Robert Wilson - Julian Comstock - A Story of 22-nd Century America

“His bad habits don’t concern me. Did he accept my account of the Saguenay Expedition?”

“At first he didn’t want to see me at all—he’s surly when he’s drunk, and he called me a poxy hallucination, and said I was absurd, and things of that nature. Ordinarily I wouldn’t take that from anyone, but I took it from him, Adam, on your behalf, and he mellowed somewhat when I mentioned your name. ‘My Western Muse,’ he called you, whatever that means. And when I showed him that bundle of papers his eyes lit right up.”

The praise tickled my vanity, and I asked whether Mr. Dornwood had said anything more on the subject.

“Well, he took the papers out and began to read them, and then he looked at the last few pages and grinned. He said it was excellent work.”

“That’s all?”

“If he said anything else, it wasn’t to me—he shooed me away without a thank-you. But the package must have improved his mood, because I heard a great deal of clacking and tapping from his machine as I walked off.”

“I’ll seek him out when I’m released,” I said, pleased by the report of Mr. Dornwood’s enthusiasm, though it had lacked any flattering specifics. A vastly more important question loomed. “And did you deliver my letter to Miss Blake?”

“Well, I went to the address you gave me.”

“Wasn’t she home?”

“No, and hadn’t been for quite a while, according to the neighbors. So I asked after her down at the Thirsty Boot. It took some effort, because those people are not universally well-disposed toward American soldiers, but I finally found out what had become of her.”

He paused at this critical juncture, as if considering his words; and I said, “Go on! Whatever you learned, tell me!”

“Well, I—I found her, at the place where she’s now residing; and I gave her your letter—that’s the bones of the story.”

“Flesh it out, then! Didn’t she have any response?”

“She was thoughtful about it. She read it a couple of times over. Then she said, ‘Tell Adam I find his suggestion interesting—’ ”

“Interesting!”

It wasn’t an acceptance of my proposal, but neither was it a rejection—I held that small hope close to my heart.

“‘Interesting,’ she said, ‘but unfortunately not practical right at the moment.’”

“Not practical!”

“I expect she meant, because of where she lives.”

I could not help remembering that her villainous brothers had threatened to sell her into a brothel, and I was terrorized by the notion that they might have succeeded. “Lymon, I’m strong enough for the truth—what terrible place has she gone to, that prevents her from coming to see me?”

Lymon blushed and looked at his feet. “Well—”

“Oh, say it!”

“She’s in—and don’t take this too hard, Adam—she’s in prison.”

I set up a meeting between myself, Sam, Julian, and Lymon Pugh, in order to plan strategy, and in defiance of the rules of the Soldier’s Rest. We convened in the ward where Julian was recovering, ignoring the protests of the nurses, and it was quickly agreed that we ought to rescue Calyxa, although my proposal—that we leave immediately and storm the prison—was rejected. It was unwise strategy, Sam said, to attack a target before acquiring reliable intelligence about its strengths, its weaknesses, and the mood of its defenders. I was forced to admit the truth of this; though sitting in idleness while Calyxa endured confinement was not a comfortable chore.

Sam was as healthy by now as Lymon Pugh, and he agreed to leave the hospital for the purpose of scouting out the prison. I would stay here, in the meantime, with Julian, who was less recovered, though he took a keen interest in the subject.

I shook hands with all parties at the conclusion of the meeting, and I was profoundly moved, and struggled to control my emotions. “It’s more than I ever expected to have such friends as would risk themselves on my behalf—despite the difference in our stations in life—and I want you all to know that I would do the same for each one of you, if the boot were on the other leg.”

“Don’t be so eager to thank us,” Sam said, “until we actually accomplish something.”

But I could tell that he was moved, as well.

I sat with Julian a while longer after Sam and Lymon left. Julian appeared more frail than I liked to see him. His skin was very white, and it cleaved to the bones of his cheeks, for he had lost considerable weight, and Julian had never been stout. Something about his eyes had changed, too, I thought, as if they had absorbed an unpleasant wisdom, which dulled their color. That might have been due to the cholera, or to war in general and all the death he had seen. It made me nervous, and I thanked him again for his kindness, addressing him as if he were an Aristo, and I was a lease-boy… which of course we were ; but it had never seemed so, between us.

“Settle down, Adam,” he said. “I know how fond you are of this Montreal woman.”

“More than fond!” I confided in him, and shared my secret, that I hoped to marry her.

He grinned at the news. “In that case we must certainly have her released from jail! It would never do to have my best friend wedded to a prisoner.”

“Don’t make light of it, Julian—I can’t bear it. I love her more dearly than I can describe without blushing.”

He said, more gently, “It must be wonderful to feel that way about a woman.”

“It is; though it has its distressing aspects. I know one day you’ll meet a suitable woman, and feel about her as I do about Calyxa.”

I think he appreciated this kindness on my part, for he looked away, and smiled to himself. “I suppose anything is possible,” he said.

What was not possible was for us to converse much longer, for the hour of lamps-out was approaching, and the nurses had rallied and were preparing to descend on us in force. I told Julian he needed his sleep. “You must sleep as well, Adam,” he said, “though it might be hard to keep from worrying all night long. Sleep confidently—that’s an order.”

“An order from a fellow Private?”

“But I’m not a Private anymore—didn’t Sam tell you? Both Sam and I were given promotions while we were unconscious.”

I expect it was an attempt on the part of the Staff to induce them to re-enlist, or else a result of the terrible casualties the Army of the Laurentians had suffered during the Saguenay Expedition; but, for whatever reason, Sam was now officially a Colonel; and Julian was a Captain—Captain Commongold—just as Theodore Dornwood had predicted.

I stood up and essayed a salute, but Julian waved it off: “Don’t, Adam—I need a friend far more than I need a subordinate. And we’ll all be out of the Army soon, and on an even footing once again.”

I supposed that was true, in the sense he intended it; but in another sense we would never be “even” again—if we ever had been—for, whatever else we were, we were no longer boys. We had survived a War; and we were Men.

Sam and Lymon returned in the morning with their scouting report.

The good news was that Calyxa was being held in a military prison, not a civilian jail. That was a boon because the rules applying to military prisons were more flexible than civil law—she hadn’t been convicted of anything, and was serving no fixed term, but was being held “on suspicion,” which meant that it required only an official adjudgment to have her released.

“What was her crime?” I asked.

“She was hauled in,” Sam said, “as part of a gang of troublemakers who call themselves Parmentierists, after some European philosopher, when they were marching down the street with signs reading ALL SOLDIERS OUT OF MONTREAL and such slogans as that.”