THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER

by Judith B. Glad

"Yes," she admitted. "I was scared stiff. And that fool deputy kept saying, 'He's just fine and dandy,' until I thought I'd scream. So I decided to see for myself."

  "I'm not exactly fine and dandy, but I'm more sleepy than anything." Loosening his embrace, he tucked her under one arm. "Sheriff, I've got a message they want me to deliver. It's to the newspaper, not to you."

  "I'll take it."

  "No, I think I'd better, since I gave my word. But the gist of it is, they refuse to leave town. They're counting on you protecting them when word gets around."

  "My job's to keep the peace. As long as they don't break any laws, I'll do what I can."

  They walked together back toward town. Lulu kept one arm around Tony's waist. Several times she felt him stumble. Keeping her mouth shut was an effort, but she knew he'd not appreciate her acting like his mother in front of the sheriff. As they walked, Tony spoke more of what was in the document he'd written for the Chinese community.

  The newspaper office was, naturally, closed, but Tony had a key to the door that opened from the switchboard into it. He let himself in and placed the declaration on the editor's desk. Sitting, he wrote a short note to accompany it. "There, that should do it. Now, let's go home."

  "I'll walk you there," the sheriff said.

  It was after three before they got into bed. Tony was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, but Lulu found herself unable to relax. She thrashed from side to side for an hour, trying to stem the wild tumble of thoughts in her mind. Foremost among them was the memory of the awful sinking sense of loss she'd felt when Deputy Goode had said, 'Your husband's been shot.' For one single, terrible instant, she'd wanted to die, herself, until she heard the words fine and dandy.

  This goes way beyond love, she realized. He is my heart, my life.

  When had she stopped regretting marrying him? Or had those regrets been her inborn resistance to being told what to do?

  She turned again, pounded her pillow. Tony stirred, then relaxed again, with a deep sigh. She put her arm around him and cuddled close. There was something incredibly comforting about having a warm body to snuggle.

  Tony's heart beat steadily, strongly under the hand she had spread on his chest. The tension slowly drained from her. Just as she hovered on the edge of sleep, her babe--her babies!--moved, a gentle, slow movement, like a sleepy stretch. She pushed closer to Tony's back, so the mound of her belly was sheltered between them.

  Yes, your father's fine and dandy. Go to sleep now. It's late.

  * * * *

  Aching, stiff, and cranky from lack of sleep, Tony was at the switchboard at eight the next morning. One way or another, he had to get the batteries recharged. Once he'd recorded their charge levels, he sat at the small desk in the corner and did some figuring. They had parts for two batteries more on hand. What if...

  "Jack, ring up John Witherspoon, up at the Philadelphia Smelter."

  John wasn't in his office, but he called back within an hour. "Sure," he said, when Tony had described the problem. "Bring 'em on up. We can charge them while you wait, if it won't hurt them to be connected to our circuit."

  Then he got to work putting the batteries together so they'd be ready to go. Abe Quisling was sober today, and wanting to work. Until his next bender, he'd be a good man to send. There weren't many in the Wood River area who'd argue with Abe, who had arms like telephone poles and shoulders too wide for ordinary doors.

  By midafternoon, Tony was dead on his feet. When he went by Eagleton's office, where Lulu had held the fort all day, he said, "For two cents I'd go back and sleep on the cot. Right now the walk home seems like a lot of work."

  "Go ahead," she said, looking up from the typewriter. She'd used one back in Washington and was far better at it than he was. Perhaps he should suggest she do all of Eagleton's typing in the future.

  "I will. Wake me when you're ready to go home for supper."

  She merely nodded and went back to whatever she was writing.

  She woke him at six. "You'll want to warn Mr. Yu," she said, as he sat on the edge of the cot and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. "The League has called a special meeting to discuss the latest statement from the Chinese. I think you should be there."

  "I can't go. I'm not a member."

  "Eagleton is, isn't he? Since he's out of town, you can say you've come in his stead."

