Elijah of Buxton (14 page)

Sir Charles said, “Can't say that I have.”

“There's a good reason you haven't. Sad to say, little Ahbo here is the last surviving member.”

“Well, Reverend, that is indeed sad, but what does that have to do with my carnival?”

The Preacher commenced waving his arms, really warming into this tale he's 'bout to spin. “The Chochotes were fierce warriors who hunted and even fished with nothing but stones. Stone throwing was a skill passed from generation to generation, and little Ahbo's father, who was the king of the Chochotes, passed on the secrets of stone hunting and fishing to his son just before he was tragically murdered.”

The Preacher sounded so heart-busted about this that even I was getting sad for little Ahbo, and I knowed that he was me and that there waren't probably gonna be a lick of truth in the whole story.

The conjurer said, “Pity that. But wait, do I understand you to be saying that this boy can catch a fish underwater? By throwing a stone?”

The Preacher said, “If only we were at a lake so he could show you.”

The conjurer winked at the big, rough, red-hair white man and said, “If he can do that, he must have an unusually keen eye. Could he, mayhap, demonstrate his skill some other way?”

“Of course he can. I watched your Madame Sabbar earlier tonight, and while she was most impressive, I didn't see her doing anything little Ahbo couldn't match.”

“No?”

“No. Perhaps we could go to her tent and show you.”

“Well, sir, we were actually preparing to break things down, but I think little Ahbo might provide an interesting, but brief, diversion.”

The Preacher, Sir Charles, and the other white man started walking toward the slingshot lady's tent with me trailing behind.

The conjurer looked back at me and said loud and slow, “Do … you … speak … any … English?”

It was kind of hard to look at him with his two sets of eyes, but I said, “Why, yes, sir, and some Latin, and I can understand a little Greek.”

Oops! That must've been too much talking. The Preacher gave me a hard look then told the conjurer, “Plus, of course, he's fluent in Chochote.”

One of the conjurer's eyebrows raised up and he said, “Indeed? To my ear it sounds as if the boy is very Canadian.”

“That's because not only is he the best stone flinger since David, he's also uncommonly bright. He's lived with me for only four years and he's picked up the language and customs of Canada West so quickly it's truly astounding.”

All the sudden a stranger boy came up 'longside of me and gave me some unpleasant looks. His hair was all matted up like a bird's nest and his clothes were so dirty that not even Cooter would've been caught dead in 'em.

He said, “Who you?”

I just 'bout said my name then remembered what Sammy had told me 'bout saying “Elijah” 'round here. I knowed the boy waren't from Buxton and I was pretty sure he waren't from Chatham but I couldn't be total for certain. I thought it'd be best if I didn't take no chances. He was littler than me so I said, “Why you want to know?”

He said, “Where y'all going?” He sounded American.

“Over to the slingshot lady's tent.”

The boy spit, kicked his bare foot at the dirt, and said, “I knowed it!”

I could tell he was sizing me up to see if he could lick me. I puffed my chest up some whilst we walked.

The boy said quiet, “I's the
real
MaWee! But you's fixing to take my place, ain't you?”

“What?”

“That white boy waren't no good, I seent it, so now Massa Charles looking for
you
to take my place.”

He tilted his head toward the conjurer and said, “He done tolt me it was just for whilst we's in Canada, but I knowed he was a-lying.”

“Lying 'bout what?”

“You's trying to be the next MaWee, ain't you?”

“What?”

“But I'm-a tell you right now that you ain't gunn like it. You ain't gunn like roaming 'bout with 'em one bit. They ain't gunn say nothing at first but you gunn have to clean all them animal cages and fetch for 'em all times of the day or night, and the 'gator man gunn beat you every chance he get and you gunn be cleaning all they clothes, and they stingy with what they feed you, and it even ain't no fun after 'while getting hit in the face with them grapes neither.”

I said, “I'm not taking no one's place. The Preacher's just bragging on me so's that man with all those eyes can see how good I chunk stones.”

The boy gave me another rough look.

