The Resurrectionist

by Jackson, Gil

  Nathaniel shrugged. ‘That may or may not be true; all the boss’s see is cheaper wages.’

  It was Fariq’s turn to shrug this time. ‘Pay up then. Don’t like the situation, pay up. But don’t,’ he pointed his finger in his direction, ‘come crowing later when Giuseppi ups the anti, because up it he will; and he’ll keep upping it ‘til he’s bled you good enough to mummify. Me I’ll clear off when that happens.’

  Daniel Thomas stared at Nathaniel. Fariq was right. He knew racketeers running Union’s bred on apathy. He also knew Nathaniel’s emotions were getting the better of him, and that he was no longer acting.

  ‘What’d we do, you’re full of what’s right and wrong but can you turn it into practice. Let’s have your ideas, Mihalyvich, ‘cause all I can see on the horizon is trouble for you?’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘If I’ve got the men on board I’ll think about it, alright. Providing you’re not goin’ all turn yellow on me. I’ll work something out. But you’ll gonna have to get used to more trouble and a lot of it.’

  Daniel looked at the wharf master. ‘You’re still boss as far as I’m concerned, Nathaniel, wouldn’t like to see that Sotto guy lighting that stove of yours, we’d all freeze to death.’

  ‘Well that may still happen, it gets mighty cold without a job, but I s’ppose we’d better give the Ruskie a chance seeing he give us the 49th State.’

  * * *

  The dockyard siren screamed its end of week call and ‘wedge-up’ time as the men liked to call their pay day. They came out of the holds of ships, from warehouses, down from cranes and gathered on the wharf side to meet Fariq and the two men that he had enlisted. This was also pay time for Giuseppi.

  ‘OK boys, if you’re in, this is it. If anyone feels that he can’t go ahead with it, we won’t hold it against him. It’s going to be a dangerous game, we’re dealing with violent men and they’ll be casualties. They’ll start on the weakest of us and work their way up until we give in, the trick is to protect those most vulnerable from the first. If we adopt that simple strategy we can’t lose,’ he shouted.

  There was a mute mumbling of support for this man. He might be Russian one said to his immediate gang, but he’s all right. They made their way to the wharf master’s hut to collect their pay. Standing waiting, Tony Di Sotto — only unlike the week previous and his aborted attempts at collecting their dues he had his accomplice. One by one the men marched up and stood in front of them, to their sides, and behind them until the two men were surrounded. Tony was a little anxious over this show of defiance but soon overcame this temporary lapse when he watched Sledge Driver punching his fist into his right hand. He looked for the entire world like he was itching to take the whole bunch of them on; judging from the look on some of the men’s faces they thought as much as well. All except for the man called Bear.

  Bear, like the rest of his race spent most of their working lives off the ground either building skyscrapers or working heights that the white man suffered sweated palms thinking about. In his case it was the riggings of cranes that he excelled. Strong arms and hands from going hand over hand in their ironwork without a safety harness hundreds of feet up were all in a day’s work to him. ‘Harness!’ he said to the wharf master once when asked why he wasn’t wearing one, ‘don’t wear harness get in way, dangerous.’

  Bear looked straight back at the man and started to ape his intimidating gestures until both men were locked into an eyeball that was not going to go away this day, or any other, for Bear could see the hatred in this man’s eyes not so much as being personal to him but all native Americans.

  Tony was not a little surprised at this show of strength that had obviously been organised by Fariq. And also not a little surprised to see Fariq back so soon after the beating Sledge had given him. Seeing this mob he was going to have to put the business with his ear and Fariq on the back boiler for a while. The dockyard workers were beginning to turn ugly and Sledge Driver was preparing to wade in with a baseball bat; regardless of having to answer to Giuseppi later he was mindful of an early exit to be on the safe side.

  Fariq stood forward from the rest of them as if someone had asked for volunteers. ‘You’re looking worried, Tony. Seen a ghost?’ He could see the man was sweating. He was sweating himself but from the pain he had suffered at their hands more than the fear of them.

