by Crowe (epub)
“Vanity,” the Reverend scoffed.
“Aye, a lot of it is. But she knows, dear.” Anna Lee watched her stepmother reach across the table and engulf her father’s hand in her own. “A girl’s like a flower. Once she blooms, oh she’s a pretty thing to behold. But, the clock’s a tickin’. Susie Anderson, she blossomed years ago, and she knows that she needs to find a man soon, or else she’ll dry up and blow away when the cold sets in. In here,” Irma tapped her chest. Did she mean her heart or her breast? Did it matter?
“She’s no more than twenty-four years old!”
“Practically a spinster.” The big woman shook her head in pity.
Anna Lee watched her father hang his head. Her stepmother stood and cradled his head against her ample bosom.
“And Susie, well, she’s got a lot more to work with, if you catch my meanin’. More than some of the other girls.”
“Anna.”
Anna Lee froze when her father said her name. Had he heard her come in? Did he know she was eavesdropping? What would he say?
“Aye,” said her stepmother. “Anna. Sittin’ in church all by her lonesome. Why, the boys hardly even notice her. She needs to get over this boy, whoever he is, and find herself a man.”
Anna Lee tore out of the house. She heard the door slam shut behind her, but it sounded so far away. She didn’t care if they knew she had heard them. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had no notion of where she was going, but wasn’t surprised at all when, she stopping to catch her breath, she found herself up on the hill. Their hill. Clutching the stitch in her side, Anna Lee collapsed into the tall grass and wept.
Come home, Johnny, she prayed. Come home.
Johnny hauled his sixteen filled jars into town. “The Fort’s old,” Saul had told him, nodding in the direction of Fort Monroe, “but the town around it is new. Sprang up since the war started. Folks around here call it Slabtown.” Saul had placed a dozen of the jars into a wooden crate. “Comin’ out of your half if I don’t get it back in one piece,” he warned, laying two more jars sideways on top of the others, and cramming the last two into Johnny’s front pant pockets. Saul had given Johnny a few pointers on salesmanship, patted the boy on the back, and sent him into town. Johnny rested one side of the crate against his hip and held the opposite with his good hand, careful not to let the jars roll off of the top as he shuffled into town.
Making his way into the fort, Johnny noted how silent the town was. Aside from a pack of dogs that barked and harassed him before heading off to find something to chase, he didn’t meet anyone on the road. All the same, Johnny couldn’t help feeling as though he was being watched. He thought he saw faces glaring at him from the windows of the buildings he passed, but when he turned to get a better look, they were gone. The feeling was unsettling, still Johnny pressed on, knowing that his best chance of getting home, and with a little cash in his pocket at that, lay in selling these jars of the black goo and hitching a ride with Mr. Samuels.
Reaching the center of town, Johnny lowered the crate from his hip, pulled the two jars from his pockets, and looked around. It was official, he was open for business. Just like back home at the market, no one came forward to examine his wares.
From where he stood, Johnny surveyed the buildings forming the town square. He saw faces now, though he couldn’t make out the owners. Through the grime on the windows, all the faces were little more than dark silhouettes. Johnny reached down with his good hand, selected one of the jars, and held up in front of him, hoping to draw someone out. All it takes is one, Johnny thought. That’s what Saul said.
A door opened opposite Johnny and a tall, muscular black man exited the building. He wore an angry look on his face while he marched across the deserted street. Johnny favored the man with what he hoped was his best smile and ran through the lines one more time in his head.
“What you want?” the black man asked.
“Hello, sir. My name is Johnny and I ---”
“I didn’t ask your name, I asked what you want.”
Johnny was thrown for a loop. Saul hadn’t covered what to do in a case like this. Johnny improvised the best he could. “Well, I reckon it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want.”
“I want you to take your stuff an’ get on outta here.”
Johnny heard more doors opening and closing along the square. Folks began to close in on him, the mob growing larger by the second. Good, he thought. It’s working. That’s all I needed, just a bigger audience.
