineffective course. I said I’d decided -the only way to face my problem was to go to Gettysburg and spend -three or four days going over the actual field. Here, I explained -unconvincingly, I thought I might at last come to the conclusion -whether to scrap all my work and start afresh, or not. - -Her faintly oblique eyes were inscrutable. She pretended to believe me -and begged me to take her along. After all, we had spent our honeymoon -on battlefields. - -Would it be possible? Two people had never stood under the reflector -together, but surely it would work? I was tempted, but I could not -subject Catty to the risk, however slight. Besides, how could I explain? - -“But Catty, with you there I’d be thinking of you instead of the -problem.” - -“Ah, Hodge, have we already been married so long you must get away from -me to think?” - -“No matter how long, that time will never come. Perhaps I’m wrong, -Catty. It’s just a feeling I have.” - -Her look was tragic with understanding. “You must do as you think -right. Don’t ... don’t be gone too long, my dear.” - -I dressed in clothes I often used for walking trips, clothes which bore -no mark of any fashion and might pass as current wear among the poorer -classes in any era of the past hundred years. I put a packet of dried -beef in my pocket and started for the workshop. - -As soon as I left the cottage I laughed at my hypersensitivity, at -all the to-do I’d made over lying to Catty. This was but the first -excursion; I planned others for the months after Gettysburg. There was -no reason why she shouldnt accompany me on them. I grew lighthearted as -my conscience eased and I even congratulated myself on my skill in not -having told a single technical falsehood to Catty. I began to whistle, -never a habit of mine, as I made my way along the path to the workshop. - -Barbara was alone. Her ginger hair gleamed in the light of a gas globe; -her eyes were green as they always were when she was exultant. “Well, -Hodge?” - -“Well, Barbara, I....” - -“Have you told Catty?” - -“Not exactly. How did you know?” - -“I knew before you did, Hodge. After all, we’re not strangers. All -right. How long do you want to stay?” - -“Four days.” - -“That’s long for a first trip. Don’t you think you’d better try a few -sample minutes?” - -“Why? Ive seen you and Ace go often enough and heard your accounts. -I’ll take care of myself. Have you got it down fine enough yet so you -can invariably pick the hour of arrival?” - -“Hour and minute,” she answered confidently. “What’ll it be?” - -“About midnight of June 30, 1863,” I answered. “I want to come back on -the night of July Fourth.” - -“Youll have to be more exact than that. For the return, I mean. The -dials are set on seconds.” - -“All right, make it midnight going and coming then.” - -“Have you a watch that keeps perfect time?” - -“I don’t know about perfect—” -“Take this one. It’s synchronized with the master control clock.” She -handed me a large, rather awkward timepiece which had two independent -faces side by side. “We had a couple made like this; the duplicate -dials were useful before we were able to control HX-1 so exactly. One -shows 1952 Haggershaven time.” - -“Ten thirty-three and fourteen seconds,” I said. - -“Yes. The other will show 1863 time. You won’t be able to reset the -first dial—but for goodness sake remember to keep it wound—and set the -second for ... 11:54, zero. That means in six minutes youll leave, to -arrive at midnight. Remember to keep that one wound too, for youll -go by that regardless of variations in local clocks. Whatever else -happens, be in the center of the barn at midnight—allow yourself some -leeway—by midnight, July Fourth. I don’t want to have to go wandering -around 1863 looking for you.” - -“You won’t. I’ll be here.” - -“Five minutes. Now then, food.” - -“I have some,” I answered, slapping my pocket. - -“Not enough. Take this concentrated chocolate along. I suppose it -won’t hurt to drink the water if youre not observed, but avoid their -food. One never knows what chain might be started by the casual -theft—or purchase, if you had enough old coins—of a loaf of bread. The -possibilities are limitless and frightening. Listen: how can I impress -on you the importance of doing nothing that could possibly change the -future—our present? I’m sure to this day Ace doesnt understand, and I -tremble every moment he spends in the past. The most trivial action -may begin a series of disastrous consequences. Don’t be seen, don’t be -heard. Make your trip as a ghost.” - -“Barbara, I promise I’ll neither assassinate General Lee nor give the -North the idea of a modern six-barreled cannon.” - -“Four minutes. It’s not a joke, Hodge.” - -“Believe me,” I said, “I understand.” - -She looked at me searchingly. Then she shook her head and began making -her round of the engines, adjusting the dials. I slid under the -glass ring as I’d so often seen her do and stood casually under the -reflector. I was not in the least nervous. I don’t think I was even -particularly excited. - -“Three minutes,” said Barbara. - -I patted my breast pocket. Notebook, pencils. I nodded. - -She ducked under the ring and came toward me. “Hodge....” - -“Yes?” - -She put her arms on my shoulders, leaning forward. I kissed her, a -little absently. “Clod!” - -I looked at her closely, but there were none of the familiar signs of -anger. “A minute to go, it says here,” I told her. - -She drew away and went back. “All set. Ready?” - -“Ready,” I answered cheerfully. “See you midnight, July Fourth, 1863.” - -“Right. Goodbye, Hodge. Glad you didnt tell Catty.” - -The expression on her face was the strangest I’d ever seen her wear. I -could not, then or now, quite interpret it. Doubt, malice, suffering, -vindictiveness, entreaty, love, were all there as her hand moved the -switch. I began to answer something—perhaps to bid her wait—then the -light made me blink and I