Fools' Gold

by Wiley, Richard

  “If you’d like me to pay?”

  Ellen sat forward and looked at him. “I’ll tell you,” she said. “Since you are the actual first customer let’s call it fair that you should have a free one.”

  Hummel had his money ready but stopped counting and smiled, his hand covering his diseased mouth.

  “That’s very kind. If there’s ever anything…” But Ellen silenced him with a short wave and Hummel nodded, spitting into his handkerchief before moving toward the door. When he was gone Ellen took the towel he’d used, quickly throwing it into a tub of waiting water. She looked around the room for something out of place and then sat back down to wait for the next customer. Henriette needed twenty minutes to ready the tubs, but before Ellen could lose herself in Ireland again the flap of the tent was pushed aside and Finn entered. He’d stopped somewhere during his rounds to purchase Ellen a grand opening gift.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “‘What is it’ is a question that can be answered by its opening,” said Finn. He had two boxes and stretched one toward Henriette when she came through the curtain.

  “To get the business off on the right foot is all.”

  Ellen opened her package first and held up a heavy cream-white marble egg.

  “It’s for giving those chickens the idea,” Finn told her. “You put that marble egg in under them and they get to thinking it’s real and then they get the urge to duplicate it. It truly works. It will double your yield.”

  With thumb and forefinger, Ellen held the egg up to the light. “I’ve never seen such a thing,” she said slowly, one eye closed and peering at it like a jeweler. “So small and smooth yet heavy as a bantam.”

  In Henriette’s package there was a hairbrush with a handle of marble the same color as Ellen’s egg. She quickly ran it through her hair then held it up as if proving that it too worked.

  “Well then,” said Finn. “I’ll grant there are still a few out there who don’t know of the bath’s existence.” He lifted the remaining stack of leaflets and left again before the women could say anything about the egg and the brush.

  About many of the nearby tents lumber had been stacked in anticipation of the construction crews that were even now being formed by those men who had not staked claims. Finn was confident, for he had his tools and had posted his own name. He was a man looking for a crew. There was something about a place like this. Here a man could start again. All he had to do was post a list upon the canvas side of a tent, saying that he was a boss looking for men, and some men, many of them, would sign below. Finn supposed it was because many men thought there was some secret to being boss, some obscure knowledge of procedure. But, as for him, he had his tools and just enough money to buy building materials. He only needed a helper or two, and he’d be on his way. He already had a job contracted. He told Ellen that he’d put up the bath building for two thousand dollars and said he’d have it done in a month. And he’d pay whoever worked with him fairly. Now was a time to be fair with other men, for he’d be paid back in the end, he knew.

  Finn, thinking and handing out leaflets, imagined the things he would do with the money he made. The crowd flowed in the direction of the beach, and he let himself be taken with it. He tried pushing leaflets into the hands of those near him, but they were excited, so Finn put the leaflets neatly inside his coat and looked where the others were looking. Out in the bay, anchored or anchoring, stood three gray American troop ships. He could see skiffs dotting the water, men and equipment being lowered from the high decks by mechanical hoists.

  “Down by the mouth of the Snake,” said a voice, “they’re going to build a fort.”

  Finn knew the site of the fort to be just where he and Henriette and Ellen had crossed the Snake a few days before, but he hadn’t thought about what the coming of the army might mean. He’d seen soldiers before so turned to leave but found that a whole group of townspeople had come up behind him and that his way was blocked. He moved sideways along the edge of the beach trying again to distribute his leaflets, but the crowd had a heavy face and was moving with the soldiered skiffs, northwesterly, toward the Snake.

  By the time they reached the raft landing at the edge of the river, five of the gun-gray boats had already notched the soft sandbar on the far side. Many of the men and women in Nome had come out of the tent city and walked to the bank of the Snake to watch the army arrive. They stood now close together, quiet at the water’s edge. There were already a dozen soldiers on the far sand, directing the landing barges and helping to stack the shored supplies. They were organized, these soldiers. Finn liked the stiff brown shirts that they wore and the precision with which they marched, seaward and back.

