Counternarratives (25 page)

“I'll go get Miss Katherine, this all too queer. Stay
right
there
.” I stood for a while, stepping out of the way when two white men
dragged a dray, loaded with several crates, alongside me, and like magic the man
returned to unlock the gate and let them carry the crates in, though he repeated to
me, “Right there.” When the deliverymen left, paying me no attention, the older man
returned with a tall young white woman. He said to me slowly and formally, “
Th
is Miss Katharine Linde, Mr. Edward sister. You can
tell her what you want through the gate. Shall I wait here, Miss?” She shook him off
and he went back into the house, though I figured he and probably everybody else in
there was watching us closely. The young woman looked mostly like Mr. Edward, but in
female form, with long, chestnut hair that she wore up in a comb.

“What is your name . . . how can I help
you . . . ?”

“Theodore King, Ma'am,” I said. “I work at the Academy on Saturdays at
they lectures and I met Mr. Edward at the last one, by Professor Thaddeus Lowe, the
balloon specialist, and Mr. Edward, who Mr. Robins say—”

“Excuse me, did you say Peter Robins?” She almost blushed as she asked
this, so I momentarily looked away. She opened a fan and sat on a small stone bench
near the gate.

“Yes, Ma'am,” I said. “The very same. Mr. Robins was saying that Mr.
Edward was studying science, and Mr. Edward say—said—that he was going to work with
Professor Lowe.”

“Theodore,” she said, making me think she was about to tell me
something, but she was just pronouncing my name. She looked me up and down, before
staring at some of the white flowers, hovering like stars, beside her. “Mmm. This is
so very odd. Do you have a message from the Academy for my brother? Anatole said
something about a message.”

“Well, Ma'am,” I said, “Mr. Edward Linde give me his carte de visite and
told me if I want to work for him when he was working for Professor Lowe, I should
contact him. I ain't—didn't—know how to do that except come here so here I am.” I
passed the card through the gate to her, dropping it onto the opened fan. She stared
at the face on it, scrutinizing it as if to make sure that it was her brother's
visage peering back at her, and then at me, then passed it back. “Mmm. Truly
irregular. But then these days the whole world is upside down, and then there is my
brother. So Neddy gave you that card?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” I say. “At the Academy, most exactly.” I felt sweat
rilling down my brow and neck again so I patted myself down. I realized I could use
some water.

The white woman stood, cooling herself with the fan, saying, “It's
scorching today, isn't it?” then “We can't blame the rebels for that.” She turned
away and I wondered if she was going to head back into the house without saying
anything else, but she stopped and told me over her shoulder, “Well, Theodore, I
will give my brother and
Mr. Peter Robins
your message that you came to the
house and are ‘eager to work.' Where do you stay, should they conceivably supply a
response?”

“Thanks, Ma'am.” I started smiling but restrained myself. “I live on
Lombard Street, Ma'am, Number 723, second floor. 723 Lombard Street, in this city,
with my mother Mrs. Emma Riley King and my brother Jonathan, who is employed at
Kahnweiler's General Store and the Academy. I sincerely would like to work for Mr.
Edward Linde if he need me.”

The white woman continued looking back toward me just enough that I
could read her brief half-smile as she proceeded toward the house. At the stairs the
man I took to be Anatole materialized in front of her. He said quite loudly,
“Everything all right, Miss Katharine?”

“Yes,” she answered, and with her fan gestured toward me. “I'll pass on
his message to Neddy and should he have a response, someone will have to relay the
message to him.” She disappeared past Anatole into the house. Soon as she was inside
Anatole scampered toward me, still behind the gate, and, nearly spitting, said,
“Listen here, boy, don't you never come rolling up at the front door of this house,
never again, y'unnerstand? Never. And get your little black ass away from this back
gate too, before I count to ten? If the police don't knock all the teeth out that
smiling mouth I sure in the hell will.”

I didn't answer him but left, almost whistling, and thought about
calling out, “Anatole,” but instead I headed back east to Washington Square to find
a place to sit and, despite the heat, read the handbills and any discarded
newspapers, and listen to speeches about the war.

