“Something bit me!”
Swooning onto the couch, Jane began to weep.
Agassiz hastened to shut the door, then went to sit beside Jane.
“There, there, my dear, where does it hurt? Show Papa Agass.”
Jane unbuttoned the high collar of her redingote down to well below her clavicle. “Here. Look, it’s all red!”
“The skin remains unbroken, Jane. It was probably nothing more than the sharp corner of a box. You’re altogether too impressionable, my dear. Let me kiss it better—”
As Agassiz lowered his head toward the upper reaches of Jane’s bosom, the door opened without warning. Agassiz jumped to his feet and Jane hurriedly began fastening her garments.
It was Desor. The oily German leered knowingly at his employer and attempted to twirl one end of his insignificant mustache. Instead, he succeeded only in plucking out several loosely-rooted hairs he could ill afford to do without.
Agassiz forced himself to repress his rage. It would not appear seemly to inflate this interruption out of proportion.
“Edward, I would prefer that you announce yourself in the future. What if I had been engaged in private matters?”
“I thought you were.”
“Nothing of the sort! Jane was only delivering the mail, and chose to rest her feet. Now, what, if anything, is on your mind?”
“My cousin Maurice has arrived, and wishes to meet you.”
“Arrived? It was only three days ago that you told me he had set sail. Has there been a nautical advance I am improbably unaware of?”
“I did not wish you to brood overmuch on his safety, and so delayed mentioning his journey till he was almost due.”
“Harumph! I believe you wanted to present me with as much of a fait accompli as possible. Well, tell Maurice that his personal interview will have to wait until I have more time. Meanwhile, you can put him to work earning his keep. Considering his skills, perhaps cleaning the stables would be the most suitable chore.”
“Nonsense. Maurice is a gentleman. I will have him mount some butterflies.”
Before he could be countermanded, Desor left.
Agassiz sidled up to Jane, now standing and ready to depart. He nuzzled her hair.
“All this talk of mounting reminds me of something—”
Jane giggled. “Gracious! Don’t make me blush, sir! At least not till tonight. . . .”
After Jane had gone, Agassiz recovered his mail from the floor and began opening it. A missive from his most faithful English correspondent, one C. Cowperthwait, which would normally have received priority, was hastily put to one side.
Only one package pertained to his search. Agassiz did not recognize the sender’s name, as it did not belong to one of his regular affiliates.
Sirs:
I heerd as how you was lookin for a runaway nigger of yourn. I got me one here that I come on while it was fleein to Canada. Mebbe its yourn. I am sendin you a token by what mebbe you can tell. If so, you will be obliged to come and get it, as its in no shape to travel. Gold only, no banknotes.
Yourn,
Hosea Clay
Agassiz opened the small parcel that went with the illiterate letter.
Inside was a severed black man’s ear, blood dried to a crust on it, a curly hair or two adhering.
Agassiz dropped the box in shock; the ear tumbled out to lie accusingly on the carpet.
My God! Such was the contagious brutality that white men who were forced to dwell side by side with blacks eventually sunk to! What an epic tragedy this mixing of the races was! The whole country was tainted by it, and would be for its entire span of existence. Thank the Lord that he, Agassiz, remained innocent of all culpability in the whole sorry affair, by virtue of his Swiss birth and scientific outlook. . . .
Using a pair of large tweezers, Agassiz retrieved the ear and consigned it, along with the letter and box, to the belly of the room’s Franklin stove. Even at this time of the year nights could grow chilly, and a little fire would go unremarked.
The last letter was from Agassiz’s mother.
Dearest Son,
You know that Cecile has been laboring under many stresses of late, not the least of which is your unavoidable absence. When she began to lie abed for most of the day, we expected the worst. Doctor Leuckhardt has now delivered his diagnosis, and it pains me to inform you that it is tuberculosis.
Cecile and the children are relocating to Fribourg, as Doctor Leuckhardt believes the change in atmosphere will benefit her, and as she is very homesick.
Cecile and the children send their love. Your wife says not to worry, as it can do her no good, and will only hinder your work.
