The Old American (34 page)

They meet in the petit salon. The intendant stands by a velvet couch to greet him. Sitting on the couch is a middle-aged woman in wigs, her skin giving off a strong scent of perfume that tells Great Stone Face that she has recently arrived from Old France. In the background are library shelves, the true source of the Frenchman's power over the native. But it's the sight of yet another wig that excites Great Stone Face. He envies the French folk only for their wonderful wigs.

“Is this the one you saw outside that you asked for?” the intendant addresses the woman in French.

“Can there be another? I didn't know the savages lived to such an age. Do I offend him with my frank talk?”

“He speaks no French, my dear countess.”

“Could I offend him in his own language? Does the savage have sensitivities as we do?”

“He neither gives nor takes offense, for he lives by his name—Great Stone Face,” says the intendant. “As for the sensitivities of the red race, they are of no less nor greater concern to you and me than the sensitivities of the peasants of old France. Any cur off the street has sensitivities if only we sacrifice our own sensitivities to apprehend the cur's, and what's the profit in such an act? God cares not for our sensitivities to one another, but for our faith in Him, so it is between man and his dog, squire and his servant, nobleman and his vassal, merchant and his creditor. I will tell you that Great Stone Face is my fire tender, tender most extraordinary to hot and cold, which is more than I can say for some of his savage kinsmen who often ignore a shirt on frigid days.”

“So much for sensitivities. I would like to hear the old savage speak,” says the woman.

Great Stone Face feels like a boy again in Europe when his master would display him before royalty. In those days young Caucus-Meteor used to imagine that one of the women would adopt him; now he has the same feeling, an ache to see his mother so profound he would accept a pretend mother.

The intendant says a few words in his crude Algonkian, and Great Stone Face launches into a long speech concerning ancient religious practices revolving around the great turtle and its twin daughters that he knows the intendant with his limited vocabulary will not understand. However, as Great Stone Face knew he would, the intendant translates his speech to suit his own purposes.

“The old savage praises the countess's beauty and poise. He says all Canada is at her feet.”

“What else—he spoke at length?” asks the countess.

“Modesty prevents me, but if you must know he praised our benevolence here at the palace. He says without us he would freeze and die in the Canadian wilderness.”

The encounter gives the intendant an idea, and the day after the countess has left, the intendant summons Great Stone Face once again to his quarters. He says in crude Algonkian, “You go with me … come there … gods across the great waters.” Even Caucus-Meteor, that linguist who resides in the ink of the tattoos of Great Stone Face, can make no meaning from these words. It takes a while, but the intendant finally makes himself understood. He wants Great Stone Face to accompany him when he entertains dignitaries from Europe. Great Stone Face nods in compliance.

Throughout the summer Great Stone Face is put forth in front of visitors for their entertainment. His aged tattooed face, his stick garb, his stoic unchanging expression are admired and commented upon. Often he's likened to a Greek. Great Stone Face becomes an emblem of the New World savage, so much the better that he is old and therefore no threat. The intendant comes to enjoy having him around and when they are alone he often talks to Great Stone Face in French.

“My grief is that I have no confidant here in Canada, except for my mistress, and regarding matters of state and commerce one can only go so far in intimacy with a woman,” he says, “but you, Great Stone Face, because you don't understand a word I say, you make the perfect confidant. In your presence I can pour out my thoughts and feelings without fear of reprisal, scorn, or whispers behind my back.

“My tragedy, dear savage, is gambling. It's not just the money I win or lose in games, it's that gambling is in my soul. I truly believe that at my death, Jesus and I will wager where I will spend eternity. I gamble on everything. I gambled on you, for I was advised not to hire a savage fire tender; I was told by the Canadians that you would be indolent, indifferent, rash, that you would fly away like the crow for no good reason. I won that bet, for you have been exemplary in your service to me, especially when one considers the piddling that I pay you. I have your stupidity to thank—I thank you …”

At “merci,” Great Stone Faces bows, as if in recognition of this lone word, and the intendant laughs aloud, then breaks into a small flood of joyful tears.

