Redemption Falls

by Joseph O'Connor

  There was a funny thing one time when the kid tried to ride that damn wolfhound. Up on his back just as brave as you want. That aint a smart move with your Irish wolfhound…Kiddie done him some runninthatday… [Laughs] SoI asked around, see if we couldn find the boy a horse would ride for him. But he was so small you know. So we got him a pony…Little pinto, that’s right. Nice-gifted fella, too. Cause the Spokane would breed those. And he would ride it, sure. Try to any ways. [Laughs]No, he weren’t no rider. I could not say that. Saddle would turn or I don’t know what exactly. Well he wouldn ever listen when he was bein taught to saddle up. Wasn’t inclined to listen, prettymuch period.

  Your aunt was tolerant, or she tried to be, I guess. See, me, I don’t care for Lucia bein talked down. People got to have a villain. Saying this and saying that. Never stop a living second[to think]if they’d do it any different if those was the choices they was looking at. There’s people should be ashamed, and they know who they are, for things they said about Lucia O’Keeffe in this country. But sure: it was real clear she had a dislike for the boy. Maybe that puts it too strong; I wouldn’t want to be unfair to her. Mean, he can’t have been easy to like, that boy. But Con would have him, and that was all to it. And you didn’t argue the call with Con O’Keeffe; not if you didn’t want trouble. Stubborn son of a so-an-so. Used to call him ‘Old Hard-Stuff’ in the War. Get the fire in his eyes when he was riled.

  Because I always say it about Con: you got to understand the War. I don’t like to get boresome but it wants to be said. The whole story about the boy and him and Lucia – you got to remember the War. Cause it changed folk forever. Every last thing they thought. All of your givens was changed.

  I mean me, I was with the unit went into Andersonville at the close. You see men like living skeletons. And other Americans in charge…Thirteen thousand soldiers they got buried down there in Georgia. Near enough a thousand not even a name on their graves. I don’t know…It’s above my bend…That’s your brother human being…If there’s honey in the marrow – I dont know – that sucks it out.

  I was one of them put to guarding Wirz on the train to prison – that’s the man was in command – they hanged him in Washington. And I ast him one time how it all come to that. Because I truly couldn’t see how it would. And you know what he says to me? ‘I was followin orders.’ I mean, what can you make of that?

  And that was the cruelty, do you know, of the times. For sure there was valor. For sure there was courage. But there’s cruelty in war and you always got to mind to that. And a man like Con – I don’t know what to tell you…I think it shook him right down to the soul, to be straight. To me, he was never the same again. And it come to an insistence. Fixations I guess. The trees, not the wood. Small things seemin bigger. A man that’s been in combat, you will see that in him, often. Get a little out of kilter on you. His proportions come to change. You have asked that man to do some pretty grave things. Country? Yes. Cause? Okay. But that isn’t where your mind’s at when you’re doing those things. Because brother, you’re dead if it is. And the boy just went into that whole picture someway. And Lucia, I don’t know if she could see what was happening. He got fixed on the child like a last chance at the world. And I truly believe she didn’t see that comin down the pike. Least not till it was all too late.

  Way I saw it myself, the more she give him the sharp side of her tongue, more hellbent he come to keep him. And then it’s a stand-off and the both of you biting the bullets. And talking about where you are comes to seeming a weakness. And that’s not a great aspect for anyone in the picture, child nor Con nor Lucia. And a child in the middle and ever thing running to that. And I asked him one time: ‘Con, you fixing to be a father to that boy?’ Cause a father int somethin to take up and put down. Well, he pretty much told me he reckoned that out already. He was determined. You’d have to give him that much.

  How the kiddie felt about it? I don’t honestly know. He took off a few times but then afterwhile he always come back. I guess, he didn’t like it, he’d have took off for keeps. Mean he wasn’t in prison or nothin like that…He was one lonely little feller. You’d never forget him if you saw him…I guess he didn’t have too many choices.

  LAWRENCE NEWCOMBE, PHYSICIAN, SALT LAKE CITYLetter, 1892

  I think I saw him four times while visiting the town, on the first occasion for a stomach flux, the second for bedfouling. From memory, I also pulled a couple of his teeth. But there is nothing about that in my notes, so perhaps it is wishful thinking.