With deepest affection,
Mama
The letter slipped from Agassiz’s lax hand to the rug. Thoughts and memories, half-formed recriminations and justifications swarmed in his agonized brain like Apis mellifera in a field of clover.
After a seeming eternity of confused reverie, the study door opened once more.
Like a nor’easter, the redoubtable Captain Dan’l Stormfield blew in, bringing his maritime perfume.
At first, Agassiz could barely focus on the man’s words. But eventually he found himself captivated once more by the fisherman’s lively speech, and drawn out of his funk.
“Howdy, Perfesser! Well, ye can damn me for a spineless jellyfish, but I ain’t brung ye that miraculous swordfish like I promised. It’s like this. My wife found out about the critter, and sorta took him over. Ye see, she’s been a-houndin’ me for a year to get her one o’ them newfangled Howe sewin’ machines, and I been resistin’, cuz of the cost. So when she learned what that swordfish could do, she just took him over, and what could I say? Now she’s got him in a tank in the front parlor, and she’s a-workin’ him day and night to make herself and all her friends the latest Gay Par-ee fashions. The poor fish is hard put to keep up with the demand, and I daresay it will expire soon. I’ll try to get it for ye then, as a dead fish is better than none, I figger. Meanwhile, though, I brung you something new.”
Stormfield reached under his greasy sweater and pulled out the corpse of a bird.
“That’s a common robin, Turdus migratorius. What would I want with that?”
Chewing the stem of his pipe with satisfaction, Stormfield advised, “Look a little closer, old hoss.”
Agassiz took the bird. Its feathers felt peculiar, raspy and scaly. There was webbing between its toes, and what appeared to be gills behind its ears.
“Ayup, it’s a sea-robin all right! I netted it smack dab in Marblehead Harbor itself. Can’t say why such queer things always appear in them waters. It’s just like they pop outta nowhere—”
Agassiz found some ready coins. “Very well, I will buy this ‘sea-robin’ of yours for dissection. But if I find it to be another artifact, you will be in for a severe reprimand.”
“Sure as Santa Anna’s got a wooden leg, that there bird is a gen-yew-wine fish. Or is the other way round?”
After biting his coins, Stormfield, on the point of leaving, stopped, plainly alarmed by something outside, seen through the study window.
“Perfesser, that foreign scow ye got moored at yer dock ’pears to be on fire.”
“What?!”
Agassiz went to look. True enough, clouds of bluish smoke poured from the cabin of the Sie Koe, whence Cezar and Dottie had retreated for a brief rest “und a zpell of dinking.”
Running from his study, followed by Stormfield, Agassiz had the presence of mind to snatch a canvas fire-bucket from its hook by the back door.
Once on the small dock, he scooped the bucket full of seawater and ran up the boarding plank of the South African ship.
“Hold tight, brave sailors, help’s a-comin’!” shouted Stormfield. The fisherman barreled past Agassiz, smashing open the cabin door wi
th his shoulder.
Agassiz tossed the bucket of seawater indiscriminately into the smoke-filled cabin.
A yowl erupted from the cabin. “Mine Gott, vot ist dis inzult?!”
With the source of the pungent smoke apparently quenched and the door open, the cabin began to clear. After a moment or two, Agassiz could see a simple scene.
Jacob Cezar sat in a rocking chair, the loyal Dottie curled animal-like at his feet. Both held long-stemmed pipes, now extinguished.
“Can’t a man und his vife have a zimple zmoke vitout bringing down der zecond Flood on demzelves?”
“We thought there was a fire. . . .” faltered Agassiz.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Vee vas chust enjoying a pipe or two of dacka, to zoothe der nerves und ztimulate der brain.”
“Tacka?”
“No, dacka! You remember me zaying dot first night dot D’guzeri vas going to apply a herb to der fetiche to activate it? Vell, dot herb ist dacka, vot grows in mine country. D’guzeri has to zteep der fetiche in a dacka tea for two months before he can zay his zpells over it. Dot’s how I know he hasn’t used it yet. But der dime is fast running out on us. I estimate a veek or zo left.”
