The Last of the Freemen

by Carl Trotz

  “It's like in the old verse,” Rudy said, “how the fetters fall away when the right words are spoken, or something like that. That's why they outlawed them all, right?”

  “It is,” Oscar said. “But let's not burden her with too much weighty history on her first day. Your mother is right. And my father would be furious to hear me talking about the world over dinner. So let's eat.”

  Chapter 25

  Rudy ate quickly and was first to clear his plate. He wiped his mouth and pushed himself back from the table.

  “Oheim and I have some practicing to do,” he said. “Can I go? He’s going to teach me how to fight against machetes and clubs, in case I'm ever attacked, by Culls or anybody like that.”

  “Oheim is still eating,” Oscar said.

  “It's all right,” Harm said. “Time is short. I can always finish this later.”

  “You don't want pie?” Hilda asked. “I made rhubarb pie.”

  “Later, thanks,” he said as he stood to follow Rudy.

  “Oheim,” Frieda called, “you said you'd help me bring in the geese.”

  “I will, in a bit. I'm sure Rudy’ll need a break after I throw him around some.”

  “Ha!” Rudy laughed. “The other way around, you mean.”

  The old woman looked on disapprovingly as they went out the door.

  “Harm spielt nur,” she grumbled.

  “He can do what he wants,” Oscar said sharply. ”We owe him greatly.”

  Her gaze fell and she quietly went back to eating. Frieda rocked Hughie back and forth on her leg; he played with the end of her braided hair as she watched Erin furtively.

  “Oheim doesn't seem to be himself,” she said to her parents. “He seems - bothered. More bothered than usual.”

  “He had to burn his house down!” Hilda exclaimed. “How would you feel?”

  “I suppose that could be it.”

  “And he has a lot on his mind,” Oscar added. “He's been able to live the way he has up until now because they never knew who he was. No name, not his real name, and no picture. That could change. He said there were surveillance cameras all around at the Cull massacre. He thinks it’s only a matter of time before they make the connection, and his picture is appearing on the news along with Erin’s. That would certainly change his life.”

  “And it's all my fault,” Erin said. “I just didn't know where else to go for help.”

  “No one blames you,” Oscar assured her. “Certainly not Harm. He knows - better than anyone - of the trouble caused by the system. He fights them at every turn. He sees it as the load he has to carry, as we all perhaps should. If they identify him, he'll simply have to change his tactics. He's already thinking on how he’ll do it.”

  “I hope it works out all right for him,” she said with a shrug, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and turned to Frieda.

  “I can take him back now,” she said, reaching for Hughie. “Thank you for holding him. And thank you, Hilda. Everything was delicious.” She hoisted Hughie onto her lap. “It's hard to remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much.”

  Herman entered, looked at the table, and headed to the sink. “I hope you left some food for me,” he said as he washed his hands.

  “Of course we did,” Hilda said. “I made you a plate, there on the counter.”

  “They relieved you of watch duty?” Oscar asked.

  “Yeah, so I can practice with them after I eat. That is, if you can take the watch for a while. Oheim says he'll take the night shift.”

  “And when will he sleep, I wonder?” Oscar asked. “But yes, that will be fine. We shouldn't waste the opportunity for you to learn from him.”

  “What about me?” Frieda asked. “I can take the watch, too, you know. I'm a better shot than Rudy anyway.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Oscar said, while Hilda shook her head slowly and emphatically in disapproval.

  “Mom!” Frieda pleaded; Hilda returned a scolding glare that silenced her.

  Herman brought his plate to the table and sat between his parents. Hughie tried to pull Erin’s empty plate off the table, fussed when she took it from him, then contented himself tapping a spoon on the chair.

  “Do you think we'll survive all this?” Herman asked.

  “Of course we will!” Hilda answered, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “There are challenges ahead, to be sure,” Oscar said. “We can't know how difficult. But we’ve always found a way in the past.”

  “It's not like the old days that you always talk about,” Herman insisted. “They have spy drones now, they have assault robots, and they have millions, millions of hungry Hirnchens ready to march out here and take everything we have, everything our family has ever worked for. How do we survive that?”

  “By not being the target,” Oscar answered calmly. “If things fall apart so badly for them, those millions will mostly be fighting each other. Not looking for us. But you have legitimate concerns. That's why we're having the meeting tomorrow.

  “And not all the English are predatory. Your Uncle Harm and some others are in contact with English who are resisting these things, the same as us. Sometimes supplying them.”

  “Like the New Whiskey Rebels?”

  “Yes, just like them.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Erin joined in. “They’re considered dangerous domestic terrorists. But then, I suppose my husband was one small step away from that. Even though he never sabotaged hundreds of government vehicles.”

  “The Whiskey boys don’t even broadly target government,” Oscar mused. “They only go after Federal equipment. But they’ve done tens of millions in damage. And the truth is, they’re just an extended family. That’s why they haven’t been caught. But the day might come where more of us in the Kreis have to do more, or even coordinate with some of these people.”

  “Yeah, I know, our Last,” Herman said sullenly. “But the government just prints itself more money. Those losses don’t really hurt them.”