  I did not care for him at all. He was rather a loathsome child, entirely lacking in finesse. He looked like one of those boys that eats clay and nettles, the sort that will do anything for a dare. He was slovenly, unappreciative, and nauseating in his habits, to an even greater degree than is the case with most boys of that age. His breath reeked of pigsties. His teeth were crusted green. If you will pardon it, the feeblest essentials of bodily cleanliness were as mysteries to him. His garments, his bedding, his every accouterment was ruined by filth. He ate at his fingernails and picked at his ears. Redemption was at times quite a memorable parfumerie; every frontier town was, at that distant era. But that boy had an atmosphere, a pungency all his own. His stench seemed to orbit him like a moon.

  The Governor entertained notions which I found rather naïve; that the ungrateful little cur would be finally revealed a saint, as kindliness worked its magic toward the end of Act Three. But that is not what happened. It never does, in my experience. The boy expectorated on floors, urinated where he pleased, thieved from his protectors, broke or dirtied everything he touched. He would enter the Governor’s study at any hour of the night and disorder or steal his papers. The servant, so she told me, found him early one morning, doing in the cookhouse what a dog does outside. There is only one course with a boy as lost to human society: very frequent caning and a diet of milky foods; but the Governor would not have the former and the latter proved fruitless. Were I in his position – it is not Christian of me to say it – but I would have put the child from my house and on the road for his pains. Which, I think, Mrs O’Keeffe wished sorely to do. But a husband wore the britches in those days.

  Most disturbing of all – Mrs O’Keeffe found it horrifying – were the reports of cruelty in the town. The boy had been witnessed, so one settler insisted, stoning a lame calf until its hide was all cut to pieces. A dog had been captured, a blind old bitch, and subjected to appalling tortures on a fire. A mule was killed and mutilated – nobody could say by whom – its very innards bedecked about a tree like streamers. On the evening of the day when I had heard this last tale of horrors, I happened to be departing Redemption Falls on the six o’clock stage, when, at dusk near Sullivan’s Creek, I myself saw the boy, cleaning off a knife on his boot-soles. He glanced up as we passed, and I shall never forget that expression. One felt that one was looking at pure, hard evil. My dreams, for several nights, were uneasy in the extreme. He was grinning quite gleamingly as we passed.

  HONOR MORAN, FORMER DOLLAR-A-DANCE-GIRL, THE ODALISQUE HOTEL

  Twas never proven it was the child done all them things. He got the blame for every wrong was ever done in that bugtusslin dump. Nothin would ever do them bar pointin a finger. That’s my brave America.

  Behind the door at home they’re up to anything you want. Then covered in holiness beyond it.

  CON LAWLESS, PROSPECTOR, VARINA CITY

  I’ll air up to you, Mister, I did not like that child. I’ll tell you right now, that child had evil in him.

  It was the way he had of looking at you. Not a screed of human shame. Like here this one time I seen him and I on my way to my Jimmy Cashin’s and he sat by the springbranch, drawing with a stick in the dirt. Well, when I seen him I had some feeling for him and over I go. ‘What you got, sunbeam?’ says I, and he covering it with his hands.

  You know what it was? Upside-down crucifix.

  Look disbelieving as you want, but that’s the God’s truth for you now. And I never did care to
see him again after that day. Get the shudders to think of it yet. Devil’s own child. That’s what they use to call him. And that aint a name to put on any child in the world. That’s a mother’s own son, and I raised my children that way. Didn’t walk in the shoes, you be wise not to judge…And no one’s ever needed the forgiveness of a merciful God more than the man’s sat talking to you now…But when I heard what happened afterwards…I can’t tell you it surprised me. It was never coming any other way.

  GOVERNOR CALHOUN

  I’m not saying they never had a quarrel. Not by a ways. Know marrieds can say that much, they’re either liars or saints. But sometimes your little ruckus int the worst thing in a house. Clears up the air a mite, you know? I see my secretary laughing over yonder. What you laughing at, sweetheart?…She thinks I’m full of it I know…She aint married yet, that’s for why…Oh marrieds is rarely closer than when they’re having a quarrel. It’s like jumping into bed together, only without the fun.