“Exactly what is this dacka? Do you have a sample?”
“Zhure, I got plenty left. Here.”
Agassiz examined the proffered herb and soon recognized it. “Why, this is simply Deccan hemp, cannibis sativa. What’s so special about it?”
“Ach, dacka ist different in every land, depending on der zoil, rain, zun und zo forth. For instance, on der vay here, I ztopped off in Jamaica, und found vot dey call ganja to be quite unique. However, only Zouth African dacka vill zerve to activate der fetiche.”
Captain Stormfield spoke up. “Ye claim this here herb is some kind of snake-oil, good for what ails you?”
“You bet! Vant to dry zome?”
“Don’t mind iffen I do.” Stormfield began to stuff his pipe full.
“How about you, Louis? I got an extra pipe around here zomeplace.”
Agassiz impatiently waved away the offer. “I have more important things to do this afternoon than sit around like a Red Indian passing the peace pipe. I have to visit my patron, Lowell, on a personal matter. I shall expect to see you at supper, where we will discuss what to do next.”
“Jah, zomeding vas chust about to dawn on me in connection vit D’guzeri’s vereabouts ven you doused me. I’ll try to reconstruct it now.”
Captain Stormfield, having inhaled several huge puffs, appeared even more animated and loquacious than his wont. “So, old hoss, where do ye and your black crow of a lady hail from?”
“Der Cape of Good Hope.”
“And ye sailed this brig all the way up yourself?”
“You bet.”
“Well now, that’s uncommon fine sailing. Tell me, what kind of sextant do you favor?”
“Ach, I use an old British Hadley vot mine fodder left me—”
Agassiz left the two mariners deep in discussion. After changing into his best surtout and a splendid beaver hat, he set out for the house of John Amory Lowell, his wealthy benefactor.
John Amory Lowell was a member of the American aristocracy, and, while this set was not exactly on a par with the Rothschilds, its members were quite well off: Lowell had a whole milltown named after his family. Along with fourteen other clans, his family formed “the Associates,” the secret rulers of Boston, the dwellers in the fashionable Tontine Crescent. The Associates controlled twenty percent of the cotton spindelage in America, thirty-nine percent of the insurance capital in Massachusetts and forty percent of the state’s banking resources.
Like all parvenus, however, they were eager to flaunt their intellectual distinction and “taste.” It was this lust for cultural currency that Agassiz had been able to so adroitly exploit.
Lowell lived on Beacon Hill, within sight of the State House: specifically in an elegant Park Street townhouse designed by the famed architect Charles Bulfinch.
Toward this luxurious domicile Agassiz now bent his footsteps.
Past the varied architecture of the city he strolled, past the newer buildings on Tremont Street with their trend-setting bowfronts, past the older brick structures, hued in a spectrum of reds and oranges, pale salmon, even black-purple, and past many structures done in rough “Boston granite style.” He passed the wooden Gothic structure that housed the clothing store of Oak Hall, the grocery emporium of Batchelder and Snyder, and the Boylston Market.
Several obvious cattlemen, attracted by the Fair at Brighton Market, sat outside the Exchange Coffeehouse, discussing the finer points of steers. Carriages clattered by on all sides, and the general commerce of the flourishing city—nexus of half a dozen railways and as many tollpikes—transacted itself feverishly, as if the whole world depended on it.
Posters soliciting volunteer soldiers to fight in the Mexican War, now in its second year, were everywhere. (Desertions, it was reported in the Evening Traveler, were rife, some of the soldiers, recent immigrants, actually going over to the Mexican side!)
Men of Boston!!!
President Polk sounds the call to arms!
Rally round the bold, gallant and lion-hearted General Taylor!
He will lead you to victory and glory against the vile Hispanic!
Help secure Texas for the Union!
Pay of $7 a month!
Upon discharge, a bonus!
$24 and 160 acres of frontier land!
(Possession of all limbs and a sound constitution a bonus prerequisite.)
(Land might contain Indians.)
