Read Online I Am Abraham by Jerome Charyn - Free Book Online Page B

hucksters in velvet hats, women in the finest skirts, cardsharpers in candle-lit coffeehouses, and Legislators who had to live in one of Vandalia’s clapboard inns—I chose the Sign of the Green Tree, which might have also been a haven for gamblers and whores. I had two other bed companions at the Green Tree; one slept with a pocket pistol under his pillow, and the other slept with a knife.
    The long carriage ride must have weakened my fortitude, because I doubted whether I would survive Vandalia’s own vandals and varmints who might steal your wallet and slit your throat while bathing in French perfume. That was called frontier justice. But I was tall enough and mean enough to navigate on my own. The harlots in petticoats and dainty boots followed me along patches of winter grass that masqueraded as sidewalks in Vandalia. They had hideous smears of lipstick on their mouths and as much war paint as one of Black Hawk’s braves. Their eyes looked like bits of burning charcoal.
    “Mr. Long Man,” they cooed, “would you like to take a trip to paradise?”
    And while they cooed and grabbed at my arms, a dwarf would come out of nowhere, creep under my coattails, and commence a digging expedition in my pockets. I had to hurl him into the frozen streets by his outsized head, or suffer the fate of a pauper.
    Soon the harlots and their dwarf accomplices tired of me and moved on to another Legislator. There was an endless flow of human traffic; I saw bodies, alive and dead, curled up in some dank corner. Vandalia had a hurdy-gurdy man, who cranked up his mechanical banjo and croaked Christian hymns with all the raucous holler of a bullfrog. It mortified me to listen. He could have been stealing from Annie’s own hymnal.
    Vain man, thy fond pursuits forbear . . .
    Reflect, thou hast a soul to save.
    I’d swear he was a spotter for pickpockets and thieves. I avoided him and all the other likely birds of prey. But I was still in mortal danger at the Legislature. The Statehouse, which had collapsed in a firestorm, was rebuilt with shoddy material. This ramshackle pile of brick faced the town square like a tottering, two-story mountain. There must have been leakage throughout the building, since the walls bulged in peculiar places, and we all had to worry about plaster missiles falling upon us. I never entered the building without my hat.
    The Senate convened right over our heads, while we lower members of the Elite occupied a less grand salon on the ground floor. We could hear the Senators tramp around in the midst of their sessions; the ceiling swayed, the dust flew, and we soldiered on, with cracks appearing in the walls. On several occasions we had to run for our lives.
    Members of the lower house sat three to a table in chairs that could be moved about. We had cork inkstands and quill pens, and a gigantic sandbox served as a spittoon. For refreshment we had a pail of water and a quota of tin cans that hung from a wall. And our evening sessions were lit by candles in great brass holders, leaving shadows on the wall that looked like a constant camel train.
    I was the youngest member of the lower Elite—that’s what I had been told. And I kept to Justice Green’s credo, remaining as silent as I could. Surrounded by lawyers far richer than Abe Lincoln, I resolved to listen. And while more practiced Legislators championed their own pet bills, I joined a committee or two, shook hands in the halls, and discovered as much as I could about border passions and frontier politics. Others speechified about incorporating banks, bridges, and female academies, but I couldn’t have done much to widen or deepen the Sangamon River, even if I had politicked day and night. We didn’t incorporate too many female academies, but we did appropriate funds for the killing and maiming of wolves and wild cats. I can’t recall how I voted on that measure.
    I sat with pen and paper at the Sign of the Green Tree half a dozen times, but I couldn’t seem