by David Fuller
I don't know Barnes, said Cassius.
"Jefferson Barnes? Oh, you should meet him sometime, he's military, came south with me. Didn't wear a uniform, though."
Barnes, you say, said Cassius.
"I knew a man named Barnes. He knows this area, has family down here."
Where is Barnes?
"Over there," said the man, pointing.
Can I talk to him?
"Can if you want."
Take me to him?
The man snickered. "Not likely to talk back, though. He's that way, Barnes."
Why won't he talk back?
"I do believe it would be the bullet," said the man. "Got shot while out hunting for victuals, dragged himself all the way back here but forgot to bring the food. His sacred dust is but a half mile that way. This is his," he said holding up the handgun as if he had just discovered it. Then he whispered: "I accidentally buried the ammunition with him, but I didn't have the stomach to dig him back up."
When was the last time you saw Emoline?
"Emoline? You mean Emoline Justice? I never saw Emoline Justice."
What's that, never?
"Never met her. Heard about her."
Do you know if she was revealed as a spy?
"Did you notice that Ralph likes to talk?"
Sir. Was she revealed as a spy?
"Who?"
Cassius exhaled. This man knew nothing about her murder.
"Ralph brought food, but not since the Johnny Rebs moved in."
You know a man name of Logue? said Cassius.
"I know a man named Georgevitch."
Gabriel Logue? Angel Gabriel?
"The Angel Gabriel came to Daniel. 'And when he came I was afraid and fell on my face.' Is that it? I may have forgotten. Been some time since I saw a Bible."
Never met Emoline and you don't know Logue. You're just a spoke on the wheel.
"Well you goddamned nigger, is that how niggers talk to white folks down here? Spoke on the wheel? I work for the United States Government, I was recognized by President Lincoln himself." He dug into his frock coat and pulled out a worn piece of paper. He held it open for Cassius.
A list of dry goods, said Cassius, reading in the last light of the day.
"Ah. So you can read," said the emaciated man, his animosity vanishing as if he had never been offended, folding the piece of paper and returning it to his coat. "I congratulate you on your skills."
Cassius made a fist and knocked on a piece of wood, rap-rap, pause, rap, imitating the code he had learned from Maryanne. The man appeared puzzled so Cassius repeated it.
"I believe the door is open, sir."
Emoline's code knock, said Cassius.
"How do you do, my name is Morningside."
Mr. Morningside, said Cassius.
"A man was here just a moment ago," he said.
What man?
"Negro. He was clever the way he found me." The man spoke directly to Cassius this time.
You think I found you?
"A very clever method, he taught me something: If you're ever looking for someone that you have no hope of finding, make him come to you."
Make him come to you, repeated Cassius in wonder.
"Sit out in the open, take out your dinner and start eating. He knew it would bring me out."
Because you were starving.
"Smart. He started by lowering my opinion of him as he made himself out to be ridiculous. Fell right in the river so that I would underestimate him. Most amusing. I'm sorry you weren't here to see it."
Amusing and amused, thought Cassius, to be given credit for such cleverness. It pulled him out of the sense of sinking into which he had fallen, which had begun the moment he had started to speak to this man. He would learn little about Emoline's death here, and it was clear that he was not in the company of her killer.
"I don't meet a lot of negroes up north. And down here I've met only Ralph, who is free. What's it like being a slave?"
Cassius was so surprised by the question that he answered truthfully: Don't know.
"That, sir, is an interesting answer. Why is it you don't know?"
Because I don't know what it is not to be a slave. I know my life ain't my own. I know my time ain't my own. I know I can't make big decisions for myself, and small decisions get changed when some planter gets tired or moody or just plain stupid. Maybe planters know, since they're free but also chained to slavery. We make them rich but to stay rich, they got to watch us, take care of us and guard us. Their whole lives they're surrounded by the enemy, because we're always looking to be free.
