Nazareth

by Tony Masero

  Panic ensued and Minnie made her move.

  She mounted up and drove the pony forward urging it through the crush of men. Wild unseeing eyes looked at her before turning again to the blasting flame of the fire and Minnie breasted the pony until it stood alongside the sorrowful figure of the Indian.

  Forgotten now, he swayed half conscious and barely able to stand. Minnie reached down and grabbed his shoulder and Doctor Jack looked up at her vaguely. The blood in his eyes and the falling rain blurred his vision and it took him some minutes before the figure leaning over registered. She was offering him a ride, waving urgently for him to mount up behind her.

  Men were pounding past in the rain, calling and shouting as they made their way towards the burning oilrig. The wave of jostling people broke around Minnie’s horse and at last Doctor Jack grasped her unspoken message. Taking her arm, he leadenly swung himself up across the pony’s back and without hesitation, Minnie whipped up the animal and they sped away unnoticed in the crush.

  Air born sparks followed them into the black night, soft drifting fairytale emblems of the chaos they left behind.

  Minnie did not know which way she was going only heading out and away, she whipped the tired animal on along beside the railroad tracks, following their solitary silver gleam in the residual light.

  ‘Who are you?’ Doctor Jack called over her shoulder.

  Minnie shook her head and wagged a solitary finger, then jabbed with the same finger pointing a question of direction. Doctor Jack took on board the query and urged her on straight ahead. He wondered whom this woman was that had risked herself to save him and was curious as to her silence. His head and body hurt and he was too beaten up to give it much consideration, he just hung on and bided his time only too glad to be free of the prospect of a certain death at the end of a rope.

  They did not get far.

  Minnie and the horse were both exhausted and Doctor Jack too battered to make it more than a few miles outside of Titusville. So they settled for an isolated barn in deep forest not far off the railroad tracks. Minnie lay down on a heap of straw and almost instantly fell asleep and it was left to Doctor Jack to unsaddle the horse, rub it down and give it feed and water. He looked between the pony’s legs at the sleeping Minnie whilst he stripped and washed his wounds in a wooden bucket of water drawn from a nearby stream. Who was she, he wondered. So quiet and why did she risk herself to save him? It was a mystery but the Indian was philosophical about it. He was alive and doubtless, all the rest would be revealed in time.

  He lay down in the straw in the darkness and tried to sleep but it would not come and his situation brought to his mind when he had last lain in straw like this.

  He was not a true Passamaquoddy Indian. In fact his origins had been quite different. His people had originally come out of the Phylus Dee Plantation in the South. Old man Aristophanes Phylus, who had owned the plantation, had been a strict but intelligent boss, giving his slaves decent living conditions, seeing to their health and ensuring that their quarters were always policed in a civilized manner. A widower, he lived up at the big house with his only son, Key – whose name was something far more complicated to pronounce in the original Greek, that being a civilization Mister Aristophanes had much favored – so it was shortened to Key.

  By all accounts it had been a pleasant enough place to live and work. Seventy-seven slaves lived in fourteen dwellings on the five thousand acre plantation, from which they produced a yearly quota of sixty bales or four hundred pounds of cotton. Wealthy and successful, the old man was known only to have been severe once with a runaway. In that, he had made such a terrible example when the man was recaptured that no other ever attempted it again. He did not kill the runaway but let him live, minus his hands and with his legs broken and unusable. The slave was left then to fend for himself or rely on others to aid him and so, dragging himself around on his stumps and with withered legs, he remained a living example to all others of the plantation owner’s wrath. Shattered and shunned it was not long before the wretched slave descended into total insanity and then shed his miserable existence and died, serving his purpose as a warning to others as Aristophanes considered it.

  When the old man himself died the plantation was bequeathed to his son, Key, a much indulged boy. The old man, so authoritarian in all other matters, had allowed his son the free way no others were permitted and it was not surprising that he grew to become a selfish libertine and wastrel.

  Within weeks of his father’s death, Key had substituted all the house staff with female choices of his own, handpicked from amongst the colony of slaves. From cook to bath attendant, from bottle-washer to bed maker, they were all the best looking young girls between twelve and seventeen years old he could find. The subsequent drinking and debauched parties that went on in the big house was epic and it was known that young Key would go from room to room in a regular drunken state, lifting the skirts and straddling the young women whenever the fancy took him. It was the worst of those days before the Civil War when corrupted individuals owned total control over the people in their possession and some like Key Phylus abused their position wherever they might without fear of admonishment, either from their peers or the law.

  It was not long before children were produced as a result of his wanton ejaculations. Half-castes but loved by their mothers nonetheless they became a part of the declining fortunes of the plantation. In such a way in the year of 1840, Doctor Jack was born as a result of one such liaison and grew up under the dissolute reign of Key Phylus, until the besotted and debt-ridden owner had finally gambled away his father’s fortune and driven the plantation into the ground.

  The house and lands became a decayed place of ruination as Key’s excesses grew even more terrible. Gross murder and torture of the slaves became a pastime that his, by now, disease-raddled brain enjoyed. Doctor Jack’s mother determined to attempt an escape and offer some better life for her ten-year-old son before they both met a sorry end.

