Around the River's Bend (10 page)

“What's the matter? Merin asked. “Aren't you hungry, Pa?”

Rees snapped at his child, and Merin's face showed a hurt expression.

“Don't bother your father, Merin,” Sion said.

“I wasn't bothering him. I just asked why he wasn't eating.”

Rees looked ashamed and apologized to his son. “Don't pay any attention to me, Merin. I'm just in a bad humor.”

“Does your leg hurt today?” Ysbail asked, a worried expression on her youthful face.

“Not a bit.”

Glenda gave her husband a look. “There's no point in lying about it. Of course it hurts.”

“Well, just a bit, maybe, but I don't mind that. It's not being able to work that eats away at me.”

“Doesn't the Bible say something about having patience?” Sion jibed, smiling across the table at his friend.

“I don't want to be reminded of that. A man's not a man if he doesn't go out and work.”

“You'll be back at work soon enough. We just have to give it some time.”

Rees ate slowly and then finally looked up. “I heard you had another round with the manager over the safety requirement.”

“I did have a word with him. The company's not doing enough to take care of its men.”

“They never do!” Glenda said shortly. She was making a lunch for Sion, and she poured some cold tea into a jar and put a lid on it carefully. “Little do they care what happens to our men down in the bowels of the earth. They can always find more men.”

“Now, don't be bitter,” Rees said. “Things will get better.”

“What did you say to the manager?” Glenda demanded.

“Well, I just wanted to remind him that the miners' union has made some requests and that management had agreed to them. But they haven't been done.”

“I bet he didn't like that. He's all for the company and never for the men,” Rees grumbled.

“Well, it did get a bit heated. Some of the men started talking about a strike, and I tried to squash that.”

The fear of a strike was very real, for when the miners went on strike, there was no money coming in, and few of the miners had enough cash on hand to see them through a long strike. The mine owners were well aware of this. They lived in the big cities, living off the sweat of those who groveled beneath the earth, bringing out the black coal. A strike had never been a good option for miners, Sion realized, and probably never would be.

He got up, saying, “I'm off. Thank you, Glenda.” He took his lunch and reached over to tug gently at Ysbail's hair. “You be sweet today—like me.”

Ysbail pushed his hand away and caught his eye. “Be careful, Sion.”

“Careful I am,” Sion nodded, stroking her hair. Then he reached over and tugged a twig of Merin's hair. “And, old man, you take care of your dad, you hear me?”

“I will. When you come home tonight, will you play drafts with me?”

“That I will. You're getting too good for me, though. Beat me three games last night, you did.” Sion winked at Glenda and said, “Make him behave himself.”

“That's more than I can answer for!”

Rees said, “I wish I were going with you.”

“The day will come. You catch up on your Bible reading. Have something good from the Word for me tonight.”

“I'll do my best.”

****

Exactly one week after that day, as Sion reached the mine he was met by the manager, who blocked his way. “You won't be needed here.”

“What's that supposed to mean? I've cut out more coal than any man on the shift.”

“You're a troublemaker, Kenyon. Here's your pay. Now get out!”

“Wait a minute, now. I haven't made any trouble, and Rees is depending on me to keep his family going until he's able to get back to work.”

“You should have thought of that before you started talking strike!”

Heat rose in Sion. “I haven't said a word about a strike! As a matter of fact, I've spoken against it.”

“I'm not arguing with you. Now get out!”

Sion was tempted to strike out at the manager, but he knew the man had not made this decision. The owners had heard of Sion's activities and had callously instructed the manager to get rid of him. The same thing had happened before to other men who had campaigned for better working conditions. Sion took the envelope the manager was holding out to him without a word and left the mine.

He made his way back to the house, and as soon as he stepped inside, Rees knew everything. “They let you go, did they?”

“Aye. They said I was agitating for a strike, but that's a lie.”

Rees shook his head sadly. “It's a cruel place, the mines. The executives wear their white shirts and their diamonds and eat in their fancy places and live in their fine homes, but they care little for the likes of us.”

Sion caught a glimpse of Glenda's face and saw the fear that was there. He said, “I've got a plan. I'm going to London. There's work there, they say, and I'll send back money to keep you going until you're on your feet.”

Rees turned his face away, his features working. “I hate to take charity.”

“You took me in when I had nothing and made me part of your family. At least, that's how I feel about it. Now it's my turn.”

Rees did not answer for a time. Finally he said, “I don't know what we would have done without you these days. I don't know what we'd do without you in the future. I'll say it again. God sent you to take care of us, Sion Kenyon.”

Sion shrugged off the words and smiled. “Well, there's no use putting it off. I'll go gather my things and then I'll be off.”

Glenda came and put her hand on his arm. “It's grateful I am to you, Sion.”

Sion felt then the weight of what he had taken on. He had no skills except farming and mining, and he knew that neither one was in demand. The well-being of this family, maybe even the survival, rested on him, and the thought overwhelmed him. He said with more cheer than he felt, “Why, it'll be a vacation for me. I'll find a good job, and every week I'll send the pay back, except what I need to live on, just until you're able to go back to work, Rees.”

Rees shook his head. “It's more blessed to give than it is to receive, but it's bloody hard for a man like me to take all of the receiving and do none of the giving.”

“It won't be forever. Maybe I'll come back. The manager may change his mind.”

“They never forget,” Rees said stonily.

****

Sion left all the money he had except enough to live on for a week and for his passage. He hated good-byes, so he tried to make them brief. As he hugged the children, he saw how grieved they were. “Don't you worry, now,” he assured them. “We're friends always.”

“But you'll be gone,” Merin cried.

“Aye, but friends are friends even when they're apart. It's writing you I'll be, and you must answer.”

“I'll write you,” Ysbail said, and tears showed in her eyes.