  DOCUMENT WRITTEN IN O’KEEFFE’S HAND & NAILED ON THE WALL OF THE COOKHOUSE†

  I:Thou Shalt Not Suck of Thy Hands, nor Shalt Thou Chew

  of Thy Fingernails.

  II:Thou Shalt Not Consume the Detritus of Thy Nostril. It is unclean.

  III:Thou Shalt Go About Thee QUIETLY, in especial at night-time.

  IV:Thou Shalt Bathe Once the Fortnight, with Soap, which shall

  be provided Thee.

  V:Thou Shalt Not Eat With the Blade of Thy Knife at the Table.

  Neither shalt thou slurp, nor gnash, nor gulp, nor issue forth sounds

  from thy fundament. It is abominable.

  VI:Thou Shalt Sit Thee Up STRAIGHT with thy mouth SHUT FAST.

  VII:Thou Shalt Put on thee Laundered Garments each

  Sabbath Day morn.

  VIII:Thou Shalt Not Pick the Crust of Sleep from Thine Eyes, then to eat

  of it in thy mouth: it is injurious to the Lord.

  IX:Thou Shalt Do as Thou Art Commanded, obeying all orders, at all times, with a good heart, & learn the habits of a clean & obedient boy,

  & pray for those that protect thee.

  X:In especial: THOU SHALT DESIST FROM PURLOINING THE GOVERNOR’S DOCUMENTS. THERE IS AN ABUNDANCE OF

  CLEAN PAPER IF IT IS REQUIRED.

  ANNE-KATHLEEN O’LEE, SCHOOLTEACHER

  There was a story at the time – the old people would tell it – that the coyotes contain the souls of the dead. Perhaps it was a piece of Indian lore. Anyway, westerners always loved ghost stories. Well, I remember the day I was telling the children about it in the schoolhouse. I happened to glance in his direction. His face was pure white. He seemed terrified by what I was saying. It is something that I have never forgotten.

  JUERGEN SCHULMEISTRAT, TYPE-SETTER, FORMER MINERRecorded Seattle, Washington, 1929

  With my cousin. Yeah. His name was Heinrich Mantel. He died maybe ten years ago in Frisco…Oh, the two of us saw them in the street, I would say every day. We thought he was father of the boy, or an uncle or something like this…He was an alright boy. I never saw nothing amiss with that boy…We got a bunk down in Limerick Lane. They called it Kleinedeutschland back then. And we lived there six months, Little Henry and me. But then Henry took up with a girl and took off to La-Source-Des-Femmes, that’s up there a ways past St Joseph…Sure, sure. Saw the child most every day. We give him a quarter to fetch a newspaper, something like this. Or a beer or a porter from the Shoogawn or the Bone. Because that’s hot work, mining; you sure enough get a thirst. Some days you carry yourself home in a bottle. We come home all cover in dust and dirt and whatever and here come-up the boy with ice and drinks for a sale.[Laughs]Now that’s a millionaire!…He was an Irish kid, yeah, or his father was Irish, maybe. But the Mickeys in the town, they didnt seem to care for him, or some. He was a most beautiful singer, this I remember. Someone told me he went to prison after, for a murder was it? But I left the town by then and never went back. No, I never heard nothing about him again. I believe he was hanged in Dakota; is that right?

  ELIZABETH LONGSTREET, DOMESTIC

  Yes, I knowed what they got to sayin about that child afterward…that he come up a murderer an a devil an all such. Heard ever thing they said. I dunno how it come that way. All I can say for my own self: I never once saw him do no cruel thing. Just a boy never got him no chance is all…I aint got no more…No, I’m feelin weary now. I got[unintelligible]to do later…See this man here he callin me…

  INTERVIEWER:Well, then. We surely do thank you, Aunt Bessie…If I may call you…Yes[interviewer laughs]…Aunt Elizabeth…Do you have may be…well I guess a word…for the young folks that’s comin on now?…Or a witness or a word for the youngsters and their families? Because some of us get to feelin…I don’t know if may be you feel this yourself…that bein young right about now is a hard thing to get straight.

  SUBJECT:Read you the scripture.

  INTERVIEWER:Read you the scripture.

  SUBJECT:Morning and evening new mercies I see.

