John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

The swarthy fellow in the black suit observed these lamentations with amusement and said, "Bad news is't, Mister Cooke?"

"Bad news indeed!" the Laureate groaned. "Yesterday my whole estate; today my clothes, my horse, and my friend lost in a single stroke! I see naught for't but the pistol." Despite his anguish, he recognized the man as the advocate who had pled for William Smith in court.

"By Blaise's wool comb, 'tis a wicked world," the fellow observed.

"Thou'rt no stranger to its evils, methinks!" the poet said.

"Ah now, take no offense at me, friend: St. Windoline's crook, 'twas yourself that worked your ruin, not I! I merely labored for the interests of my client, as every advocate must. Sowter's my name — Richard Sowter, from down the county. What I mean, sir, your advocate's a most pragmatical wight, that looks for justice no farther than his client's deeds. He tweaks Justinian's beard and declares that jus est id quod cliens fecit. Besides, the law's but one amongst my interests. Will ye take an ale with me?"

"I thank you," Ebenezer sighed, but declined on the grounds that his last night's liquor was still taking its toll on his head. "Forgive my rudeness, sir: I am most distraught and desperate."

"As well ye might be, by St. Agatha's butchered bosoms! 'Tis a wicked world, and rare ye find some good in't."

" 'Tis a wicked province; that I'll grant."

"Why," Sowter went on, " 'twas just last month, or the one before, a young sprat came to see me, young fellow from down-county, he was, came into the smithy where my office is — I run a smithy on the side, ye know — came in and says to me, 'Mr. Sowter,' he says, 'I need a lawyer.' 'St. Huldrick's crab lice!' says I: 'What have ye done to need a lawyer?' 'Mr. Sowter,' he says, 'I am a young fool, that I am,' he says, 'I have lived the spendthrift life, have I, and got myself in debt.' 'Ah well,' says I, 'by Giles's hollow purse, I am no money-lender, son.' 'Nay, sir,' says he, 'the fact of't is, my creditors were pressing hard, and I feared 'twas the pillory for me, so what did I do? I hied me to Morris Boon, the usuring son o' Sodom.' 'Peter's fingers, boy,' says I, 'Ye did not!' 'I did,' says he: 'I went to Morris Boon and I says, Morris, I need money, I says. So Morris lent me on his usual terms: that directly my debts are paid I must surrender me to his beasty pleasures.' 'Thou'rt a Mathurin's fool!' cries I. 'That I am,' says the lad. 'Now I've settled all my debts, and Morris is waiting his pleasure.' 'Son,' I says then, 'pray to St. Gildas, for I cannot aid ye.' 'Ye must,' says he. 'I have faith in ye.' 'It wants more than faith,' says I. 'I have more than faith,' says he. 'I've wagered money on ye.' And so I asked him, how was that? And he replied, 'I wagered old Morris ye'd get me out o' my pickle.' 'St. Dymphna protects ye,' says I. 'What did ye wager?' 'If ye get me fairly out,' says he, 'Morris pays me again what he loaned me before, and 'tis yours for saving me. If not, why then Morris vows he'll ravish the twain of us from stump to stopgap.' 'Wretch!' says I. 'Had ye to fetch me thus into thy unclean bargain?'

"But there was no help for't," Sowter sighed. "On the morrow the lad comes back, with Morris the usurer hard upon his heels. 'Preserve me!' says the boy. 'Preserve thyself,' says Morris, and eyes me up and down. 'I want the payment we agreed upon.' But I'd not been idle since the day before, and so I said, 'Hold on, sir, by Appolonia's eye-teeth! Rein your horse! What sum was't ye lent this idler here?' 'Twelve hundredweight o' sot-weed,' says Morris. 'And for what purpose?' 'To pay his debts,' says Morris. 'And under what conditions?' 'That his debts once clear, he's mine whene'er I fancy him this month.' 'Well, then,' says I to the lad, that was like to beshit himself for fear, 'the case is closed, by Lucy's wick dipper: see to't ye never return him his twelve hundredweight. 'Why is that?' asks the boy, and Morris as well. 'Why, Fridoline's eyeglasses.' says I, 'don't ye see't? If ye do not repay him, your debts aren't clear, and so long as thou'rt encumbered, ye need not go to Morris. The truth is, while thou'rt in debt thou'rt free!'