  “We have our own laws,” said a man near Finn, shorter and calmer than the others in the crowd. As he spoke the body of men and women standing around him tightened, moved in behind him to form a V, like a reflection of the southbound birds that even now blackened the sky above Nome. “We have our own laws.” Like people singing in rounds the crowd began a murmur. Finn found himself in the middle, unable to turn or to slip away with his leaflets undamaged. The soldiers on the far side of the river were at ease or were standing boot deep in the water. The man who had first spoken was quiet again, and soon the others were too.

  The third ship was unloaded and more troops stood along the opposite sandbar. The officer in charge was one of the last to come ashore but the first to give an order. “Axemen ready,” he said.

  They would build their camp beyond the bar on which they stood and away from the river, on the flat moss of the semi tundra. At another order from the officer the axemen turned and swung their way into the scrub, walking six feet apart and clearing everything in their path. Finn looked at the soldiers, then at their own leader, the little calm-looking man in front. Everyone was quietly watching. Finn was in the center of the group, a head above most of the others, so he put his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Hello … Why have you come?” He looked quickly about him, but no one took up his call. The commanding officer walked down to the edge of the water, raised his hands, and spoke back.

  “By order of the President of the United States. We have come to survey the land.”

  Finn didn’t know what to say next. It had been an experiment, his yelling. He’d wanted to see if he could get the same reaction that the short man had gotten, an echo from the crowd, a group following. The prospectors looked at him now, waiting for him to respond. On the far bank all of the soldiers stood still.

  “You are not here as a police force then?” asked the short man. “You are not here as lawmen?”

  Immediately the group around Finn took up the call. There was movement among them, side-stepping. The entire group turned like a divining rod, the short man its pivot. Even Finn thought the question so to the point that he heard himself saying so under his breath. They shifted a little, closed upon each other, their many feet moving.

  “We have no plans to make one of our tents a jail,” said the officer, smiling. “Our main job is to survey the gold region. If anyone hinders us from that duty we have the power to arrest. If not, you haven’t anything to fear from us.”

  He turned then and marched back among the soldiers before anyone could say anything more. The little man broke the tip of the V and quickly worked his way back toward the town. Finn was next, first among the followers. The others, soon seeing that the officer had dismissed them, turned and shuffled, talking among themselves now, mumbling their way back into the dusty labyrinth from which they had come.

  Finn stood beside the short man and handed him one of the leaflets advertising the bath.

  “This will be a boon to the community,” he said. “First we clean our bodies then we build a fine strong town.”

  The man read the leaflet more carefully than anyone had thus far. “You’ll need a map,” he said. “Nome is just a shanty town now. How would you expect anyone to find the place?”

  He stuffed the paper back into Finn’s hands t
hen turned and walked away. And he was right. Finn had assumed that people would know of the bath’s location from others who knew of it. But to have a map would be better. In truth it was very hard to find. There wasn’t even a sign.

  Finn walked back along the paths of the town, distributed a few more leaflets, and returned to Ellen’s bath. He peered in through the wire mesh on the front of the chicken coops. The first chicken he saw was sitting high on an egg of her own and on the marble one Finn had given Ellen. He reached in and took both eggs in his hand and the chicken settled down once more. The real egg was warm and slightly larger than the marble one. Finn slipped it into the box on top of the coop, then slid the marble egg through the door and under the next bird. He took Ellen’s watering can and was sprinkling the dirt floor of the room when Ellen came in from the outside.

  “I’ve been about the town,” she said lightly. “I saw your name but there’s still no one signed up with you.”

  “The army has arrived. Did you notice?”

  “I noticed the crowd about,” she said. “I noticed the ships in the harbor.”

  Finn pointed to the new egg and told her about the mistake he’d made on the handouts.

  “A map?” said Ellen. “And do you think in a week there’ll be a man who doesn’t know the place?” She cupped the cooling egg in her hands and laughed. “Just a little time,” she said, peeking in at it. “That’s all we need.”