  Tony looked at her. She wore her 'save the world' expression. It scared him. "Lulu, I don't want to have anything to do with the League. I'll help the Chinese all I can--yeah, I know I told you I wouldn't, but I've realized I have to, if I want to look myself in the eye when I shave."

  "Then go to the meeting."

  "That won't help them. The League isn't going to listen to logic and calm reason. They're fanatics."

  "No, they're scared. The Chinese are different and strange. They are hard workers and determined to make something of themselves. To men who don't have confidence in their skills or intelligence and who don't feel able to cope with life, the Chinese are a real threat."

  She sat down beside him and took his hand. "I saw that a lot in the South, when I was working with the Relocation Committee. The people who cried out the loudest against giving Negroes the same rights as whites were those who were unsure of themselves, who had few skills, who weren't willing to work for what they wanted. I've seen who the leaders of the League are, and for the most part, they're that same sort."

  "But Dalton, the president, he's a businessman--"

  "Yes, but not much of one, if the condition of his shop is any indication. I'll bet the members who are successful are those who, like Mr. Eagleton, joined for expediency, not out of conviction. And they'll not support either a boycott or violence."

  He never had been able to win this sort of argument with Lulu, but he usually could out-stubborn her. "I still don't think I ought to go to the meeting."

  "Then don't. It's open to women. I'll go." She rose. "We can eat at Mom's Café. That will be quicker than going home."

  Well, hell! He glowered at her.

  She stared soberly back.

  "Okay. You win. I'll go."

  "I thought you would." Her smile was almost enough of a reward.

  * * * *

  They sat in the back of the room. Tony had continued to argue about her attending the meeting, until Lulu informed him he'd have to physically restrain her to keep her away. At first the meeting was like any other, with minutes of the last one, a treasurer's report, and a summary of old business. To her ears it sounded like the only old business they had was a list of unworkable suggestions for getting rid of the Chinese. She found her mind wandering several times and had to force her attention back to what the speakers were saying.

  That was why she missed hearing Patrick Newell's first few sentences. "...masquerading as one of us, pretending to be a white man. He even goes under a false name, hoping to delude us into thinking he isn't one of the despised Celestials." His voice was almost musical, with a drawl that spoke of his southern origins.

  Beside her, Tony tensed. Lulu caught his wrist, mentally commanding him to sit quietly.

  "I have been investigating him for more than a year, determined to expose his incompetence. In the course of my investigation, I discovered what an enormous imposture he has been engaged in. Not content to let us believe him qualified as an engineer, he has concealed his ancestry. He is not the half-breed Indian some of you have taken him to be. Nay. He is far worse. This man is one of the hated Chinese, and I intend--"

  Voices rose in question, in protest, in outrage. Newell raised his hands, one holding a thick sheaf of papers. "Let me have my say, I beg you. Let me tell you what a despicable deception this...this imposter, this barbarian has perpetrated. And then, I will tell you of his worse crimes... But first. Let me reveal him for the Imperial agent he is." He waved a thick sheaf of papers above his head.

  "Yes, I've investigated him, Ladies and gents. And what I've discovered is a terrifying, pervasive threat to our bel
oved nation. This man is an agent of the Emperor of China, sent here to infiltrate our society, to weaken our defenses against further invasion by the accursed yellow peril.

  "This man, whom we've welcomed to our fair city and accepted as one of ourselves is not just an agent, a spy. No, he is also a destroyer, responsible for the brutal deaths of no fewer than one hundred thirty-two innocents.

  "But has he been arrested for murder? Oh, no, not he! Despite the fact that he killed those poor people as surely as if he'd held a gun to their heads, he was exonerated. He killed them with his ineptitude, his carelessness. With his inability to comprehend complicated engineering principles, like all of his race--"

  "He's raving," Lulu muttered to Tony. "Nobody's going to believe anything he says."

  "Don't be too sure," he said, barely above a whisper.

  Newell was still talking. "His life is a web of lies, his reputation built on deceit. He has come among you with malice in his evil heart, to open this fair community to a flood of his vile brethren..."

  A mutter started through the crowd. To Lulu it seemed half curiosity, half hostility.

