The only thing that seemed to stand aloof from the clutter was a fine oil painting of a slim, pale, dark-eyed woman. Douglas saw Jeremiah's eyes go to it. "Yes, that's my Margaret," he said sadly; as Jeremiah would learn, he never spoke of her without putting the possessive in front of her name.
The kitchen was worse than the rest of the house: stale bread, moldy flour, greens limp at best, and salt pork like the stuff Charles Gilkn's sims aoe. Jeremiah shook his head; he had looked for nothing better. He pumped some water, set a chunk of pork in it to soak out some of the salt. Meanwhile, he got a fire going in the hearth. The stew he ended up producing would have earned harsh words from his former owner, but Douglas demanded seconds and showered praise on him.
"Let me start with good food, sir, and I'll really give you something worth eating," Jeremiah said.
"I don't know whether I should, or in six months I'l be too wide to go through my own front door," Douglas said, ruefully surveying his rotund form.
Jeremiah had to sweep off what he was coming to think of as the usual layer of junk to get at his cot. It was saggy and lumpy nowhere near as comfortable as the one he'd had on the Gillen estate. He didn't care.
It was his because he wanted it to be, not because it had to be.
He slept wonderfully. As the months went by, he tried more than once to find a name for his relationship with Alfred Douglas. It was something more than servant, something less than friend.
Part of the trouble was that Douglas treated him unlike anyone ever had before. For a long while, because he had never encountered it before, he had trouble recognizing the difference. The lawyer used him as a man, not as a slave.
That did not mean he did not tell Jeremiah what to do.
He did, which further obscured the change to the black man. But he did not speak as to a half-witted, surly child and he did not stand over Jeremiah to make sure he got things done. He assumed Jeremiah would, and went about his own business.
Not used to such liberty, at first Jeremiah took advantage of it to do as little as he could. "Work or get out," Douglas had told him bluntly.
"Do you think I hired you to sit on your arse and sleep?"
But he never complained when he caught Jeremiah reading, which he did more and more often. In the beginning that had been purely practical on Jeremiah's part, so as to keep fresh what Caleb Gillen had taught him.
Then the printed page proved to have a seductive power of its own.
Which is not to say reading came easily. It painfully taught Jeremiah how small his vocabulary was. Sometimes he could figure out what a new word meant from its context. Most of the time, he would have to ask Douglas.
"'Eleemosynary?"" The lawyer raised his eyebrows.
"It's a fancy word for 'charitable."" He saw that meant a nothing to Jeremiah either, simplified again: " 'Giving to those who lack." What are you looking at, anyhow?"
Jeremiah held up a law book, wondering if he was in trouble.
Douglas only said, "Oh," and returned to the brief a he was drafting.
When he was done, he sanded the ink dry, set the paper aside, and pulled a slim volume from the shelf (by this time, things were easy to find).
He offered the book to Jeremiah. "Here, try this. You have to walk before you can run."
"The Articles of Independence of the Federated Commonwealths and the Terms of Their Federation," Jeremiah read aloud.
"Al else springs from those," Douglas said. "Without - them, we'd have only chaos, or a tyrant as they do these days in England.
But go through them and understand them point by point, and you've made a fair beginning toward - becoming a Iawyer."
Jeremiah stared at him. "There's no nigger lawyers in Portsmouth." He spoke with assurance; he had gotten to know the black part of town well.
It boasted scores of preachers, a few doctors, even a printer, but no lawyers.
"I know there aren't," Douglas said. "Perhaps there should be."
When Jeremiah asked him what he meant, he changed the subject, as if afraid he had said too much.
The book Douglas gave Jeremiah perplexed and astonished him at the same time. "This is how the government is put together?" he asked the lawyer after he had struggled through the first third.
"So it is." Douglas looked at him keenly, as if his next question was to be some kind of test. "What do you think of it?"
"I think it's purely crazy, begging your pardon," Jeremiah blurted.