  Finn thought of the short man again. When that man had said a map was needed Finn had known he was right. And now Ellen made it seem not necessary at all. He was relieved that he’d not made a stupid mistake yet displeased that he’d been so easily convinced that he had. He’d thrown the last two or three dozen leaflets in a barrel and could not now retrieve them.

  “I’ve got to find a crew for the building of this bath,” he said. “If they won’t sign up I’ll snatch one or two from the saloon.”

  Finn left again quickly so Ellen walked to the tent flap and watched him go. Directly outside was the dirty back of another tent. To the left the path ran toward the beach, and to the right it wove itself further into the fabric of the town. Since it was warm outside and warmer in, Ellen decided to leave the flap open and pinned it back with a peg. In the back room both baths were ready, had been for an hour. Ellen sighed. She could clean the place again or check the long-drawn water or sit low behind the high counter and wait. The sight of foolish Finn made her remember Ireland again, the silly strengths and weaknesses of its people. With Finn as a reminder would she ever forget? It was strange but when she thought of Ireland she almost never thought of her mother or her sisters. It was always her father or grandmother who bothered her peace of mind.

  Ellen sighed again and stepped across the room and sat a moment behind the counter. She took her cleaning rags and dusted more vigorously than she had that morning. She checked the chicken coops then smiled and moved the marble egg in under another barren bird. It was such a simple trick. She slid another warm egg into the box. Still, it was impossible to believe that she might double her yield.

  Finn found Phil standing in front of the notices, looking over the lists of construction jobs. He walked up behind him and pointed, over Phil’s shoulder, at the lonely name of Finn Wallace at the top of one of the lists.

  “Sign here and you’ll not regret it,” he said.

  Phil turned around slowly.

  “I’ll work just a few weeks. Until winter comes.”

  “Work with me,” said Finn.

  “How are the women?” asked Phil. “I have messages for them from the reverend.”

  “What we’ll be doing is building Ellen’s bath. She got the idea from the one she saw in your village.”

  Phil nodded and Finn smiled. “Will you have a drink then? To liquefy the working relationship, so to speak.”

  Finn pulled the tent flap back at the entrance to the Gold Belt but Phil hesitated before bending through. “I’m not sure they want me here,” he said quietly.

  The owner called out in a friendly way, waving Finn over, but indeed giving Phil a long and hollow look. He moved like a janitor, pushing an old undershirt along the counter top of his bar. The only other customer in the place was the short man from the river bank.

  “You’ve been making yourself scarce, have you not, Finn? What’ll it be?”

  Finn introduced Phil. He ordered beer and watched the owner watching Phil’s face as the foam from the drink clung to his lips and ran down his olive chin. The short man stood near them drinking whiskey from a shot glass. He briefly looked in their direction but it was obvious to Finn that the man had forgotten him, had forgotten entirely their conversation at the beach. The man was dressed neatly, in clean clothes, and the hands that came out of his plaid jacket sleeves were hairless and delicate compared to his thick body. Finn wanted to tell the man they had met before and ask him to join them, but he was sure the man would refuse. There was something in the way he stood that made him unapproachable. Just the presence of the man made Finn want to watch himself, to be careful of the way he spoke to Phil and to the owner. He was aware of a desire to make a good impression on this man, a feeling that was rare in Finn’s experience. He felt inferior.

  The owner, rags moving, told Finn how unusual it was to have an Indian standing against the Spanish bar. “They come from far and wide,” he said, “but rarely do we get them from so near. Does your friend speak English? If he does I’ll say he’s the first I’ve met who’s able.” The owner turned slightly and faced Phil. “Go ahead,” he said, “say something, Bub. I’m always looking for good conversation.”

  The owner was smiling, but Phil felt angry and Finn’s attention was split, half of it on the small man, who seemed not to notice them at all. “He speaks English,” Finn said, finally focusing. “You don’t ask the Swedes and the Frenchmen for a sample of what they can say, do you? Why ask him?”

