Outland Exile

by W. Clark Boutwell

  “Halloo, the shore!”

  A dark form separated itself from the mass of the trees and caught the rope the old man threw into the dark.

  “Halloo yourself, you old fool. What took you? I’ve been exposing myself with that damned light for almost an hour.”

  “Well, all’s well, Mose. I got our supercargo here. Malila, please meet my friend, Moses P. Stewert. Moses, meet Chiu, Malila E., acting second lieutenant.” Jesse’s apathy was gone, replaced by a brittle brightness, like a shard of mirror in the dark.

  “You will pardon me if I don’t curtsy, and stop wasting time, you old coot!” said the voice in the dark.

  The two men unloaded the boat onto a beach and lifted it bodily out of the water to walk it up the bank.

  Malila heard the occasional soft scrape of a tree branch as they moved. An errant breeze carried a pungent smell that she vaguely remembered. After a great deal of opening and closing of gates and doors, Malila found herself inside a building, the air close and warm. Jesse removed her makeshift hood after tying her to a post. A small fire glowed a sullen red in a river-rock-and-mud hearth but revealed nothing of the space until the man called Moses lit a crude candle.

  The dim yellow light revealed a large dirt-floored room. Moses appeared a few years older than she and was tall, with competent hands and a prominent Adam’s apple. His almost somnolent eyes looked at Malila without pleasure. He was clean shaven except for a few days’ growth. In the way of tall men, he walked in a crouch.

  As Moses added new fuel to the hearth fire, Malila could see the rest of the room. Alcoves with raised sleeping platforms lined three sides of the long, narrow space. The ceiling was tall enough for Malila to stand and displayed a collection of drying herbs, tools, and food left hanging from the rafters.

  “Glad to see you, old man. You were beginning to worry me,” said Moses.

  Jesse grinned his grin. “Glad to see you can outrun the bears.”

  “I don’t have to outrun the bears, old man … I just got to outrun you!”

  The men embraced, hugging each other for long seconds. Amazed, Malila saw a gleam of moisture on the old man’s cheek as they parted.

  After a scant pause, the old man said, “Are you gonna let me die of thirst, young man? I know your momma, and she would be ashamed of your manners.”

  Moses laughed and, without a word, retreated from the lighted circle, only to return with an earthenware jug of considerable size and an odd shape. Its flank displayed numerous looped handles, and a gray glaze showing the mark of the potter’s hand as its only decoration. He placed it on a makeshift table. Moses poured two portions of clear liquid into metal tins before the two men rattled them together, without a word, and drank. There followed a profound silence before a smacking of lips, inrush of breath, and low hoots of amazement.

  “Where did you find this?” Jesse asked in hushed awe.

  “Booker Tolliver came by last week. He had orders to take all the animals that I couldn’t use to Lex’ton before winter. His missus sent it along with him as a special present. You know, Jess, I think the lady is sweet on you, you old dried-out stump of a man.”

  “Just a delayed payment on services rendered, Mose. And see … no good deed goes unpunished!” Jesse gave a small salute with the tin cup.

  Moses laughed for a moment before his face sobered. “The railroad has been cut again. Up near Lou’ville, place called Muddy Fork. Lost a loco and most of the hospital cars. It was on a siding, so some of the docs and nurses got away … and some were with their patients.”

  “Anybody I know? Dorothy Partridge used to go on that run as part of her job, but I think she has a practice in Covington now …” Jesse’s voice petered out, and he sipped, his face now in shadow away from Malila’s sight.

  Moses had no response but took a knife and carved a slice from what looked like a lump of wood hanging from a low rafter and offered it to Jesse on the tip of the blade.

  “Black-bear ham, smoked with some applewood I found.”

  Malila’s stomach growled.

  Jesse accepted the morsel and ate it in silence. He took another slice, and the two compared notes on wild gastronomy.

  “What are you going to do with Miss Anthrope over there?” Moses asked as he cut another piece.

