How the Stars did Fall (21 page)

“We found this man on the road, sir.”

“And? Who is he?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You didn’t think to ask.”

“No, sir.”

“Goddammit. Bring him in. I’ll question him.”

The soldier pushed Faraday into the lodge and looked around, uncertain of what to do next.

“Put him in that chair. There. Yes, that one,” the decorated man said.

Now the man took a chair of his own and sat in front of Faraday. And he almost began to speak but he noticed the soldier was still standing in his lodge.

“Dismissed, sergeant.”

“Aye, sir.”

Once the sergeant closed the door behind him, the man got up from his chair and ladled out a thick brown liquid into a mug. He took a sip from the mug and then turned to Faraday.

“Where are my manners? Would you like some chocolate?”

“What’s chocolate?”

“Well, would you like to find out? If you knew how hard it was to get chocolate in this godforsaken corner of the world you’d beg to taste it.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Alright. Suit yourself.”

The man finished drinking from his mug while he stood and only moved from his position once the mug had been completely emptied. He set the mug down on a table and took his seat in front of Faraday again.

“My name is colonel Fillmore, commander of this fort and all of the men here stationed. Who are you?”

“My name’s Faraday.”

“Faraday of what?”

“Faraday McKinnis.”

“Alright, McKinnis. Do you belong to the enemy?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb, now. Are you a member of the criminal group that sacked the city of San Francisco and continue to infest it with their presence?”

“No.”

At that answer, the colonel got up and stroked his thin blond mustache, the color of it almost matching his skin, so that from certain angles it appeared he had no mustache at all but a streak of paint across his upper lip as if the maker had splattered him carelessly in the far-gone epochs when the race of man was first thought up and drawn. The colonel had gotten up to collect a thick ledger from his desk, and with it he took his seat and began to leaf through the pages, reading aloud the names there written.

“Joseph Haskell, Eliander Cosby, William Carrigan, Anson Payton, Sherrod Getchell, Matthew Freeman—”

“Is this torture?” Faraday asked.

“These are the names of soldiers once in my company who have defected to the enemy. They have forsaken the Union and all it stands for in favor of joining with the usurper.”

“I don’t know anything about any usurpers.”

“I believe you. What do you know about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean to know who you are. What it is you hide in that head of yours.”

Faraday took a deep breath. Then he looked down at his feet, his shoes all but worn out. When he looked up, he began to speak to the colonel and he did not stop until he had related as much as he could about where he was from and where he was going, omitting only those details concerning his own illicit activities and those of his brother and, of course, his great gift. The colonel absorbed the information readily, drawing from his hearth more hot chocolate while he listened and sometimes taking notes in his big notebook as if he wished to remember every single minutia about Faraday’s odyssey. Once he had finished his spiel Faraday took another deep breath and said he would have some of that hot chocolate if that was okay, and while the colonel ladled out a portion of the beverage, Faraday hoped what he’d said would be enough to convince the man of his innocence in all matters concerning the current conflict between the Union and San Francisco.

“I don’t believe you,” the colonel said.

“That’s the truth. All of it is the truth.”

“Son, my men stopped you on the road to San Francisco accompanied by a pair of Indians. Did you see any regular citizens traversing that road?”

“No.”

“Of course not. Because we’re in the middle of a war. It follows that only participants in that war would linger around the environs of the battles. And since you and your companions are not part of my regiment it is perfectly within my right to detain you under suspicion of abetting the enemy. A suspicion any judge of this land or any other would corroborate.”

“You may be right.”

“Damn right I’m right. But your problems are only compounding. What that man in San Francisco is doing is high treason and the order has come down from the President himself that he ought to be hanged for his crime, him and all who help him. Now if you follow my reasoning, that means I have every right to strap you up to a tree before the day is over. God knows my men could use the distraction.”

