Return of Little Big Man

by Thomas Berger

  “Which one?”

  “The Pink Horse.”

  Which was pretty much of a whorehouse, pure and simple. I don’t think they had any other entertainment than that battered old jangly piano. Nobody even went there to gamble. I tell you I almost choked at that point, which was easier than saying something.

  Amanda had elevated her chin defiantly. “It was an excellent job. In addition to my wages, I got tips, sometimes lavish if the men were drunk enough. The requests were more often than not for songs of a sentimental sort rather than what I would have expected in a place of that kind, but the women who serviced our customers told me many men were sentimental in the bedrooms. Of course, some were brutal. What surprised me most however was the deference with which I was treated by these cowboys. I kept a revolver on top of the piano, and a knife in my clothing, but in my time there I never had cause to use either one. Not only was I never touched, but only rarely was I ever asked if I might be hired for a private performance, and even then it was put so discreetly I could have interpreted it to refer only to music.”

  “They was scared of you,” I says.

  She shrugged. “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “To them kind of fellows anybody with a musical talent is real special. A man in that job is always called the Professor. A fine lady playing the piano would be a wonder.”

  I had suspected it but now it was proved: Amanda could walk through a mud puddle not only without getting besmirched but not even being interested in why. So she says, “Be that as it may, it was profitable employment and as honorable as anything else I might have done, perhaps even more than most. I was also given an opportunity thereby to make the acquaintance of prostitutes.”

  I hastily says, “Well, there are all kinds,” and hoped to change the subject, being discomforted by the association, Amanda having represented for me that which was exalting, as far as possible from saloons and harlots.

  “To try to find,” she went on, “just what attracts men to them.”

  “It’s just that they’re there.”

  She didn’t take no account of what I had said, but continued. “What I found was that these women for the most part avoided reflecting on their profession in a general way, though being ready enough to give particular experiences in detail.”

  Hoping to steer her away from getting into the subject of sex, if that was where she was heading, I says, “Looking at things according to a theory is done only by educated people, on account of only they know how.”

  “I can’t say I learned much,” said Amanda, “except that most of these women neither particularly liked or disliked what they did, and that their predominant feeling about men was that they, the men, were foolish, and that they, the women, believed they were in the dominant position because men paid them. There is a great difference between this and the way nonprostitute women look at the issue.”

  “Yes,” I says, trying to sound intelligent, “I have found that to be the case, myself.” I was hoping she’d get off the matter. “So when did you get back to the Indian problem?”

  “I had not lost my faith in the social gospel,” Amanda said. “The church may have its hypocrites, but its aims are noble. I am no longer religious in the doctrinal sense, if I ever was, but I believe more than ever in working for justice. Ironically, the immediate reason for my returning to the cause was the cleaning up of Dodge City, led by the forces of respectability. The saloons became soda fountains!” She had a way, at least with me, of acting as if I wasn’t present and she was addressing herself, but now I was real pleased by an acknowledgment of my presence by name. “You wouldn’t recognize the town, Jack.”

  “It could use the improvement,” I allowed, and I was sincere. I might not of been part of it, but I thought normal life was the right thing for the country. I just wished it didn’t call for the mistreatment of the Indians, but I didn’t have no idea of what was the best way to avoid this. Hiring all of them to perform with B.B.W.W. and the other imitations thereof, like Pawnee Bill’s, now that Cody had proved so successful, might not be possible, but the Indians who was hired seemed to like it, which is more than could be said by most who tried what the Government thought up for them.

  It wasn’t no use telling this to Amanda, however, who after playing piano in a whorehouse out West, come East to get back to doing good and took up with the people around Philadelphia, mainly church folk, who had an interest in the plight of the red man, and applied pressure to the federal Indian commissioners and Congress till that Dawes Act got passed. Now the same folks, in organizations like this one she had started up in New York, was trying to get the Indians out of show business.

  So that was the outline of Amanda’s story since I last seen her, but what was missing altogether was anything pertaining to her private life, by which I mean men friends of the personal type, not just the old preachers she had worked with on the order of the Major. Though I had never knowed her exact age when we was at the school, I figured she would now be in her early thirties, an old maid by the standards of that time and living until recently out West, where women was usually at a shortage. But ladies as beautiful and smart as her was not in great supply anyplace on earth, at least not where I had been, and by now I had been a few places.

  Well, I’ll tell you this: if she didn’t have no suitors it did not pertain to her appeal to men or lack thereof. It was due to her low opinion of the opposite sex. I guess what Amanda had seen of men give her little respect for them, but it probably never occurred to her she only looked at the wrong ones or that there was part of everybody human that maybe should be overlooked as long as it wasn’t actually criminal. But for that matter it’s the way of the world that them who don’t run it find fault with them who do: it’s a way of getting even. Still, it’s too bad if only that.

  But all this was just supposition, for I never knowed anything about Amanda’s private associations, and you didn’t inquire into the subject with a lady. I did allow for other possible surprises, judging from the one I had gotten on hearing about the whorehouse piano-playing, and I decided there wasn’t no need to learn more. The important thing was I had re-established a connection with her, and I didn’t intend to squander it.