  “That is a puzzle, is it not, my friend? I don’t suppose you have more applewood by chance?”

  “Tell me again, Jess: Why do we want to compromise the whole mission just to capture a real-live, bone-and-sinew Union butter bar? It don’t make much sense to me if what we get is still kicking and spitting.”

  Jesse shrugged.

  “We can get a message to the regimental head shed, but without the rail line, I surely don’t care to have to transport her to corps HQ in winter on horseback. But let me see something,” said the old man, turning to Malila, her face barely illuminated in the dim light. “Lieutenant Chiu, answer me a question.”

  “Chiu, Malila E., acting second lieutenant, serial number 590261697.”

  Jesse sighed and asked anyway, his pale eyes now bright. “Have I told you any lies?” he asked.

  His question made Malila uneasy. It almost sounded like a plea.

  “You said you were going to eat me.”

  The old man sighed and looked down for a second before looking up. “Yes, ma’am. I said I might … and we still ain’t home yet.”

  Moses hooted in the background.

  “As far as I know, you’ve been truthful,” Malila said in a childish singsong.

  Jesse rolled his eyes and went on. “How many times could I ha’ killed you?”

  “That’s against the rules of war,” she spat back.

  “Well, we savages don’t read no rules. Do we, Mose? I ain’t read no rules of war. What about you?”

  “Shucks, Jesse, you know I cain’t hardly read,” Moses replied, grinning mischievously and shaking his head.

  “How many times could I have killed you, Lieutenant Chiu?” Jesse repeated.

  “Anytime you wanted. Is that the answer you want?”

  The old man nodded and continued more slowly, “Tell me the truth, Lieutenant: Do you know how to get back home?”

  “No,” she said after a pause.

  Jesse turned to Moses and said brightly, “Moses, I have a real hankering for fresh vegetables. Have you got any?”

  “Sorry, Jesse, I was eating up the reserve, trying to close up the station. I got some pickles. Would that do?”

  “Sure, if you are sure it won’t be any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all!” The younger man rose and went outside. Malila could hear him moving around in an adjacent room.

  Jesse asked softly, once the outside door had closed, “Are you going to try to kill me again, Lieutenant Chiu?”

  When she did not respond immediately, he sighed.

  She paused and searched her own character. There was a time when she would have killed Jesse without remorse. She had wanted to hurt him for capturing her, for abandoning her, for making her trust him while he was playing her for a fool, for making it seem that he was concerned for her.

  She had gotten used to his peculiarities. No, that was unfair. She missed his confidences. She saw him floating away into senility. He had wanted her but, even then, had rejected her. He should have stayed with her, at the underpass, at the river. Even just the last few days, he had been distancing himself. Every time she’d needed him, he’d vanished. When she tried to analyze the events, the images slid and spiraled away from her.

  Jesse was still staring at her.

  “No, Jesse. I’m not going to try to kill you.”

  “Do you mean it this time?” he asked in a quiet voice. Moses’s rummaging stopped, and Malila could hear him returning.

  “Yes, Jesse, I mean it this time. I’ll not try to harm you or Moses.”
r />   “Or yourself?”

  “Or myself.”

  Moses entered with a glass jar of ancient pickles, held on high, in triumph.

  “Then have a drink wi’ us,” said Jesse.

  CHAPTER 35

  MOONSHINE

  Malila rubbed her wrists, long since chafed and callused from the bindings, as Jesse kicked a box near the ring of light, gesturing to her to sit. Moses shrugged and retrieved a small jar into which he poured a finger of the clear liquid before giving it to Malila. Jesse tried to open the jar of pickles before letting Moses complete the process. Jesse took a bite of a pickle and made a face that nearly made Malila laugh.

  A second later however, his face sobered and he raised his cup in salute. “Here’s to Percy! May he swim farthest, swim fastest, see more ladies, and sire more babies than the rest.”

  Moses laughed and clicked cups with the old man and with Malila before swallowing with gusto. Malila sniffed at the contents of her jar. A noseful of fumes made her sneeze.

