by John Brunner
“I want it,” Drew said, taking another oyster. “All of it. Now.”
To cover his surprise Marocain sipped his wine. It was good, of course; it had been long since he had been obliged to put up with inferior provisions. But the certainty gave him little pleasure, for he could not truly enjoy it. Not only did the fumes from the burner on his desk ruin his sense of smell—the mere act of reaching out his arm sent pangs like splinters of glass through his back and shoulder.
He needed time, though. Time to reason out, with this strange exasperating slowness the disease had murrained on him, Drew’s purpose in making this demand. And believed he had hit on it for long enough to put the idea into words.
“Ah! Will your new steamer also be called Atchafalaya? Fernand, prepare a sight draft, please.”
Drew downed his second oyster and interrupted.
“New steamer?” he echoed with contempt. “Hell, what new steamer? I got to get along as best I can for as long as I can with the wreck I presently have. Makes things easier, I guess, there being so few top boats at work this season, but I wouldn’t lay two cents on her paying her way next year… What’s it to you, anyhow? You don’t hold any paper on her! You don’t write steamboat insurance!”
Marocain countered placatingly, “You must admit that it was reasonable to assume you planned to commission another.”
Drew drained his wine with a grimace. “If ever I can, I shall,” he muttered. “I have in mind a boat that will… But next year. At the soonest, next year.”
By now Fernand had opened up the hinged shelf where he had been trained to take dictation like his cousins before him. Marocain believed in his staff learning all branches of the business; he expected them to switch at a moment’s notice from the shop to the countinghouse, from calculating the discount on a bill to appraising jewelry.
On it Fernand set an inkwell and penwiper, a stack of forms printed with the firm’s name and an engraving that purported to show the Vieux Carré in 1803, and a pen with a brand-new nib… which he caught himself sucking, to get rid of grease. His lips moved in a silent curse; what was tolerable in the countinghouse was a gaffe in the bureau.
To the captain Marocain was saying evenly, “If the draft is not to be in favor of a boatbuilder, should it bear your own name? If so, where shall I cause it to be payable?”
“Cash!” Drew barked.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I said cash! I’d as soon take Jeff Davis dollars as one of your scraps of paper! I want real money even though I must rent a handcart to carry it away in!”
Marocain thought that over for a while. The stimulus of this confrontation was making his mind active again. He answered after due consideration, “Then you will have to wait until Monday. Possibly Tuesday.”
“You refuse to pay?”
“Refuse?” Marocain signaled with his eyes to Fernand, for what he was about to do was risky, given the captain’s notorious temper. Luckily this young man had twice the insight of his own sons… or so, in the dismal grip of insomnia, he had often suspected. A restless, discontented streak had cropped out in Fernand, and the old banker found it made him think again of his own beginnings. There should be an element of rebellion in young people, a determination to improve on what had gone before. Whereas Eugene and Richard had always done as they were told, taken their generous allowances, said thank you for being accepted into the firm… Dull, both of them! Reliable, but boring!
That was what he was thinking. Aloud, he was saying, “Did you lead a very sheltered existence during the war, Captain?”
Drew’s head jerked as though he had been slapped. “What the devil d’you mean by that?” he rasped.
Marocain said nothing. But his sharp eyes, between lids that had the tint and consistency of suet, were fixed unwinkingly on the steamboater.
“I did nothing I’m ashamed of,” Drew said at last, and hefted his wineglass meaningly. A twitch of Marocain’s eyebrow gave Fernand permission to refill it.
And then, with a grinding tone like pebbles in a spring spate: “I did the best I could in my position.”
As though the last couple of sentences had never been uttered, Marocain said, “It goes against my grain to disappoint you, but we hold smaller quantities of bills and coin than in the old days. Indeed, if there’s any place in the city where twelve thousand dollars cash can be found right now, it’s likely the safe of an army paymaster. But there’s an excellent chance of getting it by Monday. With the speed of modern railroads…”
He let the words tail away. Just as he had hoped, reference to railroads was enough to make Drew think again. Gulping wine, the captain said, “Your draft—well, of course I know it will be honored! But even so…”
“If I may put in a word,” Fernand ventured, “many people nowadays prefer them. There’s danger in carrying money through the streets.”
