Part 16 (1/2)

”I takes care of it,” Scipio promised.

Erasmus, by now, had good reason to know his promises were reliable. He headed out the door. A fat bankroll made a bulge in his hip pocket. The roll would be considerably thinner after he came back from the riverside fish market. He'd get good value for the money he spent, though. Even in these times of runaway prices, he always did.

Off he went. Left behind to his own devices, Scipio went right on cleaning. The ice man did come in. Scipio stuck some of the slabs of ice in the display trays and put the rest in the damp sawdust underneath those trays so it wouldn't melt before it was needed. Then he got a hammer and an ice pick and began to break up the ice in the trays from slabs to glistening chunks.

By the time he'd finished dealing with the ice, Scipio wasn't hot any more. His teeth chattered, and he could barely feel his fingers. He wondered if that was what living through a winter up in the USA felt like. He doubted he'd ever find out.

He didn't stay cold for long. Nothing could stay cold very long, not in that weather. He took a little chunk of cracked ice and dropped it down the back of his s.h.i.+rt. It made him squirm and felt good at the same time.

Erasmus came back with a burlap bag slung over his shoulder. He grunted when he saw the ice in the trays. ”Come on,” he said to Scipio. ”Got to clean us these here fish.”

He did most of the cleaning himself. He'd long since seen that Scipio knew how, but he was an artist with the knife; had he had a fancy education, he might have made a surgeon instead of a fry cook. Scipio carried fish and set them on ice. He also carried pink, b.l.o.o.d.y fish guts out to the alley in back of the shop and flung them into a battered iron trash can. He always hosed the can out right after the refuse collectors emptied it. It still stank of stale fish. Flies buzzed around it. Flies buzzed everywhere in Augusta when the weather was warm.

People knew when Erasmus would be getting back with his fish. Within fifteen minutes of his return, housewives started coming in to buy for their husbands and families. When Scipio first started working there, they'd viewed him with suspicion, as people had a way of viewing anyone or anything new with suspicion. By now, they took him for granted.

One woman, carrying away a couple of catfish wrapped in old newspapers, turned back and said to Erasmus, ”That Xerxes, he jew me down better'n you ever could, old man.”

”It ain't so hard these days, not with money so crazy ain't n.o.body knows what nothin' supposed to cost,” Erasmus answered. The woman took her fish and departed. Scipio glanced over to his boss, wondering if her comments had annoyed him. Erasmus gave no sign of that; catching Scipio's eye, he grinned at him, as if to say the housewife had paid him a compliment.

Business picked up as noon approached. Men started coming in and having their fish fried in the shop for dinner. Erasmus fried potatoes to go with them, too, and a big pot of greens never seemed to go off the stove. A man could leave the table hungry, but it wasn't easy.

And how the money flowed in! Hundred-dollar banknotes, five hundreds, thousands, even a ten-thousand now and then-Scipio felt like a bank cas.h.i.+er as he made change. He would have felt even more like a bank cas.h.i.+er and less like a poor Negro if he hadn't been making $40,000 a week himself. Next week, Erasmus would probably give him fifty or sixty or seventy. However much it was, it would keep food in his belly and a roof over his head, and it wouldn't go a great deal further than that.

One more reason to marry Bathsheba as soon as he could was that then they'd need only one roof over their two heads, and save the cost of the second-not that anyone could save anything much with prices as mad as they were.

Trouble started about half past twelve. The first hint of it Scipio got was an angry shout from not far away: ”Freedom!” A moment later, it came again, from a lot of throats: ”Freedom!”

”They's buckra!” Scipio exclaimed. ”Why fo' buckra come into de Terry carryin' on like dat?”

”Don't know.” Erasmus tucked a knife into his belt. ”Don't much fancy the notion, neither. They ain't got no business in this part o' town.”

Whether they had business or not, here they came, straight up the street past the cafe: a dozen or so white men, all of them in white s.h.i.+rts and b.u.t.ternut trousers. ”Freedom!” they shouted, again and again. As they shouted, they knocked down any Negro in their path, man, woman, or child.

”What we do 'bout dat?” Scipio said. ”What can can we do 'bout dat? I know they's white folks, but they got no call to do nothin' like that. You reckon yellin' fo' the police do any good, Erasmus?” we do 'bout dat? I know they's white folks, but they got no call to do nothin' like that. You reckon yellin' fo' the police do any good, Erasmus?”

Erasmus shook his gray head. ”Not likely. Two-three of them fellas, they was was the police.” Scipio thought about that for a little while. He thought he'd escaped terror for good when he'd got free from the last wreck of the Congaree Socialist Republic. Now he discovered he'd been wrong. the police.” Scipio thought about that for a little while. He thought he'd escaped terror for good when he'd got free from the last wreck of the Congaree Socialist Republic. Now he discovered he'd been wrong.