  He shifted his gaze to the mob. They were feeling a lot braver with their new found collective courage. ‘What’s on your mind, Fariq, thinking to take on more than you can handle? You won’t listen to this man if you’ve any sense,’ Sledge shouted as much to him as the mob while smacking the baseball bat into the palm of his hand. He studied them carefully watching for any shift in their persuasion.

  Tony tried to defuse the situation. ‘LOOK! There’s nothing personal in any of this, I can see that you’re not happy making these payments, Mr. Giuseppi doesn’t want to make things difficult, but you are getting work protection by them, pay your dues this week and I’ll get back to Mr. Giuseppi, see what we can do about possibly reducing them next week ... alright?’ He looked around at them half smiling and nodded. ‘What’d you think, Fariq?’

  Fariq knew that arrangements would not be part of Giuseppi’s world. The Marco Giuseppi’s of this world don’t give an inch – least ways not without violence. ‘Not a chance, Tony, the line in the sand is drawn here.’ He turned to the others. ‘ARE YOU WITH ME BOYS?!’

  There came a spontaneous ‘YESSSS’!

  ‘There’s your answer, Wop monkey. Go tell the organ-grinder.’

  Tony could feel his face reddening which made his ear all the more painful. He bit his tongue. He would have his day, fucking right he would, and it would be the Russian that would pay for his Mother country’s insult. Sledge Driver turned to him; could see his rage and stepping forward pulled a length of chain that was hanging loose from the wharf master’s hut. Before anyone had chance to stop him he fetched it across Fariq’s head, downing the man in one blow. ‘Would have thought you’d had enough of my beating you, Fariq, you’re more stupid than I took you for. Perhaps you’d like a little more sea water to take the heat out of your hand’?

  The crowd started to pull back. This man was menacing enough without six foot of three-inch link chain in his hands, who was itching to put it to some more good use. They’d all seen what Sledge had done to Fariq first time round. He stood there menacing them but clearly had Bear in his thoughts, waving him forward with his right hand. This was a one-man killing machine and they were beginning to have doubts what they were doing here. But not Bear. Ignoring his challenge he came forward with other intentions: his friend was on the floor bleeding profusely from a head wound and went down on the ground to help him. Sledge Driver stepped forward and kneed Bear in the head sending him over onto his side. Bear shook himself, got up and went back to Fariq. Sledge Driver pulled the length of chain through his hand and did the same again.

  Tony seizing the advantage made one more attempt to close the situation that would not look good for their health if Fariq died in front of all these witnesses. Apart from which, for Fariq to take the original beating and burning that he had done and still come back for more.... ‘Come on, Sledge there’s nothing more to be done here, they want trouble, they’ve filled in their application forms. Those that want no more trouble give us your dues, NOW!’

  Bear got Fariq to his feet and with blood pouring down the side of his head asked: ‘You, Fariq, alright?’

  His head throbbed, but he guessed he was getting used to all these beatings, his body coping with the punishment like a boxer. ‘Yeh, I’m fine, thanks.’ He watched the men starting to queue to pay Tony and realised this battle was lost. He had overstretched himself as the wharf master had said he would when it came to dealing with the likes of these men, there would be no other chances for them, and they were finished.

  ‘Did you see that dirty Red Skin cower?’ Sledge Driver said to Tony loud enough for Bear to hear. Yellow as well as red.’ He laug
hed aloud and although Tony knew that Marco would be pleased with the way they had handled the situation, he was not happy with Sledge carrying on with it. He couldn’t resist laughing at these men that were little match for Sledge’s brand of brutality. Beginning to walk away leaving Fariq and Bear on their own, he laughed all the louder.

  Bear sat Fariq down, ‘You wait there.’ He walked after the two men.

  Sledge Driver took another look, stopped and turned. The Red Indian with a broad smile on his face was motioning his right hand for Sledge to come to him. Sledge smiled back at him and wound the chain tightly round his left wrist pulling its length easily through his other hand; he wanted nothing better than to take the scalp of this Red skin. Bear stepped forward as Sledge whirled the chain around his head faster and faster approaching Bear. Bear — his arms down by his sides — kept walking forward; and with a final swing from Sledge, wrapped the chain around the Red Indian’s neck. The skin to his neck and bare shoulders tore red. The men seeing what was taking place stopped walking away and started to return. Sledge pulled on the chain but Bear stood his ground and with a pull from his short, stocky body he turned his shoulders and dragged Sledge from his feet. With the chain attached to his wrist Bear dragged him back across the yard. Slowly at first, before breaking into a run, dragging Sledge across every obstacle that he could run him into and through, until, at the base of one of the highest cranes in the yard he stopped. Hand over hand he started to climb the iron ladder. Sledge Driver was unconscious but coming round enough to realise what was happening to him.

