The Congress of Rough Riders

by John Boyne

  ‘He was very good,’ said the Grand Duke. ‘I believe he is well known anyway. The audience seemed to appreciate him. As I told you, the theatre is full every night.’

  ‘Then he must be making an awful lot of money,’ said Bill. ‘I have heard of this fellow before, all right. I’ve never met him. But it seems to me he’s becoming very rich playing a part which he invents for himself every night on a stage. I begin to think that it’s time I took advantage of my celebrity a little and made a little money for myself.’

  The Grand Duke nodded and thought about it. ‘So what do you suggest?’ he asked. ‘You want the theatre to pay you some of their proceeds?’

  ‘No, not that,’ replied Bill. ‘I just think I might know someone better qualified to play Buffalo Bill than Ned Buntline. Someone a little more familiar with the character.’

  ‘Really? And who would that be then?’ asked the son of the Czar, still a little slow on the uptake. ‘Another actor?’

  Bill turned to him and smiled. ‘Of sorts,’ he replied.

  Chapter Eight

  Scouts of the Plains

  Over two million people live in the French capital, and I was there to find just one. I had left Tokyo soon after my conversation with Mayu in the bar where she had told me where Hitomi was now living. Of course, I didn’t know where exactly she lived in Paris but decided to figure that one out when I got there. Once I knew that Paris was where I should be, I wanted desperately to be there immediately but was forced to put my enthusiasm on hold as I sorted out my affairs in Japan. Although I had only been back a short amount of time, my life had already re-established itself and I couldn’t just leave without some notice. The reappearance of my column in the newspaper had proved popular to readers and I proposed to my editor that I should continue my travel column for them but would relocate it from east to west. I had never been to France before, I pointed out, and the experiences of a naïf there might prove almost as interesting to his readers as the cultural isolation of a Westerner in Japan. After some persuading, it was agreed that I should begin work on the new column after my arrival but that if it did not prove popular it could be pulled at a moment’s notice.

  Jetlag hit me upon my arrival in Paris. Knowing that it would, I had arranged a few days’ accommodation at a hotel and took a taxi there directly from Charles de Gaulle, where I spent the next thirty-six hours catching up on my sleep and bringing my body clock back to Western time. My immediate priorities were three-fold. First, to find a place to live as I did not want to spend money on the hotel any longer than was strictly necessary. Second, to find employment. Only then, I believed, would I be ready to begin my pursuit of Hitomi, my great search. For the time being it was enough knowing that we were in the same city, breathing the same fresh air, and that at any moment we could unwittingly run into each other on the street, or in a bar or café, on the Metro perhaps. It made the city seem exciting. A panic attack hit me one evening as I realised that I had done all of this on the basis of one brief conversation with a girl I barely knew, who had merely remarked that this was the last city she had heard of Hitomi being in. Naturally she could have moved anywhere since then. She could have returned to Japan the day I had left it; we could have been ten steps away from each other between departures and arrivals at Narita and we would never have known. But I had to put such thoughts out of my head for they were fruitless. She was there, I knew it. I could feel it. I could feel her. And I would find her.

  I took a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a building near the university. Since I would be in Paris for the foreseeable future, I decided to go for something nearer the top end of my price range. I reasoned with myself that my first article for the newspaper would bring in some return. It would be about my search for accommodation but naturally I would make the search seem a lot more comical and adventurous than it actually was.

  My apartment was one of two on the third floor of the house and I quickly made friends with the couple across the hall. Luc Davide and his wife Annette were a few years older than me and we met on my second night there when I was invited to join in a birthday party taking place across the hall. Luc knocked on my door and introduced himself and I was pleased to meet him for he seemed friendly and open and as yet I knew no one in the city.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said to Annette when Luc introduced me to her, for she was wearing a badge on her lapel that said Bon anniversaire.

  ‘It’s Luc’s birthday too,’ she said with a laugh, rejecting my outstretched hand for a hearty kiss instead. ‘We were born only two days apart in the same year so we’re holding the birthday party on the day in between to compromise. I was twenty-nine yesterday, he’ll be twenty-nine tomorrow.’

  ‘Then happy birthday to you both,’ I said, already feeling warmed by the welcome they were showing me; although we had barely exchanged greetings I felt pleased that they would be living across the hall from Hitomi and I. (At the time, that was how I assumed things would be).

  ‘We only got married six months ago,’ Annette, a New Yorker, explained to me later that evening when the party was over and the three of us were having a last drink before going to bed. ‘We’ve been together for about five years now but it never seemed right until then. Not that things seem very different, but there we are.’ I had volunteered to help them clean the apartment once their guests had gone and to my surprise they had cheerfully taken me up on it. And I liked helping out; I was twenty-four then and it occurred to me that I had very few friends. Of course there was Adam and Justin in London but we rarely saw each other and when we did, as had occurred during my recent trip home, they were usually busy with their respective partners. And there were my Japanese friends, of course, who I had left far behind me, possibly never to see again. And then there was Hitomi. I felt we had clicked immediately, the three of us, and looked forward to their friendship.

  ‘Did you meet in Paris?’ I asked them, imagining that the city of romance had brought them together.

  ‘We met in Cannes,’ said Luc. ‘I was covering the festival and Annette works for a film production company here. We met at a party on the Croisette.’

  ‘You’re a journalist then?’ I asked him. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Luc was a journalist,’ said Annette proudly. ‘Now he’s a theatre director. He’s been quite successful. His last two plays were booked solid for more than a year each.’

  I looked at him appreciatively but he seemed a little embarrassed as his wife prodded him to tell me more about his productions. ‘We did Cabaret a couple of years ago, at the Racine. It was fun. I liked that play. It started as an open-air production for three weeks at La Défense and then we moved indoors. After that I did a play by an unknown playwright here which was a hit. It was a good play, I think. It’s closing soon though, so I have to start work on something else.’

  ‘He’s found a wonderful play by a nineteenth-century French writer,’ said Annette. ‘No one’s ever heard of it but it went down a storm in the city back then. What’s it called, Luc?’

  ‘L’Assassinat Nécessaire,’ he said. ‘The Necessary Murder,’ he added, translating for me.

  ‘That’s it. No one seems to know whatever happened to the author. It’s a lost gem.’

  ‘So what about you, William,’ asked Luc, always keen to shift the attention away from himself. ‘What are you doing in Paris?’

  Within minutes I found myself explaining my situation to them with total candour. I said that I had been living in Japan for a couple of years and had met the woman I was destined to be with there but had been conned into leaving the country by my father, a man obsessed with his ancestry. By the time I had returned she was gone, convinced that I had betrayed her.

  ‘Why didn’t you take her to England with you?’ asked Annette, and I noticed how her natural New York accent, still noticeable despite the length of time she had been away from that city, had been mingled with the delicate sounds of the French in an attractive way.

  ‘She woul
dn’t go to England,’ I explained. ‘She’s always said that she’d die if she went to England.’

  ‘You mean literally die?’

  I nodded. ‘So she says. I don’t understand it either. It’s some superstition she has. Anyway, I thought my father was dying so I had no choice but to go home. When I got there it turned out that he was perfectly fine. He just wanted me to come home. I gave up my entire life in Japan just because he conned me out of it.’

  ‘He must love you very much,’ said Luc quietly and I stared at him as the room seemed to suddenly spin. That was not a remark I had expected; it was certainly not something I had ever balanced Isaac’s behaviour with after I had left England. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him and wanted suddenly to return to my apartment to brood on this.

  ‘William Cody,’ said Annette suddenly, interrupting my reverie. ‘You know, in America we have this kind of folk hero. Fought in the War of Independence, Buffalo Bill Cody, maybe you’ve heard of him? Same name,’ she added with a laugh.

  ‘It was the Civil War,’ I corrected her. ‘And yes, I’ve heard of him all right. I get that a lot.’

  My great-grandfather travelled by rail from Missouri to New York City. As he did not know how long he might be gone for, he sent Louisa, along with their two daughters Arta and Orra, back to St Louis to stay with her parents, and this time she did so with little comment. Louisa had already grown far from the woman she had been before her marriage. The experience with the Golden Rule Hotel had convinced her that she took her marriage vows a lot more seriously than Bill ever had; however, she could see no future for either herself or her children if she sought a separation from her husband and so had decided instead simply to do his bidding without question. She would be with him when he needed her, and separate when he was away.

  Out of sight, however, was very much out of mind for Bill who looked forward to the excitement of New York City with great anticipation. His friend Texas Jack Omohundro accompanied him on the trip and, as he was an unmarried man, their conversation ran to the escapades they could find in the city upon their arrival. Word had spread through the train that the famous Buffalo Bill Cody was on board and from time to time an excitable young lady would pass through their carriage, casting them furtive glances before dissolving into giggles and running away again.

  ‘See that?’ said Bill, proud of the fact that his celebrity could entice women towards him without any encouragement on his part. ‘That’s what we’ve got waiting for us on the other side, my friend. They say that New York is overrun with beautiful and eligible young women.’

  Texas Jack, at twenty-four years of age three years younger than Bill, rubbed his hands together gleefully. He had been thrilled to be invited on this trip, not to mention a little surprised, for although he had always looked up to my great-grandfather and tried to befriend him, he had never thought they were close enough for him to be selected in this way. Bill, however, had asked him along as he recognised the hero worship in the boy’s eyes and enjoyed the feeling of respect and admiration that came towards him in waves whenever people like Texas Jack were around. Although Bill himself was oblivious to it, many people had noticed how Texas Jack had adopted some of my great-grandfather’s mannerisms and had abandoned some of his older friends from the moment that Bill had shown him some attention. ‘We’ll make ourselves familiar with as many of those ladies as possible,’ he replied, barely able to contain his enthusiasm, determined to make Bill realise that he was every bit the ladies’ man that he was. ‘But what of our engagements? Will we have free time to do what we want?’

  ‘Good God, boy, you’re with Buffalo Bill Cody! You can do whatever the hell you please! Believe me, we’ve been invited for dinner in every house in the state but it’s up to us who we reject and who we honour with our company. We’ll have time to make as much sport as we wish, don’t worry about that.’

  This satisfied Texas Jack for the time being and he settled back to enjoy the passing landscape. He had never been east before either, having been brought up in Texas and served in the cavalry in St Louis. His father had been killed in battle when he was a child and he had grown up with eight older sisters and a mother for company. Because of this he had spent as much time around the fort as possible as a child and had joined up at the earliest possible opportunity, starved as he was for the company of other men. Like Bill, he sought adventure and excitement and had envisioned a life of scouting on the prairies in the future, hoping that when his time came to die, it would be on the battlefield like his father, a bullet or a knife piercing the uniform which he wore with pride. All such plans were made, however, before he first caught sight of the world outside of the south. The New York trip would change Texas Jack’s life for ever.

  They had arranged to meet Ned Buntline that evening at the Bowery Theatre and after settling in at their hotel and changing, they set off. Buntline had written the play which was showing there at that time, entitled The King of Border Men, which was based on a fictional episode in my great-grandfather’s life. He had also been the first person to play the role of Buffalo Bill on stage, but when the success of the production forced the cast to perform several matinée performances a week, as well as their regular nightly ones, he stepped away from the footlights and hired a younger, fitter man to play the part instead. Introducing themselves to one of the ushers at the front doors of the theatre, they were quickly taken into a private room while Buntline was sent for. When he arrived, he could barely contain his excitement.

  ‘Mr Cody,’ he roared, marching in with his hand already extended. As Bill gripped it, however, he must have changed his mind as instead of shaking it, he pulled my great-grandfather to him and administered a bear hug instead. ‘It’s a joy to meet you,’ he proclaimed in a loud voice. ‘An absolute joy. I repeat, sir: a joy and an honour!’

  ‘Please,’ said Bill, slightly overwhelmed by the greeting. ‘You must call me Buffalo Bill.’

  ‘Then I’m Ned.’

  ‘Well Ned, allow me to introduce to you my friend and colleague, Texas Jack Omohundro.’

  Buntline turned to look at the other man, blinking in surprise for he had not expected another visitor, nor had he quite noticed him when he had first entered the room, so intent had he been on greeting his honoured guest. ‘Texas Jack,’ he said, smiling and offering a more sedate handshake. ‘It’s a pleasure and a privilege to meet you too. Any friend of … eh …’ He seemed to lose track of the sentiment as he sized him up and down.

  ‘Likewise, Mr Buntline,’ said Texas Jack, barely noticing the slight.

  ‘And where did you get your name from, might I ask? In some adventure, I’ll bet. Am I right? Am I?’

  Texas Jack looked to Bill for support but none was forthcoming. It seemed obvious enough. ‘I’m from Texas,’ he said. ‘Born and bred there.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Buntline, a little deflated by the mundane answer. ‘Well that can’t be helped. Never mind. Anyway, it’s wonderful to have you both here. How was your journey? Excellent, excellent,’ he continued, not waiting for an answer. Bill could feel a smile coming to his lips. He had already formed a liking for this slightly overweight, red-faced, middle-aged man and was enjoying watching his flustered performance. ‘The play is due to begin shortly,’ he said after a moment, checking his watch. ‘Perhaps I should show you both to your seats and afterwards we can talk. There are some very important matters I want to discuss with you, Mr Cody.’

  ‘Buffalo Bill.’

  ‘Yes indeed. Some very important matters I want to discuss with you, Buffalo Bill,’ he corrected himself. ‘How could I forget? Your name is on my mind almost every moment of the day after all. Not that I have any sort of unhealthy obsession; you understand, although my wife says I have. No, it’s nothing unhealthy, sir, I promise you. I’m merely an admirer. A devotee. A follower, an afficianado, an enthusiast.’

  ‘Mr Buntline, you look a little overwrought,’ said Texas Jack, squinting at his host, whose face appeared to be
growing more and more peach with every passing moment. ‘Would you like me to get you a glass of water, maybe?’

  ‘Water?’ yelled Buntline, staring at him as if he was quite mad, his voice rising as quickly as his temperature. ‘Water, you say? No time for water, my friend. It’s two minutes to showtime and I’ve got one of my leading actors who up until five minutes ago was marching around backstage barely sober. How’s he going to remember his lines, that’s what I want to know? My own fault I suppose for allowing him out after the matinée without a minder. Still, a man can’t keep another man under his eyes every moment of the day, can he, gentlemen? You want to talk about unhealthy? That’s unhealthy, gentlemen! Oh my stars, would you look at the time! I better show you to your seats.’ He opened the door and ushered them both out and into the main auditorium where almost three hundred people were settling down to enjoy the play. There was a buzz of whispered conversation and half the eyes were directed towards the stage, despite the fact that the curtain was still drawn. A few empty seats had been reserved in the third row and Buntline pushed Bill and Texas Jack into them quickly. ‘Just sit there and enjoy it,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you both afterwards. We’ll talk then.’ And with that, he ran towards the side of the stage and disappeared into the wings.

  ‘There’s a fellow who needs a drink to settle his nerves,’ said Texas Jack, laughing as they recovered their composure. ‘What a fool, eh?’

  ‘A fool who’s been making an awful lot of money out of my name this last year,’ muttered Bill in response. ‘All these dime novels he’s been writing, him and that Prentiss Ingraham fellow. They must be making a small fortune for themselves. And now this stage show. Look around you, Jack. There’s an awful lot of people here have paid good money to see this blasted thing. Where do you suppose all that money’s going, eh? Not into my pocket, I can tell you.’