thomas havens
XCVII.
Elson and Litzie had been by the chapel door, listening in.
Now they trot-skimmed over, holding hands.
That little white boy? Litzie said.
Said we are dead, said Elson.
mrs. francis hodge
Goodness, said Mrs. Hodge.
elson farwell
All these years, in our pit, I had treasured up the notion that someday Annalise and Benjamin, my children, would—
Would what? Join me? Someday join me? Here? It was ludicrous.
Suddenly I saw just how ludicrous.
Poor me.
Poor me, all of those years.
They would never join me here. They would age and die and be laid to rest there, in those far-flung locales to which they had been taken (when taken from me). They would not come here. And anyway, why would I want that? I had wanted it, somehow, while I only waited, believing myself paused. But now, now that I—
Now that I knew I was dead, I wanted for them only to go to where they should. Directly there. Wherever that was. And feeling that way, saw that I ought to go there myself.
I looked at Litzie in our old way, as if to say: Lady, what do you think?
I’ll do what you do, Mrs. Hodge, Litzie said. You always been like a mother to me.
mrs. francis hodge
Sad though.
I’d only just got my voice back, and now it was time to leave.
litzie wright
Elson? I said.
No, he said. If such things as goodness and brotherhood and redemption exist, and may be attained, these must sometimes require blood, vengeance, the squirming terror of the former perpetrator, the vanquishing of the heartless oppressor. I intend to stay. Here. Until I have had my revenge. Upon someone.
(Such a dear boy. So proud. So dramatic.)
We are dead, I said.
Here I am, he said. I am here.
I said no more—for if he wished to stay, I would not impede him.
We all must do what we like.
Ready? I said to Litzie.
As if for old times’ sake, she gave me the double-eyed blink, which had always meant: Yes.
mrs. francis hodge
XCVIII.
Dear Brother, a post-script—After writing the above went to bed—Some time later woke to sound of horse’s hooves—I summoned Grace & she helped me into the wheeled chair & to the window—And who should be leaving but Mr. L. himself—I swear it—Looking ever so weary & stooped in the saddle as he rode away—I opened the window & shouted down to “good old Manders” to confirm—It was indeed the Pres—What must be the extent of his heartache for him to have come here at this cold & cruel hr of the night?
Now I must have Grace help me back to bed—Am doing my best to summon her only when necessary, as she has been out of sorts with me lately—Always in a bad temper & never jolly with me anymore—as if sick of me, & who could blame her—it is not happy to be at the beck & call of one so immobilized—& I cannot blame her for I recently am having more pain, & my good spirits often compromised—but she is no friend—Of this I must constantly remind myself—She is hired, by us, to care for me—And that is ALL.
Brother, when do you come home? I know you wander for your own purposes—but find it hard to believe you are not lonely—Or perhaps you have charmed some Prairie lady—Your sister is tired & lonely & sick—Do you not love me, do you not wish to see me again?—Pls come home—I do not wish to alarm you—Do not say these things to force you home but feel so poorly lately. Weak & drifting in mind & unable to eat—Is it not right that we who love one another, should be together?
Please come home. I miss you so. And have no real friend here in this place.
Yr loving sister,
Isabelle.
Perkins, op. cit.
XCIX.
As Pres emerged from chapel I hightailed it out of guardhouse to unlock gate Pres went out saying nothing seeming distracted reached over gave my forearm warm squeeze then hopped upon the back of his little horse and I thought whole caboodle might go over on its side but no that little horsehero steeling himself clopped away quite dignified as if he meant to protect Pres’s reputation by acting as if Pres’s feet were not nearly scraping the ground and I tell you Tom that noble nag might have been bearing Hercules or G Washington for all the pride in his step as they disappeared down R Street into chilly night.
As I was locking back up Tom had feeling of being watched and looked up and saw that our “mystery girl” from across the street sat her faithful post at her window and lifting said window from her sitting position with considerable effort called across to me was that Pres who just rode off and I called back yes indeed and it was sad Tom as I have known her or seen her at least since she was a little girl who could still walk and run with all the others and now she must be nearly 30 and feeling kindly inclined toward her now I called up that she best shut the window for the cold for I had heard she was not well and she thanked me for my concern and said it was a sad thing wasn’t it about Pres’s son and I said oh very sad indeed and she said she thought the child must surely be in a better place and I said I hoped so and prayed so and our voices hung there as if we were last living souls on earth and goodnight said I and goodnight said she and brought her window down and soon enough her light went out.
Manders, op. cit.
C.