Sion put his arms around the two again before straightening up. He picked up his bundle of belongings, shook hands with Rees, and laid his hand on Glenda's shoulder. “No fear now. It'll all be well.”

He left the cottage and started walking along the road. Almost immediately a farmer picked him up who was going to the coast, and he thought about his friends with a heavy heart as he bounced along on the seat.
I hate to leave
, he thought,
but they're depending on me. God help me to do the right thing. Open some way where I can take care of Rees and his family
.

****

London was big and loud and confusing. Sion, who had known the quiet of the countryside and the pleasant hum of small villages, was almost deafened by the noise of the place. He spent a day looking for work, but soon admitted that his heart wasn't in it—he had no interest in living in the big city. The next day he made his way out of the city and began traveling around the small villages looking for work on the farms. He quickly found that things were as bad in England as they were in Wales, and there were no coal mines as a last resort.

After a week of taking whatever work he could get—an afternoon here, a morning there—he soon discovered there would be no way he could support himself and send enough money back to keep Rees's family going.

Finally he made his way back to London and went from business to business, more seriously this time, but he had no skills to offer. He was growing desperate after three days of this when he overheard one of the men in a tavern where he had bought a cheap meal speak of a boxing match that was to come. The man's words made him remember the boxing match with the former champion of Wales and the manager who had offered to handle him as a pugilist.

Ordinarily Sion would not have considered such a thing, but desperation was on him now. He paid close attention to the conversation and discovered that the fight would be held the next afternoon. He also heard the men mention that the pugilist was staying at the Green Dragon Inn.

Sion Kenyon was not a man of impulse, and yet as he finished his meal slowly, he knew that this was something he had to try. He had never lost a fight in his life, and now, after enjoying a steady diet of Glenda Grufydd's good cooking and the hard work in the mines, he knew he was hard as nails and as fit as he would ever be. He had always liked amateur boxing but never once had the thought of fighting for money occurred to him. He remembered saying to the manager of the fighter in Wales,
“If there's one thing worse than the mines, it's fighting for money.”
Now, however, there was no choice.

He paid his bill and asked, “Where would the Green Dragon be? Could you tell me, sir?” He listened to the instructions and left the tavern.

Twenty minutes later he was standing outside the Green Dragon, looking up at the sign. The dragon was rather anemic looking. It had once been green, but now it was very pale and seemed tired and quite unimpressive. Walking inside, he found the owner and said, “I'm looking for Earl Duggans.”

“The Bristol Mangler? That's him over at the table. You didn't come to start a fight with him, I hope?”

“No, nothing like that. Just a word with him.”

Approaching the table where two men sat eating, Sion noted that the Mangler was a big man with the brutalized features of his trade. His ears were shapeless balloons of flesh. His deep chest bulged, and the muscles of his arms strained against his sleeves.

“Pardon me. Could I have a word with you two gentlemen?”

“What is it?” the Mangler said, turning to look at him. He had amazingly bright blue eyes, and despite his fearsome appearance had a mild, rather gentle voice.

“My name is Sion Kenyon. I've just come from Wales.”

“From Wales. I can hear it in your voice.” The other man was small and thin with a mustache that covered his upper lip. He was wearing fine clothes, and diamonds glittered from his left hand and from a pin in his coat. “I come from Wales myself. Which part are you from?”

“I come from Carmarthen.”

“I know it well. What can we do for you, sir?”

“I want to become a fighter.”

Both men seemed surprised, and the smaller of the two men said, “My name is Ned Chaps. I'm Earl's manager.” He took out a cigar, lit it, and studied Sion carefully. “What makes you think you can fight?”

Sion stood there feeling foolish. He shook his head, saying, “I guess I'm not sure myself. All I've ever done is amateur—but I've never been beaten.”

Earl Duggans smiled with broad lips that had been flattened by many blows. “You've got nerve, I'll say that for you.” He looked across the table and said, “You've been wantin' another boy. Why don't we give 'im a try?”

Ned Chaps lifted his goblet and drank slowly. Then he smiled. “Do you want to have a go at Earl here?”

“Yes, sir. That's all I ask. I know I'm not a champion, but I can win against some, I'm sure.”

“Well, he's modest and well spoken, like a good man from Wales. I like that. We'll be doing some training about three o'clock this afternoon.” He named the spot and said, “Come around, and we'll give you a try.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chaps. I'll be there.”

****

“Well, you shape up well,” Chaps said as he walked around Sion. He poked at the muscles of his chest and pinched his biceps. “Hard as the coal you've been digging. Look at that, Earl. You get them stomach muscles by digging coal, believe it or not.”

Earl Duggans, the Bristol Mangler, was stripped to the waist. He wore a pair of silk tights and black shoes. “He looks good. We'll see if he's got anything.”

Sion had no tights. He had simply taken off his shirt. A crowd of men had collected to see the Mangler work out, and now Ned Chaps raised his voice. “Glad you could come, gentlemen. We have a young man here who thinks he wants to be a fighter. The Mangler will probably change his mind in the next few minutes.” He waited until the laughter died down and then said, “All right. Let's see what you've got, Sion Kenyon.”

Sion lifted his hands, his fists clenched, and saw something change in the face of Earl Duggans. He had seemed pleasant and gentle when he was having his meal, but now that Sion was in the ring opposite him, he looked angry. It was this anger plus a tremendous strength and endurance that had made him one of the contenders for the championship of England. He moved forward very fast for such a big man. He weighed over two hundred pounds, and his blow, which merely grazed Sion's chest, had such power in it that Sion knew he was in for a struggle. He also knew he'd better get moving, so as the blow struck his chest, he jumped forward, and his left fist flickered out, catching Duggans on the forehead with enough power to stop him cold. A murmur went around the small crowd, and the Mangler grinned.

“You're fast. I can see that.”