“So I’ve heard,” Drew grunted. “That’s why I chose my oldest bag to pack it in. And—!” He patted a significant bulge under his coat.
“Granted, Captain,” said Fernand. “But apart from the question of whether your bag will stand the weight of gold or the bulk of bills, there are some so poor that even a shabby bag is desirable, and many of them are armed, too.”
Once more his uncle’s eyebrow twitched. This time what it signaled was approval.
At last Drew heaved a monstrous sigh.
“I’d so looked forward to tossing it in the devil’s face! All the way from Cairo I’ve been thinking of how he’d drool and scrabble about on hands and knees to make sure not one penny escaped… But I’d rather buy him off my back than wait until this week is out. Write one of your damn’ papers. It’ll have to do.”
Fernand seized his pen. “For how much, sir?”
“Twelve thousand level. If he hopes for interest he may go whistle. It’s bad enough that I’ve been forced to—”
Drew broke off, as though suddenly he had heard what he was saying, and drowned the rest of the remark with wine.
“In whose favor should I make it payable?” Fernand prompted.
“A son of a bitch who too long has gone by the name of Langston Barber. May he rot!”
With convulsive violence the captain flung his glass to shatter in the fireplace.
Fernand was glad of Drew’s outburst. It permitted him to ascribe to startlement the great black streak his pen spilled across the page, obliging him to make a fair copy.
But it was not the noise of breaking glass that had shaken him. And he suspected his uncle had realized.
However, the old banker remained impassive while authenticating the draft with his now crabbed signature. Then to Fernand as he applied the blotting paper he said, “Show the captain out. Then come back. I have other matters to discuss.”
Aware that something was amiss yet unsure what, Drew scrutinized the document, found it in order, pocketed it, and awkwardly took his leave.
Fernand was by no means sorry.
Marocain sat statue-still. But his mind was livelier than at any time since illness struck him down. He was reviewing all he knew about Hosea Drew: rumors, hints, allegations, libels… And thinking also about his older half-brother Jacob, who had married a St. Louis girl. Hosea had been his mud-clerk—no, his mate. That had been aboard the first Atchafalaya, and the present one was the fourth, so it had all been a long time ago, before (so the story went) his celebrated meanness drove Hosea to train as a pilot in order not to have to pay anybody more than himself.
The old man’s ruminations led to a conclusion. Were it true, then Hosea Drew must be just about the most dogged man who ever navigated on the Mississippi.
And quite possibly one of the silliest, too.
The door opened again. He roused himself.
“Sit down, young man. Take some wine. Finish the oysters. And relax. I’m not about to roast you for wasting ink.”
Fernand gave a sheepish grin and perched obediently on the edge of the chair Drew had vacated. Having poured
barely enough wine to wet his lips, but making no move to touch it or the food, he awaited his uncle’s pleasure.
Staring into nowhere, the latter said, “I have the impression you do not relish the prospect of dedicating your life to loans and pledges and rates of interest.”
In a properly horrified tone Fernand replied, “Sir! I assure you I’m most sensible of your patronage and do all I can to deserve it.”
Marocain made a dismissive gesture—only it wrenched his arm, and for a second he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth.
“Uncle! May I bring you medicine? Or call your doctor?”
Mastering his pain, Marocain snorted. “To perdition with doctors! My last one gave me pills made of opium. My mind was so foggy, I was spending half my time in wonderland. I’d rather suffer honestly than be consigned to a cotton-candy jail. But…”
This with a deep slow sigh.