"I'm no abolitionist, after all, those people are godforsaken lunatics, but you sir make a fine case against slavery."
Grateful to hear it.
"You mock me," said the man, with a convoluted smile.
Not without cause.
"I haven't carried on a conversation in a good long while, perhaps one time you'll join me?"
Cassius laughed to himself and shook his head.
"What a foolish man you are," said the man to himself, "you mustn't put pressure on this sad fellow. They have proven that negroes have smaller brains, although I met one in the woods who seemed unusually intelligent for his race."
Thank you, said Cassius not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.
It was dark. Cassius could no longer make out the trestle and bridge.
"I think I will climb my pole." Morningside came to his feet.
Your pole?
"Have you not met my pole? I gather intelligence from it for my government."
You think that wise?
"I have done it many times before."
There are men out here looking for you.
"You have an opinion. I am enchanted. A negro with an opinion. How good of you to share it with me. But do leave this decision to me. The men are gone."
Your friend Barnes, what did he do before you—?
"Have you ever seen a climbing iron?" Suddenly the man was excited.
No.
He scrambled to a place a few yards away; Cassius could barely see that he pulled something from a hiding place in the dark, and came back with it in his hand. There was just enough light for Cassius to make out a pair of metal bars with one end a spike. Morningside attached them to his boots so that the spike was worn like a bayonet, and Cassius saw the cleverness in the design and how it would allow him to climb the pole.
Cassius followed him up the side of the ravine to the cleared space, across which were the tracks and the telegraph poles. Morningside set down his haversack. Cassius remained in the brush as the man set out across the open toward the telegraph wires. Midway across, he pointed to a telegraph pole that Cassius was unable to see, as it was deep in shadow. The next moment the man was in flight, feet off the ground, twisting unnaturally in air, the tatters of his clothing bursting out in every direction, his flight concluding as quickly as it had started as his body flopped suddenly to the ground. The retort of a gunshot was almost instantaneous but still too late for the man to have known what hit him. The open ground came alive with men closing in from three sides, seven of them emerging at once. Cassius held still a moment as they converged on the body.
"Look there! Over there, I see something!" One of the men pointed directly at Cassius.
Cassius grabbed Morningside's haversack and scrambled down the incline just far enough to be out of sight. He knew he could not outrun these men. He tore off his shirt and his trousers, rolling them into a ball with the two haversacks. Naked, he moved back to where they had seen him and he hid the light-colored objects underneath his body as he curled up on fallen leaves around the trunk of a small bush. His skin was his ally, becoming one with the shadow under the bush. Voices came closer, and a horse cantered directly at him. He thought he had made a mistake, wishing he had run, at least then he would have had a fighting chance. Two men crashed into the brush beside him, running in the direction he had originally gone. More horse hooves came on, mov
ing along the edge of the brush.
A voice above him, close, oh so close, said, "Spread out, he can't get far."
The man on horseback stayed right there, almost on top of him, and Cassius made his breathing shallow, as insects crawled on his skin.
The man above him bit into an apple and chewed with an open mouth. His horse dropped its head and munched on something near Cassius's feet. Cassius had a moment of terror, that the horse would step on him and he would cry out.
Another horseman rode up.
"Haven't found him, sir."
Cassius took this opportunity to glance up, assuming that the man and his commanding officer would be facing each other. The officer's lantern allowed Cassius to see that he was a small man sitting his horse, wearing a tan slouch hat. The officer wore his hat with an unusual affectation: He folded up the front of the hat's brim so that it looked as if the wind held it vertical against the crown.
"Assuming there was another man," said the officer, spitting.
"Sir?"
"Lewis sees things. Ghosts and such. Goddamned rot."
"Captain, Lewis has seen the elephant."
"Yes, I know, and you'll get your own damned chance when Lee hands over to me the command he promised."
Captain. Captain Solomon Whitacre. Cassius moved his head for a better look. Whitacre had a lantern, and he opened it to light the end of his cigar with the burning wick.