Faraday thought for a moment about what dying hung from a platform would be like. What that darkness would feel like as the last breath of his life escaped him. Who would come to find him on the other side? Which direction would he be taken? Up towards some apical God sitting straddle-legged on a throne of light or down towards the freezing nether regions of the universe where all light is consumed and thought destroyed. While Faraday sat pensive, the colonel uncorked a bottle of whiskey and poured some into a glass.

“Drink this.”

Faraday took a swig without even looking up at the colonel as if all earthly concerns no longer troubled him.

A quail bird that had been roasting over the fire finished cooking. The colonel took the meat and placed it over a cutting board, and taking a bowie knife from his belt he cut the bird up until it lay all lacerated on the cutting board, no longer looking like anything that had ever lived. And he offered some of the meat to Faraday, who took it gladly, licking his fingers after every morsel. The meal ended with Faraday brought out of the lodge in handcuffs by the colonel and told he would be hanged by the end of the week.

Faraday was taken to the little prison that Moon and Tenhorse already occupied. Together they retreated to the back of the cell, where the hay piled up high and a smell of rotten fruit clung to the air. They sat in the dark with only the sunlight coming through a hole in the door to mark the passage of time.

At night after all the lights had been blown out the whole fort lay in a deathly silence, as if all life for a moment had paused to countenance itself. To take a measure of its own worth. Then a wailing broke the silence. Anguish of the maimed. What began as one scream became many as the injured moaned and squirmed atop their cots, the morphine no longer able to mask their pain. The wailing woke the doctor, who now made a midnight round, administering further doses of morphine to those in pain. After a while of the doctor moving about, the wailing subsided and Faraday found he could sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

It was moving day. The storekeeper, whose name was Jason, had made all the preparations. A wagon loaded with provisions waited for them outside the store and all the girls had already climbed onto it. Olivia smoothed her dress with her hand and looked back at the store. Inside she could see Jason gesticulating at his brother-in-law, explaining this or that about the management of the store. Olivia had pressed Jason about who had said she would come but his answer had been for her to wait. That she would see. The most he had revealed was that this person had once worked in a carnival to the south and that he could take them there. And he promised he could get Olivia and her friends all the work they needed once they got to the carnival.

So far, Jason was living up to his promise. He took care of the girls, giving them food and shelter and now procuring transportation. What surprised Olivia was that he had not demanded an explanation for the floating glass. Had not even asked. But when Olivia volunteered an answer anyway, stating emphatically that it was only a trick her father had taught her, Jason took it as an offense. That was no trick, he said. Then he walked away. He drove the wagon himself, sitting atop it like the protruding uraeus of an Egyptian monarch.

They found the carnival straddling a little agrarian town midway between Los Angeles and San Diego. The whole thing consisted of a few wagons strewn about, painted on with symbols and advertisements. Jason parked the wagon and climbed down from his perch.

“I’ll do the talking,” he said to all of the girls at once.

“Not sure I trust that man to speak for us,” Molly said.

“He knows these people. Just wait.”

So they remained in the wagon, fidgeting in their seats, the space cramped such that each girl could smell the sweat of the other, their shoulders and thighs touching. Then came a knock on the side of the wagon. Olivia opened the door and came down, holding on to Jason’s hand for balance.

“Luke, this here’s Olivia,” Jason said.

Luke, the circus master, was a clean-shaven man with a gentle demeanor. When he saw Olivia he bent forward and took her hand, holding it for a moment.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said. “Jason tells me you have a unique talent.”

“I believe I do,” Olivia said.

“Will you show me, then? That tent over there is all yours if you can do what Jason just described to me.”

The tent in question was a flimsy green thing, like a great nose rag. It still bore the marks of its previous occupant. Symbols painted onto the tarp. An eye wreathed in feathers on one side and on the other a pinecone attached to a staff, and in the middle, in grand lettering, his name and seal. H.R. Mecklenburg.

“You can change all that if you’d like,” Luke said, referring to the signage.