  “To Percy.”

  She upended the glass, downing the contents to get the absurd toast over with as quickly as possible.

  Moses’s smiling face froze, and he nudged Jesse.

  Silence reigned.

  The fire in her mouth, throat, and lungs, like a body blow, wrung the breath from her. She could breathe neither in nor out. Her vision started to narrow before a paroxysm of coughing threw her off the box and onto her knees. Jesse was at her side, pounding her back as she gasped for a breath through her still-alcohol-saturated mouth. Another frenzy of coughs seized her, tears streaming down her cheeks. She slowly recovered, breathing carefully through her nose.

  “Smooth,” she lied.

  The men dissolved into relieved laughter. Malila found herself smiling as well. Alcohol in its many forms was available in the Unity. The infinity of names, brands, colors, and adulterants confused her. The DUFS frowned upon its use. Some of her age group had been found drunk and disorderly when she was an E6. They’d received no reprimand, but then again, all had washed out within eighteen months. She’d never seen them again.

  She took another sip. This time, negotiating the liquid past her reflexes, she grinned back at the expectant glances of the men. Between sips and slices of pickle and ham, the three of them talked about the eternally safe topic of the weather. Moses told jokes, and Jesse obediently chuckled, before explaining them to her.

  She perceived no effect of the drink other than a warming action in her near-empty belly and an improvement in the quality of the humor. Her drinking companions were becoming excellent hosts.

  Jesse started to tell his friend of the events of the last six weeks. He gave an account of Malila’s surgery, Percy’s release, and Bear’s attack. The old man improved upon her performance during the bison hunt but mentioned nothing about her attempt on his life, the devil’s bridge, or her bleeding. As the jug passed around each time, Malila’s opinion of the old man as a traveling companion, scholar, and benefactor improved.

  The conversation passed on to local news from back home.

  “… and Wesley Sanchez just bought the Zimmerman place in Cabot’s Town after Philip was near killed by some bushwhackers … broke his leg,” Moses continued.

  “That’s a shame. The association8 doing anything?”

  Malila interrupted before Moses could reply. “Tha’d never happen in the Unity. Mus’ be horrible to live in diz country. What I don’ understan’ is why you don’ just join the Unity,” spat Malila, becoming annoyed that her viscous tongue had taken to wandering as she was trying to speak.

  “Other than I’d be turned into one of your zombie troopers, you mean?” sniffed Jesse.

  Malila dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand.

  “Nothing is so law-abiding as a conquered country … peace of the graveyard, is all,” returned Jesse.

  “How can you say we’re con … con … beaten? You’re the ones that have to run and hide, old man.” She poked Jesse’s chest for emphasis.

  “Oh, I think both of our countries have been beaten, lass. Ours after the Scorching, but yours had already been conquered by that time. The buzzards were the only ones to win that war.”

  “We won the las’ war … Glor’ous War of Liberation!”

  “I had no idea you were such an authority, my friend. From whom were you liberated then?”

  “From the old people who were hoarding all the wealth and, ya know … stuff!”

  “And did these wealthy old people have rights?”

  “You don’ understand rights.” Again the fluttering hands. “Individuals don’ have rights. It’s the people who have rights. No one has the right to hoard the wealth of the people for their own benefit!”

  “So it was not so much that they were old as that they had something valuable? Was that their crime?”

  “You can’t understan’! It’s com’licated. That was then, ol’ man. The Unity is based on rights, after all!”

  The old man’s grizzled eyebrows went up in mock surprise. “Oh, well now, it’s based on rights. I didn’t know that. Educate me, lass, if you would be so kind.”

  “We have the right t’ vote, t’ believe what we want, t’ be free of being offended, t’ say anything we want long as it doesn’t offend anyone else, the right to food, work, housing, transportation, and medical care. After we retire, the Unity takes care of ever’thin’! It’s guaranteed.”

  “Do you have the right to be foolish?” He cocked his head to the side, like a fox.