  “Not as much as we’d like, it’s true. But they take a toll in morale, and in their efficiency. And there’s more going on than just the armed groups, the flamboyant stunts. There are untold numbers of families who resist in quiet ways. We don't know how many, or how far they will go, and neither does the government. More people are ignoring their laws, many have dropped out, become less productive, to sap the government’s energy. In all likelihood it will work out for us.”

  “In all likelihood?” Herman said. “So then our lives - and everything else - depend on an English likelihood?”

  Oscar sighed. The old woman scowled and raised her fork at Herman.

  “We always go on,” she admonished. “You keep that weakness, that fear, out of yourself. Always.”

  Chapter 26

  Erin felt less than sociable and retired to her room soon after dinner, but found herself unable to sleep. Silently the hours passed; she listened as the others went by in the hallway, exchanging their goodnights and settling in. Finally she drifted into a fitful sleep.

  Hughie suddenly awoke, crying loudly. She picked him up and looked at her watch as she bounced him; it was not yet two o'clock in the morning. When several minutes of pacing failed to quiet him, she decided to venture downstairs.

  She put him down briefly and pulled on a flannel bathrobe that Hilda had loaned her, then went with him out into the hallway; though it was difficult to see, a light from the kitchen faintly illuminated the bottom of the stairs. Stepping softly - even though Hughie was unrelentingly loud - she made her way down and passed through the lower hallway into the kitchen.

  There at the table sat Harm, still wearing the same charcoal gray shirt, with the parts of a dismantled tactical rifle laid out on a towel in front of him; also at hand were various small brushes, cloths, and a spray can of gun cleaning oil. He scarcely looked up as she entered the room.

  “Oh, hi, Harm. I hope we didn't wake you.”

  “No. I haven't gone to sleep y
et.”

  “I'm not sure why he's so upset. It doesn't seem to be gas. I’m going to try feeding him,” she said, and went to the pantry where Hilda had put the baby formula. “He usually sleeps pretty well. I hope we haven't woken everyone.”

  “Don't worry. They’re used to little ones here.”

  She mixed the powder with water and warmed it on the stove, all the while feeling as though she should say something. Hughie accepted his bottle and drank contentedly; she sat across from Harm at the table and watched disinterestedly as he reassembled the rifle.

  “I can't really sleep, anyway,” she finally said to break the silence. “When I close my eyes I see the horrible things from the Cull slaughter. When I do sleep, I have nightmares that wake me up. That probably sounds weak to you, but I just can't get it out of my head.”

  “No,” Harm said quietly. “I understand. I haven't slept well in years. Not since I was a kid, really. Some things stay with you.”

  “It's nice to know I'm not the only one.” She watched him closely as he finished wiping excess oil from the rifle.

  “You get used to it, sort of,” he offered.

  “This might sound strange to you,” she began hesitantly, “but I kind of feel like I need to go to church, or pray, or something, to ward off all these terrible things. And I'm not even a very religious person. I haven't been to church in years. But I feel like I need it now.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then set the rifle on the table.

  “Follow me,” he said, and arose from his chair. Her eyes grew wide and she remained seated.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something. I don't know if it'll help.”

  After a moment she stood, and followed him out the back door - Hughie still feeding as they went - into the mild, starry night; a nearly full moon provided just enough light for them to make their way, once their eyes had adjusted. He led her across the yard and past the garden, where he stopped suddenly.

  “Come to join me on watch?” said a voice in the dark; Oscar suddenly appeared in front of them, a rifle at his side. “Or are you running away?”

  “I'm bringing her to the Friedlinde,” Harm said.

  “Wirklich?” Oscar said in surprise, then stroked his beard and mulled it over. ”Why not? But I hope you’ll be ready to spell me in an hour. I thought you’d be getting some sleep.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Well, have a peaceful night!” he said, and disappeared into the darkness.

  They continued carefully for another minute, until a large tree loomed vaguely before them; as they drew near, a waist-high wattle fence blocked their way, and Harm followed it a for few steps until he found the gate. He held it open for her.

  “Are you sure it's okay for me to go in there?” Erin asked.

  “Yeah. It can't do any harm.”

  She entered and together they waded forward a few steps to the edge of the broad, overarching canopy; in the low light it seemed more a hulking shadow than a tree.

  “This is where we come to get our bearings,” he said. “It's not something we talk about. Or share with outsiders. It's private, a family matter. We have no priests or holy men, no spooks or devils. We come here, to places like this, and we get quiet for a while. We have old verses we say sometimes, but they wouldn't mean anything to you.”

  “So - you worship trees?”

  “No, we don't. I don't even know what you people mean by worship, but it doesn't seem to be anything good.”

  “I'm confused here, Harm.” She heaved Hughie to her shoulder, lost her balance on the uneven ground, and grabbed Harm’s shirt to steady herself. “I'm not sure I know, either,” she said, and slowly removed her hand. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

  He remained silent for a moment.

  “None of you do,” he finally said. “It's nothing against you. The few of you English I've gotten to know, none of you could explain it to me. But it seems to me, from what I can tell, to mean some kind of submission, prostrating yourselves, a kind of fear-and-reward system. And I suppose it’s none of my business. But I don’t understand it.”