“Yes,” Johnny said, looking past the man standing in front of him. “Come on over.” He waved to the people gathering around.
“What’s this, Tom?” one of the others asked.
“What it is,” Johnny said, not wanting to miss his opening, “is your lucky day. See, I have with me here sixteen jars of the finest snake oil money can buy. This batch was cooked up fresh this mornin’. Guaranteed to cure what ails you.”
The crowd stood silent, incredulous. I’ve got ‘em, thought Johnny. “I know,” he continued, showing the jar in his hand. “Hard to believe isn’t it? And you can have a bottle of this for only one dollar.”
The silence was broken by cries of outrage from the mob. Johnny shrank back, totally at a loss for what had gone wrong.
“Here now,” called a booming voice over the roar of the crowd. “What’s goin’ on here?”
The mob parted, making room for the horse and coach to pass. Johnny relaxed. Thank God, he thought. Saul’s here. The horse pulling the coach was old but looked like it had been a good worker once when it was younger and had been better cared for. It still held its head high, as if it was pulling the Governor. Saul drove to the through the crowd and reined the horse to a stop next to Johnny. Saul looked down at Johnny from the driver’s seat. Johnny saw that in addition to the suit, Saul had an ugly, ill-fitting toupee on his head.
“This fella here,” Tom pointed at Johnny, “says he gonna sell us this snake oil for a dollar apiece.”
“A dollar?” said Saul, holding out his arm so that Tom could help him down from the coach. “That’s a mighty steep price. He must think we’re all made out of money out here, hmm?” A murmur of assent went through the crowd. “Let’s see what he has here that’s so good he thinks he can get a dollar for it.”
Saul winked at Johnny and took the jar from the boy’s hand. He tipped the jar back and forth, swirling the viscous black fluid inside. Then he squinted, holding it up to the sunlight to examine the contents, nice and high so the whole crowd could see.
“Why, you couldn’t give this stuff away,” Saul declared, throwing the jar down on the ground. The glass shattered and black goo oozed out.
A cry of protest caught in Johnny’s throat. That’s goin’ to eat into our profits.
“Look here,” Saul boomed. “What you all want is the real deal, not some imitation snake oil like this here fella is tryin’ to push on you.” With a flourish, Saul flung open the door of the coach, and produced crate upon crate of Mason jars, each filled with the black liquid. They looked identical to the ones that Johnny had hauled up here all by himself with one arm, the only difference was a paper label glued to each.
“This here’s the real deal. ‘Saul Samuels’ Miracle Elixir’. A spoonful of this will keep you on your feet. Keep hair on your head. Put hair on your chest… except for the ladies, of course. Why it’ll harden your bones, soften your joints, put the ram in your rod,” he nudged and winked at Tom, “and ease away the aches and pains of the day. And…” Saul said, raising his finger while he paused for effect, “it’s only fifty cents a jar.”
The crowd nodded and spoke its collective approval. Folks began to press forward, their hands digging into their pockets and fishing out what little money they had.
“Wait a minute,” shouted Tom, holding out his hands to stop the crowd. “Wait just a
minute.” He spun, pointed an accusing finger at Johnny. “What about this fella?”
In the commotion, Johnny had decided to make himself scarce. He left his jars sitting in the crate and turned to slink off and wait for Saul to finish conducting his business. Johnny was confused, but knew that Saul must have had a plan. He was a businessman, after all. He hadn’t gotten far when Tom spoke, freezing Johnny in his tracks.
“Why just look at him,” called Saul. “Look at that uniform. That’s a Confederate uniform, ain’t it, boy?”
Johnny tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He nodded.
“That ought to tell you everything you need to know,” said Saul.
Johnny turned to face the crowd. Looking from one person to the next, Johnny realized that all the faces in the crowd were dark-skinned.