I said, “You travel 'round with these people?”

“Course I do, I tolt you, I'm the
real
MaWee.”

“Your ma and pa travel with you too?”

“I ain't got no ma nor pa.”

“You a orphan?”

“You best watch what you's calling me. What's a orphan?”

I said, “How old are you?”

“I ain't sure.”

“You ain't had no schooling atall?”

“What I need schooling for? You ax too much questions.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“Massa Charles do. He look after me good. He done paid more'n a hunnert dollars for me down in Loos-ee-anna.”

“
Paid?
You're a
slave
?”

“Naw! I seent how slaves get treated. I ain't no slave.”

“You ain't never tried to escape?”

“What you mean? If Massa cut me a-loose, what's I gunn eat? Where's I gunn sleep?”

“But this is Canada! You ain't but three miles from Buxton! You ain't never heard of
Buxton
?”

“Massa Charles say Buxton why he have to get a white boy to pretend he MaWee. He say y'all up here ain't gunn think it funny to see
me
get pelt with no grapes. Now he seent that white boy ain't no good and he gunn try you next.”

I told him, “My ma and pa ain't 'bout to let me travel with no circus. Buxton's my home.”

The inside of Madame Sabbar's tent looked a whole lot smaller without all the people piled up in it. Madame Sabbar herself was sitting on the stage smoking a cigar.

MaWee pointed at the white cloth atop the jungle board and whispered, “Can y'all read? What that say?”

I told him, “It says, ‘The Jungles of Sweden.'”

“It don't say nothing 'bout MaWee?”

“No.”

“That what I thought. He lie!”

The Preacher and the conjurer stopped talking and Sir Charles told MaWee, “Go light the candles as if it's a show.”

“Yes, sir!”

MaWee struck a match and set all the candles on the board burning.

“Them other ones too, boss?”

“Yes, everything.”

MaWee grabbed a lighting pole and went 'round the tent lighting the candles up high. When he was done he came back and said, “That all, boss?”

“Yes, MaWee, but don't leave. We're getting started in a moment.”

“Yes, sir, boss.”

“Now, Reverend Connerly, perhaps little Ahbo can demonstrate his skill.”

The Preacher waved for me to come up on the stage.

He whispered to me, “First time through, just use your right hand.”

This waren't gonna be nothing! It waren't even twenty paces twixt me and the candles that were sitting atop the Swedish jungle board. I reached in my tote sack and pulled out ten of the chunking stones and set them on the table next to me.

I looked at the Preacher and he ducked his head at me. I held on to my breathing and chunked with my right hand and passed stones into it with my left.

When I was done, all the candles had been put out just as smooth as the slingshot lady had done it.

The conjurer and the other white man looked at each other. Madame Sabbar blowed a long cloud of smoke out of her nose holes. The Preacher winked his eye at me.

MaWee called out, “Woo-ooo-ooo-wee! He good, Massa Charles! Y'all caint use him for nothing but tossing stones, he that good!”

The conjurer said, “You're right, MaWee, that was most remarkable! Now how 'bout the others?” He pointed at the higher-up candles.

This waren't gonna be as easy. The farthest candles appeared to be 'bout thirty, thirty-five paces away, and it was dark up that high.

The Preacher saw I was fretting and came up on the stage.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know if I can put out the flames on the two at the back, sir.”

“Just aim to knock them down, then.”

“Yes, sir. Just my right hand again?”

“Yes.”

I held on to my breathing and threw at the twelve candles runged 'round the tent. When I was done, one of 'em at the back had got knocked over and I'd clean missed on the one over the doorway.

Sir Charles and the other white man brung their heads together and started talking.

MaWee said, “Massa Charles, Massa Charles! You got to have that boy take over from Missy Sabbar! He good 'nough to take her place!”

The Preacher said, “And that's not half the story, Sir Charles. No disrespect intended, madame, but while you are without doubt a deadly accurate slingshotist, little Ahbo's skills include something else.”

