Savage Conversations
Page 4
Suffered my husband’s love of another woman,
And now I suffer a vicious red man.
Don’t you know?
I was the STAUNCH ABOLITIONIST in the Todd clan,
More committed to freedom than the God of Abraham,
More committed to freeing the slaves than the radical wing of the
Republican delegation.
Fools. They created only monsters.
And to think I was Mr. Lincoln’s literary editor.
Now here I am imprisoned in an asylum,
My eyes cracking like egg yolks,
Nightly my face tortured,
My blood glows red hot through crisscrossed wires
While Negros enjoy their freedom.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Far from here, the Dakhótas enjoy freedom.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Freedom will never be yours, not in this land.
Soon I will be absolved of this place. Free.
Unlike you, who can never escape the past,
Hanged by the neck with your brutal kinsmen.
Trust to it, in the future there will again be a rain of sorrow for me.
Mother to the dead and dying, that’s what they will say.
As for Robert Todd Lincoln, in one hundred fifty years hence,
People will say, “She never meant to hurt him.”
SAVAGE INDIAN
Takes the flint from his leather pouch and slowly approaches her as if to take the gun.
Gar Woman eats her last egg.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Nightjar’s chirr at dawn while
I await my dearest and only living progeny.
Silhouetted in boneless waters,
I rise, filling my gills with air
before striking,
And if we die in this half-lurid life
Well—
She fires the gun at Savage Indian. No shot is heard at Bellevue Place, only the ghostly sounds of lurid pleasure as Savage Indian and Mary Todd Lincoln assent to their nightly ritual.
10. Shakespeare, Macbeth, 1.3.40–48, http://www.shakespeare-online.com/plays/macbethscenes.html.
11. Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew, 5.1.49–50. http://www.shakespeare-online.com/plays/tamingscenes.html.
THE ROPE SEETHES
THE ROPE
A home life, at last. All we need now is a rubber plant.
SAVAGE INDIAN COUNTS HIS SORROWS
September 1875
Bellevue Place Sanitarium, 333 S. Jefferson Street,
Batavia, Illinois
SAVAGE INDIAN
She,
Woman Who Strokes My Face,
Kisses my mouth,
Her hands slide up and down my body,
Gently scratching my belly.
We laugh unaware that in six moons hence,
I will be taken captive with
Her delicious scent still hovering in my dreams.
There is only the grimmest sketch of what happened
December 26, 1862.
The lamentable wailings, an anxious white child gawking, wringing his hands,
Hangman William Duley’s tight lips as he cut each rope,12
His green eyes blazing,
Our red eyes popping blood,
My flesh becoming dust, my bones in a doctor’s iron pot,
Only a story. I am no one’s uncle, no one’s father,
No one’s husband.
Serving a mad woman’s unearthly pleasures.
12. Hangman William Duley’s photograph was discovered in 2015. Curt Brown, “Image found of man who hanged 38 Dakota men 153 years ago,” Star Tribune, November 2, 2015, http://www.startribune.com/image-found-of-man-who-hanged-38-dakota-men-153-years-ago/339132231.
Scene 3
An Uneasy Union
SAVAGE INDIAN, WHAT HAS BEEN
September 1875
Bellevue Place Sanitarium, 333 S. Jefferson Street,
Batavia, Illinois
Thirty-eight nooses hang from the rafters in Mary Todd Lincoln’s residence.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Sings.
“Wakantanka taku nitawa
(Great Spirit—what—you make)
Tankaya qa ota;
(Is large—and—many/much)
Malipiya kin eyahnake ca,
(Sky—the—named)
Maka kin he duowanca,
(Earth—the—that is singing)
Mniowanca sbeya wanke cin,
(Water all over [ocean] make wet / moisten)
Hena oyakihi.
(These all around.)
Xitawacin wasaka, wakan,
(Mind/thoughts—strong—powerful/holy)
On wawicaliyaye;
(For/on account of—you have created)
Woyute qa wokoyake kin,
(Food—and—clothing—the)
Woyatke ko iyacinyan,
(Drinks too/also—somewhat like)
Anpetu kin otoiyohi
(Day—the—each/every one)
Wawiyohiyaye.
(Causing to, reaching to, arriving at.)”13
That is how I sang it on that day.
13. I am grateful to Professor Brenda Farnell, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, for her help with understanding the text of Dakota Odowan: Dakota Hymns in the Dakota language. John P. Williamson and Alfred L. Riggs, eds., Dakota Odowan: Dakota Hymns. (New York: American Tract Society, 1879), https://archive.org/details/dakotao00will.
THE ROPE SEETHES, REMEMBERING THE DAKOTA 38
THE ROPE
First symptoms:
Flashes of light,
A hissing in the ears, like a locomotive
Rounding a tight curve,
A violent struggle, faces distorting,
Eyes bursting livid as the roots of tongues
Glottal stop the larynges.
