Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

When he had dug the claim for another month — with Fay helping to haul the dirt to the surface and then doing the sorting during the day, and cooking and washing clothes at night — and when the result of all this effort was another eighteen carats of stones that had been sold for a total of four pounds ten shillings, Gustave Bees began to suspect that he had been taken advantage of with a salted claim, but of course by this time his oxen and wagon were halfway to Durban. At this point, Gustave Bees decided that mining was not for him. With no other means of livelihood available to him, he had built himself a table in their tent and advertised the fact that Gustave Bees, Expert Tailoring, was available to the population of Bultfontein and surrounding areas for any of their garment needs. The table had the dual advantage of allowing him to work on pants or jackets without having the legs or sleeves drag on the dirt floor; while at night it served as his bed as Fay slept on a mat beneath it.

Actually, business was not too bad for the tailor. Cloth was available at a drapers’ shop in Kimberley House, the diggers were nowhere near as particular as the Simonstown dandies had been, nor were they averse to advancing the money for the cloth needed. Bees had brought with him his set of scissors and shears, as well as his stock of thread and sharp needles; the miners wore through their clothes at an astonishing rate, and money was free with those who had it. All in all, it made for a good enterprise, although it did require long hours, for the diggers tended to be impatient in the matter of delivery. And so Gustave Bees often worked well into the night, straining his eyes under the light of a pair of bright kerosene lanterns. And it was in this fashion that Barney Isaacs, easily directed to the Beeses’ tent, discovered the two, with Bees sewing away at one end of the table, and Fay cutting cloth at the other end of the same table.

Barney put his head through the tent flaps, wondering what his reception would be. Fay looked up from her work. To Barney’s total and devastating disappointment, there was complete nonrecognition on the girl’s face. He stepped farther into the tent, his neatly brushed derby in his hand. Bees looked up as at the entrance of a customer, but at that moment Fay gave a little cry.

“Barney!”

She started toward him, her hands out for his, and then stopped abruptly, putting her hands behind her. Between the two months of sorting dirt, and the doing of the washing, the cooking, and all the other necessary chores, her hands were reddened and chapped, and to her own astonishment she was suddenly ashamed of them. She had never thought of her hands before as anything except useful tools needed in her daily life; now they were ugly appendages that humiliated her. Barney hadn’t appeared to notice the gesture. All he noticed was that Fay at least remembered him, even if she didn’t feel like touching him, and that was enough for the moment. And at least she was still living with her father, which seemed to indicate she hadn’t gotten married as yet, and that also was enough for the moment. He advanced to face her, holding his hat tightly in both hands to give Fay an excuse not to put her own hands out again. Bees was watching curiously from his table. Barney assayed a grin; it was a sickly effort.

“Hoy, Fay. Remember me?”

“Of course I remember you.” She slipped her hands quickly beneath her apron and smiled dubiously. “How have you been keeping?”

“Oh, fine. And you?”

“Oh, we’re keeping well, thank you.”

Barney seemed to realize they weren’t alone in the tent. He looked over at Bees. “Hello, Mr. Bees.”

Bees merely stared at him a moment and then went back to his sewing. Barney turned back to Fay. They looked at each other in total silence for several long minutes. Barney wanted to say a million things: that he had never seen her more beautiful, to ask if she had any particular boy she was seeing regularly, if she had been feeling well, if he could see her again as soon as possible — but the words wouldn’t come out. He knew he looked an utter fool standing there like a clod, hanging on to his hat, tongue-tied, while she waited, with the patience of the angel she was, for him to say something, anything. But the words just wouldn’t come. Idiot! He never should have come! She must think him the biggest simpleton on earth! Suddenly, to his own astonishment and completely without thought or volition, he found he had put his hat down to one side and with an acrobatic jump had landed on the low sewing table in a cross-legged position. He grinned, a ghastly attempt, and reached for a needle and thread. He placed them to one side and picked up a roll of cloth, cut and waiting to be sewn, opened it, saw it was intended to be a pair of trousers with basting threads in place to indicate the seams and size, and nodded. He put on his new spectacles, neatly threaded the needle, and began sewing.

“Learned from the best in London,” he said as if he were talking to himself. “Me pa.”

Bees was staring at him as if he were out of his mind. He made a motion as if to take the cloth from Barney, but then he noticed that Barney was doing better than a creditable job. He obviously knew what he was doing. With a shrug as if it made little difference anyway, as if nothing made much difference anymore, Bees went back to his sewing and his constant daydreaming of his dead Emily.

Barney finished the inseam and paused to rethread the needle, proud of the job he had done, looking up. Fay had disappeared. In his concentration on the job he was doing, he hadn’t noticed her leaving the tent. Barney could have kicked himself. Probably ashamed of me for the spectacle I made of meself, Barney thought bitterly, his face getting red. I’m truly a fool, a bloody fool! What on earth made me jump on that table, showing off? I’d better get out of here while she’s gone, and leave the poor girl alone in the future. Can’t imagine what I was thinkin’ of comin’ here in the first place! Lettin’ her see me with them glims on me eyes like some old bookkeeper, and me legs crossed on the table showin’ off I can sew. Oh, I ain’t ashamed of bein’ able to sew; only thing is, chances are Fay can sew better than her old man and fifty times better than me. But I always got to show off, to brag how good I am. Tryin’ to make meself taller that way, as if I didn’t have enough brains to know that don’t work. When am I ever goin’ to grow up? No wonder she walked out. Enough to make a person give up his supper, seein’ a exhibit like that!

He put the needle back where it belonged, rolled the partially sewn trousers up again, and climbed from the table. He retrieved his hat and looked at Bees, prepared to say good night, but the man was paying no attention to anything, sewing away steadily, his lips moving as he talked to himself. Poor Fay, Barney suddenly thought with a rush of pity, tied down to a crock like that, his mind half gone with his wife’s death. Well, at least I won’t bother her no more…

He sighed at the failure of the evening, an evening he had looked forward to for so long, and stepped outside. Fay was standing there, looking at the horse and cart. Barney’s jaw tightened. She probably thinks I rented ’em for the evening, just to impress her, Barney thought, suddenly bitter. “They’re mine,” he said brusquely. “Bought ’em for me job. I’m doin’ kopje wallopin’ over at Kimberley.”

“Barney,” she softly. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry with you?” Barney was startled. “Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know. But you didn’t talk to me—”

Barney shook his head in confusion. Suddenly the truth spilled from him with the same lack of volition that had led him to jump on the sewing table without thinking.