The Kentucky Cycle

by Robert Schenkkan

  GREY: Judge Jim Goddard . . . pre . . . pro . . . somethin’.

  JUDGE: Presiding.

  GREY: That’s it.

  JUDGE: Mr. Grey only recently joined us—one of those unfortunate disagreements I mentioned having suddenly left his position vacant.

  GREY: Nobody said nothin’ to me about talkin’. All they wanted to know was if I could shoot good, and by God I can do that!

  JUDGE: Indeed, sir, if you can’t, you’re liable to lose more than your job! Hah! Hah!

  GREY: I could shoot good enough for Andrew “By God” Jackson, I reckon I could shoot good enough for anybody!

  JUDGE: I’m sure your war record is very impressive, Mr. Grey—

  PATRICK: You fought with Old Hickory at New Orleans . . . ?

  GREY: I’m proud to say I did.

  JUDGE: Gentlemen . . .

  GREY: And you . . . ?

  PATRICK: Under Colonel Henderson till he got his ass shot off in them Cypress Swamps. Then me and some of them Tennessee boys decided we’d cut our own orders and do us a little huntin’!

  GREY: I heard you did! (singing:)

  We fed them lead fer breakfast,

  And we fed them lead fer dinner—

  PATRICK: And the ones that didn’t say their prayers,

  Went straight to hell a sinner—

  GREY and PATRICK: We shot them in their big round eyes,

  We shot their chins and noses,

  We shot all the buttons off

  Their coats as red AS ROSES!

  PATRICK: Damn!

  GREY: By God, that was somethin’, wasn’t it? We stacked them redcoats up like cordwood! You boys there?

  ZEKE and ZACH: No sir.

  JUDGE: Gentlemen . . .

  GREY: Well, you missed yourself somethin’ there, that’s for damn sure!

  PATRICK: Naw, my boys stayed here, looked after things. But Jessie over there, his daddy come with me. Died of a fever in them swamps.

  GREY: I’m sure sorry to hear that.

  JESSIE: Thank you, sir.

  JUDGE: GENTLEMEN!

  He pulls a pistol from his coat pocket and fires it into the air. Everyone stops.

  I’m sure as comrades-in-arms you must have a hundred old stories to share, but this is not a social call, gentlemen, it is a court of law! Mr. Grey, try to keep that in mind, will you?

  GREY: Yessir.

  JUDGE: Mr. Rowen, we are here to proceed with the issue of your bankruptcy. Do you have a lawyer, sir?

  PATRICK: You can see I don’t.

  JUDGE: No need to be embarrassed, Mr. Rowen, it’s potentially a blessing. I have found in matters of this sort that a defense attorney only prolongs the issue and that the result is always the same. Could I have the documents in question, please?

  Jeremiah unlocks the strongbox and hands a number of papers to the Judge.

  What the court finds before hisself are three personal loans to one Patrick Rowen near Shilling Creek from the Bank of Kentucky in Morgan. All notes secured by what appears to be extensive and growing land titles here in Howsen County.

  PATRICK: I own three hundred acres of land—good bottom land along the Shilling and most of what’s between there and the Buckhorn North Fork. Along with the original thirty-nine acres my pa bought from the Injuns, that give me three hundred and thirty-nine acres.

  JUDGE: No sir, you just own the paper on that land. And a veritable mountain of delinquent debt.

  PATRICK: I pay my debts!

  JUDGE: Mr. Rowen, really. If you paid your debts I wouldn’t be here.

  PATRICK: I tried! But them bastards changed the rules on me! Look here, I bought that land with paper money, Bank of Kentucky money—good as gold, they told me. Then two years later they won’t take their own money! Told me to chink the logs in my house with it, light ceegars, or wipe my ass—all they wanted now was hard coin.

  JUDGE: You signed a contract, Mr. Rowen. You agreed to pay a certain amount of interest on these loans.

  PATRICK: When I signed them loans, corn was sellin’ for a dollar five a bushel in paper money. Bank switch to silver and suddenly that same bushel of corn is only worth twenty cents.

  JUDGE: It’s nobody’s fault, Mr. Rowen. It was the war.

  PATRICK: When we was fightin’ I was doin’ fine—it’s peace that’s killin’ me! Hell, I thought we won the war! Look to me like I’da been better off if we’da lost the damn thing!

  JUDGE: Better off under the British? They burned Washington and drove your fellow countrymen out of their homes!