“Hey,” said Johnny, “you’re all ---”
“Freed,” snarled Tom. “Them Union boys call this the ‘Great Contraband Camp’. We call it Slabtown.”
Johnny cleared his throat. “Oh,” was all managed to say.
“I know what I’d do,” shouted Saul, pointing a thick finger toward Johnny. “I’d run this charlatan out on a rail!”
The crowd erupted, some cheering, others hollering for blood. Johnny turned to run, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. All he could manage was a speed just above a walk. Strong brown hands grabbed him and hoisted him up, passing him over the heads of the crowd. Johnny was dropped and his wrists bound, the rope sold by one Mr. Saul Samuels for only a quarter. The men pulled Johnny along and when his legs couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep up they dragged to the far end of town. There the men grabbed a fence post from the pile leaning against a farm house and lashed Johnny’s feet together around it, then hoisted it into the air with Johnny straddling the log. Johnny looked back over his shoulder to call to Mr. Samuels for help, but Saul was busy peddling jars of the black fluid to what remained of the crowd.
Helpless and hopeless, Johnny turned back around just in time to see the tree branch a second before it whacked him in the head and knocked him unconscious.
Johnny had a splitting headache and he wished that whatever was tugging at his feet would just leave him alone so he could go back to sleep. He pried his eyes open, the right one puffy and lids wouldn’t part enough for him to see between them. Squinting with his left eye, Johnny took a peek down at his feet.
Saul was tugging on Johnny’s boots, working to pull them off of his feet, but with no success. He didn’t know about the interior laces tying the boots to Johnny’s hooves.
“Hugnnhuhuh,” Johnny moaned.
Saul looked up and saw that Johnny had raised his head and was looking back at him. “You don’t look so good, boy,” he said. “Guess the colored folks had all they could stomach after you hit your head.” He returned to tugging on Johnny’s feet. “Why won’t these boots come off?”
Saul slid his hand up Johnny’s pant leg to get a better hold, then froze. He rolled up the pant leg, exposing the goat leg. Saul dropped the boot and bolted to his feet. The fat man stared a while longer, his mouth gaping open, then bent down and rolled up the other pant leg. It was the same as the first. Saul ran his hands Johnny’s legs, feeling the hairs slide between his fingers.
“Is this… silver?” asked Saul.
“Ughhuh,” Johnny replied.
Saul disappeared from Johnny’s view for a moment. Johnny heard the coach door creak open then slam shut a minute later. Saul had returned, carrying a long, dull carving knife. For a time he stood there inspecting Johnny’s legs, running his tongue back and forth over his lips, a greedy gleam in his eyes. Johnny was sure that Saul was going to try to cut his legs off and wondered if the silver was hard as a mineral or as fragile as flesh. Saul bent over and Johnny thought he’d have his answer soon enough.
Saul pulled the longer hairs out from the leg with one hand and sawed at them with the blade. The hairs cut easily and Saul stuffed them into the pocket of his suit coat. He grabbed handful and was about to cut the next batch when Johnny heard the sounds of the crowd again. Saul hesitated and looked over his shoulder toward town. Indecision flashed on his fat face. He knew that he should go before the mob came back, but struggled with the idea of leaving so much silver on the ground. Johnny watched Saul’s eyes clear. He had made his decision.
“Woops,” Saul giggled. “Guess they didn’t care for our little show here after all.” He crawled forward until his face was inches from Johnny’s, and said, “No hard feelin’s, huh? It wasn’t nothin’ personal… just… good business.” Saul stood and disappeared again. Johnny heard hooves clapping on the road and watched the horse and coach pass by at his feet.
“You just stay right there,” Saul called from the coach, just outside of Johnny’s field of vision. “I’ll be back for the rest.”
Johnny heard Saul cackle, then dropped his head back and knew no more.
“Looks like you’re oh-for-two so far.”
Johnny opened his eyes and sat up, looking for the source of that voice. He had come to recognize Mr. Scratch’s bass growl by now.