  "Wait, neighbors. There's more. Oh, yes, there's more that can be laid to the door of this...this monster. He claims to have earned an engineering degree from that eminent institution of higher learning, the great, the respected Harvard University. In 1877. Mark that date clearly in your mind."

  Leafing through the papers he held, he pulled one out. "Let me read from this letter I received from the registrar's office at Harvard University. 'Harvard first admitted Chinese students in 1879, following the arrival and appointment to the faculty of Professor Ko Kun-hua. Before that the students in the Chinese Educational Mission were educated in Hartford, Connecticut.'" With a wide smile on his face, he looked around the room. "Yet the Chinese man I am about to name claims to have received his degree from Harvard University in '77. So he is a liar as well as a murderer."

  This time it was Tony's hand clamped around her wrist that held Lulu in her seat as Newell went on.

  "Will you allow this person, this vile, monstrous creature, to remain in the place you call home? The peaceful refuge where above all you should feel safe?"

  A low murmur spread around the room, swelling until individual voices were drowned in the tumult. All but a few, which carried above the general noise.

  "Who is he?"

  "Name the bastard."

  "...tar and feathers..."

  "...treacherous little snakes..."

  "Stay here," Tony said into her ear, his voice low and intense. "If you value your hide, and the safety of our babes, stay put." His hand squeezed hers, and he added, "If the situation gets out of hand, get the hell away however you can." Then he stood up.

  Newell pointed. "His name is--"

  "My name is Tony Dewitt. But I was born Guan Tao Ni. And I'm proud of it." His voice carried over the crowd, stilling the arguments, cutting off the cries and Newell's strident voice.

  He pushed through the clot of men standing behind the lined-up chairs and started toward the front of the room. Lulu wanted to chase after him, to make him run the other way. Was he trying to get himself killed?

  "Question of Privilege, Mr. Chairman?"

  The shouts died away as the Chairman pounded with his gavel. The mutter changed tone, from angry to confused and perhaps a bit curious. Lulu heard one man say, "I can't believe Dewitt's a murderer. Why he..." someone else's loud voice drowned out the rest, but Lulu was heartened. Not everyone believed Newell.

  She craned her neck, but couldn't see a thing. Half the people in the room were on their feet, and many of them were gesticulating or climbing onto their chairs. Which wasn't a bad idea. She climbed onto hers. Tony had only told her to stay here, after all.

  She was just in time to see Tony step onto the low stage. The chairman pounded his gavel for silence. His mouth moved, but his voice was lost in the noise. At last the tumult died down, save a few mutters here and there.

  "Folks, Mr. Dewitt has a right to be heard same as any man here. I'll leave it up to you, though. Maybe he's a Chinaman, and maybe not. But Mr. Newell has made some pretty strong accusations, and it don't seem fair to take his word without giving Dewitt a chance to answer. What say you?"

  There was no doubt what the majority opinion was. Any hope Tony had of getting the crowd to listen to him was lost with the first cry. "I ain't listenin' to no slanty-eyed heathen who thinks he's as good as a white man."

  Lulu was proud to be Tony's wife. He stood, tall and composed, while the crowd vilified him. After a while, he shook his head and stepped down. As he pushed his way back toward her, arguments broke out all over the room. Clearly there were some who were on Tony's side. Or who at least thought he should be heard.

  She held her breath until he reached her. When he held his arms up, she stepped into them and he lowered her gently to the floor. If ever there was a room on the edge of riot...

  By some miracle, they passed among the muttering men untouched, unscathed, all the way to the wide door at the top of the stairs. Behind them, the crowd was engaged in vociferous debate, but Lulu didn't care. She'd always believed that the collective intelligence of a mob was the reciprocal of the number of people comprising it, which meant the League was about as smart as a bedbug.

  They emerged into the street. "Oh, shit," Tony murmured, when he saw the half-circle of men waiting. "Keep your eyes front and walk straight ahead."

  "Not on your life. This is my fight too."

  "Lulu, please do what I say. If things get too rough, go after the sheriff." He gave a push at the small of her back.