They will never sing again.
Earth’s gravity labors on,
Kick,
Kick,
Kick,
Kick,
I am not a judge.
MARY TODD LINCOLN ON LEAVING ASYLUMS
September 11, 1875
Mary Todd Lincoln’s rooms in the home of her sister
Elizabeth Todd Edwards,
Springfield, Illinois
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Writes in her diary at her desk.
She stops and drinks from a china teacup.
Yesterday my shadow climbed out of the abyss,
Leaving behind a human ruin in the asylum at Batavia.
Today, in the bosom of my sister, I proclaim
September 11, 1875, a new beginning.
I vouchsafe September 11 to the nation that
My husband saved,
Died for.
For centuries to come, let freedom ring
On September 11,
For me and everyone, everywhere,
Amen.
THE ROPE SEETHES
THE ROPE
Ironic, they will say, she’s condemned the nation on September 11.
THE ROPE SEETHES
THE ROPE
Finally that old she-cat climbs atop her desk quick as
you please.
Yearning for an eternity box, she is.
I come when I’m called,
I’m not a doctor.
I slip around her neck, hollering,
“Jump.”
SAVAGE INDIAN HEROICS
September 1875
Mary Todd Lincoln’s rooms in the home of her sister
Elizabeth Todd Edwards,
Springfield, Illinois
SAVAGE INDIAN
Her neck does not break,
Her spirit is strong,
Lingers like a piano note in a well-played song,
I do not pray for you,
I do not pray for you,
I do not pray for you.
He cuts her down and holds her tenderly in his arms like a lover.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
>
Looks at Savage Indian.
Let us agree to not make too much of this.
Artwork of a Dakota winter count with the events of Mary Todd Lincoln and Savage Indian recorded
MARY TODD LINCOLN, CATCH AND RELEASE
June 1876
Mary Todd Lincoln’s rooms in the home of her sister
Elizabeth Todd Edwards,
Springfield, Illinois
Her rooms are cluttered as before. Seventeen trunks, six carpet-bags filled with footstools, silk curtains, jewelry, seventeen pairs of kit gloves, and a few hidden vials of laudanum. She pours laudanum into a china teacup and drinks it. Then a second cup of tea also laced with laudanum.
She reads aloud her letter.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Springfield, Ill.
My dear Mrs. Bradwell:
Your most welcome letter was received last evening and I am quickly demonstrating the pleasure it afforded me by replying at once.
God is just, retribution, must follow those who act wickedly in this life, sooner or later compensation surely awaits those who suffer unjustly, if not here, in a brighter happier world. The most villainous plot has come to a close, but on Friday morning, when the young man who perpetuated it came down to Springfield, when I looked into his face (at a slight distance you may be sure) I saw the reluctance with which he yielded up what he so ignominiously fought for, my poor pittance, as the world goes—so far as wealth is concerned—a “widow’s mite,” my bonds. Prayers will scarcely avail in his case I think. My heart fails me when I think of the contrast between himself and my noble glorious husband, and my precious sons, who have only “gone before” and are anxiously, I am sure, awaiting the reunion, where no more separation comes—and so I told him (Robert Todd Lincoln) he could not approach us in the other world—on account of his heartless conduct, to the wife of a man who worshipped me—as well as my blessed sons did.
This one as my beloved husband always said was so very different from the rest of us. Prided himself on his philosophical nature—not satisfied with the fortune I bequeathed him in one morning, desiring the rest, brought false charges against me. The only trouble about me, in all my sorrows and bereavements has been that my mind has always been too clear and remembrances have always been too keen, in the midst of my griefs.
As to Swett he has proved himself to be the most unmitigated scoundrel and hell will be his portion and doubtless he will have company. Never could such a creature approach my husband, who loved me so devotedly—in the other life—I have my dear friend, a very great favor to ask of yourself, your good husband & the gentleman who called with you at Batavia, the City Editor of the Times. If I were to tell you three, all the utterances of this man Robert Todd Lincoln you would not refrain from writing the latter person up, without a day’s delay. Your pen is sharp, so is Judge Bradwell’s, so is the Editor’s just named, of course you would not wish your names to appear, but you will not fail me, I am sure, now is the time, have justice rendered me, my dearly loved friend, see the City Editor of the Times before the close of the day when you receive this letter. I have been a deeply wronged woman, by one, for whom I would have poured out, my life’s blood.
R. T. L.’s imprecations against you all have been very great, only on account of your being my true friends. Do not allow a day to pass before this writing is done and forwarded in every direction. Let not his wickedness triumph. It appears there is no law for the widow—in this land, and I solemnly pledge you my word as an honorable woman, that not one word shall ever escape my lips—not a person in this house or elsewhere about any article or the probable author, that may be published. My sister Mrs. E. sat by me on Friday for about an hour and a half and in a quiet composed and I trust lady like manner I gave expression to my feelings as to sins he had committed against a broken hearted woman who had been called upon to give up all her dearly beloved ones, for the time being only—and I asked him to look upon my bleached hair—which he had entirely created caused with the past sorrowful year.