  Sitting there across the kitchen table from her, drinking only that real weak coffee, here in the heart of New York City where I always felt so out of place, especially when visiting Mrs. Custer, but even at the Butlers’ flat, I got the first feeling of intimacy I had had since old Pard died, and I don’t mean no disrespect to Amanda for bringing up the memory of my dog, given the closeness between me and him and the way we took care of one another.

  “I’m going to quit Buffalo Bill’s Wild West,” I told her now, “and work with you folks.”

  If you think I had at last gotten Amanda’s attention, you would be wrong. I don’t know what I expected, certainly not that she would gather me to her bosom, but maybe it would occur to her that for her sake I was putting myself out of the best job I ever had.

  You see how besotted I was when it come to that girl. It wasn’t till a long time later that I could see she would of disapproved had she believed I was doing it for her and not from a sincere belief in the rightness of the cause.

  So all she says now was “I’m happy to hear that, Jack. I do hope you understand that the F.R.M.’s budget usually doesn’t cover our expenses as is, and most of those who work with us do so as volunteers.”

  “Oh,” I says, digging the hole deeper in my elation, “I meant to make it clear I wouldn’t take no wages under any condition.” Now that I wouldn’t have no current income whatever, my worldly wealth consisted of them savings in the bank at North Platte, which I hadn’t totaled up in a while but expected was a couple hundred dollars, not exactly a fortune even in them days but enough to live on for a time even in New York, where you could eat breakfast for a dime and free lunch with a nickel beer. However, at that moment I never had a practical thought in my head: I was just occupied with how I looked in Amanda’s
eyes. Which is why the next thing I done was seemingly contrary to my interests in being close to her.

  I got up and thanked her for the supper and said I had to be going.

  If I was hoping for her to urge me to stay longer, it didn’t work, but in fact, though I might of liked to hear her say as much, I really did want to get out before overstaying my welcome, and I intended to demonstrate that though we was a male and a female together in a private place, I wasn’t the sort of fellow who could take that to mean she was a loose woman.

  Anyway, she gets up from the table soon as I did and politely leads me to the front door. Then she says something I figured explained why she hadn’t been more pleased by me wanting to join her bunch.

  “It has been very nice to see you again. Jack. Perhaps it will be hopeless, but I would be grateful if you continued to remind Buffalo Bill of this issue.”

  She either hadn’t heard or didn’t believe me when I said I was going to quit B.B.W.W. in favor of F.R.M. I took the blame for not making myself clear and tried again.

  “Amanda, I aim to leave Cody’s show and join your bunch if you will have me. He’s been real good to me, and I want to give him notice and not just walk out before he can find another interpreter. If you’ll tell me where to show up and what to do, I’ll be there soon as I can.”

  She was smiling. “Good for you, Jack. I was giving you an opportunity for second thoughts.”

  She went away for a minute and come back with a card that had a street address on it and also another number, and she says I could telephone the latter to make sure when she was in.

  Now I hadn’t never yet used a telephone, though that device had been around for a while in the larger cities. In fact I had thus far been scared to try lest I electrocute myself, so it was just as well I had never had a need to do so. But I realized if I was to gain the respect of Amanda, I would have to get up to date in modern life, for her theories as to Indians could also be applied to myself: it was time I got civilized.

  Speaking of which, I now had to ask her how to get back to the Staten Island ferryboat, which would of been hard enough for me to find in the daytime, but it had gotten dark by now, and them streetlamps, being all alike, only confused me. I wasn’t fond of braving that city at night and maybe having to tangle with a gang of toughs or drunks lurching out of a saloon or, worst, a bunch of foul-mouthed Bowery juveniles, for how would it look if I was fighting with some kids even if outnumbered. I’ll tell you, I would rather of wandered horseless and unarmed in Crow territory while wearing Cheyenne paint than be by myself at nighttime on certain streets in New York.

  17. Paris, France

  NEXT MORNING I WAS anxious to get going on the next phase of my life, but it was useless to look for Cody until late in the forenoon, given his social pursuits of the night before over in Manhattan, where he stayed at a hotel. I lived in a tent on the compound at Erastina, right near the encampment of Sioux tepees, so I went over there.

  The Indians remained early risers even in London and New York, and by now a bunch of men was already occupied with what they did until the performance started, namely, playing poker, which some of the cowboys had taught them and for which they was keen, having a natural taste for gambling as they did.

  A group of the women also was collected together, sitting on the ground in a circle, in their case sewing up some of the souvenir articles they sold, little coin purses, belts, watch fobs, and the like, decorated with beadwork, and gossiping as did females of whatever race and profession, from Lakota wives to the calico queens of the Lone Star—though I couldn’t imagine Amanda doing so.

  White Bear Woman come out of her tepee, carrying a piece of deerskin, so I went over to her and said I was leaving the show pretty soon, but I didn’t want any of the Sioux to think it was because I no longer cared about them.

  “You are going with Yellow Hair, I think,” she says, with a round-faced smile of approval. “That is good. At your age you should be married and produce some children and not just get drunk and pay bad women to go to bed with you.”

  I’m not going to comment on what she said, aside from noting that married Lakota women, like Cheyenne wives, could be outspoken without being thought coarse.