“You don't know, Great Stone Face, what a relief it is to have you with me. It is secret satisfaction, like breaking wind in a crowded room.” He laughs again; more tears come to his eyes. “My biggest gamble is against my king and his ministers. I'm stealing from the royal treasury not to enrich myself, but for the pleasures of the test, the unbearable tension, the knowledge that in the end I must lose. It's as if at a table a gamesman continually doubles his bet. No matter how much he makes with each throw, eventually he must by the odds lose everything. I wonder who will catch me first, the king or Canada. It might be neither, for the king is under the sway of Madame Pompadour. You met one of her ladies, that dreadful countess. Perhaps I will cut off my French wife's head, as the English king did, divorce the pope, and marry Madame Pompadour herself. Now there's a gamble.

“At the moment I'm being protected by the English. They know that without a French Canada necessitating British troops, their colonies would rebel. But it's a delicate balance. If we French become too strong, connecting Quebec with Louisiana through the west, we will surround the English colonies. Thus it's in the interest of the English to allow just enough Canadian strength to threaten the colonies, but not to conquer. As for France, well, only Protestants could be persuaded to settle in this cold climate, and, by the grace of holy mother church, Protestants are not allowed; thus France can never match England man for man in the new world. Praise the Lord for small favors. In this endeavor, which serves both Old England and Old France, I am the perfect agent.”

Great Stone Face wants to tell the intendant that there is nothing like hearing oneself talk to know what one is thinking, but he remains, as he must, impassive in expression.

Through the summer the intendant entertains lavishly, while his savage is admired by visitors from across the seas. During these times Great Stone Face eavesdrops on scores of conversations. It becomes clear to him that St. Blein was right in his assessment. The intendant is robbing Canada blind (blind is something he knows something about). What St. Blein doesn't know is that the intendant is also stealing from his own king in France. He buys stores under the king's auspices at low prices from French cronies, and then he informs the colonial minister that it would be to the crown's advantage to buy stores from Canadians. He then sells the stores he has already bought with the king's money back to the king for high prices paid for, again by the king, and shares the profits with Quebec merchants, among them St. Blein's father. Then instead of distributing the stores to the natives and the army, he sells them again to merchants, who ship them back to France for more profits. This is only one of his schemes. Such a man, if he were selfish and haughty, would be despised, but the intendant is generous, without malice, and evenhanded in his treatment of all. Quebec society is small, with nearly everyone related by blood or enterprise, and if Quebec society understands one thing it is that they are better off with the intendant than without him, so they overlook his corruption; indeed they share in it. Great Stone Face recognizes in the intendant's generosity a figment of his own largess as Caucus-Meteor. He admires the intendant very much, but thinks that his criminality must weigh heavily upon him, for he drinks huge amounts of brandy and wine; he gorges himself with food; he gives himself over to sexual excess, and yet cannot find satisfaction.

As the weeks go by Great Stone Face's interest in the intrigues of Conissadawaga gradually dissipates, for his role in the intendant's household has changed him, and therefore he loses kingly ambitions. The intendant has inadvertently stripped Great Stone Face of his pretensions to royalty. Great Stone Face realizes that he has become a slave again in action if not in fact. Like any slave, Great Stone Face grows anxious when his master is upset or out of control. He calms when his master fawns over him. This happiness in submission cannot last, thinks Great Stone Face; I'd best enjoy it while I can. He tells Norman, “The intendant has reduced my worth—I am grateful. Norman, I release you from your obligations as informant. Live your life as you wish. Visit me as a distant relative and friend, not as a subject.”

It's almost the end of the summer when Great Stone Face learns enough from various sources to divine one of the intendant's more exotic schemes. Bigot is a civil magistrate, his misdeeds revolving around paper and profit. He is no soldier, and violence upsets him. Still, he must do what he must do. The intendant has heard the echoes of St. Blein's seditious talk. The young ensign is his only real threat in Canada. The intendant worries less about a rebellion in New France than he does about word of his crimes reaching Old France, for some well-placed information in the hands of his enemies in Paris and Versailles could lead to his demise. St. Blein has been assigned to lead another raid along the New England frontier. The intendant's man will be among the soldiers. During the heat of battle, the intendant's man will shoot St. Blein.