  The Red Indian was slowly, bit-by-muscle-tearing-bit, hauling him up the main frame of the crane, all four hundred and sixteen pounds of him. The gang of men gathered in awe at this feat of human endurance that would surely put an end to any disrespect that Giuseppi would have regardless of the outcome. Sledge’s part in all of this was one of silent participation if you discounted his screaming. Silent as far as the Red Indian was concerned; he paid no heed. Reaching the top of the main tower. One hundred and fifty feet above the ground he went out on the jib until he felt resistance from the man trying not to swing out into space tearing his hands in a desperate bid to hang on. Bear uncoiled the chain from around his neck and shoulders and snapped the chain taut wrenching Sledge Driver off the vertical tower of the crane. A collective roar of horror came from the crowd below as Sledge Driver swung at speed in an arc at thirty mile an hour faster than the pendulum of a grandfather clock. Bear went a few more feet, tied the chain off leaving Sledge hanging and still swinging by his wrist at one hundred feet above the concrete wharf floor below; thirty feet from the safety of the jib above. Satisfied Bear started his way back. Reaching the ground, he stood upright and proud in front of the crowd of men that had swelled to many times its former size. The man was soaked in sweat and blood. The torn flesh from his shoulders and arms was hanging like paper off him. With the dying screams of the man above, Bear smiled and bowed before collapsing to the ground.

  * * *

  Fariq put his hand into the back pocket of his work trousers and pulled a package out and shoved it into Tony’s face. ‘There’s my dues. Giuseppi can’t say you haven’t got what you came for, and it’s the last. Come back next week and you’re dead. One by one the men filed past Tony and did as Fariq.

  ***

  The dockyard siren did not properly give away its position in the dark misty morning following the funeral of Bear. Its banshee like scream seemed to come from everywhere you turned your head. Bouncing its echo from the warehouses and the sides of the ships that were waiting to be loaded or unloaded. Fariq came up to the wharf master’s hut to get his days work schedule. ‘Bad business,’ Nathaniel said striking a match and putting it to his pipe. ‘Looks like you and the boys have won, now that Giuseppi’s gone. How long the police can keep him from here is anyone’s guess though.’

  Fariq nodded at him. ‘What ship am I on?’

  The wharf master turned away and went to the wall opposite; ran his finger down the list until he came to his name. Moving his finger sideways he checked the cargo. ‘East. Timber.’

  ‘That’ll make a change.’ He turned and walked out the door. The wharf master called after him.

  ‘Fariq!’ He stopped and turned back. ‘Look. I’m sorry about Bear, we all are, but his death will have been in vain, you know that don’t you? Marco Giuseppi,’ he said fanning another spent match on his ever demanding pipe, ‘Be careful. I’ve been round his kind a lot longer than you have and that man’s evil.’

  ‘They’re all evil. That’s how they get what they want.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I’ve heard stories of this one, not nice, watch your back. Evil is what I said and evil is what I’m sticking with.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘By the way, it took another two hours after you left for the fire fighters to get Sledge Driver from where Bear left him. Thought you might like to know seeing you went to see Bear’s family straight after he, well you know what I mean.’

  Fariq nodded. ‘Thanks, Nathaniel.’

  * * *

  Oonna Mihalyvich had peeled half the skin off a rabbit when she heard the click of the downstairs door. Her husband back? Not that she would have been surprised after the injury he suffered falling into the hold of the ship he was working. She had made up a potion from willow and hot molasses to help ease the bruising and swelling. He had been thankful and not a little surprised at its overnight relief.

  She had not wanted him to go back to that place for a day or two but he had said that there was important work that had to be done. Men. Her people, they did not have to work for others. Her people, they worked for the tribe. The white man, they worked for things that were not needed.