Cassius would not have recognized Whitacre from the glimpse he'd had of him the night of the Big-To-Do. Solomon Whitacre was a small man with a full beard but no mustache. By the way he extended his pinkie when lighting his cigar, Cassius thought he had the manners of a gentleman, but he wondered about the man's abuse of the language. Whitacre seemed unnecessarily coarse.
"You see the clothes on that whore's chinch?" Whitacre said, motioning to Morningside's body. "Mr. Fancy Hat in rags. Been out here weeks. If he had a partner, surely one of them would have gone off for food."
"I imagine that's true, Captain."
A second rider joined him. "Nothing, sir. But he's out there somewhere. We may need to wait until morning."
"Morning?" said Whitacre. "God's balls, Lewis, I'm not waitin till mornin. Far as I'm concerned, there warn't no second man. We got our spy, and I am anxious to take my leave of this place. If we stay longer, they'll order us to wait on the harvest. Let some other backwater captain rape the people of their crops, I am dog tired of scrapin this damned county bald. No, we are goin to join the wagons and follow them to Lee. The whisper is, Lee will take the fight to the Yanks. Imagine it, boys, an invasion of the North. If I get that command, I promise you won't miss out. You either, Lewis, don't want to miss the last battle of the war. Once we take the fight to the Yanks on their ground, they'll give it up."
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant, assemble the men and convene on the far side of the bridge, we're goin north."
Whitacre turned his horse and rode away. The two others held their ground.
"You really see someone, Lewis?"
"Don't matter now. Reassemble on the other side."
Cassius was left alone. He stayed on the ground, motionless for a while longer, listening to the distant voices, shouts, and horse hooves, and finally to nothing more than the sounds of the night aging around him. He sat up. He was alone. They had taken Morning- side's corpse, but he had the man's haversack with his papers. He slapped at the places on his body where he had been bitten, then put on his clothes. He took the papers from Morningside's haversack and hid them in the band of his trousers. Then he stepped onto York Road, to follow it south to return to Sweetsmoke.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
Cassius walked until the moon came up, at which time he moved off the road to sleep. He dreamed of Emoline moving through an open field, then suddenly flying with her legs and arms snapping off in every direction. In his dream, he combed the field to find each piece so that he could put her back together. He was awakened by a nudge on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to find Ralph standing over him. He looked around and saw that the place he had chosen in the dark, assuming it would be concealed from the road, was obvious to any passerby. They said nothing to each other and climbed into Ralph's buggy, and Carolina pulled without Ralph doing a thing. Ralph and Cassius exchanged a look. Cassius understood the question in Ralph's eyes and shook his head no.
"Dead?" said Ralph.
Cassius nodded. Ralph looked away.
Remember the last day of June? said Cassius.
"The day she died?" said Ralph.
Remember what you were doing?
"Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow. Odd job here, odd job there. Want to know if I killed her?"
No, said Cassius. He already knew the answer.
Cassius stared off and then he was asleep and the next thing he knew, they had stopped. He roused to find they were close to the town near Sweetsmoke. He climbed down and thanked Ralph for his help.
At the fork Cassius turned toward town walking away from Sweetsmoke, but he took the small road that ran around the town to reach the northeast section, and on the outskirts approached Hans Mueller's bierhaus. As he approached, he saw that Mueller had fashioned a sign, and Cassius took a moment to consider it. "Bierhaus." The letters were ornate, painted in a style of writing with which he was unfamiliar. The capital B was identifiable as a B, but was preceded by an outstretched bar at the top, a forelock perhaps, and there was a thick decorative bar parallel to the main ascender. The round backs in the B were made with straight lines that came to hard corners. This was all in imitation of a broad pen nib. The dot over the i was very nearly a diamond shape, again as if made by the slash of the same broad nib.