  The small man still faced forward, but spoke, catching Finn’s eye in the moving mirror. “Europeans are famous for their facility with language,” he said. “Alaskan Indians don’t share that ability, so your man becomes a curiosity. Like a parrot among birds.”

  “Right,” said the owner. “If the man speaks English, let’s hear it. We could ask him questions about his people. Clear up some of the misconceptions.”

  The man from the beach turned half-circle and faced them now, so Phil pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets and came up with some cash to lay on the lovely bar. He turned and stepped across the sawdust and out into the street without looking back.

  “What a way to treat a man,” Finn said, looking hard at the happy owner. He wanted to run after Phil, but he had a full beer in his hand. The small man drank the remainder of his whiskey and left before Finn did, and Finn thought maybe he would say something to Phil, maybe apologize, maybe pat Phil on the back as he passed. When Finn left, the owner was dusting again. He found Phil standing sideways along one of the paths. They could both see the small man walking between two of the tents, heading back toward the beach.

  Finn and Phil sat up to their necks in hot water, in the back room of Ellen’s bath. Henriette brought towels and walked through the room carefully, not looking at either of the men. As soon as Ellen saw Phil she included him on her list of those who’d be allowed free baths, but he was absolutely the last. He and Finn would begin construction in the morning. They spoke over the cloth walls between the tubs of just how they would go about their work. Already they had enough lumber for the frame and knew where they could get more, but the price was high. Ellen would have to pay right now for the wood, though the payment due the two laborers could be made any time. They spoke between the baths, in and out of the two rooms of the establishment: “And upstairs will be the sleeping quarters,” Ellen told them. “Four rooms. One for Henriette and one for myself and two that we could let or that either of you could use.”

  “I’ll be building a house up around my own tent when this is finished,” Finn said, splashing.

/>   Ellen lit a large fire in the front-room stove and they cooked fish, a salmon brought by Phil and given to Ellen and Henriette as a gift from the reverend. The two men dried themselves briskly in the hot bathroom, then dressed in warm clean clothing. The smell of salt salmon reached them. They’d bought a cot earlier and taken it to Finn’s tent for Phil to sleep on. They would be roommates until the project was finished and Phil returned to the village. It was nearly midnight by the time they began the meal, by the time the sun finally finished disappearing over the rim of the earth. All four of them caught the festive mood that they remembered sharing at the village. They wanted it to continue. Ellen relinquished the last remnants of her first impressions of Finn, felt them slipping away like fishing line into the water. Henriette felt herself opening, blooming into full membership in the group. And Phil thought the three the most likable of the outsiders he’d met, excluding the reverend, and he was willing to live for a while as they did, to accept them as they were and to take what the city brought him. They laughed and stripped the salmon, eating everything. They held up the fine-boned skeleton and looked at each other through it. Finn called it a comb and pretended to run it through his hair.

  “Don’t laugh,” said Phil. “That is how such things are discovered.”

  “Invented,” said Finn. “The comb was invented, not discovered.”

  Phil leaned forward. “That is a good example of the extravagance of your language,” he told him. “You attach two words to the same concept thus making understanding difficult. Invention. Discovery. What’s the difference?”

  Finn, full of the warmth of the front-room fire, held the salmon bones in front of him, playing them like a harmonica. He followed the line that connected the words “invention” and “discovery” in his mind but could make nothing of them. He thought about the short man again, thought of him as inventing gold, then knew, suddenly, where he had seen the man before. He pictured those delicate hands stuck like flesh bumpers among the tears of that chandelier. He was Dr. Kingman, the man who, indeed, had invented gold in Alaska, had made the first big discovery. He had charted the course of the lives of all these men and of Finn and Ellen and Henriette. Only Phil was his equal, though Finn hadn’t known it that afternoon in the bar. Finn saw the future tying him, tying his life, irreversibly to that of Dr. Kingman. Like invention and discovery they were on opposite ends of the same thread, not one without the other but both, like the two sides of the same gold coin.