Douglas said nothing, waiting for him to go on. He fumbled ahead, trying to clarify his feelings: "The censors each with a veto on the other one, the Popular Assembly chose by all the free people and the senators by-I forgot how the senators happen."
"Censors and commonwealth governors become senators for life after their terms end," Douglas supplied.
Jeremiah smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.
"That's right. And the censors enforce the laws-and lead the armies, but only if the Senate decides to spend the money the armies need. And it's the Popular Assembly that makes the laws (if the Senate agrees) and decides if it's peace or war It in the first place. If you ask me, Mr.
Douglas, I don't think any one of 'em knows for certain he can fart without checking the Terms of Federation first."
"That's also why we have courts," Douglas smiled.
"Why do you suppose the Conscript Fathers arranged things this way?
Remember, after we won our freedom from England, we could have done anything we wanted."
Having had scant occasion to think about politics before, Jeremiah took a long time to answer. When he did, all he could remember was the discussion Charles Gil en and ' Harry Stowe had had the spring before.
"For the sake of argufying?" he guessed.
To his surprise, Douglas said, "You know, you're not far wrong.
They tried to strike a balance, so everyone would have some power and no one group could get enough to take anybody else's freedom away. The Conscript Fathers modeled our government on the mixed constitution the Roman Republic had. You know who the Romans were, don't you, Jeremiah?"
"They crucified Jesus, a long time ago," Jeremiah said, exhausting his knowledge of the subject.
"So they did, but they were also fine lawyers and good, practical men of affairs, not showy like the Greeks, but effective, and able to rule a large state for a long time. If we do half so well, we'll have something to be proud of."
The discussion broke off there, because Zachary Hayes came in to borrow a book. Now that Jeremiah had Douglas's Iibrary in order, Hayes stopped by every couple of weeks. He never showed any sign of recognizing why he had more luck these days, and spoke directly to Jeremiah only when he could not help it.
This time, he managed to avoid even looking at the black man.
Instead, he said to Douglas, "If you don't mind, you'll see me more often, Alfred. I've a new young man studying d under me, and long since gave away my most basic texts." "No trouble at all, Zachary," Douglas assured him. Once Hayes was gone, Douglas rolled his eyes. "That buzzard never gave away anything, except maybe the clap. I guaran- a tee you he sold his old books, probably for more than he paid for them too; no denying he's able." Jeremiah did not answer. He was deep in the Terms of Federation again. Once the Conscript Fathers had outlined the Federated Commonwealths's self-regulating government, they went on to set further limits on what it could do.
Reading those limits, Jeremiah began to have a sense of what Douglas had meant by practical ruling. Each restriction was prefaced by a brief explanation of why it wasn’t needed "Establishing dogmas having proven in history to engender civic strife, followers of all faiths shall be forever free to fol ow their own beliefs without let or hindrance."
"So that free men shal not live in fear of the state and its agents and form conspiracies against them, no indiscriminate searches of persons or property shall be permitted." - "To keep the state from the risk of tyranny worse than external subjugation, no foreign mercenaries shal be h
ired, but liberty shal depend on the vigilance of the free men of the nation."
On and on the book went, checking the government for the benefit of the free man. Jeremiah finished it with a strange mixture of admiration and anger. So much talk of freedom, and not a word against slavery! It was as though the Conscript Fathers had not noticed it existed.
Conscious of his own daring, Jeremiah remarked on that to Douglas.
The lawyer nodded. "Slavery has been with us since Greek and Roman times, and you can search the Bible from one end to the other without finding a word against it.
And, of course, when Englishmen came to America, they found the sims. No one would say the sims should not serve us."
Jeremiah almost blurted, "But I'm no sim" Then he remembered Douglas thought him free. He did say, "Sims is different than men."
"There you are right," Douglas said, sounding uncommanly serious. "The difference makes me wonder about our laws at times, it truly does."
Jeremiah hoped he would go on, but when he did, it was not in the vein the black had expected: "Of course, one could argue as well that the sims manifest inequality only points up subtler differences among various groups of men."
