Part 44 (1/2)
Potter didn't back away, not an inch. And Delamotte took a step forward, saying, ”You want him, you've got us both.”
Joyously, Kimball waded in. The tiny rational part of his mind said he'd probably end up in the hospital. He didn't care. Potter's nose bent under his fist. As long as he got in a few good licks of his own, what happened to him didn't matter at all.
Sam Carsten was sick to death of the Boston Navy Yard. As far as he could see, the USS Remembrance Remembrance might stay tied up here forever. He expected to find cobwebs hanging from the hawsers that moored the aeroplane carrier to its pier. might stay tied up here forever. He expected to find cobwebs hanging from the hawsers that moored the aeroplane carrier to its pier.
”There's nothing we can do, Carsten, not one d.a.m.n thing,” Commander Grady said when he complained about it. ”The money's not in the budget for us to do anything but stay in port. We ought to count ourselves lucky they aren't cutting the s.h.i.+p up for sc.r.a.p.”
”They're fools, sir,” Sam said. ”They're nothing but a pack of fools. There's enough money in the budget for them to let the G.o.dd.a.m.n Confederates off the hook. But when it comes to us, when it comes to one of the reasons the Rebs had to pay reparations in the first place, a mouse ate a hole in the Socialists' pockets.”
”If it makes you feel any better,” Grady said, ”the Army's feeling the pinch as hard as we are.”
”It doesn't make me feel better, sir,” Carsten answered. ”It makes me feel worse.”
”What kind of a Navy man are you, anyway?” the gunnery officer demanded in mock anger. ”You're supposed to be happy when the Army takes it on the chin. Besides”-he grew serious once more-”misery loves company, doesn't it?”
”I don't know anything about that,” Carsten said. ”All I know is, I want us strong and the CSA weak. Whatever we need to do to make sure that happens, I'm for it. If it goes the other way, I'm against it.”
”You do have the makings of an officer,” Grady said thoughtfully. ”You see what's essential, and you don't worry about anything else.”
”Long as we are tied up here, sir, I've been trying to hit the books a little harder, as a matter of fact.” Sam scratched his nose. His fingertips came away white and sticky from zinc-oxide ointment. A wry grin twisted up one corner of his mouth. ”Besides, the more I stay belowdecks, the less chance I get to sunburn.”
”n.o.body can say you're not a white man,” Grady agreed gravely. ”With that stuff smeared all over your face, you're about the whitest man around.”
”I only wish it did more good,” Sam said. ”I put it on just like the pharmacist's mate says, or even thicker, but I still toast. h.e.l.l, most of the time I look more like a pink man than a white one. I even burned over in Ireland.”
”I remember that. It wasn't easy,” Grady said. ”They should have given you some kind of decoration for it.”
”I guess they figured me turning red was decoration enough, even if I didn't think it was real pretty,” Carsten said, which wrung a strangled snort from Commander Grady. Sam went on, ”Sir, do you think we'd have more to do and more to do it with if Lieutenant Sandes hadn't flown his aeroplane into the stern when we were coming back across the Atlantic?”
”Nope,” Grady answered. ”We'd had accidents and battle damage before then. This business of flying aeroplanes off s.h.i.+ps may be important, but it sure as h.e.l.l isn't easy. The Remembrance Remembrance doesn't carry as much armor as a battles.h.i.+p, either.” doesn't carry as much armor as a battles.h.i.+p, either.”
Remembering the sh.e.l.l that had struck his gun position, Sam nodded. ”All right,” he said. ”I did wonder.”
”I think we could have come through without any damage or accidents and still wound up right here,” Grady said. ”The problem isn't how we fought, because we fought well. The problem is politics.” He made it a swearword.
”Yes, sir,” Carsten said resignedly. He raised one of his pale eyebrows. ”Can you think of any troubles that aren't politics, when you get down to it?”
Commander Grady rocked back on his heels and laughed. ”No, by G.o.d, or not many, anyhow.” He slapped Sam on the back, then pulled out a pad and a fountain pen and wrote rapidly. He pulled the top sheet off the pad and handed it to Carsten. ”And here's a present for you: twenty-four hours' liberty. Go on across the river into Boston and have yourself a h.e.l.l of a time.”