A
week passed, then two, no word from Mr. Edward Linde or anyone else.
Th
en came the first days of September, though still no
substantial cooking or catering positions. I put in at the House of Refuge, where I
heard there was an open slot, and because they were always taking in orphans and bad
children the work would be steady, but when I went back to inquire they apologized
that they didn't yet have anything available. An honest job is an honest job, my
Mama kept saying, so you best just keep hitting those streets, and I once again
thought of seeking something at Kahnweiler's, or, come to worst, even casting my lot
with Dandy.

That first Saturday of the month it was so late when I got home it was
already dark out and I couldn't believe I had walked what felt like half of
Philadelphia, all the way down Passyunk to the County Prison then over to the
Schuylkill then all the way up to Girard College, where I practically begged to join
their kitchens, then hobbled all the way back down Broad, not a single street car
stopping for me, my legs and feet hurting so badly I was ready to cut them off. I
came upon Mama, framed by the lamplight's glow, sitting in front room with the
Misses Allen from upstairs. Soon as I greeted them all she said, “Theodore, somebody
brung a letter for you,” and I immediately worried it might be a summons from the
police for what happened with Dandy, or maybe for Dameron's clothes that I
completely ruined and still had yet to pay for. I said, “Yes, Ma'am, where is it?”
and she said, “Right there on your bed,” and there it was, a long tan envelope,
addressed to “
THEODORE KING
.” I ripped it open and
read:

Friday, August 23, 1861

To Theodore,

This missive is even by the usual standards of my
Correspondence a most eccentric Exchange, but I just received a note from my
dear sister, Katharine, stating that she had forgotten to tell that you had come
to my Father's house enquiring of me. I initially was unaware of whom she was
speaking, until she made mention of the Academy, Professor T. S. C. Lowe's
lecture, and my near-brother Peter Robins, and thus I recalled your peculiar yet
delightful display of
Memory
, and my comments to you that Saturday
afternoon.

As things stand in our continuing contributions to Science in the
Defense of our
UNION
this corps fortunately does need
Hands
, though I cannot but certify my Good-Will and a miniscule
Purse as guarantee. Peter kindly enquired of your arts and talents, and wrote
that in addition to your memorial Skill you are also a Cook, which any corps
must need, though we also have need of Elbows to undertake related tasks, of
which I know you will not suffer undue abuse.

You will have to make your Journey to military
headquarters in the Capital, and there interrogate
where to find me
.
Peter has said that you may use his name alongside mine, should this matter
still bear your interest. Please carry this Letter, and the Warrant it
represents, along with my
Carte de Visite
, on your person in any case,
and as I have gone on too long,
Sapientiae Scientiaeque
,

Edward Harrison Bartram (von) Linde, A.M., A.M.

Technical Assistant to Professor T. S. C. Lowe

United States Army Balloon Corps

I had to read the letter several times to understand it fully, but once
I did I decided that I was headed down there. I waited till after service on Sunday
to mention the offer to Mama, who told me I was ten times more of a fool than she
ever thought she could raise, because what sane colored person would ever risk his
life to go down into the bosom of the slavers? She wept as she admonished me think
before acting so rashly, then wept again when I said I would not change my mind.
Jonathan, who had witnessed the exchange, responded that he didn't think I was a
fool but instead probably trying to fool him and everyone with my claim.
Th
e next day in the park after he got off I shared it
with Horatio, who began bawling like I had never seen him do before and assured me
he was going to pray I never ended up in the traitor's arms, before narrating to me
how when they captured me they would bind me and whip me before having their way
with me as punishment. I replied that I was planning to leave for the capital soon
as I could figure out a way there. I had saved up some money but I doubted I could
afford the railroad or was even allowed to ride on it, and also did not think I
could afford a horse or coach ride.