  She missed the hunting: the seal, otter and fish. The smell of the settlement in her nostrils. The men trading with the Russians for the essentials that were important to a settlement. Not the whisky though: that made them fight each other and beat their wives and children before they passed out from the intoxication; waking in the morning with nothing to show for their work saving aching heads and remorse.

  She had remembered why, when this dark-skinned man had asked her father if he could have her for his wife — she had been so willing to go — her people were coming to the end of their old ways. Hadn’t her father predicted that? There future was looking bleak. Kodiak? There was no going back to her island after Novarupta had erupted destroying everything. Apart from which, the Americans were building a military establishment that was encroaching on their lives.

  They had moved east from the Yukon, her and her new husband. He was tired of the long cold winters of Alaska. They had been given a canoe by her father to make the first part of their journey to Dawson. Taking what meagre possessions they had — and the little gold that he had managed to prospect — they set off with anticipation of a new world. She had done her share of the paddling of the canoe until her condition overcame her.

  She had the issue early morning in a rough and ready Russian bivouac left over by a sea otter hunter. Her husband had done his part with two bits of cord and a hot knife. After feeding the baby the following morning they continued on their way, but by noon she had lost so much blood through insisting on doing her part in paddling that she had collapsed in the bottom of the canoe. Her husband had to nurse her through the next few days; she had felt so ashamed at letting him down she tried to run off and he caught her and brought her back. He had shown an understanding beyond his years when he had later said to her that it was little wonder that so many of the young women died giving birth when so much was expected of them after. She had replied that that was the way of it, to ensure a strong and healthy tribe and that her condition should have been left to nature.

  After two months they arrived at Dawson and managed to get a passage on a wagon headed west, arriving at Manhattan through the backdoor avoiding Ellis Island’s medical regime for immigrants. As luck would have it Fariq chanced upon an old prospector
friend from Nome who suggested a job in the dockyard unloading timber from the ships. Mr. Giuseppi was the man to see.

  * * *

  ‘Papa coming?’

  Oonna looked across at her daughter sitting on an old threadbare carpet in front of a log fire. She listened. She could tell the difference in sound between a caribou and black bear padding across the Arctic tundra at two hundred yards; that was not her husband. Two men creeping up a flight of stairs was too easy.

  She listened intently, at the same time removing the last of the rabbit’s skin from its feet. The girl started to speak again but Oonna put two fingers to her lips.

  ‘Two men outside the door, mama!’

  Oonna was startled. How on earth did her daughter know that? She picked the girl up.

  ‘Shh, baby’, she said and put her behind the door where they all slept. ‘You stay quiet while mamma finds out what they want.’

  ‘But mamma, they’re bad men,’ she slowly whispered.

  ‘Yes, yes, shh, they’ll go away if they think no one is home. You stay where you are.’

  Oonna pulled the door closed and crept back to the table where she had been skinning the rabbit and listened. She could hear the faint sound of breathing the other side of door and gently felt for her hunting knife. Grasping it firmly, she eased it forward to release its hold from the wooden cutting board that was holding its blade.

  There came a tap-tap sound from the door and her heart beat jumped as the knife came free. She stood there silently clutching the bone handle of the ten-inch glistening blade to her chest. She breathed slowly waiting for another tap on the door — or not.

  Tap-tap-tap. It came again. This time like a hammer blow to her. She thought that whoever they were they must go away.

  ‘MAMMA!’

  The call of her baby girl went through her like a thunderbolt. They would know that somebody was here. Should she open the door? It might after all be quite harmless. No more than people looking for shelter. Snake-oil salesmen, carpet-baggers. Yes, that was who they were ... the travelling show ... come to town, brought all sorts of travellers showing their wares — she had seen too much into that knock. She relaxed and went to the door putting out her hand to the lift-up bolt; was about to raise it when she recalled her baby girl’s reaction to the footsteps. What did make her say that? She had instincts of her own. Something was not right. Why should she doubt herself? - did not her closeness to nature give her ancient powers of the animals? The fight or flight instinct to survive that the white man had lost the use of 6,000 or more years ago was in her bones. Should she open the door?