too experienced the shattering feeling of -transition. My bones seemed to fly from each other; every cell in my -body exploded to the ends of space. - -The instant of translation was so brief it is hard to believe all the -multitude of impressions occurred simultaneously. I was sure my veins -were drained of blood, my brain and eyeballs dropped into a bottomless -void, my thoughts pressed to the finest powder and blown a universe -away. Most of all, I knew the awful sensation of being, for that tiny -fragment of time, not Hodgins McCormick Backmaker, but part of an _I_ -in which the I that was me merged all identity. - -Then I opened my eyes. I was emotionally shaken; my knees and wrists -were watery points of helplessness, but I was alive and functioning, -with my individuality unimpaired. The light had vanished. I was in -darkness save for faint moonlight coming through the cracks in the -barn. The sweetish smell of cattle was in my nostrils, and the slow, -ponderous stamp of hooves in my ears. I had gone back through time. - - - - -_19._ _GETTYSBURG_ - - -The barking of the dogs was frenzied, filled with the hoarse note -indicating they had been raising the alarm for a long time without -being heeded. I knew they must have been baying at the alien smells -of soldiers for the past day, so I was not apprehensive that their -scent of me would bring investigation. How Barbara and Ace had escaped -detection on journeys which didnt coincide with abnormal events was -beyond me; with such an unnerving racket in prospect I would either -have given up the trips or moved the apparatus. - -Strange, I reflected, that the cows and horses were undisturbed. That -no hysterical chicken leaped from the roost in panic. Only the dogs -scented my unnatural presence. Dogs who, as Mr Haggerwells remarked, -are supposed to sense things beyond the perceptions of man. - -Warily I picked my way past the livestock and out of the barn, -fervently hoping the dogs were tied, for I had no mind to start my -adventure by being bitten. Barbara’s warnings seemed inadequate -indeed; one would think she or Ace might have devised some method of -neutralizing the infernal barking. But of course they could hardly do -so without violating her rule of non-interference. - -Once out on the familiar Hanover road every petty feeling of doubt or -disquiet fell away and all the latent excitement took hold of me. I was -gloriously in 1863, half a day and some thirty miles from the battle -of Gettysburg. If there is a paradise for historians I had achieved it -without the annoyance of dying first. I swung along at a good pace, -thankful I had trained myself for long tramps, so that thirty miles in -less than ten hours was no monstrous feat. The noise of the dogs died -away behind me and I breathed the night air joyfully. - -I had already decided I dared not attempt to steal a ride on the -railroad, even supposing the cars were going through. As I turned off -the Hanover road and took the direct one to Gettysburg, I knew I would -not be able to keep on it for any length of time. Part of Early’s -Confederate division was moving along it from recently occupied York; -Stuart’s cavalry was all around; trifling skirmishes were being fought -on or near it; Union troops, regulars as well as the militia called -out by Governor Curtin for the emergency, were behind and ahead of me, -marching for the Monocacy and Cemetery Ridge. - -Leaving the highway would hardly slow me down, for I knew every -sideroad, lane, path or shortcut, not only as they existed in my day, -but as they had been in the time where I was now. I was going to need -this knowledge even more on my return, for on the Fourth of July this -road, like every other, would be glutted with beaten Northern troops, -supplies and wounded left behind, frantically trying to reorganize as -they were harassed by Stuart’s cavalry and pressed by the victorious -men of Hill, Longstreet, and Ewell. It was with this in mind I had -allowed disproportionately longer for coming back. - -I saw my first soldier a few miles further on, a jagged shadow sitting -by the roadside with his boots off, massaging his feet. I guessed him -Northern from his kepi, but this was not conclusive, for many Southron -regiments wore kepis also. I struck off quietly into the field and -skirted around him. He never looked up. - -At dawn I estimated I was halfway, and except for the sight of that -single soldier I might have been taking a nocturnal stroll through a -countryside at peace. I was tired but certainly not worn out, and I -knew I could count on nervous energy and happy excitement to keep me -going long after my muscles began to protest. Progress would be slower -from now on—Confederate infantry must be just ahead—even so, I should -be at Gettysburg by six or seven. - -The sudden drumming of hooves brushed me off the dusty pike and -petrified me into rigidity as a troop dressed in gray and dirty tan -galloped by screaming, “Eeeeee-yeeee” exultantly. The gritty cloud they -stirred up settled slowly; I felt the particles sting my face and eyes. -It would be the sideroads from now on, I determined. - -Others had the same impulse; the sideroads were well populated. -Although I knew the movement of every division and of many regiments, -and even had some considerable idea of the civilian dislocation, the -picture around me was jumbled and turbulent. Farmers, merchants, -workers in overalls rode or tramped eastward; others, identical in -dress and obvious intensity of effort, pushed westward. I passed -carriages and carts with women and children traveling at various -speeds both ways. Squads and companies of blue-clad troops marched -along the roads or through the fields, trampling the crops, a confused -sound of singing, swearing, or aimless talk hanging above them like a -fog. Spaced by pacific intervals, men in gray or butternut, otherwise -indistinguishable, marched