”Thank you very much, sir!” Sam exclaimed.
He wanted to charge off the Remembrance Remembrance then and there, but Grady held up a hand. ”Just don't come back aboard Sunday afternoon with a dose of the clap, that's all. You do and I'll tear your stupid shortarm off and beat you over the head with it.” then and there, but Grady held up a hand. ”Just don't come back aboard Sunday afternoon with a dose of the clap, that's all. You do and I'll tear your stupid shortarm off and beat you over the head with it.”
”Aye aye, sir,” Sam said. ”I promise.” There were ways to make that unlikely to happen even if he didn't put on a rubber, though not all the girls in any house cared to use their mouths instead of doing what they usually did. If he had to pay a little extra for his fun, he would, that was all. He usually preferred a straight screw himself, but he hadn't expected to get this liberty and sure didn't want to end up in trouble on account of it. And the other was a h.e.l.l of a lot of fun, too.
Several houses operated on the narrow streets across the Charles from the Navy Yard. Go where the customers are Go where the customers are was a rule as old as the oldest profession. Sam got what he wanted-got it twice in quick succession, in fact, from an Italian woman about his own age who was as swarthy as he was fair. ”Thanks, Isabella,” he said, lazy and happy after the second time. He ran his hand through her hair. ”And here's an extra dollar you don't have to tell anybody about.” was a rule as old as the oldest profession. Sam got what he wanted-got it twice in quick succession, in fact, from an Italian woman about his own age who was as swarthy as he was fair. ”Thanks, Isabella,” he said, lazy and happy after the second time. He ran his hand through her hair. ”And here's an extra dollar you don't have to tell anybody about.”
”I thank you,” she said as she got to her feet. ”My little girl needs shoes. It will help.” He hadn't thought about wh.o.r.es having children, but supposed it was one of the hazards of the trade.
A lot of the businesses near the south bank of the Charles that weren't brothels were saloons. Sam had himself a couple of schooners of beer. He thought about getting drunk-Commander Grady hadn't told him not to do that. But, after he'd emptied that second gla.s.s, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and walked out of the dingy dive where he'd been drinking. He'd had his ashes hauled, he'd drunk enough to feel it, and nothing in the whole wide world seemed urgent, not even getting lit up. If he felt like doing it later, he would. If he didn't...well, he still had most of a day left without anyone to tell him what to do. For a Navy man, that was a pearl of great price.
He sauntered through the streets of Boston, thumbs in the pockets of his bell-bottomed trousers. He wasn't used to sauntering. When he went somewhere aboard the Remembrance Remembrance, he always went with a purpose in mind, and he almost always had to hurry. Taking it easy was liberty of a sort he rarely got.
Half by accident, half by design, he came out onto the Boston Common: acres and acres of gra.s.s intended for nothing but taking it easy. If he wanted to, he could lie down there, put his cap over his eyes, and nap in the sun.
”No, thanks,” he said aloud at that thought. If he napped in the sun, he'd roast, sure as pork would in the galley ovens of the Remembrance Remembrance. But there were trees here and there on the Common. Napping in the shade might not be so bad.
He headed for a good-sized oak with plenty of drooping, leafy branches to hold the sun at bay. Also heading for it from a different direction were a girl of nine or so, a boy who looked like her older brother, and, behind them, a woman with a picnic basket. Seeing Sam, the girl started to run. When she got to the shade under the oaks, she said, ”This is our tree. You can't have it.”
”Mary Jane, there's plenty of room for us all,” the woman said sternly. ”And don't you dare be rude to a sailor. Remember, your father was a sailor.”
”Ma'am, if it's any trouble, I'll find another tree,” Sam said.
The woman shook her head. ”It's no trouble at all-or it won't be, unless you make some. But if you made a lot of trouble, you wouldn't have said you'd go someplace else like that.”