Mueller had built his bierhaus as an extension of his home. Cassius stepped inside, into coolness and the sour urine smell of old beer, with a great deal of uncertainty about the reception he was to encounter. The room was long and narrow, furnished with two long tables side by side, both with equally long benches that in the old country might have encouraged conviviality and conversation.
Cassius's eye was drawn to the intricate woodworking in the furniture, done in a style he found unfamiliar. In particular, he noted a clock on the wall. It was handmade in the form of a house, and on its face was painted a garden scene, chipped and worn, perhaps from travel. Around the entire clock house was elaborately carved latticework. He would have liked to spend more time, as carpenter and woodworker, examining it, but he turned his attention to the room. The sole patrons were two German men, one with a tall elaborate stein. They met his eyes, then turned away. Mueller was at the far end inspecting his glassware and when he saw Cassius, he took a step toward him.
"You cannot be in here."
I look for a man.
"I am a man, so you have found one, now go."
Not you.
"As you see, just these gentlemen and no one else. Auf Wiedersehen."
Cassius held his ground for a moment, and as he was about to back out the daylight behind him was blocked and the long room grew darker. He turned to see Gabriel Logue filling the doorway.
"It appears to be my old friend Cassius," said Logue.
I'm here to find you, said Cassius.
"Once again you expected me?"
Said so yourself. When in town, you're here.
"Damned imprudent of me. Why'd you think I'd be here on this particular day?"
Hoke said, and I hoped you weren't gone.
"I thought your master was indisposed."
Said he had to meet the angel. I thought he meant death. Then I knew he meant you.
Logue nodded and Cassius detected a thaw. "Well sit down, then."
Cassius hesitated. This was not proper. Even if Logue insisted he was under his protection, this was likely to turn Mueller against him, and Mueller was a patroller.
"Oh, go on, have a sit down, don't worry about Mule, he won't say nothing, will you, Mule? Care for a beer?"
No, said Cassius. That
would antagonize the German unnecessarily and he knew he would need his wits later on.
"Fair enough. Just me, Mule. I take any and every opportunity to indulge."
Mueller tapped Logue a beer and brought it, foam still building as he set it down. The head rose dense and creamy and finally boiled over the side, touching the table as a golden puddle. Mueller gave Cassius a wintry look, and Cassius pretended not to notice. It was done now, he had a new adversary with which to deal.
"They call this Teutonic swill a lager. I'm a porter man myself, but I'm damned if I won't develop a taste for it, as my beer here is gratis."
Cassius nodded, but still kept an eye on Mueller walking to the far end of the bar. Mueller's son, perhaps fifteen years old, blond and very pale, came in the far door. Cassius did not remember the boy's name, but he remembered that the boy was brain simple. He offered a large bowl to his father. A moment later, the pleasant smell of fresh baked goods reached Cassius.
"Mule and me, we got an arrangement; I deliver certain items from the North for him and he affords me a home away from home and a ready supply of piss juice." Cassius decided that this was not Logue's first lager that morning, as he was surprisingly talkative. "Mule doesn't get a lot of customers, so he supports himself trading my wares. Anything you need, you'll do better here than the dry goods."
I think you made him my enemy.
"Mule? Nah, he's all right."
Cassius said nothing and Logue looked up to see Mueller approaching a second time, setting down a bowl deliberately in front of Logue. Logue pushed it toward Cassius, and he saw what appeared to be thin sticks of bread. Mueller stared at Cassius with grave malevolence.
"Well. I could be mistaken," said Logue.
Cassius kept his eyes on the objects in the bowl.
"Pretzels, try one. German food. Also got a thing called sauerkraut, damnedest food you ever ate."
Mueller went off to the far end of the room, but Logue waved him all the way out. Mueller looked at him coldly, but he took his son by the arm and they both left. Logue did not care to be overheard. Cassius looked at the two Germans who remained. He met Logue's eyes.
"Forget 'em, those boys don't speak English. By the by, in a minute that clock is going to announce the hour," said Logue.