”I never thought I'd live to see the day,” Sam Carsten said as the USS Remembrance Remembrance steamed through St. George's Channel. If he looked to starboard, he could see England-no, Wales. Ireland lay to port. steamed through St. George's Channel. If he looked to starboard, he could see England-no, Wales. Ireland lay to port.

George Moerlein nodded. ”I know what you mean,” he said. ”Pretty d.a.m.n crazy, us paying a courtesy call in Dublin harbor.”

”Only way a U.S. wars.h.i.+p would've been able to get into Dublin harbor before the war or during it would've been to kick its way in,” Sam agreed. ”Of course, Ireland belonged to the limeys then, and we weren't exactly welcome visitors.”

”Well, we are now,” Moerlein said. ”And if England doesn't like it, let her try and start something. She'll get the idea pretty d.a.m.n quick after we give her a good boot in the a.s.s.”

Despite that bravado, he looked east more than a little nervously. The Royal Navy had been beaten in the Great War, but it hadn't been crushed. England hadn't been crushed, not the way the Confederate States and France had been. He had no doubt the USA and the German Empire could crush her if they had to. He also had no doubt they'd know they'd been in a sc.r.a.p by the time they were through.

A destroyer flying a green-white-orange flag with a harp in the middle of the white led the way for the Remembrance Remembrance. The destroyer had started life as a U.S. four-stacker; dozens much like her had gone into the water during the Great War. Her crew consisted of Irishmen who'd begun their careers in the Royal Navy. Men like that, thousands of them, formed the basis for the Irish Navy.

”I hope they've got a good pilot up there,” Carsten said. A moment later, he added, ”I hope he's got good charts, too.” A moment later still, he made another addendum: ”I hope none of the mines from the fields are drifting loose through the Irish Sea.”

He thought that covered everything, but his buddy showed him he was wrong. ”As long as you're doing all that hoping, hope the limeys haven't snuck out and planted a few of those little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds right in our path,” George Moerlein said.

”That wouldn't be very nice of them, would it?” Sam grimaced. ”And they could always say something like, 'Oh, we're very sorry-we didn't have any notion that one was there.' How would anybody prove anything different?”

”You couldn't,” Moerlein said. ”You wouldn't have a prayer of doing it. Of course, the good thing is that Teddy Roosevelt wouldn't need any proof. If we come to grief here, he'll make England pay. The limeys have to know it, too. I don't think they'll get gay with us.”

”Here's hoping you're right.” Carsten glanced up at the sky, which was full of thick gray clouds. ”Beautiful day, isn't it?”

Moerlein thought he was being sarcastic. ”Yeah, if you're moss on a tree,” he answered. ”I was hoping we'd get sent down to South America myself, to give Brazil a hand against Argentina. That's my kind of weather.”

”No, thanks,” Carsten said with a shudder. ”I burn like a rib roast in the galley after the cooks forgot about it.”

When the Remembrance Remembrance came into Dublin harbor, she got a welcome about the size of the one the came into Dublin harbor, she got a welcome about the size of the one the Dakota Dakota had enjoyed coming into New York City after the end of the Great War. New York City boasted more people than the whole country of Ireland, but the ones who lined both sides of the River Liffey cheered loud enough to make up for their lack of numbers. As the had enjoyed coming into New York City after the end of the Great War. New York City boasted more people than the whole country of Ireland, but the ones who lined both sides of the River Liffey cheered loud enough to make up for their lack of numbers. As the Remembrance Remembrance drew near its a.s.signed wharf, Sam was bemused by the sight of tens of thousands of people, almost all of them as fair-skinned as he was. drew near its a.s.signed wharf, Sam was bemused by the sight of tens of thousands of people, almost all of them as fair-skinned as he was.

”If you towed this place down to Brazil, you'd give everybody here heatstroke in about a day and a half,” he said. No one else paid him any attention. If the other sailors on deck contemplated Irishwomen's skins, as they doubtless did, they had different things on their minds. So, for that matter, did Sam.

A couple of light gray German cruisers were berthed only a few piers over from the Remembrance Remembrance. Sailors aboard them waved toward the aeroplane carrier. Sam and his comrades waved back. Here in Dublin, Americans and Germans were both about the business of giving England a black eye. All the same, Sam sent those cruisers an appraising glance, wondering what going into battle against the squareheads would be like. And officers aboard the German s.h.i.+ps were bound to be photographing the Remembrance Remembrance so their bosses in Berlin could figure out how to fight her and whether to build s.h.i.+ps like her. so their bosses in Berlin could figure out how to fight her and whether to build s.h.i.+ps like her.