“But may it be long before you find out what it is to be trapped inside an aching head, balanced on a neck that’s usually stiff with pain, and when it isn’t fills your ears with grinding noises as it turns, and all that on a body which betrays you every time you let your attention wander…”
He gave a harsh laugh, more like a croak.
“Even so, I remember what it was like to be your age. In those days I hadn’t yet learned that the flow of money through the world is as much a force as the current of the Mississippi. Its workings are more subtle than spectacular, but they are real… Why did you spill ink on hearing mention of Langston Barber?”
Biting his lip, Fernand stared at the carpet. But his uncle’s patience threatened to last indefinitely. He was compelled to make a go of it.
“It would be unfeeling for someone in my position, sir, to disown his non-European ancestry. Repression and ignorance fetter the colored citizens of this nation. Given the chance, though, free persons of color have proved they can lead lives as respectable as anyone’s.”
“One heard some such argument during the war,” Marocain said with gentle irony. And made haste to add, “Don’t misunderstand me. Knowing how attached your father was to your mother—caring somewhat for her myself—could I disagree? But what does this have to do with Barber?”
Emboldened, Fernand said, “Contrariwise, some people who boast of all-white descent are capable of barbaric actions!”
“And he is one of them?”
“Yes!”
“Curious, then, that he should be regarded by many swells of your generation as a model to be emulated, inasmuch as he began with nothing but a shack and now owns one of the largest hotels in the city.”
“Hotel? It’s a gambling hell and house of assignation! And knowing how he acquired the funds to buy it—”
“Do you know? Am I to take it that you speak with authority because you frequent the Limousin?”
It was on Fernand’s tongue-tip to say, “How could I, on what you pay me?” In the nick of time he substituted a meeker answer.
“No, sir. But I’m acquainted with one or two men who do.”
“Yes, I’ve been informed you spend your spare time in what is known as river company. Is that the case?”
Fernand swallowed hard. “Well, while it’s true that some rivermen are not even rough diamonds, the majority—”
Marocain contrived to raise his hand.
“I’ve been serving the banking needs of rivermen since before you were born. There’s no need to defend them to me. Which is why I’m so amazed at Captain Drew! Can you think of any reason for him to make over his entire credit to this Barber whom you believe guilty of crimes beyond description? Pour more wine and eat those oysters before they grow a mold.”
Fernand reached hurriedly for the decanter.
“One would imagine,” he ventured, “a gambling debt.”
“But we are talking of Hosea, are we not?” Marocain cradled his glass in claw-thin hands. “Hosea, so little of a gambler that he let his steamer rot rather than risk losing her in action! Had it been his half-brother who marched in demanding all his funds in cash, I’d have had my explanation ready-made: he must have passed a bad night at the tables and needed to pay off his IOUs and finance the Atchafalaya’s next trip. Not the present boat, naturally; the first or second. By the time the third was afloat he was in the grip of the malady which was to prove his doom.”
“What was that, sir?”
“Jacob, the older of the captains Drew, was a drunkard and a lecher as well as a gambler, and years before it killed him the pox drove him insane.”
Looking like a boy who has just discovered that his father too is capable of lusting after a pretty girl, Fernand sat so long without speaking that Marocain finally probed, “Do they not talk about the Drews in your circle?”
“Oh, no! Since I’ve been old enough to seek company of my own choice rather than people Mother thinks it advisable to cultivate, Captain Drew has not been much approved of.”
“Because his sympathies lay with the North?”
“I think more because he declined to share the common burden which the war imposed… Uncle, it isn’t like you to talk this way about a client!”
“It isn’t like my clients to behave this way!” riposted the banker with acerbity. “The older one grows, the more one wants the world to carry on in its accustomed fashion, the less attractive one finds novelty! How is it that you talk so glibly about the source of Barber’s money?”
Fernand at last took a healthy swig from his glass.
“The whole city was abuzz concerning a charge laid by Mr. Hanks, superintendent of the Bureau of Free Labor. Am I to disbelieve him of all people?”