  PATRICK: Well, ain’t that what you aimin’ to do to me and my family?!

  Beat.

  JUDGE: The government is not without understanding and . . . and a great deal of sympathy for you and the hundreds of citizens who find themselves in your predicament. Even as we speak, replevy laws are being introduced in the legislature.

  PATRICK: So you ain’t gonna throw me outta here?

  Beat.

  JUDGE: Unfortunately, until such time as those measures are enacted, this court must continue to enforce the existing statutes. Your total debt, Mr. Rowen, principal and interest, now runs to . . . uh, to . . . (He searches for a moment among his papers.)

  JEREMIAH: Nine hundred and eighty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents.

  JUDGE: Yes! Exactly. Are you prepared to repay that sum in full?

  ZEKE: Mister, I thought that bank in Morgan folded?

  JUDGE: Yes, it did.

  ZEKE: Well, if the bank’s gone, how can we still owe it anything?

  JUDGE: Good question. The answer, my young friend, is that your father’s debts were purchased in total by Mr. Jeremiah here, just prior to the bank’s collapse. A stroke of fortune, sir, having just the one creditor. I have presided over cases with multiple creditors, each one howling for par conditio creditorium like so many alleycats over a rotting fishhead.

  PATRICK: I don’t know how I got so lucky.

  JUDGE: Hmmm? Oh, yes. Hah! Hah! I meant, sir, that it will simplify matters greatly. Now, the question remains, are you prepared to repay your debt?

  PATRICK: I got fourteen dollars and eighty cents in cash.

  JEREMIAH: Silver?

  PATRICK: Silver.

  JUDGE: Well, that’s a start.

  PATRICK: I can’t give you none of that. That’s my seed money. How’m I gonna get a crop in next year without seed?

  JUDGE (gently): I don’t think under the present circumstances, Mr. Rowen, that you’re gonna need to worry about next year. (Beat.) Now, what else have you got?

  PATRICK: I got the land. The land I bought with that money. I’ll give it back. All of it. Every damn acre. That’s fair, ain’t it, mister?

  JEREMIAH: How much is that land worth?

  PATRICK: It cost me nine hundred and forty dollars.

  JEREMIAH: I didn’t ask you what you paid for it, I said, What’s it worth?

  PATRICK (confused): Nine hundred and forty dollars!

  JUDGE: Mr. Rowen, land at one time in these parts was worth nearly two and a quarter dollars an acre. . . .

  PATRICK: I paid two dollars and forty-two cents an acre in ’15 for that section near the Buckhorn!

  JUDGE: Your memory does you credit, sir. But today, that same piece of land—indeed, all the land in this area—is worth only half that much.

  JEREMIAH: A dollar sixty-five, to be exact.

  PATRICK: HOW CAN THAT BE?! It’s the same piece of land, innit? Same trees, same rocks, same dirt! Only I been workin’ it, made—made it better.

  JUDGE: Land is just dirt, Mr. Rowen. It’s worth only what the market is willing to pay for it. No more, no less.

  PATRICK: IT AIN’T JUST DIRT! It’s land. It’s a live thing. It’s got moods and tricks and secrets like me or you or any other living th
ing. Man who farms and don’t know that, he gonna bust out quick, ’cause the land, it don’t tolerate no fools. I know that don’t mean nothin’ to no bank man pushin’ his little pieces of paper, but just ’cause he don’t know it, that don’t mean it ain’t so.

  JUDGE: We are not here, Mr. Rowen, to argue philosophy. It is facts that we are concerned with, and the facts of this matter are that you are in default. Less your cash assets, your debt to Mr. Jeremiah is now . . .

  JEREMIAH: Nine hundred and seventy-two dollars and fifty-five cents.

  JUDGE: Thank you. Turning over the land you purchased, some . . .

  JEREMIAH: Three hundred acres.

  JUDGE: . . . at the current value of . . .

  JEREMIAH: A dollar sixty-five an acre.

  JUDGE: . . . for a total worth of . . .

  He looks to Jeremiah, who does not disappoint him.

  JEREMIAH: Four hundred and ninety-five dollars.

  JUDGE: Exactly. The balance on your debt is now . . .

  JEREMIAH: Four hundred and seventy-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.

  Beat.

  PATRICK: That’s it, then. I’m busted flat. You can’t get blood outta no rock.

  JEREMIAH: I think we’re a long ways from bedrock yet.