After she'd been made fast, the lord mayor of Dublin and a redheaded fellow in a fancy naval uniform came aboard to welcome her to their country. The lord mayor, who wore a green-white-and-orange sash, made a speech. The admiral studied the Remembrance Remembrance as if wis.h.i.+ng he had a dozen of her cla.s.s under the Irish flag. as if wis.h.i.+ng he had a dozen of her cla.s.s under the Irish flag.

”And so,” the lord mayor said at last, in an accent that struck Carsten's ear as more nearly British than Irish, ”we are proud indeed to welcome this magnificent wars.h.i.+p to our port, a symbol of the affection between the United States and Ireland that caused you to aid us in at last regaining our freedom after so many centuries of oppression at the hands of the British Crown.”

Along with the rest of the a.s.sembled American sailors, Sam dutifully applauded. During the war, the USA would have done anything to help give England a rough time. That, more than affection, had prompted U.S. help for the Irish rebellion. The mayor didn't look stupid; he had to know as much. Politicians looked to be the same on both sides of the Atlantic.

Had the world been a perfect place, an Irishman would have commanded the Remembrance Remembrance. Captain Oliver Roland, though, was a swarthy man of French descent. He said, ”The United States are delighted to welcome Ireland into the family of nations. Along with those of Poland and Quebec, her independence shows how the powers of the Quadruple Alliance respect the national aspirations of peoples whom our late foes for too long kept from the freedom they deserved.”

The lord mayor bowed in delight. The Irish admiral clapped his hands. Beside Sam, Willie Moore let out a rude but quiet snort. The gun-crew chief proceeded to put words to it: ”The Poles get to do what the Germans tell 'em, and the froggies in Quebec get to do what we tell 'em, and the micks have never been any G.o.dd.a.m.n good at doing what anybody tells 'em.”

That was cynical. It was also very likely to be true. A chief gunner's mate could say it to a man in his crew. Had Captain Roland said it to the lord mayor of Dublin, it wouldn't have gone over so well. The skipper had to be, or at least had to act like, a politician here.

”We going to get liberty, Chief?” Sam whispered to Moore.

”I hear we are,” Moore whispered back. ”Other thing I hear is, anybody picks up a dose of the clap, they're going to cut his b.a.l.l.s off so he never, ever gets a chance to do it again. You understand what I'm saying?”

”I sure do,” Sam answered in a whispered falsetto.

Willie Moore's eyes opened wide for a moment. Then, in lieu of laughing, he started to cough. ”d.a.m.n you, Carsten, you sly son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he wheezed. He coughed again, and gave Sam a dirty look. Sam did his best to a.s.sume a mantle of angelic innocence. By Moore's expression, his best was none too good.

He did get liberty, but not till three days later: this close to England, Captain Roland wanted to keep as near a full crew aboard the Remembrance Remembrance as possible. Maybe officers toured Dublin's cathedrals and other sights. Sam still thought about trying to become an officer himself. He wasn't interested in cathedrals, though. He went into the first bar-pubs, they called them here-he spotted, only a couple of blocks away from the quay on the River Liffey by which the as possible. Maybe officers toured Dublin's cathedrals and other sights. Sam still thought about trying to become an officer himself. He wasn't interested in cathedrals, though. He went into the first bar-pubs, they called them here-he spotted, only a couple of blocks away from the quay on the River Liffey by which the Remembrance Remembrance lay. lay. GUINNESS IS GOOD FOR YOU GUINNESS IS GOOD FOR YOU! proclaimed a sign in the window. It showed a healthy-looking fellow pouring down a pint of stout. Sam had heard of Guinness, but he'd never drunk any. He couldn't imagine a better place to ease his thirst and improve his education at the same time. In he went.

When he asked for the famous stout, the publican beamed at him. ”Indeed and I'm happy to serve a Yank,” he declared, sounding much more like an Irishman than had the lord mayor. ”If you haven't changed your money, a quarter of a dollar'll do it.”

”I'll bet it will,” Sam said, not very happily. Back in the States, he could buy five gla.s.ses of beer for a quarter. But he wasn't back in the States, and Guinness was supposed to be something special. He dug in his pocket and set a silver coin on the bar.

The Irishman did give him full measure, filling the pint pot to the brim and then using the last drips from the tap to draw a shamrock in the creamy head. Seeing Sam's eye on him, he smiled shyly. ”Just showing off,” he murmured.

”Thanks,” Sam said, and lifted the gla.s.s in salute. ”Cheers.” He sipped at the Guinness. After a moment's thought, he nodded. It might not have been worth a quarter, but it came close. A lot more was going on in that taste than in the pale, watery beers he bought at home. It put him in mind of drinking pumpernickel bread. It packed a wallop, too. He could see where, after three or four pints, he wouldn't be hungry any more and he wouldn't be able to walk, either.