in the same direction. I decided I could -pass unnoticed in the milling crowds. - -It is not easy for the historian, ten, fifty or five hundred years away -from an event, to put aside for a moment the large concepts of currents -and forces, or the mechanical aids of statistics, charts, maps, neat -plans and diagrams in which the migration of men, women and children is -indicated by an arrow, or a brigade of half-terrified, half-heroic men -becomes a neat little rectangle. It is not easy to see behind source -material, to visualize state papers, reports, letters, diaries as -written by men who spent most of their lives sleeping, eating, yawning, -eliminating, squeezing blackheads, lusting, looking out of windows, -or talking about nothing in general with no one in particular. We are -too impressed with the pattern revealed to us—or which we think has -been revealed to us—to remember that for the participants history is a -haphazard affair, apparently aimless, produced by human beings whose -concern is essentially with the trivial and irrelevant. The historian -is always conscious of destiny. The participants rarely—or mistakenly. - -So to be set down in the midst of crisis, to be at once involved and -apart, is to experience a constant series of shocks against which there -is no anesthetic. The soldiers, the stragglers, the refugees, the farm -boys shouting at horses, the tophatted gentlemen cursing the teamsters, -the teamsters cursing back; the looters, pimps, gamblers, whores, -nurses and newspapermen were indisputably what they appeared: vitally -important to themselves, of little interest to anyone else. Yet at the -same time they were a paragraph, a page, a chapter, a whole series of -volumes. - -I’m sure I was faithful to the spirit if not the letter of Barbara’s -warnings, and that none of the hundreds whom I passed or who passed -me noted my presence, except cursorily. I, on the other hand, had to -repress the constant temptation to peer into every face for signs which -could not tell me what fortune or misfortune the decision of the next -three days would bring to it. - -A few miles from town the crowded disorder became even worse, for the -scouts from Ewell’s Corps, guarding the Confederate left flank on the -York Road, acted like a cork in a bottle. Because I, unlike the other -travelers, knew this, I cut sharply south to get back on the circuitous -Hanover road I had left shortly after midnight, and crossing the bridge -over Rock Creek, stumbled into Gettysburg. - -The two and a half storey brick houses with their purplish slate roofs -were placid and charming in the hot July sun. A valiant rooster pecked -at horsedung in the middle of the street heedless of the swarming -soldiers, any of whom might take a notion for roast chicken. Privates -in the black hats of the Army of the Potomac, cavalrymen with wide -yellow stripes and cannoneers with red ones on the seams of their -pants, swaggered importantly. Lieutenants with hands resting gracefully -on sword hilts, captains with arms thrust in unbuttoned tunics, -colonels smoking cigars, all moved back and forth across the street, -out of and into houses and stores, each clearly intent on some business -which would affect the course of the war. Now and then a general -rode his horse through the crowd, slowly and thoughtfully, oppressed -by the cares of rank. Soldiers spat, leered at an occasional woman, -sat dolefully on handy stoops, or marched smartly toward an unknown -destination. On the courthouse staff the flag hung doubtfully in the -limp summer air. Every so often there was a noise like poorly organized -thunder. - -Imitating the adaptable infantrymen, I found an unoccupied stoop and -sat down after a curious glance at the house, wondering whether it -contained someone whose letters or diaries I had read. Drawing out -my packet of dried beef, I munched away without taking any of my -attention from the sights and sounds and smells around me. Only I knew -how desperately these soldiers would fight this afternoon and all day -tomorrow. I alone knew how they would be caught in the inescapable trap -on July Third and finally routed, to begin the last act of the war. -That major, I thought, so proud of his new-won golden oak leaves, may -have an arm or leg shot off vainly defending Culp’s Hill; that sergeant -over there may lie faceless under an apple tree before nightfall. - -Soon these men would be swept away from the illusory shelter of the -houses and out onto the ridges where they would be pounded into defeat -and disaster. There was nothing for me now in Gettysburg itself, though -I could have spent days absorbing the color and feeling. Already I -had tempted fate by my casual appearance in the heart of town. At any -moment someone might speak to me, to ask for a light or a direction; an -ill-considered word or action of mine might change, with ever-widening -consequences, the course of the future. I had been foolish enough long -enough; it was time for me to go to the vantage point I had decided -upon and observe without peril of being observed. - -I rose and stretched, my bones protesting. But a couple of miles -more would see me clear of all danger of chance encounter with a too -friendly or inquisitive soldier or civilian. I gave a last look, -trying to impress every detail on my memory, and turned south on the -Emmitsburg Road. - -This was no haphazard choice. I knew where and when the crucial, the -decisive move upon which all the other moves depended would take place. -While thousands of men were struggling and dying on other parts of the -battleground, a Confederate advance force, unnoticed, disregarded, -would occupy the position which would eventually dominate the scene -and win the battle—and the war—for the South. Heavy with knowledge no -one else possessed I made my way toward a farm on which there was a -wheatfield and a peach