Disgusted, Jeremiah found an excuse to knock off early. One thing he had learned about lawyers was that they delighted in argument for its own sake, without much caring about right and wrong.
He had thought Douglas different, but right now he seemed the same as the rest.
A gang of sims came by, moving slowly under the weigh t of the heavy timbers on their shoulders. He glowered at their hairy backs.
Too many white men were like Zachary J Hayes, lumping sims and blacks together because most blacks were slaves.
As it had back on Charles Gil en's estate, that rankled. He was no subhuman . . . and if Hayes doubted what blacks really were, let him get a sim instead of the fancy cook he owned! Soon enough he'd be skeletal, not just lean. Jeremiah grinned, liking the notion.
Another party of sims emerged from a side street. This group was carrying sacks of beans. Neither gang made any effort to get out of the other's way. In an instant, they were hopelessly tangled. Traffic snarled. Because al the sims had their hands full, they could not use their signs to straighten out the mess. Their native hoots and cal s were not adequate for the job. Indeed, they made matters worse.
The sims glared at each other, peeling back their lips to bare their big yellow teeth and grimacing horribly.
"Call the guards!" a nervous man shouted, and several others took up the cry. Jeremiah ducked down an alleyway.
He had seen enough of sims' brute strength on the farm to be sure he wanted to be far away if they started fighting.
The town did not erupt behind him, so he guessed the overseers had managed to put things to rights. A few words at the outset would have done it: "Coming through!" or "Go ahead; we'll wait." The sims did not have the words to use.
"Poor stupid bastards," Jeremiah said, and headed home.
"Mr. Douglas, you have some of the strangest books in the I world, and that is a fact," Jeremiah said.
Douglas ran his hands through his oily hair. "If you keep excavating among those boxes, God only knows what you'll come up with.
What is it this time?"
"A Proposed Explication of the Survival of Certain Beasts in America and Their Disappearance Hereabouts, by Samuel Pepys." Jeremiah pronounced it pep-eeze.
"Peeps," Douglas corrected, then remarked, "You know, Jeremiah, you read much better now than you did when you started working for me last summer. That's the first time you've slipped in a couple of weeks, and no one could blame you for stumbling over that tongue twister."
"Practice,"Jeremiah said. He held up the book. "What is this, anyhow?"
"It just might interest you, come to think of it. It's the book that sets forth the transformational theory of life: that the kinds of living things change over time."
"That's not what the Bible says."
"I know. Churchmen hate Pepys's theories. As a lawyer, though, I find them attractive, because he presents the evidence for them.
Genesis is so much hearsay by comparison."
"You never were no churchgoing man, sir," Jeremiah said reproachfully.
He started to read al the same; working with Douglas had given him a good bit of the lawyer's attitude. And he respected his boss's brains.
If Douglas thought there was something to this, what had he called it?, transformational theory, there probably was.
The book was almost I50 years old, and written in the ornate style of the seventeenth century. Jeremiah had to ask Douglas to help him with several words and complex phrases. He soon saw what the lawyer meant.
Pepys firmly based his argument on facts, with no pleading to unverifiable
"authorities." Despite himself, Jeremiah was impressed Someone squelched up the walk toward Douglas's door. No, a couple of people, by the sound. It was that transitional time between winter and spring. The rain was Still cold, but Jeremiah knew only relief that he did not have to shovel snow anymore.
Douglas had heard the footsteps too. He rammed quil into inkpot and started writing furiously. "Put Pepys down and get busy for a while, Jeremiah," he said. "It's probably Jasper Carruthers and his son, here for that will I should've finished three days ago. Since it's not done, we ought at least to look busy."
Grinning, Jeremiah got up and started reshelving some, of the books that got pulled down every day. He had his back to the door when it swung open, but heard Douglas's relieved chuckle.
"Good to see you, Zachary," the lawyer said. "Saves me the embarrassment of pleading guilty to nonfeasance."
Hayes let out a dry laugh. "A problem we all face from time to time, Alfred; I'm glad you escaped it here. Do you own an English version of Justinian's Digest? I'm afraid the Latin of my young friend here isn't up to his reading it in the original."
