John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

"You must remember," Ebenezer said, "he is not your husband in the eyes of God or Maryland law, nor e'en by the custom of the Ahatchwhoops, inasmuch as the union hath not been consummated."

"I shall wed him properly now," Anna replied. "As for the matter of consummation, 'twere an overnice point in our case!"

Ebenezer declared his considerable affection for Billy, but averred that insomuch as Anna's condition at the time of choosing him had been far from responsible, she was under no moral obligation to maintain the connection. "Billy himself hath vouched for that: the 'bargain' you heard him allude to was our agreement that thou'rt free to leave or stay, whiche'er you choose. And Henry, after all — "

He pressed the point no farther, aware that his footing was precarious. And as he feared, although she chose not to remind him that her devotion to Burlingame was ambiguous, Anna declared very pointedly, "I have pledged myself to Billy, Eben; would you have me break my pledge? If e'er we part, 'twill be at his behest, not mine; I shall be as good a wife to him as I am able."

Much mortified, Ebenezer said no more; but the subject of his original mission in Church Creek suddenly seemed more crucial than ever to him. Since despite their weariness it was unlikely that either of them would be able to sleep, he proposed that he summon Billy in from the barn and devote the remainder of the night to exposing his plight and plans. It took no more than the assertion that innumerable lives were at stake to win Anna's approval of this proposal, and she insisted on fetching Billy herself.

She did not return at once; Ebenezer spent the uncomfortable interval sighing at the fire. Among his myriad reflections were a few that he readily identified as jealous, though he could not banish them: Why did he object, after all, to a marriage of Anna and Billy Rumbly, who appeared to have all the virtues and none of the vices of his brother?

When at last the two of them came in, Billy hurried to shake his hand.

"Your presence hath achieved what I could never," he declared with great emotion. "Whatever the outcome, my friend, I shall bless you for bringing her to herself."

He shook his head in awe at the spectacle of Anna washing her face and hands in the basin and deploring the state of her hair and clothes. Now that his mistress was a normal English girl, her presence, and Ebenezer's, seemed to intimidate him; he proposed to find them something to eat and was much abashed at Anna's insistence that preparing the food was not a husband's chore.

His discomfiture moved even Ebenezer to amusement and sympathy. "I'Christ, Anna, what can be done with this accursed salvage practice of eating a meal before every conversation?"

The absence of malice in his raillery had a magical effect: the others laughed, and Billy was put somewhat at ease; pipes were brought out; a bottle of wine was discovered in the sideboard. They dined in the best of humor on cold spareribs and muscatel. Anna recounted with much animation, for Billy's benefit, the salient points of the evening's conversation, and though her speech made Ebenezer wonder more than ever what had detained her so long outside, both men regarded her throughout with loving eyes.

"Anna Cooke of St. Giles in the Fields!" Billy marveled. "That wants some getting used to!"

The Indian's subdued, almost awkward voice and manner touched the poet deeply; he put down as unworthy the notion of somehow telling Billy about Anna's love for Burlingame. To divert his mind from it he posed to himself the question whether "cultural energy," so to speak, was conserved within a group after the fashion that physical energy, according to Professor Newton, was conserved within the universe. Was there, he wondered, some unreckoned law of compensation, whereby an access of cultivation on Billy's part reduced Anna to bestiality, and her improvement, which her paramour had so devoutly wished, necessarily brought him low? He decided that quite possibly there was, and lost interest in the question. As soon as the meal was done and fresh pipes were lit he sighed and said, "There was as pleasant an hour as I've spent since leaving London, but my pleasure is a guilty one: e'en as I stretch my legs here and McEvoy pays court to his new mistress, two hostages for our lives are shivering in a hut on Bloodsworth Island." He looked to Billy for approval. "With your permission, friend, I'll state my business now."

Billy shrugged his shoulders, so much in the manner of Burlingame that the wine-cup trembled in Anna's hands. "Methinks I can predict it," he said, and explained the situation unemotionally to Anna, ending with the history of his parentage and the fate of his two brothers. "My father is very old," he concluded, "and no match in strength and influence for Drepacca and Quassapelagh. Besides which, he hath been doubly unhappy in his sons, that not only are fated ne'er to carry on their line but seem driven as well to turn their backs upon their people and aspire to the very stars." Turning again to Ebenezer he said, "If I may hazard another guess, you and your party in some wise fell into my father's hands, and you saved your life by pledging to restore his long-lost son to him, or the son more lately lost, or both, to lead the Ahatchwhoops into battle. Is that the case?"

"That is the case," the poet admitted. "The Tayac Chicamec is much aggrieved by your defection, but what saved us was my news of Henry Burlingame. If 'tis not overbold of me to speak of such matters, your grandfather Sir Henry had clearly learnt some means of rising above his shortcomings on one occasion, inasmuch as he contrived to get your father on Pokatawertussan; now Chicamec believes that just as Sir Henry's defect was transmitted to his grandsons, so perhaps his magical remedy was transmitted as well — "

"The Rite of the Sacred Eggplant," Billy acknowledged with a smile. "Methinks 'tis but a vulgar superstition. In any case I know naught of't — worse luck!"

"Nay, but your brother Henry might, so Chicamec believes, inasmuch as he shares Sir Henry's blood and pigmentation."

"Whate'er this mystery of magical eggplants," Anna said carelessly, "if it hath the effect you mentioned, Henry Burlingame knows no more of't than doth Billy." At once she realized her slip, and crimsoned.

"Aye, that's plain enough," Ebenezer added quickly, "else he'd likely have a wife and family by this time, would he not?"

But it seemed clear that Billy had not missed the implication of Anna's remark. He said nothing — for one thing, Ebenezer deliberately gave him no opportunity — but his manner grew pensive, even brooding. No less than Anna, Ebenezer regretted the slip, for he sensed that it had damaged in advance the appeal he was about to make. Nevertheless he spoke on brightly, as if nothing had changed, only avoiding wherever possible any references to Burlingame.

"There is my plight," he declared, "e'en as you guessed it: if I fail to deliver Chicamec his son within thirty days — fewer than that, now — poor Bertrand and Captain Cairn will be dismembered and burnt at the stake — as well as I, for I have pledged myself to return if I fail, and I intend to."

"I am no longer an Ahatchwhoop," Billy muttered. "Had I wished to succeed my father I'd not have abandoned him. Nor do I see the virtue of trading the lives of your friends for those of all the white men in the Province."

"The war will come in any case," the poet insisted, "only Chicamec will have no hand in waging it. 'Tis not my object to deliver him a good general, but to prevent the war itself."

To this Billy replied, more sullenly yet, that for all he was a deserter, he had not sunk to the level of treason against his people.

" 'Tis not treason I have in mind," Ebenezer protested, not at all pleased with the way things were going. "My plan is not to betray the Ahatchwhoops, but to save them — "