  She took to the river in a half-rotten Indian dugout hacked from a solid log and setting the little boy in the prow allowed the waters to bring them downstream until they reached the sea. There was no plan further than that and chance was cast on the wind with the hope that luck would provide for them. With no water and their food run out his mother soon sickened. Adrift they floated on their decaying vessel, seeing no one and meeting no other craft.

  After some days on the seas they were pushed by tides and wind back in against the coast and there the mother succumbed and young Doctor Jack was left alone until he was found, lying near death in a rick of hay, by a wandering Passamaquoddy shaman who took him in and raised him as his own. In such a way and after thirty years spent with the Indians, Doctor Jack had learnt the elements of herbal medicine and taken on himself a quiet mode of existence as one of the tribe until circumstances had forced him to become a part of the Travelling Medicine Show.

  As he finally slept, Doctor Jack recalled the news that the Phylus Dee Plantation, the place of his birth had been ravaged and set alight to be burned to the ground during one of the battles of the war. It gave him some pleasure to know that and he slept soundly knowing that such a place and all it had stood for was no longer any more than ashes.

  He awoke suddenly, clear in his mind as to who his speechless savior was.

  He remembered then, as clearly as he had just heard it, the story that Billy Lee had told him. The woman, who still slept amongst the straw, must be Billy Lee’s erstwhile lover, the girl who had been so mutilated as a result of their adultery. It made sense to him that she had escaped her lot and come to find him and so discovered that Doctor Jack and he had formed a partnership. That she had missed Billy Lee by mere hours was an unbelievably unfortunate turn of luck.

  As he sat on the upturned bucket in the dawn light pondering on this she blinked her eyes and came awake.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You must be Minnie Burk.’

  Her sleep-filled eyes widened in sudden caution.r />
  ‘Not to worry,’ he said quickly to allay her fears. ‘I am Doctor Jack Phylus and it is Billy Lee that has told me of you.’

  She relaxed a little then and opened her hands to him in query.

  ‘Yes, he is safe. You missed him by only a little while, the gang of workers you saved me from were intend on harming him also and he fled earlier, on a train, I believe.’

  She began then with excited finger play to try and explain her urgency and why it was necessary to catch up with Billy Lee.

  ‘You are following him or there are others?’ asked Doctor Jack. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not quite understanding.’

  She tried again and he asked, ‘And these men that are following they are dangerous? They are after Billy Lee?’

  She nodded emphatically.

  ‘I see, then we need to be on the way quickly. If he has taken the railroad, then we must do the same. Have you any money, I have none right now but we are owed wages by the mule train.’

  Minnie tugged out the empty pockets in her pants.

  ‘Then I shall go back and claim our pay,’ said Doctor Jack.

  Minnie gave him a concerned look.

  ‘Not to worry, I shall be careful and anyway I believe we will be all but forgotten with the fire that was started. Was that you, by the way?’

  She shrugged and gave him a tight smile.

  Doctor Jack laughed, ‘What devils we are, huh?’ He thought about it a moment, ‘Will you trust me with your pony? I shall go back to the muleteers by a roundabout route and avoid the town, approaching the camp from another direction.’

  She nodded acquiescence.

  ‘Good, wait here then and when I am back we shall take the train north and hopefully warn Billy Lee in time. It is difficult for him; he is intent on finding you and avenging himself on this man Burk. To have one enemy in front and others coming from behind that he does not know of is not such a good thing.’

  She sighed and reached out her hand, placing it over his.

  ‘Yes, do not worry, he is my friend also. All will be well.’

  Doctor Jack got to his feet and began to saddle the pony, ‘You know?’ he said, turning to her with the saddle in both hands. ‘I shall teach you the Indian Sign Language, then we will be able to speak as well as if you had words.’

  Minnie cocked her head to one side and frowned dubiously.

  ‘I know, it is not simple but many meanings are obvious,’ Doctor Jack went on as he tightened the cinch strap. ‘I learnt it from a Coeur d’Alene Indian who got it from some of the Plains Indians, Cheyenne I think. There are variations but mostly it can be understood by all the tribes.’

  He turned back to her, ‘The word ‘Good’ for example, it fills the heart, so here you cup your hand over the heart, like this,’ he demonstrated as he spoke.

  She copied the gesture and then pointed at him.

  ‘Me?’ he smiled. ‘Am I a good man? Well, surely not but I do try.’

  They both laughed and Doctor Jack stepped up into the saddle.

  ‘I will be back soon. Be ready to leave and we will take the first train out.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Billy Lee stepped down from the No.11 Maine Central early train arriving in Portland station, he was the only passenger stepping down from the carriage and he felt stiff and tired. A lot of days hard travelling had meant hopping from connection to connection from Alexandria and then Baltimore, Providence, Boston and finally the furthest he could afford to get by rail into the state of Maine. He had slept only fitfully on his noisy journey and spent unsatisfactory hours trying to grab a few hours rest during the trip whilst being jounced along on uncomfortable hardwood benches in draughty carriages full of acrid fumes from the smokestack.