Agassiz arrived at the Park Street residence and was admitted by a servant. Waiting in the ornate parlor, he barely had time to admire the bibelots arranged on the Italianate mahogany sideboard, to flip through a page or two of the latest issue of Gleason’s Pictorial, before Lowell, a compact and self-confident figure of middle years, plainly attired, stepped in.
“Professor Agassiz, what a goddamn pleasant surprise! You’ll have to excuse my tardiness, but I was talking business with Mayor Quincy. Quince and I agreed—the goddamn city needs more land! Too much acreage is wasted in marsh and mudflats. Nothing but goddamn birds and fishes and plants there! Can’t have it. Once the waterworks from Lake Cochituate are finished, we intend to double the city’s population! Even the fill we took from Beacon Hill and Pemberton Hill didn’t create enough land for that! I think we’ll dismantle Fort Hill next and fill up the Town Cove. Plenty of Irish donkeys available for that! Can’t let the goddamn landsharks get wind of the plan yet, though, or they’ll drive up the prices, so keep it under your goddamn hat! Now, what can I do for you?”
Agassiz exaggerated his charming accent. “Mister Lowell, you are aware of the new chair being endowed at Harvard by your compeer, Mister Lawrence?”
“Of course, of course. What of it?”
“Well, I would imagine that you, as my sponsor, would have a vested interest in helping me secure the position. Should it go to one of those rude fellows Rogers or Hall, it would hardly reflect well on your discernment in supporting me, the exemplar of European science. Do you agree?”
“Christ, yes! That job’s got to be yours. What the goddamn hell is Lawrence doing, even considering anyone else? I’ll twist his goddamn arm—”
“Oh, no, Mister Lowell, nothing so drastic. It would not do to have the slightest tinge of impropriety connected with this appointment. All I ask is that you host a party whereat I may make my case to Mister Lawrence. Rest assured, I will convince him that I am the only man for the job.”
“It’s done. What do you say to next Friday? I’ll have the invitations sent out first thing tomorrow. We’ll invite everybody who’s anybody in this goddamn town. Maybe you can give a little lecture. Keep it entertaining, though. Work in some of that ‘genetic instinct’ stuff. Mating habits of the goddamn savag
es, maybe. Get my drift?”
Agassiz winced. The topic was entirely too close to home. “I will endeavor to entertain as well as educate, sir.”
“By jingo, that’s my boy! Let’s have a goddamn drink to seal the matter!”
Several “goddamn drinks” later, Agassiz made his unsteady way home.
Vomiting over the side of the East Boston ferry did little to increase his appetite for supper.
Nonetheless, he forced himself to sit down at the head of the table. It would not do for the leader of the scientific household to shirk any of his duties. And, he was always a little afraid of mutiny by Desor, should his grip appear to be slackening on the reins of the establishment.
That worthy entered the dining room after the rest of the establishment was already seated, including Cezar. (Agassiz would not suffer Dottie to eat with the others, and had banished her to the kitchen with Jane.) With Desor was his cousin, Maurice.
Maurice Desor turned out to be a plump bantam of a man dressed like a Beau Brummell. His cousin introduced him around. Maurice pulled out a chair, plopped down and lunged for a bowl of boiled potatoes garnished with parsley.
During the course of the meal, the only time Maurice stopped eating was when he was pompously declaiming on the latest intellectual trends of Paris.
“You haven’t read Marx, Professor? How can you call yourself educated? The man’s a genius, potentially the most explosive intellectual of our time. I have devoured his Misère de la philosophie. He’s working now on something even more spectacular, with his collaborator, Friederich Engels. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him either? I thought not. They call it their ‘Communist Manifesto.’ When it’s published, it will spell an end to the reign of wealth and privilege, of all aristocrats, whether endowed or self-made, and their toadies such as yourself.”
Agassiz banged his fist down on the table, causing the silverware to perform a tarantella.
“That’s quite enough, Mister Desor! I am no sycophant to the rich, I am a man of science, a nobler calling than you can possibly imagine. If you truly object to the way I earn my living, I do not see why you partake so generously of my food and drink.”
The Steampunk Trilogy Page 11