  “I wish I could help, but I’m not a theologian.”

  “Here, well, we don’t call it worshiping, we say achten, which means ‘paying attention’. We stand here, and there’s the tree, we stand... in relation to each other. In relief, you know? I mean, like the relief in a wood carving, in that we stand out, and everything else falls into the background. We get that perspective, we get our bearings. And, I don’t want to confuse you, but it might help you understand - there isn’t just one kind of thinking. The kind we work out in our heads, the reasoning, that’s what you English know. But there are thoughts that come to us from without, that we apprehend, the same as we see things, or hear things. Maybe what you’d call epiphanies. This is a place for that to happen.”

  She nodded and considered. “Wow. There’s some food for thought.”

  “Yeah? Well, old Wilhelm Freisasser –“

  “Why do you always call him old?”

  “He’s dead, actually. But he has two grandsons, and at least two great-grandsons, who go by the same name, so it avoids confusion.”

  “Got it.”

  “Anyway, he was always trying to find common ground, to find a way to reach you English without giving ourselves away, though I don’t think he ever found it, really. But he said you have in your language a trace of that other kind of thought, that we have a separate word for. Methinks, he told me, it means ‘it thinks to me’, but the few times I’ve mentioned it, no English ever knew that. You all guess it’s a funny way to say ‘I think’ or some such.”

  “I actually know better. My husband loved Chaucer and Shakespeare. He used to speak with all kinds of archaisms for fun. I absorbed a lot of it, whether I wanted to or not. But I thought the meaning was ‘it seems to me’. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure what difference it would make.”

  “There you go. Maybe old Wilhelm will reach one of you people yet. He hoped – and I don’t know if he was right or not – that if you people would open your eyes and think, then being led around would become unacceptable, the glint of natural law would draw you off in some other direction.”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to think about that one and get back to you. But then, does it have to be this kind of a tree?”

  “A linden? No. It usually is, by custom. Before Carl the Butcher, it was oak trees a lot of the time, too. Bern told you about Carl the Butcher and his holy killers, didn't he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Well, that's where they were looking for us, by the oaks, so we went only to the lindens. They didn't get it. They didn’t understand any of it, they thought that chopping down a few trees would break our spirits and change how we saw the world. It was easy to fool them.

  “But different families have different ways, it's their own business. A few still get their bearings under oak trees. Sometimes it's not a tree at all, it might be a spring. We don't have orthodoxy police, you know, we have tradition. I think what matters most is to have a place and a time set aside, and to have the old verses, to remind ourselves of what’s important.”

  “But there must be something about this tree. Hilda said it’s what sold them on this farm.”

  “It is. Customs are the tracks of our ancestors, they shape who we are, and guide us. And custom has brought us here, I think, because if it's something that's been alive for five hundred, or a thousand years, it makes for greater relief, you know? The same way it casts a bigger shadow, it throws more perspective on your life. And that humility is a part of our survival. But it's a humility that has nothing to do with bowing to men.”

  She gazed into the darkness and tried to imagine what he was feeling.

  “Anyhow,” he said abruptly, “it's cooling off out here. We'd better get the baby back inside.”

  Chapter 27

  Erin awoke to the crowing o
f a rooster; though it was only six in the morning she heard activity downstairs, and after dressing herself and Hughie in the clothes they’d worn the previous day, she headed with him to the kitchen. Hilda was at the sink washing dishes, while the old woman sat in her usual place, nursing a warm mug.

  “Good morning,” Hilda said.

  “Good morning. The others aren't up yet?”

  “Up, and out.”

  “Oh.” She noticed a half loaf of bread on the table, a dish of hard-boiled eggs, and two jars of preserves.

  “Help yourself. We have sloe, and red currant, jam there. How did you sleep?”

  “Pretty well,” she answered cheerfully, taking the seat she’d had the evening before and moving Hughie to her lap.

  “Good. We have a big day here today, with so many coming for the meeting. Harm said you should keep a low profile, to not stir things up, since some might not agree with our helping you. And also, to be safe. Not that we don't trust our own people, but like he said, there's no point taking chances.

  “He plans to avoid the meeting himself, because half these men have shunned him anyway. He’ll meet privately with a few of the family heads, the ones he trusts and gets along with. And Oscar, of course, will be at the meeting to give them Harm’s opinions, even if he doesn't call them that.”

  “So he can't even be seen? They know him anyway, don't they?”

  “Oh, he could. It would cause a few dust-ups, though, a few would walk away upset. He likes to spare us, and the Kreis, those rifts. And believe it or not, most of the youngsters in these parts have never actually seen him, even though they've heard lots of stories about him. He wants to keep it that way. He’s always kept a low profile. That's probably why they've never caught him.”

  “What youngsters? I thought it was a meeting of the heads of families, old men.”

  “It is, but a lot of them will be accompanied by their sons and grandsons, some who come along for the ride, to visit and exchange news, and some, the unmarried ones, for a chance to see Frieda.” She turned her head and listened. “Someone's coming down the driveway.” With a hint of concern she locked the back door, then hurried off to the front.