John Wray - Canaan's Tongue

But if I can no longer remember specific words, or even clear ideas — I was soon to learn that the fate of the Territories was of less importance to him than a wart on a nigger’s heel — I recollect the emotions which fought for dominion over my heart with a vividness born of a lifetime spent under their sway. Our tentative beginnings, the Child explained — our scattering of farms & stores & grain depots & churches — had been built on the very edge of an abyss. What gave the white settler his dignity was not the greatness of his holdings, or the respect of his neighbors, but first & foremost his independence; and this independence, it seem’d, was menaced from all sides. If the hordes of rogue Sioux & Cherokee did not roll down from the west in a mighty purging tide, then the corrupt nation at our backs, with its Federalists, its Pluralists &— worst of all — its Abolitionists, would suck our independence from us like rainwater from a gourd.

What the Child of the New West preached — twenty years before the fact — was nothing less than secession from the Union. The fact that Arkansas & Kansas, not to mention Oklahoma, had not even been granted statehood yet was of little interest to him, or to anyone else that night; by the close of his speech it was certainly of no interest to me. As he stepped back from the lectern with a sti f little bow & the brass donation-trays began to circulate through the hall, my sole desire was to speak with the Child in private.

Once the show was over, the Grange emptied from one moment to the next; the bulk of the crowd simply cross’d the muddy street to the nearest of Onadee’s seventeen saloons. A small clot of admirers remain’d to the left of the stage, forming a ring one-to-two-men deep, through which I caught glimpses of the Child’s well-groomed head. Wallace was among the men, & I took my place beside him. My plan was to wait until the group thinned out somewhat — the Child was reputed to lodge and dine alone. There should be ample time, later in the evening, for a thorough exchange of views.

I can’t help but marvel, even now, at my boldness on that apocalyptic evening — it would have served me better on countless others. And yet I understand full well why I acted as I did. I needed the attention of the Child; not to get it was unthinkable. Surprising is only that my gambit worked. But perhapseven that, on reflection, is not so unlikely — my desperation was all the calling-card I needed.

Within a few short minutes only myself, Wallace, & another man — an Irishman — remain’d beside the Child. What had begun as a political debate had taken on an agreeably informal flavor, as though we were attorneys-at-lawrelaxing after a trial. Wallace, in particular, affected a familiarity with the Child which took me quite aback.

“I’ve brought some new blood, Mr. Myrell, as you can see.”

The Child seem’d to take my measure for the first time. “Duly noted, Mr. Wallace.” He squinted up into my face. “Help out at the depot, do you, Mr. — ?”

“Harvey,” I said hurriedly, cursing my flusteredness. “I have my own small enterprise, sir.”

“Oh?”

“In the spirit of the Territories,” I added, giving a crooked little smile.

The Child raised an eye-brow very slightly. “Is that so? You didn’t mentionthat to me, Mr. Wallace.”

The blood rush’d to my face. When had Wallace been telling the Child about me? It could only have been before I’d join’d the circle. What on earth could he have seen fit to relate? It was all I could do to keep from moaning aloud.

“Mr. Wallace thinks little of my work, & rightly so,” I put in, as casually as I could. “I sell tonics to the Indians.”

To my surprise the Child responded with amicable curiosity. “Is that so? Which tribes?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Chickasaw, Choctaw, Seminole, Kickapoo. .”

“Thirsty devils, the lot of them,” Wallace put in sagely.

But the Child didn’t seem to notice Wallace any longer. “You make your living off the tribes, Mr. Harvey, & yet you come to hear me speak?”

I had no idea how to answer him. “This is the first speech of yours I’ve been to, sir. I had no idea—”

He laugh’d at this & I flushed redder than before. He was only having sport with me after all. “Well, Doctor!” he said, striking an academic pose. “What was your opinion of my lecture, as a man of science?”

The desire to please him fill’d me like the need to piss. “I thought it was splendid, sir! Miraculous!”

I could see, in spite of his ironic air, that this pleased him mightily. “Hear that, Kennedy? Some of these beer-swillers recognize the future when it’s fed to them.”

“Some of them’s idjits,” the Irishman said, looking at me sideways.

“Nonsense!” the Child retorted. “Mr. Harvey is just the type we’re looking for. Just the very type.”

“I thought so myself,” Wallace put in happily.

The spell of quiet that follow’d, in which each of the three men appraised me in silence, pass’d with a measuredness that drove me half out of my wits. I felt so hungry for some further sign of their approval that I all but bit my tongue in quarters. Was their only aim to torture me? Could they not see my distress? Or could it be, perhaps, that it brought them amusement?

“Well!” the Child said abruptly, taking up his hat. “The time’s come for us to repair to Costello’s rooming-house. I’ve a need of putting up my feet.”

Instantly Wallace’s expression changed to one of pure servility. “Of course, sir. Naturally. You’ll be needing your rest. Come along, Harvey.” He gave a nod to Kennedy, whose face remain’d slack, & took me by the sleeve.

“I’d like young Harvey to stay behind,” the Child said, looking at Wallace with the faintest suggestion of a smile.

For the span of a few seconds Wallace stared back at him in confusion. “Of course,” he said at last, in the dullest tone of voice imaginable. Clearly he himself had never been vouchsafed such a privilege.

“& there’s one other matter, no more than a trifle.” The Child paused a moment. “Have you taken to wearing your hat differently than before?”

Wallace’s face went duller still, if possible. “My hat?”

“The angle of it concerns me.”

“The angle, sir?” Wallace said. His lips barely flutter’d.

“Don’t wear your hat cocked down over your eye, sirrah, or thrust back upon your head. One style is rowdyish; the other is plainly rustic.”

Wallace said nothing to this, looking back and forth between my own hat, which was tipped back considerably, & Kennedy’s, which hid his pink eyes altogether. Finally he managed to give a nod.

“Good-night, then, Mr. Wallace, & god-speed. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow. .?”

“You will, sir,” Wallace answer’d, but I fancied I saw something more than disappointment in his eyes: they did their best to conceal a rapidly mounting bewilderment, even fear. What in the Child’s manner could have brought about such a change in him? Was he out of favor suddenly?

These & other questions were soon to be render’d obsolete. I left Wallace & the Old Grange behind & follow’d the remaining two men — both as yet perfect strangers to me — to a modest rooming-house across the way. Kennedy & the Child, a pace or two ahead of me, gossiped together in affectionate whispers. The Child’s carriage & demeanor were already greatly changed. Before, he’d held himself with school-masterly severity; now he slouch’d & shuffled like a flat-boat rough. For the first time since we’d met, I was able to believe that we were near to the same age, & that his parentage was no loftier than my own. If anything, this evidence of his play-acting only awed me further. If you had more of that gift, Goodman, I thought as we entered the rooming-house, you’d have had better luck among Israel’s lost tribes.