The volume happened to be in front of Jeremiah's face. He pul ed it from the shelf before Douglas had to ask him for it, turned with a smug smile to offer it to Hayes's student.
The smile congealed on his face like fat getting cold in a pan.
The youngster with Hayes was Caleb Gillen.
The tableau held for several frozen seconds, the two of them staring at each other while the lawyers, not understanding what was going on, stared at them both.
"Jeremiah!" Caleb exclaimed. "It's my father's runaway nigger!"
he shouted to Hayes at the same moment Jeremiah bolted for the door.
Pepys's book proved his undoing. It went flying out from under his foot and sent him sprawling. Caleb Gillen landed on his back.
Before he could shake free of the youngster Hayes also grabbed him.
The lawyer was stronger than he looked. Between them, he and Caleb held Jeremiah pinned to the floor.
Panting, his gray hair awry, Hayes said, "You told me he was a free nigger, Alfred."
"He said he was. I had no reason to doubt him," Douglas answered calmly. He had made no move to rise from his desk and help seize Jeremiah, or indeed even to put down - his quil . Now he went on, "For that matter, I still have no reason to do so."
"What? I recognize him!" Caleb Gillen shouted, his voice breaking from excitement. "And what if I didn't? He and That proves it!"
"If I were a free nigger and someone said I was a slave, I'd run too," Douglas said. "Wouldn't you, young sir? (I'm sorry, I don't know your name.) Wouldn't you, Zachary, regardless of the truth or falsehood of the claim?"
"Now you just wait one minute here, Alfred," Hayes snapped.
"Young master Caleb Gillen here told me last year of the absconding from his father's farm of their nigger, Jeremiah. My only regret is not associating the name with this wretch here so he could have been recaptured sooner."
He twisted Jeremiah's arm behind his back.
"That you failed to do so demonstrates the obvious fact that the name may be borne by more than one individual," - Douglas said.
"You see here, sir," Caleb Gillen said, "I've known that nigger as long as I can remember. I'm not likely to make a mistake about who he is."
"If he is free, he'll have papers to prove it." Hayes wrenched Jeremiah's arm again. The black gasped. "Can you show us papers, nigger?"
"You need not answer that, save in a court of law," Douglas said sharply, keeping Jeremiah from surrendering on the spot. He was sunk in despair, tears dripping from his face to the floor. Once sent back to the Gillen estate, he would never regain the position of trust that had let him escape, and probably would never be able to buy his freedom either.
Hayes's voice took on a new note of formality. "Do you deny, then, Alfred, that this nigger is the chattel of Charles Gillen, Caleb's father?"
"Zachary, one lad's accusation is no proof, as well you know."
Douglas took the same tone; Jeremiah recognized it as lawyer-talk. A tiny spark of hope flickered. By il uminating the dark misery that filled him, it only made that misery worse.
Overriding Caleb Gillen's squawk of protest, Hayes said, "Then let him be clapped in irons until such time as determination of his status may be made. That will prevent any further disappearances."
"I have a better idea," Douglas said. He unlocked one of his desk drawers,.took out a strongbox, unlocked that. "What would you say the value of a buck nigger of his age would be? Is 300 denaires a fair figure?"
Above him, Jeremiah felt Caleb and Hayes shift as they looked at each other. "Aye, fair enough," Hayes said at last.
Coins clinked with the sweet music of gold. After a bit, Douglas said,
"Then here are 300 denaires for you to acknowledge by receipt, to be forfeit to Master Gillen's father if Jeremiah should flee before judgment. Do you agree to this bond? Jeremiah, will you also agree to that condition?"
"Caleb, the decision is yours," Hayes said.
"Jeremiah, will you give your word?" the boy asked. He waved aside Hayes's protest before it had well begun, saying, "I've known him to be honest enough, even if a runaway." He slightly emphasized known, and glanced toward Douglas, who sat impassive.
A Different Flesh Page 16