Read Online The Amalgamation Polka by Stephen Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Wright
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in which they sat.
“What are you guilty of, sir?” asked Liberty.
“Why a life of unrestraint, of course. I refused to acknowledge the word ‘No.’ It was ‘Yes’ with me, lad, ‘Yes’ forever and always. I knew no hindrances, I brushed aside all societal obstacles, people were as shadows before me. Those were the grand days of riot and debauchery. I strode through the world with flask unstoppered, cutlass unsheathed and breeches unbuttoned. Lookee here.” Leaning out into the flickering candlelight, Fife pulled aside a curtain of hair to disclose, crudely etched into his very flesh, a primitively drawn skull and crossbones. “Old Inky did that on me at a table in The Flaming Bucket back in the roaring Port Royal times.”
“But how did you end up here in upper New York?”
“How? How, you say? I suppose I took a wrong turn at New Providence.” Then he opened his mouth, exposing a gumful of dark, ragged teeth, his begrimed face crinkled up as if in laughter while his shoulders shook, but not a sound could be heard. He searched around behind himself and hauled into view a white clay jug which he lifted to his lips, took a long gulp from and then offered to Liberty. “Care for some belly timber?”
Liberty, ever adventurous, swallowed a healthy sip. The liquid burned and smelled of turpentine and when he choked and coughed the droplets spewing from his mouth flared up brightly in the candle flame.
“Takes a mite getting used to,” explained Fife. “But it clears the head and warms the soul. In a few minutes you’ll be thanking me. They always do.”
Through the prisms of the boy’s tears Fife seemed to Liberty some hairy shimmering apparition that could devour him in one mad gulp. Then his vision cleared and Fife appeared much as he had before except that each strand of his numerous hairs stood out separate and lucent.
“And now,” announced Fife rather eagerly, the glittering of his eyes a bit more pronounced than seemed possible in this dim tallow light, “now that we’ve properly introduced ourselves, attended to the required conversational strictures, shared a drink—care for another by the way? No? Well perhaps later—now we may turn to the reason I have invited you to my quarters today.” From within his tent of hair he produced a leather pouch and extracted a sheaf of yellowed papers he dramatically waved in Liberty’s face, then reverently placed in his hairy lap.
“I have often observed you traveling through these woods in the company of a black man. Once you passed no more than three feet from where I squatted, performing a rather successful impersonation of a pile of leaves which I had meticulously arranged throughout my tresses, and on more than one occasion I heard this man whom I noticed you were attending carefully, turn and call out to you, ‘Liberty!’ Is this not correct?”
Liberty, in awed silence, merely nodded his head.
“Is ‘Liberty’ indeed your Christian name?”
“Yes,” the boy managed softly.
“So I assumed. You have been granted a great gift and a great responsibility. By the spark in your eye I see that you understand this. So, I now wish to honor you by officially inducting you into the ranks of the Liberi. Here are the articles.” Again the sheaf of papers was flourished about. “Here, read them, examine them. I can assure you all is in perfect order.”
The boy hunched forward into the light. Scanning the brittle pages, he saw the words: “Birthright…the Sweets of Liberty…the Fruits of Labor…a Share of the Earth.”
“But what is this all about?”
“Ah, you are unacquainted then with the reputation of the great Captain Mission and his noble efforts to save humanity from itself?”
“Who is he?”
“It’s ‘was,’ I’m afraid, boy, ‘was.’ Horrible engagement. Many a good lad gone to dive for the eternal peace. Last I saw of Captain Mission he had a saber in each hand, a gash across his cheek and a smile on his lips. A
“What are you guilty of, sir?” asked Liberty.
“Why a life of unrestraint, of course. I refused to acknowledge the word ‘No.’ It was ‘Yes’ with me, lad, ‘Yes’ forever and always. I knew no hindrances, I brushed aside all societal obstacles, people were as shadows before me. Those were the grand days of riot and debauchery. I strode through the world with flask unstoppered, cutlass unsheathed and breeches unbuttoned. Lookee here.” Leaning out into the flickering candlelight, Fife pulled aside a curtain of hair to disclose, crudely etched into his very flesh, a primitively drawn skull and crossbones. “Old Inky did that on me at a table in The Flaming Bucket back in the roaring Port Royal times.”
“But how did you end up here in upper New York?”
“How? How, you say? I suppose I took a wrong turn at New Providence.” Then he opened his mouth, exposing a gumful of dark, ragged teeth, his begrimed face crinkled up as if in laughter while his shoulders shook, but not a sound could be heard. He searched around behind himself and hauled into view a white clay jug which he lifted to his lips, took a long gulp from and then offered to Liberty. “Care for some belly timber?”
Liberty, ever adventurous, swallowed a healthy sip. The liquid burned and smelled of turpentine and when he choked and coughed the droplets spewing from his mouth flared up brightly in the candle flame.
“Takes a mite getting used to,” explained Fife. “But it clears the head and warms the soul. In a few minutes you’ll be thanking me. They always do.”
Through the prisms of the boy’s tears Fife seemed to Liberty some hairy shimmering apparition that could devour him in one mad gulp. Then his vision cleared and Fife appeared much as he had before except that each strand of his numerous hairs stood out separate and lucent.
“And now,” announced Fife rather eagerly, the glittering of his eyes a bit more pronounced than seemed possible in this dim tallow light, “now that we’ve properly introduced ourselves, attended to the required conversational strictures, shared a drink—care for another by the way? No? Well perhaps later—now we may turn to the reason I have invited you to my quarters today.” From within his tent of hair he produced a leather pouch and extracted a sheaf of yellowed papers he dramatically waved in Liberty’s face, then reverently placed in his hairy lap.
“I have often observed you traveling through these woods in the company of a black man. Once you passed no more than three feet from where I squatted, performing a rather successful impersonation of a pile of leaves which I had meticulously arranged throughout my tresses, and on more than one occasion I heard this man whom I noticed you were attending carefully, turn and call out to you, ‘Liberty!’ Is this not correct?”
Liberty, in awed silence, merely nodded his head.
“Is ‘Liberty’ indeed your Christian name?”
“Yes,” the boy managed softly.
“So I assumed. You have been granted a great gift and a great responsibility. By the spark in your eye I see that you understand this. So, I now wish to honor you by officially inducting you into the ranks of the Liberi. Here are the articles.” Again the sheaf of papers was flourished about. “Here, read them, examine them. I can assure you all is in perfect order.”
The boy hunched forward into the light. Scanning the brittle pages, he saw the words: “Birthright…the Sweets of Liberty…the Fruits of Labor…a Share of the Earth.”
“But what is this all about?”
“Ah, you are unacquainted then with the reputation of the great Captain Mission and his noble efforts to save humanity from itself?”
“Who is he?”
“It’s ‘was,’ I’m afraid, boy, ‘was.’ Horrible engagement. Many a good lad gone to dive for the eternal peace. Last I saw of Captain Mission he had a saber in each hand, a gash across his cheek and a smile on his lips. A
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