“Take it easy,” Scratch said, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and holding him from getting up. “You took a pretty good whack to the head.”
Johnny ran his hand along the side of his face and felt the rough stubble, working his way up his cheek, then felt the cold stitches that wound through the flesh under his right eye. He paused a moment; It must have been a bad bump after all, he thought, then continued on. The cold metal surface extended up and wrapped around, covering the top of his head and to the base of his skull, where the stitches dug in to the skin on the back of his neck.
“That’s right,” said Scratch. “Took the top of your head clean off. Well, maybe not so clean…”
Johnny made to get up again and this time Scratch didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t recognize their surroundings, but knew that they were away from Fort Monroe, and that was enough for now. He looked around and saw the sun’s reflection dancing off of a mill pond through the belt of trees on the other side of the road. Johnny trotted across the road and through the trees, Mr. Scratch following at a distance behind. When he reached the pond, Johnny dropped down on his hands and knees and bent over the water, getting a good look at his reflection.
The sun’s rays glared off of the bronze plate that covered the top of his head, dazing Johnny. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that the round metal plate dipped down to the right of his nose and covered the top of his right cheekbone. A bright, blue gem gleamed out of the socket where his right eye had been. Johnny knew that he should have felt something about having lost the top of his head, but something more pressing was gnawing at his gut.
“The branch that you got scalped on did most of the work,” said Scratch, coming up from behind. “But a little sharp sticker off of that big branch got your eye. It was still dangling there when I found you.”
Johnny frowned and turned and faced Scratch. “What’s all this goin’ to cost me?”
Scratch looked offended. “Cost you? When have I ever charged you for anything?”
Johnny was sorry for the way he had spoken, but couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was somehow Mr. Scratch’s fault. Ever since he had given Johnny his golden arm, things had been going downhill. That ain’t all true, Johnny thought. Getting shot’s what got you that arm in the first place. That was true, but it still didn’t alleviate the Johnny’s misgivings.
“You know what I mean,” Johnny muttered.
Scratch looked sideways at Johnny, not entirely convinced that the boy was sorry. “You’re the one who said you’d do anything, you know. You’re the one who wanted to live. To get back home to your precious Anna Lee.”
Johnny didn’t like the way Scratch said her name, as if mocking him, but knew that he had a point. “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I really am.
It’s just…”
“I know. You’ve had a bit of bad luck with the other gifts I’ve given you.”
Johnny nodded.
“Well,” said Scratch, “I think you’ll find these are well within the limits of what you can handle.”
Johnny sighed. “What do I have to do?”
Scratch immediately brightened. “First, that lovely bronze head of yours simply needs to be filled up. All you have to do is have just one new thought or idea every day. That’s all. Why, it could be a new language, agriculture,” Scratch grinned, “military strategy. Anything at all.”
Johnny opened his mouth to speak, but Scratch continued on.
“It was fashioned from an enchanted helmet that came from the lost city of Atlantis. Well, it’s lost now. As for that new eye of yours, that comes to you all the way from the mountains of Shangri-La. I couldn’t very well give you a new head and leave you with an empty eye socket. No, I threw that one in for nothing… you know, for all the trouble you’ve been having.”
“And what happens ---”
“What happens if you fail to have one new thought every day?” Scratch looked sideways at Johnny. “Say, that’s the kind of thinking a guy in your situation should be doing. Why, I think that new head of your is already working! I think we can even count that as your one good thought for today. Look at you, asking questions…”
Johnny blushed. If that was all there was to it, then maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“If something should happen and you don’t have that one new thought or idea on a given day, then that new head of yours is likely to come up with thoughts and ideas of its own… you know, to fill in the space.”
“And the eye?” asked Johnny.
“The eye is bound in with the head. You just learn or think something new every day and I think you’ll find that your new eye will let you start seeing things that other folks never even notice.”