"St. Wulfgang's gout, sirs, I can tell ye old Morris set up a hollowing at that, for I had swived him fair, and he's a man of his word. He paid the young scamp another twelve hundredweight and sent him off with a curse; but the more he thought of't, the more my trick amused him, till at the end we laughed until we wept. Now then, by Kentigern's salmon, what was I after proving?"

"That naught's in men save perfidy," said Ebenezer. "Yet the lad was not wicked, nor were you in saving him."

"Ha! Little ye know," laughed Sowter. "My actual end was not to save the lad but to fox old Morris, who many a time hath had the better of me. As for the lad, by Wulstan's crozier, he never paid me, but took the tobacco-note himself and doubtless went a-whoring. There is a small good in men." He sighed. "Why, there's a redemptioner this minute in my boat — "

"No more!" cried Ebenezer, clutching his head in his hands. "What use have I for farther tales? The pistol now is all I crave, to end my pain."

"Oh la, St. Roque's hound-bitch!" Sowter scoffed. " 'Tis but the vagrant track o' life, that beds ye now in clover, now in thistles. Make shift to bear't a day at a time, and ten years hence ye'll still be sleeping somewhere, and filling thy bowels with dinner, and rogering some wench from Adrian to St. Yves."

" 'Tis light to advise," said the poet, "but this day itself shall see me starve, for I've naught to buy food with and nowhere to go."

"Cooke's Point is but a few hours' sail downriver. If I came half around the world to find a place, by St. Ethelbert I'd not blow out my brains till I laid eyes on't!"

This suggestion greatly surprised Ebenezer. "My valet awaits me there," he said thoughtfully, "and my — my betrothed as well, I hope. Poor Joan, and loyal Bertrand! What must they think of me!" He gripped Sowter's arm. "D'you think that scoundrel Smith hath turned them out?"

"There, now, by Pieran's millstone!" Sowter said. "Thou'rt angry, and anger's e'er a physic for despair. I know naught o' these folk ye speak of, but I'm sure they'll meet no ill reception at Malden. Bill Smith hath his shortcomings, yet he'd ne'er turn out your guests to starve, much less the Laureate himself. Why, haply your friend Tim Mitchell's there as well, and they're all at a game o' ducks and drakes, or dancing a morris dance!"

Ebenezer shook his head. "Yet e'en this last small joy shall be denied me, for I've not the hire of a boat."

"Why then, by Gudule's lantern, ye must come with me," the lawyer said, and explained that he meant to sail out to Malden that very morning, and the Laureate was welcome to come along as ballast. "I have some business there with Mr. Smith," he said, "and must deliver him a servant that I bought this morning for a song."

Ebenezer murmured some words of gratitude; he was, in fact, scarcely able to attend Sowter's speech, for his fever seemed to mount with every passing minute. When they left the inn and walked toward the wharf nearby, he viewed the scene before him as with a drunkard's eyes.

"— most cantankerous wight ye ever did see," he heard Sowter saying as they reached the wharf. "Swears by Gertrude's mousetrap he's no redemptioner at all, but a servant seller out o' Talbot, that is victim of a monstrous prank."

"I am not a well man," the Laureate remarked. "Really, I feel not well at all."

"I've heard my share o' clever stories fro'm redemptioners," Sowter went on, "but St. Tom's packthread, if this one doth not take the prize! Why, would ye believe it — "

" 'Tis the seasoning, belike," Ebenezer interrupted, though it could not be said with certainty whether he was addressing Sowter or himself.