  “Of course not. Who wants to be foolish?”

  “Who indeed, lass? Everyone should be protected from being foolish. So a question, my wise friend: Is gambling wise or foolish?”

  “Only the foolish gamble … so you mus’ like it, Sisi!” She laughed, throwing her head back and nearly falling.

  “Mose, when did you start your homestead?”

  “Five years ago, Jesse. Is your brain giving out? You were there helping me pull stumps, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, that was you, was it? I musta mistook you for the south end of the northbound mule I was working. Tell me how many times people have tried to homestead that same parcel before you.”

  “Two others. Some guy named Fletcher—he was murdered in a Unity raid—and a family of Swedes as come down from Minnesota. They started too late to get a crop in that first winter, and then they lost most of their pigs to some disease. They threw in to go stay in town somewheres. Jesse, you know all this. Why am I telling you?”

  “Bear with me, Mose. Why did you think you could succeed where those good folks failed?”

  Moses shrugged his shoulders and tipped the box back so that he was leaning against the wall.

  “I had done it before … with you. You were staking me, and you said you’d help me if needed. I chose to prove out my section here. Where can you get cheap bottomland anymore?”

  “Wasn’t your choice a foolish bet? You put up your money, sweat, and time on the chance you could bring in a harvest to pay your note. You had no guarantee, right?”

  Moses laughed. “Some people might think it foolish—Sally’s mother for one. Of course there was no guarantee! I wouldn’t o’ been able afford it, if’n it was to be guaranteed. It was a bet, like most everything! I guess. That’s how someone like me deals with the future. I bet that I could prove out the section, and I have.

  He turned slightly, including Malila in his comments now.

  “My folks didn’t have nothing to give me by the time I set out, miss. I left with nothing but my clothes, an old rifle from my uncle, my books, and my tools.

  “Jesse here hired me to help prove out his farm in Bath County, and I saved some. With that and with what Jesse staked me, I had enough to buy what I needed to homestead. If I hadn’t tried to homestead there, I’d have gone out west. The soi
l and water are better here, but it is closer to the damned Union, begging your pardon. I suppose it was a gamble, but it was my gamble. I bet the farm … everything I had, but I knew the odds, and I knew the stakes.”

  Jesse smiled. “Always make your own bet …”

  “… and never take someone else’s bet. Cut the deck when you can, and …” Moses replied.

  “… smile when you lose!” they said together before grinning at each other.

  “Last question, Mose: Have you paid me back?”

  “Well, the note for this year doesn’t come due till New Year, Jess, but we can pay you now if you need it.”

  Jesse held up his hand to the younger man and turned back to Malila. “Should we have prevented Mose from being foolish, lass?”

  “Tha’s different. Back home the gov’ment makes sure everyone works ’n’ is paid good wages.” She smiled.

  Moses gave a short, barky chuckle.

  “And if you don’t like your wages, you go to the other government in town … right?” asked Jesse.

  Malila gave him an uncomprehending stare before Jesse said, “I think I need some sleep, Mose. Must admit I am tired. It’s been long hours on short rations since you left Sun Prairie, and the liquor has wagged my tongue for me.”

  Moses took his cue, adding, “We should start as soon as we can in the morning. Never know how the trail is this time of year.”

  Moses collected the cups, and Jesse pointed Malila toward the latrine. She relieved herself without undue disgust, and on her return, an old piece of towel, a cup of soap, and a bucket were laid out next to the rushlight. She leaned over the top of the bucket and was surprised by the warmth wafting up. Several large river rocks bubbled in the bottom when she passed the light above it.

  Moses’s voice emerged from a dark alcove. “That hot water is for you, miss. The rocks will keep it warm for a while. You can take the lamp to bed if you want. You’ve got your privacy, Miss Malila. Jesse and I are gent’men.”

  She could just make out the younger man in his sleeping furs rolling away from her. She glanced over at another pile of furs that was already breathing heavily.