orchard. - - - - -_20._ _BRING THE JUBILEE_ - - -A great battle in its first stages is as tentative, uncertain, and -indefinite as a courtship just begun. At the beginning the ground was -there for either side to take without protest; the other felt no surge -of possessive jealousy. I walked unscathed along the Emmitsburg Road; -on my left I knew there were Union forces concealed, on my right the -Southrons maneuvered. In a few hours, to walk between the lines would -mean instant death, but now the declaration had not been made, the -vows had not been finally exchanged. It was still possible for either -party to withdraw; no furious heat bound the two indissolubly together. -I heard the periodic shell and the whine of a minie bullet; mere -flirtatious gestures so far. - -Despite the hot sun the grass was cool and lush. The shade in the -orchard was velvety. From a low branch I picked a near ripe peach and -sucked the wry juice. I sprawled on the earth and waited. For miles -around, men from Maine and Wisconsin, from Georgia and North Carolina, -assumed the same attitude. But I knew for what I was waiting; they -could only guess. - -Some acoustical freak dimmed the noises in the air to little more -than amplification of the normal summer sounds. Did the ground really -tremble faintly, or was I translating my mental picture of the marching -armies, the great wagon trains, the heavy cannon, the iron-shod horses -into an imagined physical effect? I don’t think I dozed, but certainly -my attention withdrew from the rows of trees with their scarred and -runneled bark, curving branches and graceful leaves, so that I was -taken unaware by the unmistakable clump and creak of mounted men. - -The blue-uniformed cavalry rode slowly through the peach orchard. -They seemed like a group of aimless hunters returning from the futile -pursuit of a fox; they chatted, shouted at each other, walked their -horses abstractedly. One or two had their sabres out; they rose in -their saddles and cut at the branches overhead in pure, pointless -mischief. - -Behind them came the infantrymen, sweating and swearing, more serious. -Some few had wounds, others were without their muskets. Their dark blue -tunics were carelessly unbuttoned, their lighter pants were stained -with mud and dust and grass. They trampled and thrashed around like men -long weary. Quarrels rose among them swiftly and swiftly petered out. -No one could mistake them for anything but troops in retreat - -After they had passed, the orchard was still again, but the stillness -had a different quality from what had gone before. The leaves did not -rustle, no birds chirped, there were no faint betrayals of the presence -of chipmunks or squirrels. Only if one listened very closely was the -dry noise of insects perceptible. But I heard the guns now. Clearly and -louder. And more continuously—much more continuously. It was not yet -the full roar of battle, but death was authentic in its low rumble. - -Then the Confederates came. Cautiously, but not so cautiously that one -could fail to recognize they represented a victorious, invading army. -Shabby they certainly were, as they pushed into the orchard, but alert -and confident. Only a minority had uniforms which resembled those -prescribed by regulation and these were torn, grimy and scuffed. Many -of the others wore the semiofficial butternut—crudely dyed homespun, -streaked and muddy brown. Some had ordinary clothes with military hats -and buttons; a few were dressed in federal blue trousers with gray or -butternut jackets. - -Nor were their weapons uniform. There were long rifles, short carbines, -muskets of varying age, and I noticed one bearded soldier with a -ponderous shotgun. But whatever their dress or arms, their bearing was -the bearing of conquerors. If I alone on the field that day knew for -sure the outcome of the battle, these Confederate soldiers were close -behind in sensing the future. - -The straggling Northerners had passed me by with the clouded perception -of the retreating. These Southrons, however, were steadfastly attentive -to every sight and sound. Too late I realized the difficulty of -remaining unnoticed by such sharp, experienced eyes. Even as I berated -myself for my stupidity, a great, whiskery fellow in what must once -have been a stylish bottle-green coat pointed his gun at me. - -“Yank here boys!” Then to me, “What you doing here, fella?” - -Three or four came up and surrounded me curiously. “Funniest lookin -damyank I ever did see. Looks like he just fell out of a bathtub.” - -Since I had walked all night on dusty roads I could only think their -standards of cleanliness were not high. And indeed this was confirmed -by the smell coming from them: the stink of sweat, of clothes long -slept in, of unwashed feet and stale tobacco. - -“I’m a noncombatant,” I said foolishly. - -“Whazzat?” asked the beard. “Some kind of Baptist?” - -“Naw,” corrected one of the others. “It’s a law-word. Means not all -right in the head.” - -“Looks all right in the foot though. Let’s see your boots, Yank. Mine’s -sure wore out.” - -What terrified me now was not the thought of my boots being stolen, -or of being treated as a prisoner, or even the remote chance of being -shot as a spy. A greater, more indefinite catastrophe was threatened by -my exposure. These men were the advance company of a regiment due to -sweep through the orchard and the wheatfield, explore that bit of wild -ground known as the Devil’s Den and climb up Little Round Top closely -followed by an entire Confederate brigade. This was the brigade which -held the Round Top for several hours until artillery was brought up, -artillery which dominated the entire field and gave the South victory -at Gettysburg. - -There was no allowance for a pause, no matter how trifling, in the -peach orchard, in any of the accounts I’d read or heard of. The hazard -Barbara had warned so insistently