“Of course not. I applauded his appointment as a welcome change from the repressive policy of the Union forces—a betrayal, or so it appeared to someone like myself who can recall my grandfather proudly displaying his copy of the Decree of Sixteenth Pluviose, Year Two of the Republic, which was to have abolished slavery throughout France and her possessions. He acquired it while Louisiana was still under Spanish rule. Had he been caught, he’d have been executed for sedition… You’re looking vacant, boy, and I’m appalled. Never tell me you’re ashamed of your respectable revolutionary heritage!”
“I don’t recall father mentioning much about it,” Fernand muttered.
“When war broke out you were—let me see—fifteen… Oh, perhaps Alphonse felt you weren’t ready for the footnotes to our family history. Though when Eugene and Richard turned fifteen I’d already made it a point to enlighten them concerning what knowledge I could foresee them needing in later life. Which did not include”—with sudden force—“the affairs of Langston Barber! You seem better informed about him than about our family!”
“That’s because what we’ve done hasn’t been made into the small change of every scandal sheet in New Orleans!”
The rain had moved north. Sunshine was shafting through the one window that was less than completely curtained. On the hearth where Drew had smashed his glass it glinted in bright points as sharp as pepper.
“I trust,” his uncle said heavily and at length, “that you aren’t implying you feel excluded from the family?”
“Sir, you have treated me with every kindness!”
“Thank you for that,” Marocain said dryly, sipping his wine; he seemed to be moving more freely than before. “What you were alluding to,” he resumed, “must, I think, have been Mr. Hanks’s assertion that he was offered five thousand dollars by a planter to return what the man was pleased to call ‘my’ Negroes. Being who he is, Mr. Hanks naturally refused.”
“Being who he is, Barber didn’t!”
“But do you know that for certain, young fellow? It’s true that a gang of ruffians, armed, paid, and plied with whiskey by somebody with a lot of money, did make away at pistol point with a hundred men from an army labor camp.”
“Who are now as much enslaved as ever!” Fernand burst out.
“Granted, and it’s a slur on the military administration of this city that those resp
onsible have never been brought to book. The fact stands, however: neither you nor anybody else has proof that Barber was behind it.”
“Where did he get the money to buy the Limousin, then?”
Marocain sighed. “You’ve been very properly raised to disapprove of gambling. No one who has charge of money belonging to other people should indulge in it. However, Barber has always claimed that he made enough out of the marks who came to his hovel near the Fair Ground, and you mustn’t let your detestation of gambling blind you to the fact that he could well have done so, particularly since the builder of the Limousin was on the verge of bankruptcy when he returned to France. So I counsel you to keep your suspicions to yourself. Barber has contrived to be admitted to society, or at least its raffish fringes. His friends may be no more moral than those he left behind in his old hut, but they wield enormous influence. Such people can be very dangerous.”
Silence fell, except for the sudden distracting grind of iron-tired wheels as a carriage was backed and turned in the courtyard. Fernand waited for his uncle to speak further, and finally rose.
“If you have no more need of me I should return to the shop.”
Marocain started. “I’m sorry! My mind went wool-gathering… Sit down again. You’re about to learn a salutary lesson concerning the force money exerts as it works its way through the world. Name one of your river friends who patronizes the Limousin.”
“More acquaintances than friends, sir. Their company is faster than I care for.”
“Never mind! Name one who has a mouth too large for his own good, who can easily be persuaded to talk about other people’s business, and who is in the city at the moment.”
After a moment’s cogitation Fernand offered, “What about Mr. Cato Woodley?”
“Excellent. I’m told he’s an associate of Captain Parbury; that means he spends time with men of the older generation. Where do you meet him?”
“At Griswold’s, sir. That’s a billiard hall where steamboaters go more to talk than to play. It’s handy for the Pilots’ Guild parlor and the agents Mr. Parbury used to employ before the war—the same, of course, that Mr. Woodley is with now.”