John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

His first thought, oddly, was of his sister Anna. "Dear Heav'n!" he reflected, and tears made his vision swim. "I have let our ancient home slip through my fingers! God curse such innocence!"

This last ejaculation reminded him of Andrew, and though he shuddered at the thought of his father's wrath when the news reached England, he could not help almost wishing that that rage and punishment were upon him, so more miserable and unconsoling was his present self-contempt. Tayloe's startling proposal was rendered more attractive by this notion: not only would it provide him with the subsistence and medical care he needed and a chance, however slim, of regaining the estate; indenturing himself to the "master of Malden" would also be a punishment — indeed, to his essentially poetic and currently feverish fancy, even a kind of atonement — for his misdeeds. His innocence had cost him his estate; very well, then, he would be the servant of his innocence — and perhaps, even, as the term redemptioner implied, expiate thereby his folly by undoing the cooper William Smith.

When the sloop made fast to the dock, Sowter left Tayloe shackled to the gunwale and invited Ebenezer to accompany him up to the house.

" 'Tis not for me to say how welcome ye'll be, but at the least ye may enquire about your servant and your lady friend, and have a look about."

"Aye, and I must see Smith as well," the Laureate said weakly. "I have a thing to say to him."

"Ah, well, we have some business to attend to, he and I, but after that — Lookee, by Goodman's needle! There he comes to greet us. Hallo, there!"

The cooper waved back from the doorway of the house and walked down the lawn in their direction, accompanied by a woman in a Scotch-cloth gown.

"I'faith!" Ebenezer exclaimed. "Is that the trollop Susan Warren?"

"Mr. Smith's daughter," Sowter reminded him.

As they drew nearer, Susan regarded the Laureate intently; Ebenezer, for his part, was filled with anger and shame, and avoided her eyes.

"Well, well," Smith cried, " 'tis Mister Cooke! I did not know ye at first in your new clothes, sir, but thou'rt welcome to Malden for certain and must stay to dinner!"

"Methinks he's ill," Susan said with some concern.

"I am sick unto death," Ebenezer said, and could say no more; he swayed dizzily on his feet, and was obliged to catch Sowter's arm to keep from falling.

"Take him inside," Smith ordered Susan. "Haply Doctor Sowter can give him a pill when we've done our business."

The girl obediently and to the Laureate's embarrassment put his arm across her shoulders and led him toward the house. Except that she seemed to have washed, she was as ragged and unkempt now as when he had first seen her driving Captain Mitchell's swine, and even the brief glimpse of her that his shame permitted was enough to show that her face and neck were even more disfigured than before by marks and welts.

"Where is Joan Toast?" he asked, as soon as he was able. "Hath your wretch of a father mistreated her?"

"She never did arrive," Susan answered shortly. "Belike she misdoubted your intentions: a whore hath little grounds for faith in men."

"And a man for faith in whores! I swear you this, Susan Warren: if you have been party to any injury to that girl, you'll suffer for't!" He wanted to press her further, but aside from his weakness there were two unpleasant considerations that kept him from pursuing the subject: in the first place, Joan might well have learned that the man she sought was suddenly a pauper and thus, in her eyes, no longer worth seeking; in the second, she might have got word of McEvoy's having followed her to Maryland, and gone to join him instead. Therefore, when Susan assured him that if any injury had befallen Joan Toast it was not at her, Susan's, hands, he contented himself with asking after Bertrand, whom Burlingame had dispatched to St. Mary's City to retrieve the Laureate's baggage.

"The trunk ye sent him to fetch is here," the girl replied. " 'Twas sent over by the packet from St. Mary's. But of the man I've seen no trace, nor heard a word."

"Whom Fortune buffets, the whole world beats," sighed Ebenezer. " 'Tis best for both if they've found new ground to graze, for I've naught to keep wife or servant on any more. But withal, their lack of loyalty wounds me to the quick!"

They entered the house, and though the interior showed the same need of attention as the outside, the rooms were spacious and adequately furnished, and the Laureate wept to see them.

"How like a paradise Malden seems to me, now I've lost it!" He found it necessary to sit down, but when Susan made to assist him he waved her away angrily. "Why feign concern for a sick and feckless pauper? I doubt not you've made peace with your father, now he's a gentleman planter — get thee gone and play the great lady on my estate! What, you have a tear for me, do you? When all's consum'd, repentance comes too late."

Susan dabbed immodestly at her eyes with the hem of her threadbare dress. "Thou'rt not the only person injured by your day in court."

"Ha! Your father birched you, did he, for taking the stand against him?"

Susan shook her head sadly. "Things are not as they seem, Mister Cooke — "

"I'God!" Ebenezer clasped his head. "The old refrain! My estate and Anna's dowry is lost, my best friend hath betrayed me and left me to starve, the woman I love hath either met foul play or scorned me for a pauper, I am as good as disowned by my father and near dead of the seasoning, and in my final hours on earth I must abide the wisdom of a thankless strumpet!"

"Haply yell understand one day," Susan said. "I have no wish to do ye farther hurt than ye've done yourself already!"

With this remark the woman fled weeping from the room,

"Nay, wait!" the Laureate begged, and despite his illness he set out after her to apologize for his unkind words. He was, however, unable to move with any haste or efficiency, and soon lost her. He wandered through a number of empty rooms, uncertain of his objective, until at last he found himself in what appeared to be the kitchen. Three women, all in the dress of servants, were playing a game of cards around a table; they regarded him uncordially.

"I beg your pardon, ladies," he said, leaning against the doorframe; "I am looking for Mrs. Susan Warren."

"Then thou'rt seeking an early grave," the dealer quipped, and the others laughed merrily. "Get along with ye, now; 'tis too early in the day to bother Susie or any o' the rest of us."

"Forgive me," Ebenezer said hastily. "I had no mind to intrude upon your game."

" 'Tis but a simple hand of lanterloo," said the woman with the cards.

"Simple to misdeal!" cried another, who spoke with a French accent. "What is it that you do? Cheat me?"

"Ye dare call me a cheat!" the first replied. "Thou'rt something brave for one not a fortnight loose o' your serving-papers!"

"Hold thy tongue, bo îte sèche!" growled the French woman. "I know Captain Scurry swived you for your freight, what time he fetched you off the streets and shipped you hither!"

"No more than Slye did you," cried the dealer, "though God alone knows why a man would swive a sow!"

"I beg your pardon," Ebenezer interrupted. "If you are servants of the house — "

"Non, certainement, I am no servant!"

"The truth is," said the dealer, "Grace here's a hooker."

"A what?" asked the poet.

"A hooker," the woman repeated with a wink. "A quail, don't ye know."

"A quail!" the woman named Grace shrieked. "You call me a quail, you — gaullefreti ère!"

"Whore!" shouted the first.

"Bas-cul!" retorted the other.

"Frisker!"

"Consoeur!"

"Trull!"

"Friquenelle!"