against had happened. I had been -discovered, and the mere discovery had altered the course of history. - -I tried to shrug it off. Delay of a few minutes could hardly make a -significant difference. All historians agreed that the capture of the -Round Tops was an inevitability; the Confederates would have been -foolish to overlook them—in fact it was hardly possible they could, -prominent as they were both on maps and in physical reality—and they -had occupied them hours before the Federals made a belated attempt to -take them. I had been unbelievably stupid to expose myself, but I had -created no repercussions likely to spread beyond the next few minutes. - -“Said let’s see them boots. Aint got all day to wait.” - -A tall officer with a pointed imperial and a sandy, faintly reddish -mustache whose curling ends shone waxily came up, revolver in hand. -“What’s going on here?” - -“Just a Yank, Capn. Making a little change of footgear.” The tone was -surly, almost insolent. - -The galloons on the officer’s sleeve told me the title was not -honorary. “I’m a civilian, Captain,” I protested. “I realize I have no -business here.” - -The captain looked at me coldly, with an expression of disdainful -contempt. “Local man?” he asked. - -“Not exactly. I’m from York.” - -“Too bad. Thought you could tell me about the Yanks up ahead. Jenks, -leave the civilian gentleman in full possession of his boots.” - -There was rage behind that sneer, a hateful anger apparently directed -at me for being a civilian, at his men for their obvious lack of -respect, at the battle, the world. I suddenly realized his face was -intimately familiar. Irritatingly, because I could connect it with no -name, place or circumstance. - -“How long have you been in this orchard, Mister Civilian-From-York?” - -The effort to identify him nagged me, working in the depths of my -mind, obtruding even into that top layer which was concerned with what -was going on. - -What was going on? _Too bad. Thought you could tell me about the Yanks -up ahead. How long have you been in this orchard?_ - -Yanks up ahead? There werent any. There wouldnt be, for hours. - -“I said, ‘How long you been in this orchard?’” - -Probably an officer later promoted to rank prominent enough to have his -picture in one of the minor narratives. Yet I was certain his face was -no likeness I’d seen once in a steel engraving and dismissed. These -were features often encountered.... - -“Sure like to have them boots. If we aint fightin for Yankee boots, -what the hell we fightin for?” - -What could I say? That I’d been in the orchard for half an hour? The -next question was bound to be, Had I seen Federal troops? Whichever way -I answered I would be betraying my role of spectator. - -“Hey Capn—this fella knows something. Lookit the silly grin!” -Was I smiling? In what? Terror? Perplexity? In the mere effort of -keeping silent, so as to be involved no further? - -“Tell yah—he’s laughin cuz he knows somethin!” -Let them hang me, let them strip me of my boots; from here on I was -dumb as dear Catty had been once. - -“Out with it man—youre in a tight spot. Are there Yanks up ahead?” -The confusion in my mind approached chaos. If I knew the captain’s -eventual rank I could place him. Colonel Soandso. Brigadier-General -Blank. What had happened? Why had I let myself be discovered? Why had I -spoken at all and made silence so hard now? - -“Yanks up ahead—they’s Yanks up ahead!” -“Quiet you! I asked him—he didnt say there were Yanks ahead.” -“Hay! Damyanks up above. Goin to mow us down!” - -“Fella says the bluebellies are layin fur us!” - -Had the lie been in my mind, to be telepathically plucked by the -excited soldiers? Was even silence no refuge from participation? - -“Man here spotted the whole Fed artillery up above, trained on us!” - -“Pull back, boys! Pull back!” - -I’d read often enough of the epidemic quality of a perfectly -unreasonable notion. A misunderstood word, a baseless rumor, an -impossible report, was often enough to set a group of armed men—squad -or army—into senseless mob action. Sometimes the infection made for -feats of heroism, sometimes for panic. This was certainly less than -panic, but my nervous, meaningless smile conveyed a message I had never -sent. - -“It’s a trap. Pull back boys—let’s get away from these trees and out -where we can see the Yanks!” - -The captain whirled on his men. “Here, damn you,” he shouted furiously, -“you all gone crazy? The man said nothing. There’s no trap!” - -The men moved slowly, sullenly away. “I heard him,” one of them -muttered, looking accusingly toward me. - -The captain’s shout became a yell. “Come back here! Back here, I say!” - -His raging stride overtook the still irresolute men. He grabbed the one -called Jenks by the shoulder and whirled him about. Jenks tried to jerk -free. There was fear on his face, and hate. “Leave me go, damn you,” he -screamed, “Leave me go!” - -The captain yelled at his men again. Jenks snatched at the pistol with -his left hand; the officer pulled the gun away. Jenks brought his -musket upright against the captain’s body, the muzzle just under his -chin, and pushed—as though the firearm somehow gave him leverage. They -wrestled briefly, then the musket went off. - -The captain’s hat flew upward, and for an instant he stood, bareheaded, -in the private’s embrace. Then he fell. Jenks wrenched his musket free -and disappeared. - -When I came out of my shock I walked over to the body. The face had -been blown off. Shreds of human meat dribbled bloodily on the gray -collar and soiled the fashionably long hair. I had killed a man. -Through my interference with the past I had killed a man who had been -destined to longer life and even some measure of fame. I was the guilty -sorcerer’s apprentice. - -I stooped down to put my hands inside his coat for papers which would -tell me who he was and satisfy the curiosity which still