”I'm peaceable,” Sam agreed. If he hadn't paid a call on the house where Isabella worked, he might have felt like making some trouble: she was a pretty woman, even if she looked tired. And she'd said the girl's-Mary Jane's-father was was a sailor, which probably made her a widow. Sometimes widows missed what their husbands weren't there to give them any more. As things were, though, Sam just sat down on the gra.s.s near the tree trunk, in the deepest part of the shade. a sailor, which probably made her a widow. Sometimes widows missed what their husbands weren't there to give them any more. As things were, though, Sam just sat down on the gra.s.s near the tree trunk, in the deepest part of the shade.
In a rustle of wool, the woman sat down, too, and took a blanket from the basket and spread it out on the gra.s.s. She started putting bowls of food on the blanket. While she was doing that, her son asked Sam, ”Sir, did you know anybody who sailed aboard the USS Ericsson Ericsson?”
”Can't say that I did,” Carsten answered. Then his eyes narrowed as he remembered where he'd heard the name. ”That s.h.i.+p! Was your father on her, sonny?” s.h.i.+p! Was your father on her, sonny?”
”Yes, sir,” the boy said. ”And the stinking Rebs sank her after the war was over. That's not right.”
”It sure as...the d.i.c.kens isn't,” Sam said, inhibited in his choice of language by the presence of the woman and little girl. ”I'm awfully sorry to hear that. My s.h.i.+p got torpedoed once, by the j.a.ps out in the Pacific. We didn't sink, but I know we were just lucky.”
”And the Confederate skipper who sank the Ericsson Ericsson is still walking around free as a bird down in South Carolina,” the woman said. ”He murdered my husband and more than a hundred other men, and no one cares. Even the president doesn't care.” is still walking around free as a bird down in South Carolina,” the woman said. ”He murdered my husband and more than a hundred other men, and no one cares. Even the president doesn't care.”
”If Teddy Roosevelt had won his third term, he'd have done something about it,” Carsten said. ”If the Rebs didn't hand that...fellow over, TR would have walloped the Confederate States till they did.”
”I think so, too,” the woman said. ”If women had the vote in Ma.s.sachusetts, I would have voted for Sinclair when he got elected. I've changed my mind since I found out about the Ericsson Ericsson, though.”
”I bet you have,” Sam said. ”One thing you have to give Teddy-he never took any guff from anybody.”
”No.” The woman pointed to the food. ”Would you like some fried chicken and ham and potato salad? I made more than we can eat, even if these two”-she pointed at her children-”do put it away like there's no tomorrow.”
”Are you sure, ma'am?” Carsten asked. If she was a widow, things were liable to be as tough for her as for the wh.o.r.e who'd gone down on her knees in front of him-tougher, maybe. But she nodded so emphatically, turning her down would have been rude.
He ate a ham sandwich and a drumstick and homemade potato salad and pickled tomatoes, and washed them down with lemonade that made him pucker and smile at the same time. Even though her children did eat like starving Armenians, the woman tried to press more on him.
”Couldn't touch another bite,” he said, which wasn't quite true, and, ”Everything was terrific,” which was. ”Haven't sat down to a spread like that since I was a kid.” That was true, too.
”I'm glad you enjoyed it,” she said, and seemed happy for a moment. She took a pack of cigarettes from her handbag. He got out a box of matches and lit the smoke for her. But as she drew on it, she frowned. ”He's probably walking around down there in Charleston, puffing a big fat cigar. probably walking around down there in Charleston, puffing a big fat cigar. d.a.m.n d.a.m.n him.” him.”
Sam had heard women swear before, but never with that quiet intensity. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He watched the children play for a while, then got to his feet. ”Obliged, ma'am-much obliged,” he said. ”Good luck to you.” She nodded, but didn't speak. He went on his way. Only after he'd crossed half the Common did he realize he hadn't learned her name.
Arthur McGregor stared down at the copy of the Rosenfeld Register Rosenfeld Register he'd just set on the kitchen table. The headline stared back at him: he'd just set on the kitchen table. The headline stared back at him: RETIRING GENERAL CUSTER TO VISIT ROSENFELD NEXT WEEK. RETIRING GENERAL CUSTER TO VISIT ROSENFELD NEXT WEEK.