The Preacher's hands started unfolding and waving right along with the story. He said, “One of the reasons the Chochote tribe is now nearly wiped from the face of the earth is that they shared their land with an insect so vile that it is called the horrible giant Bama bee. Bees so large that they've been known to carry away a full-grown man as easily as a hawk carries a mouse. And they attack in swarms of ten, which forced the Chochote to learn to throw not only with accuracy but with speed as well. Might I propose, if she is not too tired, that Madame Sabbar and little Ahbo have a side-by-side demonstration that includes speed?”

Sir Charles said, “A race? Why, that might prove to be quite interesting. Madame?”

The slingshot lady didn't look too happy 'bout doing this but she chomped her teeth on her cigar and stood next to me.

The Preacher said, “If the young boy could light the ten candles on the board again, we can get this started.”

MaWee waited till Sir Charles nodded at him then lit up all the candles.

The Preacher said, “Why doesn't the madame pick one side of the board and put out candles toward the middle and little Ahbo will do the same with the other side. We'll see who puts out the most the quickest.”

The woman chomped her cigar harder and said, “Left.” She raised her slingshot.

The Preacher whispered to me, “Use both hands. Beat her good.”

He told Sir Charles, “You start them.”

The conjurer-man said, “Both of you start on the count of three. One … two …”

Folks from Sweden must not be real good at counting. The conjurer hadn't even finished saying “two” afore Madame Sabbar put out the first candle on the left.

“… three!”

I throwed left, right, left, right, left, right.

I'd got six of 'em in the time she got four.

She spit her cigar out on the stage and said, “Light them candles up again, you little fool.”

MaWee waited on the conjurer to nod then lit 'em all up.

This time I got seven and she got three. She knocked one of 'em over too.

She dropped her slingshot and walked out of the tent.

MaWee shouted, “Ooo-ooo-wee! He done run her off! He way better than her, you gunn let him take her place?”

The conjurer said, “My word, Reverend, you didn't exaggerate in the least. I think little Ahbo will fit very nicely into our family.”

MaWee said, “He gunn take
her
place, boss? I ain't never seent no one what throwed so good! Lots of folks pay to see that boy throw! It be a waste of time having him get pelt with grapes.”

The conjurer said, “Start breaking things down in here, boy. I want to leave by noon tomorrow. Red, go see if Madame Sabbar is all right. Reverend, we need to talk.”

Him and the Preacher stood next to the stage.

Sir Charles said, “I assume you've had some expenses in raising little Ahbo. I'm willing to give you some consideration for that. You say the poor lad is an orphan?”

“Yes, I'm the only one he has.”

“How much are you looking for, sir?”

The Preacher said, “Hold on here, you've misjudged me. I don't deal in human beings.”

“Then what is it you're proposing?”

“The boy and I would be willing to travel with you for a while if you're willing to make certain guarantees.”

“Such as?”

“Such as how much we would be paid. Such as what it is we would do in your family. Such as what it is we
wouldn't
do.”

Sir Charles blowed out another long puff of cigar smoke at the roof of the tent and said, “Ahh, well, Reverend, what is it
you
propose doing? I can see that little Ahbo would be able to carry his weight and contribute to the family with his stone throwing, augmented, of course, by several other chores, but I really do not have a need for anyone else. I
would
, however, handsomely reward you for your transference of guardianship of the boy.”

MaWee'd pulled all the candles off the top of the Sweden jungle board. He said, “Pardon me, boss, you wants me to take this sign 'bout that white boy off of here? We gunn put it back saying this here's the real MaWee's jungle, ain't we?”

The conjurer-man kept his eyes on the Preacher but nodded his head at MaWee.

MaWee pulled off the white sheet that said
THE JUNGLE OF SWEDEN
!!!

Writ out underneath the sheet in letters di-rect on the board was:

 

The Jungles of Darkest Africa!!!
Help Madame Sabbar Capture MaWee,
the Chief of the Pickaninnys!!!

 

All the sudden the Preacher was done talking. He grabbed hold of my collar and we marched out the front of the tent. Afore you could blink we're walking down the road back to Buxton.