Great Stone Face knows it's imprudent for a savage to involve himself in the intrigues of white people, but he feels duty-bound to aid his former commander. He cannot tell him who the assassin is, but at least he can warn him that one exists. One Sunday he borrows Norman's canoe and paddles two hours to the campsite of the raiders. He'd forgotten how much he hates canoe paddling. He thinks: I wish I were with two or three strong paddlers, so I could cheat.

At the campground are the usual collection of mercenaries recruited by the French—the Algonkians from Odanak, who fight to avenge the loss of their lands; the Iroquois from Kahnawake, who fight for profit and out of habit; the Huron from Wendake, who fight out of loyalty to the French; and a few unaffiliated réfugiés who have been brought into the regular French army and who fight because they can do nothing else.

Great Stone Face stops a Huron fellow, and says, “I am looking for your commander, Ensign St. Blein.”

“He has gone to Quebec. He will be back just before the sun goes down.”

“I will wait for him,” says Great Stone Face, and he builds a private fire out of sight and earshot of the men. He will spend these next few hours eating this fire. He's been in Quebec a long time, and it's good to be in the woods again with trees, rocks, birds, and grand design.

Great Stone Face has been by the fire an hour when he hears a familiar voice behind him, calling softly, almost sweetly, “Caucus-Meteor.” The sound of his true name sends a shiver down his spine. How to thank the man.

Great Stone Face turns slowly, and finds himself looking at a handsome, powerfully built native wearing a French soldier's uniform.

“In my father's time to speak the name of the dead was to risk execution,” says Great Stone Face. “My father himself killed a man who spoke the name of his deceased father.”

“But Caucus-Meteor is not dead, and anyway these ancient beliefs mean nothing to me.”

“Wolf Eyes, you left your village barely a boy, now you are a man. How did you recognize me?” says Great Stone Face.

The former réfugié child of Conissadawaga pauses before he speaks. He's gained perhaps fifty pounds of muscle, and grown another two or three inches in height. Great Stone Face guesses that he would easily defeat his father in a wrestling match today. He wears his hair short and without feathers or headband, like a soldier; no paint or adornment of any kind marks him as a native. Except for his darker complexion, he looks more French than the Frenchmen from Old France, and like those he emulates his manner is superior and aloof. Though his family band has left the village Wolf Eyes will ask not a word about them.

Great Stone Face marvels that a man could be so without curiosity. I admire Wolf Eyes very much, he thinks.

“Just as you recognized me—by your voice,” Wolf Eyes says. “A man can change his apparel, as I myself have done; he can change his face, as you apparently have; he can change, even, the appearance of his gender, if he but have the will; but only sickness will change his voice. Are you sick, Caucus-Meteor?”

“Sick at heart on occasion, but apparently such illness does not disguise the voice.”

“And a false face is only a mask, as a Mohawk might make.”

“How did you find me?”

“It's all around the camp that an old native with tattoos is waiting for Ensign St. Blein. I knew it could only be Caucus-Meteor, and then it was an easy matter to smell the air for a small fire.”

At that moment Great Stone Face hears in his mind the screech of an owl as the mouse hears it. “Wolf Eyes, how could you recognize my voice when you did not hear me speak?”

“You did not have to speak… here.”

“You've been to the palace. That was where you overheard me, but you did not reveal yourself to me, nor did you betray me.”

“That's correct, old king. I heard you ordering one of the cooks to release a helper to gather wood for you. The intendant told me about his fire tender, how he was handsome in an ancient way, but very stupid for he could not speak French. I know that Caucus-Meteor speaks better French than most Frenchmen. As the palace fire tender you must hear about every intrigue in Canada.”