That evening and for several afterwards I read the Bible, which I
seldom did, to find a divine answer to my quandary, feeling reassured when I came
across passages such as when John says in 14:31, “Arise, let us go hence,” and the
91st Psalm, verse 11, with its clear affirmation: “For he shall give his angels
charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” I tried respectfully to ignore Mama
complaining about my foolishness to Misses Janie and Lucie Allen, or to my aunt, her
younger sister Dorothea, who dropped by at the beginning of every week to relate
what sounded to me like the same stories about the rich people she worked for and
the poor people she worked with. Instead my mind kept turning on the axles of Mr.
Linde's letter and Professor Lowe's lecture and the aerostats and Washington, the
war
, and how more than once over the years I had seen people drive the
abolitionists out of Independence Square but now they often stood and listened,
sometimes politely, a few even cheering, as the men and women, black and white,
assured listeners that we would all soon be free.

A few days later I left Horatio at the Arcade where, when we met up
after he got off from the upholstery shop, he wouldn't stop shouting that I was
behaving with pure lunacy, though he also confessed that he had been dreaming of
heading south with me too. As I departed Washington Square I heard a voice utter
just above a murmur, “Red,” and looked over to see my cousin Dandy, in a doorway,
hat tilted low on his head, his charcoal jacket and trousers rendering him a shadow:
“Where you heading?” I walked over to him and answered just as softly, “I'm trying
to figure out how to get to Washington.” He said, “Running from somebody?” and I
shook my head, said, “Naw, Cuz, I wanna go work with the Army,” and he said,
“Colored can't sign up for this war.” I answered, “I'm gonna work mess,” and he
beckoned me closer and whispered in my ear, “I need to get out this town, been
thinking about Buffalo or Boston, but seeing as all the commotion happening down
there Washington'll do.” I stepped away from him, a bit incredulous, and asked him,
“How?” Dandy looked around us, and said as if each word would vanish soon as he
uttered it: “Can you meet me here in three days as close to 6 pm as you can manage?”
“For sure,” I replied and he added, “Bring whatever money you got but don't tell
nobody, just leave your Mama a note and a couple bits for rent, make sure you put
something in your stomach,” then he asked me my birthday and concluded, “We'll be in
Washington faster than you can say Abe Lincoln.”

Though I doubted Dandy's scheme would come to anything I did exactly as
he said. I packed a few things each day while Mama and Jonathan were at work and
counted out my money. When I left I had to go upstairs to borrow a scrap of paper, a
quill and some ink from Miss Lucie Allen to write my letter, and grew so nervy I
wanted to take a stroll but instead I heated up a potato and ate it, drank water,
checked twice that I had put out the stove. Soon as I heard the church bells ring 5
I split to meet my cousin. Since I arrived early near where I saw him the day
before, I milled about, finally asking a white man the time. He told me quarter to
six, so I walked up to the square then raced back, counting the minutes, and right
on the hour I saw Dandy there in the doorway, dressed as if he worked for the
railroads, with a leather saddle bag and a second cloth bag slung over his shoulder.
Dandy said, “We heading to the depot down on Washington,” which I knew meant the
Philadelphia Wilmington and Baltimore one, so I started up the street and Dandy said
firmly, “No, no, Cuz, they coming for us,” and he slipped back into the shadows till
a cab came, the horse rearing when it stopped abruptly. Dandy ordered me, “Get in,
fast,” and we did and sped down Seventh to Christian, before I knew it we were at
the depot. Dandy said, “Stay close, and whatever you do, from now on anybody talk to
you keep your mouth shut.” We went around the rear of the station, where we met a
brother Dandy talked to for a few minutes, until he hailed me over, saying, “Okay,
give him some change.” I did, then Dandy gave him some more money from a roll he had
concealed somewhere, and something else wrapped in burlap and twine, though I knew
not to ask what it was. The man ushered us to a luggage car on a train bound for
Washington, and whispered something in Dandy's ear, said we would know when we get
to the capital because that was the last stop, these days no trains ran on to
Virginia. We settled in behind some crates, curling up as tiny as we could. Another
brother came in and spotted us but didn't say a thing. Eventually we heard the
whistle, the train began to move. Once we were pulling out Dandy handed me a little
pocket watch, all filigreed silverplate around the edges, a small cream envelope,
then a swig of liquor from his flask. I sat up, listening to the music of the wheels
along the track—