basely -persisted. It was not shame which stopped me. Just nausea, and remorse. - - * * * * * - -I saw the Battle of Gettysburg. I saw it with all the unique advantages -of a professional historian thoroughly conversant with the patterns, -the movements, the details, who knows where to look for the coming -dramatic moment, the recorded decisive stroke. I fulfilled the -chroniclers’ dream. - -It was a nightmare. - - * * * * * - -To begin with, I slept. I slept not far from the captain’s body in the -peach orchard. This was not callousness, but physical and emotional -exhaustion. When I went to sleep the guns were thundering; when I -woke they were thundering louder. It was late afternoon. I thought -immediately, this is the time for the futile Union charge against the -Round Tops. - -But the guns were not sounding from there. All the roar was northward, -from the town. I knew how the battle went; I had studied it for years. -Only now it wasn’t happening the way it was written down in the books. - -True, the first day was a Confederate victory. But it was not the -victory we knew. It was just a little different, just a little short -of the triumph recorded. And on the second day, instead of the -Confederates getting astride the Taneytown Road and into the position -from which they tore Meade’s army to bits from three sides, I witnessed -a terrible encounter in the peach orchard and the wheatfield—places -known to be safely behind the Southron lines. - -All my life I’d heard of Pickett’s charge on the third day. Of how -the disorganized Federals were given the final killing blow in their -vitals. Well, I saw Pickett’s charge on the third day and it was not -the same charge in the historic place. It was a futile attempt to storm -superior positions (positions, by established fact, in Lee’s hands -since July First) ending in slaughter and defeat. - -Defeat for the South, not the North. Meade’s army was not broken; the -Confederates could not scatter and pursue them now. The Capitulation, -if it ever took place, would come under different circumstances. The -independence of the Confederate States might not be acknowledged for -years. If at all. - -All because the North held the Round Tops. - -Years more of killing, and possibly further years of guerrilla warfare. -Thousands and thousands of dead, their blood on my hands. A poisoned -continent, an inheritance of hate. Because of me. - -I cannot tell you how I got back to York. If I walked, it was -somnambulistically. Possibly I rode the railroad or in a farmer’s cart. -Part of my mind, a tiny part that kept coming back to pierce me no -matter how often I crushed it out, remembered those who died, those -who would have lived, but for me. Another part was concerned only with -the longing to get back to my own time, to the haven, to Catty. A -much larger part was simply blank, except for the awesome, incredible -knowledge that the past could be changed—that the past _had_ been -changed. - -I must have wound my watch—Barbara’s watch—for it was ten oclock on -the night of July Fourth when I got to the barn. Ten oclock by 1863 -time; the other dial showed it to be 8:40, that would be twenty of -nine in the morning, 1952 time. In two hours I would be home, safe -from the nightmare of happenings that never happened, of guilt for -the deaths of men not supposed to die, of the awful responsibility of -playing destiny. If I could not persuade Barbara to smash her damnable -contrivance I would do so myself. - -The dogs barked madly, but I was sure no one heeded. It was the Fourth -of July, and a day of victory and rejoicing for all Pennsylvanians. I -stole into the barn and settled myself in the exact center, even daring -the use of a match, my last one, to be sure I’d be directly under the -reflector when it materialized. - -I could not sleep, though I longed to blot out the horror and wake -in my own time. Detail by detail I went over what I had seen, -superimposing it like a palimpsest upon the history I’d always known. -Sleep would have kept me from this wretched compulsion and from -questioning my sanity, but I could not sleep. - -I have heard that in moments of overwhelming shock some irrelevancy, -some inconsequential matter persistently forces itself on the -attention. The criminal facing execution thinks, not of his imminent -fate or of his crime, but of the cigarette stub he left burning in -his cell. The bereaved widow dwells, not on her lost husband, but on -tomorrow’s laundry. So it was with me. Behind that part of my mind -re-living the past three days, a more elementary part gnawed at the -identification of the slain captain. - -I knew that face. Particularly did I know that face set in a sneer, -distorted with anger. But I could not remember it in Confederate -uniform. I could not remember it with sandy mustaches. And yet the -sandy, reddish hair, revealed in that terrible moment when his hat -flew off, was as familiar as part of the face. Oh, I thought, if I -could only place it once and for all and free my mind at least of this -trivial thing. - -I wished there were some way I could have seen the watch, to -concentrate on the creeping progress of the hands and distract -myself from the wave after wave of wretched meditations which flowed -over me. But the moonlight was not strong enough to make the face -distinguishable, much less the figures on the dials. There was no -narcotic. - -As one always is at such times I was convinced the appointed moment -had passed unnoticed. Something had gone wrong. Over and over I had to -tell myself that minutes seem hours in the waiting dark; it might feel -like two or three in the morning to me; it was probably barely eleven. -No use. A minute—or an hour or a second—later I was again positive -midnight had passed. - -Finally I began to suffer a monstrous illusion. I began to think it -was getting lighter. That dawn was coming. Of course I knew it could -not be; what I fancied lifting darkness was only a sick condition -of swollen, overtired eyes. Dawn does not come to Pennsylvania at -midnight, and it was not yet midnight. At midnight I would be back at -Haggershaven, in 1952. - -Even when the barn was fully lighted by the rising sun and I could see -the cattle peaceful in their stalls I refused to believe what I saw. I -took out my watch only to find something had disturbed the works; the -hands registered five oclock. Even when the farmer, milk pails over -arm, started in surprise, exclaiming, “Hay, what you doing here?”