  JUDGE: What Mr. Jeremiah is suggesting is that you still possess some valuable assets. The original homestead, this house, your tools, etc.

  PATRICK: I ain’t sellin’ this land! I got family buried here—my pa, my wife, a baby sister, and my first two children. Ain’t no stranger gonna walk over them bones. No sir. You want this land, you gonna have to kill me and my boys first.

  Beat.

  JUDGE: While it would grieve the court to see things come to such a state, there is always that possibility, of course.

  Beat. The Deputies shift their guns slightly.

  JEREMIAH (quickly): Gentlemen, please. Please! I’m sure we can work something out. Mr. Rowen, surely there is something? What else have you got?

  Beat.

  PATRICK: I got two mules, traces and harnesses for both . . .

  JEREMIAH: Sixty dollars.

  ZEKE: We paid forty dollars for Tucker alone, and that was just a year ago!

  JEREMIAH: Fifty-five dollars.

  ZEKE: They’re worth a lot more’n that!

  JEREMIAH: Fifty dollars.

  ZEKE: IT AIN’T FAIR!

  PATRICK: Be quiet, Zeke. Go in and lay down ’fore you have yourself one of those fits.

  ZEKE: I’m fine, Pa.

  PATRICK: Go ahead and do what I tell you.

  Patrick scratches his head. Zeke starts in, but the Judge stands up, alerting the deputies.

  JUDGE: I think your boy looks fine to me, Mr. Rowen. Fresh air, that’s all he needs. You need something from inside, why, one of my men here, he be glad to fetch it for you.

  Beat. Then Patrick waves Zeke back.

  PATRICK (to Jeremiah): What exactly you want from us here, mister?

  JUDGE: It’s nothin’ personal, Mr. Rowen. Mr. Jeremiah here, he’s just looking for justice.

  JEREMIAH: No offense, Judge, but a man who goes to a court of law looking for “justice,” he gonna be pretty disappointed. I think Mr. Rowen there’d be the first one to agree with me on that point. No sir, you go to court to get the law enforced. We’ll leave “justice” up to God, eh, preacher man? All I want here’s my money. (Beat.) And even at fifty dollars for them mules, I figure I’m still some four hundred and twenty-seven odd dollars shy.

  PATRICK: You a farmer, Mr. Jeremiah? You don’t look much like a farmer to me.

  JEREMIAH: Oh, I been a lot of things in my time. I guess what I am now, you could call me a . . . a speculator.

  PATRICK: Spec . . . ?

  JEREMIAH: Spec-u-late-or.

  PATRICK: What’s that exactly?

  JEREMIAH: That’s a man who buys things people need, before they know they need’em.

  PATRICK: Man can make a livin’ doin’ that?

  JEREMIAH (smiling): Oh, I do all right. Like you, I did a whole lot better when we was at war. In my line of work, peace is a mixed blessin’, but I take comfort in the fact that, human nature bein’ what it is, it ain’t likely to last long. (Beat.) Four hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.

  PATRICK: You just bought yourself a whole lot of land, and I know you ain’t aimin’ to work that land with your bare hands. You gonna need you some tools.

  JEREMIAH: Yessir, I guess I am. What you got?

  PATRICK: I got smithy and shoeing equipment, two plows, a scythe, axes . . .

  JEREMIAH: Guns.

  PATRICK: The guns ain’t for sale.

  ]EREMIAH: Too bad. I’m like to pay handsome for them rifles of your’n.

  PATRICK: Not for sale.

  JEREMIAH: Suit yourself. Eighty dollars for the tools—lock, stock, and barrel. Ever piece of iron, ever scrap of leather.

  PATRICK: Except the rifles.

  JEREMIAH: Three hundred and forty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.

  Beat.

  PATRICK: I got these slaves here.

  ZACH: Pa?

  PATRICK: The woman is full-blooded Guinea. . . .

  ZACH: You can’t sell Sallie!

  PATRICK: His daddy was Bantu. . . .

  ZACH: Tell him, Zeke!

  PATRICK: Be quiet, boy!

  ZACH: Zeke!

  PATRICK: Jessie’s in good health. . . .

  ZEKE: Bible don’t say nothin’ agin it. Joseph hisself was sold into slavery. . . .

  ZACH: BY HIS FAMILY!

  PATRICK: SHUT UP! I’m tryin’ to save somethin’ here—save somethin’ for you and your brother!

  ZACH: Ain’t nothin’ worth this! Jessie . . . ?