A mass exodus from the chapel ensued, our cohort fleeing out through all four walls at once.
hans vollman
Many succumbing even while in motion.
roger bevins iii
Mr. Bevins and I rushed out together, as the inky night around the chapel lit up with multiple instances of the matterlightblooming phenomenon.
hans vollman
All was chaos.
roger bevins iii
The pale smock of the beautiful raped mulatto floated down, still stained with bloody handprints at the hips.
hans vollman
Followed by the large unoccupied dress of Mrs. Hodge.
roger bevins iii
The air was filled with curses, shouts, the hissing velocity-sounds of our dear friends desperately rushing away through bushes and low-hanging trees.
hans vollman
Several had been so severely infected with doubt that locomotion now became impossible.
roger bevins iii
These slumped wearily against stones, crawled weakly along pathways, lay draped and broken-seeming across benches, as if dropped from the sky.
hans vollman
Many succumbing from these undignified positions.
roger bevins iii
Now across the chapel lawn charged Lieutenant Stone.
hans vollman
Heading directly for Mr. Farwell.
roger bevins iii
Clear thee away, cease Contaminating this Holy place, SHARD.
As I am the Man among all here who has been in this Place the longest (the number of my Nights here being beyond TWENTY THOUSAND, and the Number of Souls who, coming to this place, have, through Cowardice and Flinching, since departed anon, by my latest count, nearing NINE HUNDRED), who shall Manage things here if not me, and I will be DAMNED and DAMNED GOOD if the current chaos shall be exploited by a SHARD-MAN as an excuse to loaf!
lieutenant cecil stone
Even the Lieutenant’s extreme self-confidence seemed affected by the recent confusion, for he did not grow any taller during this diatribe and seemed, even, to shrink a little.
roger bevins iii
The Lieutenant ordered Mr. Farwell back to work, back to whatever work had been assigned him, by whichever white person had assigned it, at which time Mr. Farwell seized the Lieutenant by the collar and threw him roughly down upon his back.
hans vollman
The Lieutenant demanded to know how Mr. Farwell dare touch a white man in anger, and commanded Farwell to let him up; Mr. Farwell refusing, the Lieutenant kicked Farwell in th
e chest, and Farwell flew back, and the Lieutenant leapt to his feet and, straddling Farwell, began beating him about the head with his fists. In desperation Farwell groped about for a nearby path stone and swung it into the Lieutenant’s head, causing the Lieutenant to fall to the ground and his tricorne to fly off. Farwell then positioned one knee upon the Lieutentant’s chest and used the stone to smash the Lieutenant’s skull into a flat pulpy mass, after which he stumbled away and sat on the ground disconsolately, head in hands, weeping.
roger bevins iii
The Lieutenant’s head quickly re-forming, he revived and, catching sight of the weeping Mr. Farwell, barked out that he was not aware a SHARD could weep, since to weep one must possess human emotions, and again ordered Mr. Farwell back to work, back to whatever work had been assigned him, by whichever white person had assigned it, and again Mr. Farwell seized the Lieutenant by the collar, and threw him down upon his back, and again the Lieutenant demanded to know how Mr. Farwell dare touch a white man in anger and commanded Farwell to let him up, and, Mr. Farwell again refusing, the Lieutenant again kicked Farwell in the chest—
hans vollman
And so on.
roger bevins iii
It was still going on as we fled the scene.
hans vollman
Showed no sign of abating.
roger bevins iii
Was proceeding with a fury that suggested the two might well fight on into eternity.
hans vollman
Unless some fundamental and unimaginable alteration of reality should occur.
roger bevins iii
CI.
Mr. Vollman and I ran-skimmed desperately toward our home-places.
roger bevins iii
Shaken.
hans vollman
Even we were shaken.
roger bevins iii
Even Mr. Bevins and I were shaken.
hans vollman
Brother, what are we to do? I called over.
Here we are, Mr. Vollman called back. Look at me. Here I am. Who is it—who is it that speaks? Who is it hears my speaking?
But we were shaken.
roger bevins iii
We came now upon the disreputable Barons, collapsed in a heap atop the Constantine sick-mound (an unremarkable limestone slab, cracked at one corner, marred by bird droppings over many decades—
hans vollman
For someone, long ago, had planted a small tree overhead, to shade Constantine from the sun).
roger bevins iii
Get up, get up.
No f—–ing stopping. No f—–ing thinking.
eddie baron
I ain’t. I ain’t f—–ing thinking.
I just don’t feel good.
betsy baron
Look at me, look at me.
Remember that time we lived in that f—–ing beautiful field? With the kids? That, uh, spacious meadow?
In that tent? Remember that? After f—–ing Donovan evicted us from that s—–hole by the river? Those were the days, hah?
eddie baron
That was no f—–ing spacious meadow! You piece of s—–! That was where all the f—–ing scum of the earth came to s—– and drop their G——ed garbage!
betsy baron
But what a view, eh? Not many kids get that view. We could look out our tent-flap, and right there: the f—–ing White House.
eddie baron
But first you had to walk around the G——n trash heap. While watching out for those big f—–ing rats. And that gang of Hessian gropers that f—–ing lived in there.
betsy baron
They never groped you though.
eddie baron
Bulls—–! I had to burn one f—–er’s leg with a shovelful of hot coals! To get him off me! Came right in the f—–ing tent! In front of the f—–ing kids! No wonder they never come see us! We been here—how long we been here? A pretty f—–ing long time. And they never come once.
betsy baron
F—– them! Right? Those f—–ing ingrate snakes have no G——ed right to blame us for a f—–ing thing until they walk a f—–ing mile in our G——ed shoes and neither f—–ing one of the little s—–heads ever walked even—
eddie baron
Eddie? No.
They was our kids.
We f—–ed it up.
betsy baron
No f—–ing sad s—–.
And no f—–ing stopping. No f—–ing thinking.
You know why?
We want to f—–ing stay! Got plenty of celebrating left to f—–ing do, right?
eddie baron
Eddie.
We’re f—–ing dead, Eddie.
Love you, you f—–ing f—–er.
betsy baron
No.
No no no. Don’t. Don’t do it.
Stay the f—– with me, kid.
eddie baron
Her flesh became thin as parchment. Tremors ran through her body. Her form flickered between the various selves she had been in that previous place (too debauched and impoverished and shameful to mention) and then between the various future-forms she had, alas, never succeeded in attaining: attentive mother; mindful baker of bread and cakes; sober church-attender; respected soft-spoken grandmother surrounded by her adoring, clean brood.
roger bevins iii
Then came the familiar, yet always bone-chilling, firesound associated with the matterlightblooming phenomenon.
hans vollman
And she was gone.
roger bevins iii
Her threadbare and malodorous clothing raining down all around.
hans vollman
Mr. Baron let loose a prodigious howl of obscenities and succumbed, albeit reluctantly, compelled by his inordinate affection for that lady, the color of his matterlightblooming phenomenon not the usual luminous white, but, rather, a dingy gray.
roger bevins iii
Smelling of tobacco, sweat, and whiskey, his clothes came raining down.
hans vollman
And a racing form, and an obscene cartoon.
roger bevins iii
CII.
Suddenly Mr. Bevins did not look well.
His flesh was thin as parchment. Tremors ran through his body.
hans vollman
So many memories were flooding back.
I recalled a certain morning. The morning of my—
The morning that I—
I had seen Gilbert. At the baker’s.
Yes. Yes I had.
My God.
He was—ah, most painful! He was with someone. A man. Dark-haired, tall. Broad-chested. Gilbert whispered something to him and they shared a laugh. At my expense, it seemed. The world went flat. It seemed a stage-set built for the telling of a specific joke, to be told on me: having been born with my propensity, I would find Gilbert, come to love him, but would not be able to be with him (for he wished to “live correctly”), and then the punch line: me, crestfallen in that baker’s doorway, loaf in hand, the two of them approaching, pausing—the whisper, the laugh—and they broke around on either side of me, this new fellow (he was so beautiful) raising an eyebrow, as if to say: That? That is him?
Then another killing laugh-burst.
I rushed home and—
Proceeded.
roger bevins iii
Mr. Bevins dropped to his knees.
His form flickered between the various selves he had been in that previous place:
An effeminate but affectionate young boy, much fussed over by a family of sisters;
A diligent student, crouched over multiplication tables;
A naked young man in a carriage house, reaching over to tenderly kiss that Gilbert;
A good son, posed between his parents for a daguerreotype on the occasion of his birthday;
A red-faced distraught disaster, tears rolling down his face, butcher knife in hand, porcelain tub in his lap.
Do you remember, he said. When I first ca
me here? You were so kind to me. Calmed me down. Convinced me to stay. Do you remember?
I was happy to be of service, I said.
I just remembered something else, he said, in a tone of wonder. Your wife once came to visit.
hans vollman
I do not recall any such occurrence, Mr. Vollman replied stiffly. My wife, believing my recovery best aided by a period of solitude, prefers not to visit.
Friend, I said. Enough. Let us speak honestly. I am remembering many things. And I suspect that you are, too.
Not at all, Mr. Vollman said.
A plump, beaming woman came here, I said. A year or so ago. And recounted many things, happy things concerning her life (her numerous children, her excellent husband), and thanked you—thanked you, imagine—for your early kindness to her, which had, as she put it, “allowed me to deliver myself, unsullied, to he who would prove to be the great love of my life.” She thanked you for placing her “on the path to love,” and for never (never once) being unkind to her, but always gentle, and dear, and considerate. “A true friend,” she called you.
Lincoln in the Bardo Page 21