—even -then, I did not believe. - -Only when, as I opened my mouth to explain to my involuntary host, -did something happen. The puzzle which had pursued me for three days -suddenly solved itself. I knew why the face of the Southron captain -had been so familiar. Familiar beyond any of the better known warriors -on either side. I had indeed known that face intimately; seen those -features enraged or sneering. The nose, the mouth, the eyes, the -expression were Barbara Haggerwells’. The man dead in the peach orchard -was the man whose portrait hung in the library of Haggershaven, its -founder, Herbert Haggerwells. Captain Haggerwells—never to become a -major now, or buy this farm. Never to marry a local girl or beget -Barbara’s great grandfather. Haggershaven had ceased to exist in the -future. - - - - -_21._ _FOR THE TIME BEING_ - - -I am writing this, as I said, in 1877. I am a healthy man of -forty-five, no doubt with many years ahead of me. I might live to be a -hundred, except for an illogical feeling that I must die before 1921. -However, eighty-nine should be enough for anyone. So I have ample time -to put my story down. Still, better to have it down and done with; -should anything happen to me tomorrow it will be on paper. - -For what? As confession and apology? As an inverted substitute for the -merciful amnesia which ought to have erased my memory as well as my -biography? (I have written to Wappinger Falls; there are no records of -any Hodgins family, or of Backmakers. Does this mean the forces I set -in motion destroyed Private Hodgins as well as Captain Haggerwells? Or -only that the Hodginses and Backmakers settled elsewhere? In either -case I am like Adam—in this world—a special, parentless creation.) -There is no one close enough to care, or intimate enough to accept my -word in the face of all reason. I have not married in this time, nor -shall I. I write only as old men talk to themselves. - -The rest of my personal story is simple. The name of the farmer who -found me in his barn was Thammis; they had need of a hired hand and I -stayed on. I had no desire to go elsewhere; in fact I could not bear to -leave what was—and will never be—Haggershaven. - -In the beginning I used to go to the location of the Agati’s garden and -look across at the spot where I left our cottage and Catty. It was an -empty pilgrimage. Now I content myself with the work which needs doing. -I shall stay here till I die. - -Catty. Haggershaven. Are they really gone, irrevocably lost, in a -future which never existed, which couldnt exist, once the chain of -causation was broken? Or do they exist after all, in a universe in -which the South won the battle of Gettysburg and Major Haggerwells -founded Haggershaven? Could another Barbara devise a means to reach -that universe? I would give so much to believe this, but I cannot. I -simply cannot. - -Children know about such things. They close their eyes and pray, -“Please God, make it didnt happen.” Often they open their eyes to find -it happened anyway, but this does not shake their faith that many times -the prayer is granted. Adults smile, but can any of them be sure the -memories they cherish were the same yesterday? Do they _know_ that a -past cannot be expunged? Children know it can. - -And once lost, that particular past can never be regained. Another -and another perhaps, but never the same one. There are no parallel -universes—though this one may be sinuous and inconstant. - -That this world is a better place than the one into which I was born, -and promises to grow still better, seems true. What idealism lay behind -the Southron cause triumphed in the reconciliation of men like Lee; -what was brutal never got the upper hand as it did in my world. The -Negro is free; black legislatures pass advanced laws in South Carolina; -black congressmen comport themselves with dignity in Washington. The -Pacific railroad is built, immigrants pour in to a welcoming country to -make it strong and wealthy; no one suggests they should be shut out or -hindered. - -There are rumors of a deal between northern Republicans and southern -Democrats, betraying the victory of the Civil War—how strange it is -still, after fourteen years, to use this term instead of the familiar -War of Southron Independence—in return for the presidency. If this is -true, my brave new world is not so brave. - -It may not be so new either. Prussia has beaten France and proclaimed -a German Empire; is this the start in a different way of the German -Union? Will 1914 see an Emperors’ War—there is none in France -now—leaving Germany facing ... whom? - -Any one of the inventions of my own time would make me a rich man -if I could reproduce them, or cared for money. With mounting steel -production and the tremendous jump in population, what a success the -minible would be. Or the tinugraph. Or controllable balloons. - -The typewriter I have seen. It has developed along different and -clumsier lines; inevitably, I suppose, given initial divergence. It may -mean greater advances; more likely not. The universal use of gaslight -must be far in the future if it is to come at all; certainly its advent -is delayed by all this talk of inventing electric illumination. If we -couldnt put electricity to work it’s unlikely my new contemporaries -will be able to. Why, they havent even made the telegraph cheap and -convenient. - -And something like HX-1? It is inconceivable. Could it be that in -destroying the future in which Haggershaven existed I have also -destroyed the only dimension in which time travel was possible? - -So strangely easily I can write the words, “I destroyed.” - -Catty. - -But what of Tyss’s philosophy? Is it possible I shall be condemned -to repeat the destruction throughout eternity? Have I written these -lines an infinite number of times before? Or is the mercy envisaged by -Enfandin a reality? And what of Barbara’s expression as she bade me -goodbye? Could she possibly - - * * * * * - -Editorial note by Frederick Winter Thammis: Quite recently, in the -summer of 1953 to be exact, I commissioned the remodelling of my family -home near York, Pennsylvania. Among the bundles of old books and -papers stored in the attic was a box of personal effects, labelled “H -M Backmaker.” In it was the manuscript concluding with an unfinished -sentence, reproduced above. - -My father used to tell me that when he was a boy there was an old -man living on the farm, nominally as a hired hand, but actually as a -pensioner, since he was beyond the age of useful labor. My father -said the children considered him not quite right in his mind, but -very entertaining, for he often repeated long, disjointed narratives -of an impossible world and an impossible society which they found as -fascinating as the Oz books. On looking back, he said, Old Hodge talked -like an educated man, but this might simply be the impression of young, -uncultivated minds. - -Clearly it was in some attempt to give form and unity to his tales -that the old man wrote his fable down, and then was too shy to submit -it for publication. This is the only reasonable way to account for its -existence. Of course he says he wrote it in 1877, when he was far from -old, and disconcertingly, analysis of the paper shows it might have -been written then. - -Two other items should be noted. In the box of Backmaker’s belongings -there was a watch of unknown manufacture and unique design. Housed in a -cheap nickel case, the jeweled movement is of extraordinary precision -and delicacy. The face has two dials, independently set and wound. - -The second is a quotation. It can be matched by similar quotations -in any of half a hundred volumes on the Civil War. I pick this only -because it is handy. From W. E. Woodward’s _Years of Madness_, p. 202: - -“ ... Union troops that night and next morning took a position on -Cemetery Hill and Round Top.... The Confederates could have occupied -this position but they failed to do so. It was an error with momentous -consequences.” - - - - - About Ward Moore - - -On the battlefield at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, there is a small hill -called Little Round Top. One morning in July, 1863, the Confederate -Army made the tactical error of not occupying this hill. It was a -mistake that cost them victory in a battle which—in the view of many -historians—was the turning point of the Civil War. In the ninety years -since Gettysburg one question has never been far from the minds of -most Southerners—and a good many Yankees, too: What if the battle had -gone the other way, what if the South had won the war? Ward Moore—a -Northerner himself—has settled the matter at last in a book that might -be called imaginative historical fiction, an excursion into the world -of might-have-been so filled with exact and convincing detail that, for -a few hours, it seems true. - - * * * * * - -The author of _Bring the Jubilee_ was born in Madison, New Jersey, in -1903. “From the age of five,” he writes, “books have been for me the -essential narcotic; as a natural consequence I detested school. When -this detestation did not bring on psychosomatic illnesses to save me -from the hated classrooms, I was not above malingering or playing -hooky—now a lost art, but one practiced in my generation. Three weeks -short of graduation I quit high school and have not been inside a -school house since, except to vote. - - * * * * * - -“My first short story was written at the age of eleven and was followed -by a flood of juvenilia, some little of which was unfortunately -published. Happily, markets and industry died simultaneously; I wrote -only desultorily until my first novel _Breathe the Air Again_ was -published in 1942. This was acclaimed by Max Eastman in the American -Mercury, who predicted that I would fall heir to ‘the cloak of Upton -Sinclair.’ Something went wrong with the tailoring arrangements; my -next novel was _Greener Than You Think_ (Sloane, 1947), a satirical -fantasy.” - - * * * * * - -In addition to these two novels, Mr. Moore has published a number of -short stories in such disparate media as Amazing Stories and Harper’s -Bazaar, Fantasy and Science Fiction and The Reporter, Science Fiction -Quarterly and Tomorrow. - - * * * * * - -He concludes: “I have been intensely interested in the history of the -Civil War ever since—at the age of six—I came across a book with nice -black woodcuts showing the firing on Fort Sumter and the burning of -Richmond. As an amateur I’ve read hundreds of dull volumes and a score -of fascinating ones on the Irrepressible Conflict. A novel based on the -concept ‘what would have happened if the South had won at Gettysburg,’ -was practically inevitable. _Bring the Jubilee_ is it.” - - - - - _The Idea Behind_ - - DUAL EDITIONS - - -An agreement unusual in American publishing has been made between -FARRAR, STRAUS and YOUNG, INC., and BALLANTINE BOOKS, INC. We believe -that through simultaneous publication of new titles in paperbound and -trade editions it is possible to secure broader distribution of good -books at a considerable saving to the reader and with substantially -greater royalty income for the author. 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