The tent was empty but Luke had a few of the workers bring in furniture and other accoutrements. They carried in on their shoulders a square table of dark mahogany and matching chairs and panels of polished oak and one strange contraption Olivia had never before seen though it looked vaguely like a photograph machine.

“Is that a camera?” Olivia asked.

“Oh no. That’s a magic lantern. You’re free to use it if you’d like. Now, what is it that you want to show me?”

All exited the tent except Luke and Olivia.

“I need a glass…”

“Of course,” Luke said, “hold on.” He went out and brought the glass of water himself and set it down on the mahogany table. Olivia performed her trick just as she had done for Jason. The circus master sat incredulous at the spectacle before him. After Olivia released the cup, Luke got up and felt out the shape of his chin with his hand, the skin smooth and baby-like.

“How’d you do that?” he asked.

“I cannot say,” Olivia said.

“If you want to work in my carnival, you can.”

“Alright. Very fine strings.”

“I didn’t see you putting up any strings.”

“That’s the secret.”

“Huh. Keep your secrets, then. It’s a good trick, I’ll give you that. I reckon these other girls come with the package?”

“They do.”

“Sixty percent is my cut. That’s a little higher than I would usually take but that’s a lot of mouths to feed and they’ll have to work, too. Board is included.”

“We’ll take it.”

Jason showed Olivia and the girls to the place where they would sleep. Another tent, this one packed with beds and little cupboards and chests and unlit lanterns and all of the personal belongings of the carnival workers. They walked on over to a section of the tent that had no beds in it. An empty space.

“Hold on,” Jason said.

The girls stood uneasily waiting. Jason returned moments later with other boys, pulling more beds into the tent and placing them side by side with the others. Then they brought bedsheets and blankets and fastened them to the mattresses.

“We don’t have anywhere for you to put your stuff. Gotta buy your own dresser or the like. But the beds aren’t bad for sleeping. Not bad at all.”

“I thank you,” Olivia said.

Jason tipped his hat and began to remove himself from the tent when he turned back.

“Dinner’s at two,” he said. “Supper at nine. Breakfast at ten. And if you need anything, just holler.”

During dinner the whole carnival ground to a halt and everyone found a seat for themselves at one of the long tables. Then they formed a line for the hot food that had been prepared and set down on the ground in enormous steel vats. Enough stew for a battalion. Each person ladled out their own food into their own ceramic bowl and took a slice of bread from a basket. It was a noisy meal. The workers spoke loudly to each other in groups of four or five. Little pockets of conversation, islands separated by gender, rank or trade. Then she heard someone call her name. A man’s voice. She looked up and saw Luke waving his arms about at the other table, summoning her. Olivia did not want to sit with them so she pretended for a moment that she did not understand the gesture.

“Go on,” Molly said.

So she did, making the journey over to the other table and finding that a seat across from Luke was empty, and there she sat with her bowl, studying the men’s faces as intently as they studied hers. Jason was there and Olivia felt slightly comforted at that.

“I just told these fellas about what it is you do,” Luke said. “They don’t believe me.”

“They can come over to our tent later and see for themselves.”

“Aye, they will. It is a better act than Mecklenburg ever put on. Should be a hit.”

After that remark the table was silent as if someone had mentioned a dead family member, the men taking a sudden and intense interest in their bowls and their cups. Jason broke the silence.

“So Olivia, where’d you learn how to do these tricks? You look real young.”

“Where does it matter where she learned them?” Luke asked. “You needn’t answer him. Everyone here has something in the past they don’t want to talk about.”

“It’s alright. My father taught me.”

“He was an illusionist?”

“Yes.”

“And where is he now?”

“Dead.”

“How’d he die?”

“That’s enough out of you, Jason. Leave the girl alone. In fact, you can go on and finish your soup by the stables, where you ought to be working.”

Jason stared for a moment at Luke, then he picked up his bowl and walked away.

“Careful, boss,” one of the men said. “He might run away again you talk to him like that.” They all laughed at that.