  INTERVIEWER:Well amen, amen. I don’t know would you maybe…

  SUBJECT[interrupting] :And they are many more wonders which Jesus did: the which, if they should be written ever one, I suppose that even the whole of the world could not contain the books that should be written. That’s the last verse of John. That’s all I got to say. Glory Alleluia. That my word.

  CHAPTER 46

  SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND WHERE HER YOUNG HERO SLEEPS†

  A letter from Lucia to her sister Estafanía – The sadness upon the end of a marriage

  The Governor’s Residence

  Robert Emmet Street

  Redemption Falls,

  The Mountain Territory

  August 19th, 1866

  Sunday midnight

  Cherished Heart, my own Malinche,

  Your MS. came as a mercy and an answer to prayer. A blessing to know that things are better for you now – at least a little – though your words made me yearn all the more to be home in Manhattan again. How I wish I could see my own Steffa even for an instant, to be lost among the lights and reflections of the city. I should like to walk with you on the Avenue, or to the Battery at twilight, with my arm in yours, the two of us speaking together of small things. How I long to see the harbor at that chiaroscuro hour, the lanterns being lighted on the ships; the shadows on the water. All other cares should be as nothing, then. It is so quiet here tonight. One can almost hear the pulse of the silence. It is like the beating of an insect’s heart. How I hate this place and almost everything in it. I die here [Muero aquí].

  It was a relief to learn that David is recuperating. I burn a candle for him every dawn before the icon of the Virgin, the little malachite one Mama brought from Chinandega. When he learns to manage with the walking-cane, his spirits must improve, and the unhappiness you see in him will surely be lightened. Poor, good-hearted David, and poor Malinche. When one thinks of how he loved beauty, the gaiety of the world, and the rose of the world that is you. Never to see again must be the worst of all crosses. How he bears it with any grace is a miracle. But do not be afraid of his sadness, my heart. Let time do its healing and all shall be well. David shall make you in every way the loving husband you deserve. I only wish my own choices had been as wise as yours. But there it is. I must to bed.†

  Dear Bloodflower – Oh my Host – that you were here is my wish. Soon it shall be dawn. I hear the miners on the road.

  Five hours of the watch have passed since I commenced this letter. I have put it away, and taken it up, and put it away, all the night. Several times I have thought to tear it, and yet I cannot seem to. I have tried to sleep but can find no rest.

  Steffa – I am in trouble. I need you to pray for me now. There is a very painful matter, which I must disclose to you honestly. I have anguished too long about whether or not to tell you; it is not an easy thing to say and will cause hurt to several people; but after long unhappiness, which has defeated all resolutions, I have come to the decision to break from Con.r />
  What a small, terrible sentence. I have dreaded its writing, for it makes everything real, where before it was a shocking dream. It is a horrible thing to own – to be owned by – a secret, and to walk about with it corroding your spirit as you go. One puts on a masque of blandness and calm, but behind it one is rotting like some forgotten thing in aspic, still holding its shape as it putrefies.

  Heart: You are the only one in the world to whom I can entrust this – the only living soul on this earth. Dear Christ, how I wish I could fly the thousand miles to your side. I would be there tomorrow if I could.

  Our parting has been inevitable for longer than I can concede to myself. The truth is that we have known difficulties since soon after we married: very troubling difficulties, of an insoluble kind. Some of these were my fault; some poor Con’s. And some, I suppose, were nobody’s fault, only that flaws in each of our natures have conspired to make them worse. I was not so foolish as to think any marriage can remain free of small, intermittent trials. One sees, in the married people one knows, that a couple, I mean spouses, are like the hands of a clock: sometimes together, many times apart – sometimes even as opposed as the poles – but the fulcrum of loyalty holds them both in the same circuit so that they must again meet when a little time has passed. But there is no meeting now between Con and I. If ever there was a lynchpin, it has broken.

  The matters between us have grown larger and ever more complicated, until they have become insurmountable – I do not exaggerate. Since coming out here to be with him I have learned, to my loss, that a severance is the only course that can let both of us remain sane; and this lesson, sorely learned, must be acted upon bravely before further hurts are done, which might never be healed.

  The last steamship of the season departed yesterday forenoon, and the route by the stagecoach is closed for the present time, for the outlaws are menacing the roads. I will remove to an hotel in Edwardstown in the coming days, and shall return to New York as soon as I can discover a means.