  JESSIE: Hush up, now, Zach. When it rains you take cover—yellin’ at them clouds ain’t gonna get you nothin’ but wet.

  PATRICK: He’s a hard worker. He don’t talk back and he got him some sense in him. You can see that.

  JEREMIAH: Woman’s too old for breeding.

  PATRICK: She’s healthy, though. And she carries her weight around here. She can outwork any of my boys in the field any day, long as you ain’t makin’ her lift heavy. . . .

  JEREMIAH: I can see the boy’s strong, but I got no use for the woman.

  SALLIE: Mr. Rowen . . .

  PATRICK: I ain’t breakin’ ’em up. That Jessie, he was raised right alongside my boys. . . .

  SALLIE: Mr. Rowen, sir . . .

  PATRICK: I just wouldn’t feel right about it.

  JEREMIAH: Can’t sell a man what he don’t want.

  PATRICK: Take’em together or leave it alone. It don’t make me no nevermind.

  Beat.

  JUDGE: Mr. Jeremiah?

  JEREMIAH: Two hundred and twenty dollars for the both of ’em. You take it quick ’fore I change my mind.

  PATRICK: That’s a deal.

  SALLIE: Mr. Rowen . . .

  PATRICK: It’s all right, Sallie, you and your boy gonna be together.

  SALLIE: That ain’t what I’m askin’ you about, sir. You gonna sell me, well, I can’t do nothin’ about that, but I’m beggin’ you, sir, don’t you be sellin’ my boy. It ain’t right.

  PATRICK: Sallie, you gonna be together, I promise you. . . .

  SALLIE: I work for you and your family for twenty-seven years. You ain’t never had to raise a hand to me or my son. And when Miss Rebecca died birthin’ your Zach I nurse him, and raised him and his brother both, just like they was my own children.

  JUDGE: Mr. Rowen . . .

  SALLIE: I ain’t never asked you for nothin’, sir, but I’m askin’ you now, don’t you be sellin’ Jessie.

  JEREMIAH: The boy’s all I’m interested in, Rowen.

  SALLIE: I ain’
t askin’ this for me, sir, I’m askin’ for you.

  JESSIE: It’s all right, Mama.

  PATRICK: I ain’t got no choice here, Sallie.

  SALLIE: No sir, man always got a choice! And you sell Jessie, you buyin’ yourself a world of pain, in this world and the next. I’m beggin’ you, sir. Don’t you sell him.

  JEREMIAH: I ain’t buyin’ no crazy woman.

  PATRICK: Two hundred and twenty leaves me owing what?

  SALLIE: YOU BE SELLIN’ YOUR OWN BROTHER!

  Beat. Everyone stares at her.

  John Biggs was a good man, and I always felt bad ’cause I couldn’t give him no children his own, but our blood was bad and them babies always die.

  JESSIE: Who’s my pa?

  SALLIE: You ask Mr. Rowen there. He see how things be now, don’t you? John Biggs, he come over with Miss Rebecca, but I already be carryin’ Jessie by then. I tell him what’s what and ask him what he want to do about it and John Biggs he tell me, “You see how things is. Man kill his own daddy ain’t gonna spare no baby no sword. We just gots to keep quiet and pray that baby take after his mama.” And the Lord, He heard them prayers, ’cause my Jessie was born black as night and I knew he was gonna live. (Beat.) You see how it be now, don’tcha?

  ZACH: Pa?

  SALLIE: Your daddy use me ’fore we got here. By the time we buried him, I was already carryin’ his son.

  Beat.

  PATRICK: My brother.

  SALLIE: He gonna do right by you now, Jessie. Now he knows.

  ZACH: We ain’t got no deal here, right, Pa? No deal, mister.

  Patrick is silent.

  Tell him, Pa!

  Long beat.

  PATRICK: Two hundred and twenty. What’s that leave on what I owe?

  ZACH: You can’t do that!

  JEREMIAH: One hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.

  ZACH: You can’t sell your brother!

  PATRICK: I ain’t sellin’ no brother, I’m just sellin’ a slave.

  ZACH: He’s your flesh and blood, god damn it—HE’S YOUR FAMILY!

  PATRICK: On my land, don’t nobody tell me what I can and cannot do! YOU HEAR ME! NOBODY!

  Patrick knocks Zach to the ground. Zeke moves between his brother and his father.

  ZEKE: Pa!

  Patrick steps back, breathing hard. He turns to Jeremiah.

  PATRICK: One hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents.