Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

“I thank the Navy,” I told him. “I thank you.”

“It’s money in the bank.”

“Good luck with it, Bill,” whispered Sandy, leaning close as he shook hands, trying to hide from Ball how excited he was.

That night, by candlelight, we celebrated our luck, Mignon, Mr. Landry, and I, with three rum toddies. She was quiet, her eyes dreamy, but he wanted to talk and, as he said, make a clean, fresh start. He kept insisting: “I’d like to make clear, it’s more than the money, sir. It’s also you, what you mean to Mignon, and if you’ll allow me to say so, what you mean to me. I’ve been very concerned about you — I mean, what Frank might try to do in his vicious, vindictive way. But, with him going west, and you bound for Springfield, I would say the danger is past, so I can sleep nights.”

“When does he leave?” I asked him.

“He has left. He went today — on foot. Sometimes it can be the quickest way. I gave him back his gun, as he’s carrying lots of cash, and — he took himself off.”

“Can’t we forget about him?” she wanted to know.

“We can forget him; that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“Then let ’ s .”

So began the queer three weeks of sitting around all the time, waiting for a boat to go out on. At first I’d go down each day to see Hager at the courthouse; he’d promised a pass for the three of us when navigation resumed. But then she began going alone, because Dan paid me a call to warn me off the streets. The traders, he said, were being rounded up for shipment back to New Orleans on the Empire Parish , under arrest. If I got caught out, I’d be shipped back, too. It seemed a strange reward for saviors of their country, as they’d been assured they were, but that’s how the thing was handled, now that they weren’t saviors any more but nuisances. So that’s how it came about that I stayed indoors all the time, waiting, waiting, and waiting. She’d come in the morning, bringing my breakfast over, and when I’d finished she’d help me dress, which always took some time and seemed to involve kisses. Then we’d take the tray back together, ducking across the back yards, and she’d make some lunch. Then the three of us would sit, under the books in the sitting room, through the afternoon and evening.

I would crack jokes, if, as, and when I remembered some. She would spend the money, all kinds of different ways: on a house in New Orleans; on mahogany, silver, and cut glass for our dining room; on a carriage with matched grays — but not often on clothes, for some reason. He would go around, touching the backs of books and talking about literature, especially Casanova, who he said was the greatest literary figure of the eighteenth century, “the father of many more fiction characters than of illegitimate children — of D’Artagnan, Jean Valjean, a whole endless gallery.” Then he’d make her play Don Giovanni , who he said was Casanova in disguise, “as the librettist knew him well — and it all corresponds to him , not with Don Juan of Seville.” I got curious about it, and took down the memoirs one time, Volume I, to have a peep. But it was in French, and I could hardly understand a word. It all surprised me; I’d heard of Casanova as lover but didn’t know he wrote anything. I can’t say I quite got the point, as I hadn’t read enough, but I felt it was educational, and was always glad to listen.

And while we talked and talked, and sipped our nightly grog, the invasion rolled upriver, all the Army and most of the Navy, until nothing was left in town but freight boats, the Guard, and the Q.M. Things had quieted down, and you felt they would soon be normal. Bees buzzed, flowers bloomed, perfume filled the air, and townspeople ventured out — the few who were still left and hadn’t skedaddled upriver before the invasion came in. When the Empire Parish went down, I ventured out too, to resume asking for my pass. Captain Hager shook hands, said it was “just a matter of days, with regular river schedules, as soon as we get to Shreveport.” I reported the news, and we celebrated a bit with an extra grog that night.

And then one day, as we raced up the stairs with my breakfast dishes, the door opened in front of us and her father was there in the hall, a solemn look on his face. I supposed her visits to me were the reason and braced myself to argue, to say she was grown up now, that we meant to be married, that if she wanted to come it was none of his business. But that didn’t seem to be it. He led to the sitting room, and there on the floor were a rucksack, blanket roll, overcoat, and hat, all in a neat pile. She stared, then asked: “Are you going away — or what?” And then: “Oh! Our passes have come? Is that it?”

“Sit down, Daughter, Mr. Cresap.”

He was very quiet, but also dramatic, and when we had sat he went on: “I’m going to join up. Turns out Taylor wasn’t the idiot. I was.”

“All right,” she said, “but what’s he done?”

“He’s whipped , that’s what!”

“Whipped? Whipped who?”

“The Union! War ’ s not over in Louisiana! ”

“Well you don’t have to snap my head off, do you?”

“Daughter! It’s not over. For me, or for you.”

“ Me? I don’t even yet know what happened!”

“He smashed ’em! In the woods, just this side of Mansfield, he cut ’em to pieces, this whole Army of the Gulf! It was a shambles, a slaughter, a rout! Two of his scouts got through; they’re up at the hotel now. They never saw anything like it! It couldn’t happen, and it did! But that’s just the beginning. They’re in a race now, he and the Union Army, for this place, for Alexandria. They’re in full flight to get out, and he doesn’t mean to let ’em. He’s shutting ’em up, he’s out to capture every man — and that’s where I come in! I’m late, God forgive me; I thought it was all over, but better late than never, the eleventh hour in the vineyard, and there’s things I can do! I’m on my way to report!”

He began to talk, then, reviling himself for giving up too soon, and then went back to her. “Daughter,” he told her very solemnly, “don’t forget, when I’m gone, that you must do something too . As a Reb, as a loyal Confederate, you have to! You—”

She cut in: “I’ll do what I can, of course!”

“Daughter, that’s not enough.”

“How does anyone do more than they can?”

“It has to be something , not just good intentions!”

“Listen, you speak for your own self!”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He slung the rucksack over his shoulder, then held his hand out to me with a friendly, elegant smile, and saying something about “my regret we now have to be enemies.” But I said, not seeing his hand: “Sit down, Mr. Landry. We haven’t quite finished our talk — you haven’t included me, so far, but I’m in anyway, you may be surprised to learn.”

“I don’t understand you, sir.”

“What about our cotton?”

“... I assume you’re an honorable man.”

“You mean, Mr. Landry, you assume you can go traipsing off to jump on Taylor’s bandwagon, now it’s no longer a sinking ship, and that I won’t mind at all, but will cut you in just the same for your full share of what I make at Springfield? Haven’t you forgotten that as a Reb, in arms against your country, you’ll have no standing in court? You’re putting yourself once more in the spot you found yourself in when Burke informed on you in New Orleans.”

“That seems to say you’d euchre me, too.”

“Not quite. You’ve forgotten other things, too.”