  Her advice was the same as that from several ladies I had been uninvolved friends of, beginning with even some at the Lone Star and then Allie Earp and Annie Oakley, and I told her she was right, that I sure wanted to do so as much, but I doubted Yellow Hair would have me as a husband, so meanwhile I was going to try to show her I was a good man.

  “She should believe herself lucky to have caught your eye,” White Bear Woman said. “Skinny and pale as she is, how many men would want her?”

  Well, you had to excuse her for having the redskin approach to this matter. Next she would want to know if Amanda was strong enough to skin a large animal without taking all day at it. And just let me point out that she wasn’t so weakminded that after a couple years amongst the whites of two countries she thought their women had the same job as Indian females: she just didn’t think much of what they did. There wouldn’t of been no point in mentioning in return that Amanda considered her a kind of slave condemned by savage tradition to a life of degrading drudgery. I have found females whatever their race or station in life to be usually more critical of their own sex than men are, either of women or other fellows.

  When Cody finally got in, I went to his tent and sincerely thanked him for the job he had give me for the past five years.

  “And you calculate,” says he, with a slow smile and a pull at one end of his mustache, “it’s more than time for a raise in pay. How about an elevation in rank instead?”

  He was in a good humor, so I joked back. “But if I was raised to major, then Arizona John Burke would have to be colonel, and you’d be a general.”

  “As a matter of fact, the governor is preparing to name me general in the Nebraska National Guard,” says he. “But I don’t know if I should accept the star, having become known as colonel throughout the civilized world.” He wasn’t conceited in the way this might sound: what he meant was what professional effect the change of title might have. “General” didn’t sound as suitable as a title for a showperson, unless applied to somebody like that little bitty midget of Barnum’s called General Tom Thumb.

  “I didn’t intend to ask for money, Bill,” I says. “What I want to do is leave the Wild West.”

  “What in the world will you do then, Jack?”

  The question could be seen as insulting, I guess, but from his point of view it was sensible enough. I never had no previous trade so far as he knowed but bartender, and who would want to return to that after traveling with the Sensation of Two Continents, being celebrated by royalty and all?

  “Bill, it’s time I stayed in one place for a while. I’ve really enjoyed being a part of B.B.W.W., and—”

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, Jack. I know you have a few years on me, but I believe it’s reasonable to point out that I have more experience in the ways of the larger world. With all respect, that type of girl can mean trouble for a man like you.”

  The question riled me. “Did I mention a girl?”

  “You didn’t have to,” he says with a smug movement of his goatee, which by the way I noticed was showing signs of gray. “I won’t make the mistake of saying I know women, for no man can, but I have made a close observation of that sex. Your golden-haired friend is the kind who tends to expect more than can reasonably be delivered. Take my word for that, old friend.”

  I was still irked. “Miss Teasdale is an acquaintance,” says I, “and nothing further.”

  “If you’re speaking of her feeling about you, then you’re right,” says Buffalo Bill, leaning back in his chair. He was yet a fine-looking man though getting a bit of a belly. And he still had that shoulder-length hair, which was also now showing some gray. “But,” he adds after a pause, “you are besotted with her.” He cleared his throat. “I could tell all that from the way y
ou looked at one another.”

  Later on I realized what I found so offensive in his commentary was I knew deep down it was correct. “Dammit,” I says, “you might know how to B.S. an audience, but that don’t mean you are an expert on my life, which by the way has included a lot more than pouring whiskey and interpreting for show Indians. I could start up my own exhibition just on the basis of the places I been and the famous people I knowed at the most important times so far as history goes.”

  Cody raised his eyebrows and showed a big smile. I doubt he believed me, but he says, “I’m proud to hear that, Jack. But you’d better stay here. Pawnee Bill’s business hasn’t gone well and is about to go under. And you’ll be interested to know that Little Missy’s coming back to us.”

  He meant Annie. I didn’t like hearing that from him either, but I had fell out of touch with the Butlers since they went off with the show run by Bill Lillie. “That’s just fine,” I says, “but I’m giving my notice.”

  “Then Miss Teasdale has replaced Missy in your affections?”

  I refused to let him rattle me further. “Frank’s a personal friend of mine.”

  Cody become serious. “That’s why it’s a better arrangement, Jack. Miss Teasdale doesn’t have a husband to protect you. These willful women are hard to handle. You don’t know what Frank Butler has to put up with, unless you’ve seen Missy’s mean side. Not that I don’t have my own problems with Lulu. That woman’s set on my ruination, and not only financially. She’s trying to turn my own daughters against me. Yet you saw how much Arta enjoyed coming to London.”

  I seen Arta only once or twice during that trip and only at long range. He kept her away from the men in the show and I think had hoped she’d find a husband amongst the English swells.

  But I wasn’t going to be sidetracked from my own concern. “Couple weeks be enough notice, Bill?”

  “Jack,” says he, removing the big hat to wipe his forehead with a blue bandanna, “do what you have to do and when. And remember, there’ll always be room for you at the bar.” He swallowed as if with difficulty. “It gets hotter in New York than on the Plains. My whistle could use a wettening. How about you?”