  It was a overcast morning and barely light when he alighted, the gray monumental edifice of the railroad’s depot towered over him with an oppressively solid dominance as he walked down the steps outside, the clock centered on the pediment above reading five-thirty. The dark city stretched away from him, silent as yet and only just beginning to awaken for the day.

  There was a fresh crisp breeze from off the nearby harbor and the ozone smell of the sea reminded Billy Lee of why he was here. The cobbled plaza in front of him was smudged with horse turds and littered with little mountains of droppings, empty haulage wagons stood in parked rows around the perimeter of the square ready for morning loads to be moved up from the docks. Shiftless porters pushing handcarts moved about on solitary tasks in the shadows ignoring Billy Lee as they went about their shady and obscure business.

  The square out front was deserted except for an old guy sitting idly on the rim of a decorative fountain that supported a still alight wrought iron street lamp and was situated in a circle of low railings at the center of the plaza.

  Billy Lee zigzagged a path through the piles of rank smelling manure and greeted the old man, ‘Howdy, can you tell me of a place I can get a breakfast that ain’t going to break the bank?’

  The old man barely glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

  ‘You look like trouble, mister,’ he said, with a nod at Billy Lee’s holstered pistol and the rifle he carried rolled in a blanket. ‘Carrying an open weapon ain’t too well approved of in this town.’

  ‘I ain’t got a problem with you, have I, sir?’

  The old fellow sniffed and rubbed an unshaven chin ruminatively, ‘Not me but somebody else, I’d guess.’

  ‘Maybe but all I want now is something to eat.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said the man, turning to face Billy Lee. ‘I’ll do you a deal, buy me a coffee and I’ll show you where you can get the best feed in town at the lowest price.’

  Billy Lee twisted a lip, ‘Well, I ain’t got much cash left but I reckon I can run to a coffee.’

  ‘Okay then,’ said the old man easing himself upright. ‘Name’s Valentine Pratt, most folks just call me Val,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  ‘Billy Lee LaBone.’

  They shook and the old man set off at a rambling rate to one side of the depot building down a wide side street. Billy Lee stepped daintily around the heaps of manure and Val looked askance at Billy Lee’s new mule-eared boots.

  ‘That’s some fine leather you got there,’ he observed.

  ‘I should say, cost me ten bucks special made.’

  They had been an investment Billy Lee had engineered, spending much of Joe Fish’s gift on the making of the boots to his own specifications during a stopover in Baltimore between trains.

  The old man puffed air, ‘Phew! Ten bucks! No wonder your well’s running dry, best step careful around this crap then.’

  ‘Don’t they ever clean these streets?’ asked Billy Lee wrinkling his nose at the smell.

  ‘Too much traffic off the harbor, come the day this street is packed with carriages and carts. They got sailing traders and paddle steamers filling up that bay out there waiting to offload.’

  ‘If horse shit was gold this town would make a fortune,’ observed Billy Lee dryly.

  Val huffed a laugh, ‘Oh, there’s plenty of that in this town. Now this here eating house I’m taking you to is for the railroad workers at the depot,’ he explained. ‘They stay open twenty-four-seven and keep the fellows fed all the hours they has to work in there.’

  ‘Good to know,’ said Billy Lee.

  ‘I ain’t learnt much in my sorry life but I do know where to get cheap.’

  ‘What’re you doing about at this early hour anyway?’ asked Billy Lee, looking around at the empty streets.

  ‘My age a body don’t need a lot of fulltime rest, we know that’ll be coming soon enough.’

  Billy Lee studied the shambling man wryly and considered that his somewhat nihilistic attitude was a bit depressing. He was a bow-backed wrinkled fellow whose clothes had seen better days and Billy Lee placed him in his seventies and guessed he was sleeping rough and without any sort of income.

  ‘You know this town well, Val?’ he asked.

&
nbsp; ‘I do, spent all my days here.’

  ‘I need to get up to Nazareth, you know of a way I can do that shy of walking?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, you going to tell me?’

  ‘I’ll think on it,’ said Val, taking off suddenly down a narrow side alley.

  The restaurant he showed Billy Lee was a hole-in-the-wall place, busy, noisy and steaming. It was full of rough looking railroad workers jostling together in the overheated atmosphere, smoking and drinking coffee amidst a smell of cooking food that made the hungry Billy Lee’s mouth water.

  Eyes turned as Billy Lee and Val entered and a sudden hush fell over the place as the newcomers were assessed. Then plates started clattering again and the conversation returned as the two found a table and sat down.

  ‘Emilia!’ called out Val to a pot-bellied and sweating red-faced woman behind the counter. ‘Two coffees and my friend here wants his breakfast.’

  The woman took a quick glance at the old man and after a moment’s consideration gave a brief nod of the head.

  ‘She don’t like me too much,’ Val confided. ‘Been like that for years.’ He uttered a low chuckle, ‘One time I gave her younger sister some friendly company, if you know what I mean, and Emilia there never got over it.’

  Billy Lee arched a disbelieving eyebrow, ‘Must have been a while back.’

  Val sniffed and looked away, frowning as he mentally assessed, ‘About fifty years give or take, I reckon.’

  Billy Lee snorted a laugh; ‘She sure bears a grudge then.’