  Lulu obeyed. Reluctantly. Once she was free of the narrowing circle of men, she dashed awkwardly across the street, intending to call the sheriff before things got too rough.

  She had just reached the opposite sidewalk when she heard the unmistakable, sickening snap of a breaking bone.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Is this a free country? If it is, others are as free as you yourselves. But all must obey the laws, as liberty without the law is simply license. Within the law persons, property--all are safe. Without the law, all are unsafe.

  Wood River Times - Editorial

  ~~~

  Well, hell!

  Tony hated fights. People got hurt.

  I reckon there's no help for it. While the seven men waiting for him--miners from the look of them--hesitated, he rolled his shoulders, reached inside himself for the mental discipline he had practiced for so many years.

  Feet firmly rooted to the earth, shoulders loose and limber, he waited, while time seemed to stretch interminably. At last one man stepped forward, fists raised. His scowl was enough to scare a grizzly, the breadth of his shoulders enough to intimidate a logger. Tony rose onto his toes, kicked him in the ballocks, and danced back while the fellow crumbled. His high piercing screams were the only sound for many seconds.

  Unable to resist a grin, Tony motioned the others forward. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

  "Fight fair, you sonuvabitch," the biggest one said. He feinted a blow. Tony warded it off with his left hand. The snap of a breaking bone was loud in the sudden silence. He gave another fellow an elbow in the gut when he rushed in, kicked a fourth in the kneecap.

  The last three came at him together.

  Feeling rushed, Tony managed to avoid breaking the first man's neck when he struck with the edge of his hand. He leaped, kicking once, twice, and the last two were on the ground. One lay gasping for breath, while the other retreated, pushing himself backward on hands and knees. "I've had enough," he whined, as he came to a crouch and backed off.

  Tony stayed ready, but none of the six on the ground showed any inclination to continue the fight.

  Glancing over one shoulder, he saw most of the crowd from the hall gathered on the sidewalk behind him. He turned and looked at them, meeting the eyes of one after another of the men in the front row. They all looked away, some quickly, some reluctantly.

&nbs
p; "Somebody tried to kill me yesterday," he said, looking directly at Jim Dalton, the president of the League. "Probably the same somebody who's been deliberately sabotaging the telephone system. We've managed to keep service to everyone so far, but one more act of vandalism, one more attack on me and mine, and I'll shut the whole damn thing down." Slowly he let his gaze sweep every face. "Is that understood?"

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked across the street to where Lulu waited. "I thought I told you to go after the sheriff if things got rough," he said, as he took her hand.

  "I would have, if they had. But you looked as if you were managing fine without any help." Her smile was wide and hopeful. "Will you teach me to fight like that?"

  He could only shake his head, exhausted, yet amused. "Let's go home. We'll talk about it later."

  * * * *

  Lulu woke in the night, having dreamed of the voice on the telephone. She knew she'd heard that voice before. And tonight she was sure she'd heard it again. Patrick Newell? Maybe. There was an accent, but was it his?

  He hates Tony. I wonder why. Did he push me? I'm sure Frank Correy was the one who spoke to me, and they've seemed inseparable lately.

  She turned to her other side, tried to get comfortable, but her hips ached and her mind wouldn't stop working. Mentally she relived the meeting, listened again to Mr. Newell spout his condemnation of Tony. His vicious, lying accusations. False, but so convincing to people already frightened by the specter of a Chinese invasion.

  Tony didn't act worried, but she was. Newell's words would find fertile ground in the minds of petty people. By tomorrow Tony would be, in the eyes of many, a brutal killer, a demonic heathen who ate babies for breakfast and was the first wave of conquerors of the civilized world.

  "I can hear you thinking," he said, his voice blurred with sleep, "a mile a minute."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." She scooted over to snuggle against him.

  He turned and put his arm around her. "What plots are you concocting?"

  "No plots. I keep thinking there's a pattern we're not seeing. Could there be someone behind Newell here in Hailey? Someone who wants revenge?" Immediately she wished she hadn't spoken, for he tensed. "Tony, this is silly. You need your sleep, and so do I. Let's not worry about it tonight."