Write, fail me not, I pray you, any delay will be grievous, I assure you. So much I have to tell you. Kiss your sweet lovely daughter for me. Would to heaven, I could see you. Best regards to your husband—fail me not.
Always your most affectionate friend,
Mary Lincoln14
14. Jason Emerson, The Madness of Mary Lincoln (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 2007), 168–170.
MARY TODD LINCOLN, A TRIBE OF GHOSTS
June 1876
Mary Todd Lincoln’s rooms in the home of her sister
Elizabeth Todd Edwards,
Springfield, Illinois
Twilight. The ghosts of Abraham Lincoln, Eddie, Willie, and Tad suddenly appear. In a state of great unhappiness, Mr. Lincoln shakes his head at Mary Todd Lincoln.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Willie, Taddie, sweet Eddie, and Father.
She rushes to greet her family. The children recoil in fear and hide behind their father.
Abraham Lincoln raises his hand to halt her approach.
Mr. Lincoln? What is wrong?
The four disappear. She whimpers and returns to her writing desk. Continues reading aloud from the last passage in her letter.
“[R. T. L.], as my beloved husband always said, was so very different from the rest of us.”15
SAVAGE INDIAN
Appears with The Rope. Together they read over her shoulder. Savage Indian pulls her chair away from the desk and begins to bind her hands and feet.
Fishy in here.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Savage, you are banished from my head these past eight months.
Go away, I no longer need you.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Sniffs an empty laudanum vial.
Unlikely.
I see Mr. Lincoln turned you away, again.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
As long ago as Matilda.
SAVAGE INDIAN
You hate her even now.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
I may still hold a grudge, but no, I no longer hate her.
She was—
Matilda captured his imagination.
And that was that.
SAVAGE INDIAN
True.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
How would you know?
I’ve tried feeling pity for her.
She married a stranger on a train.
And I became the First Lady of the nation.
SAVAGE INDIAN
A divided house is never a happy one.
Did poor Mr. Lincoln guess that
You secretly hoped for a Confederate win?
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Liar.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Even as ghosts, your sons know the truth of your convictions.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
I was an abolitionist.
SAVAGE INDIAN
And a killer of children. You drugged your sons unto death.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Screams.
I never harmed my children!
I doctored their weak lungs,
Gave them relief.
Taddie stopped coughing.
SAVAGE INDIAN
He stopped breathing altogether.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
So did Willie—before him.
SAVAGE INDIAN
What regret, where’s the remorse?
Like a good actress you showered tears on
All you came in contact with.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
My sons had maladies. Eddie tuberculosis,
Willie typhoid fever,
Taddie had a cold that grew into pneumonia.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Yes a cold, very contagious, I understand.
But neither you nor Mr. Lincoln caught pneumonia or tuberculosis, although
You say you lived inside their every breath. Your words.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
I did as any mother wou
ld. I made them a mixture of laudanum, water, and
Golden syrup.
A quieter for when Willie coughed,
A relief for Tad, delirious with pain.
A remedy for which I am not on trial.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Says the bird of prey after devouring
A horde of field mice pups.
If you have no guilt,
Why conjure me to torture you?
Why not conjure John Wilkes Booth?
What you seek, Gar Woman, you can never have.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
What would that be?
SAVAGE INDIAN
The true love of your husband.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Enraged.
I was his all-in-all—he never had Matilda as he had me.
I was his beloved Molly, child-wife.
Fool, he worshipped at my altar.
SAVAGE INDIAN
So much so he left your bed.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
No matter where he slept,
I was—
SAVAGE INDIAN
The hellcat that abandoned her kittens!
Your husband was so busy killing Indians,
He didn’t notice his wife was killing his sons.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Cries.
Savage, be gone from my head.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Hear me, woman, now and forever,
Everywhere you are, I am.
He holds a flint knife to cut her but stops.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
Do it.
Do it, I say.
SAVAGE INDIAN
First, look up.
Thirty-eight Natives hang from the rafters in her room.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
I will not see them!
SAVAGE INDIAN
Listen for your words coming to life.
“Maybe General John Pope was right,” you said,
“Exterminate the Sioux,” you said.
“Treat them as you would wild beasts,” you said.
“Hang all the savages.”
MARY TODD LINCOLN
My thoughts were never expressed.
SAVAGE INDIAN
I read your letters, the ones your son will burn in a distant future, purifying your image for history’s sake.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
The Dakota massacred white women and children.
SAVAGE INDIAN
Men, too, I agree.
MARY TODD LINCOLN
You killed innocent children!
SAVAGE INDIAN
So did you!
MARY TODD LINCOLN