Saints (6 page)

You might have thought that what Robert went through would have taught him compassion. And he learned it, I suppose, after his fashion. But it was a fastidious sort of charity, a selective pity. He could grieve for strangers, but never quite forgave his family for their inconvenient insistence on not behaving as he thought they should. Nothing was ever as it ought to be. It would be his life’s work, he realized, just beginning to set the world to rights. But he would not fight it through tonight. Let Dinah do as she likes and be damned. Soon enough—how well Robert could foresee it—she’d run into trouble there, and want his help or his comfort. And he knew with satisfaction that then he would have his revenge for her disregard of him—he
would
comfort and help her, you see, and then they would know that he was
right
, they should have listened to
him
.

In his dreams again and again the overseer raised his whip, but the strap did not fall on Robert’s back. It fell on Dinah, and the blows seemed heavy enough to cut her in two.

It was the birth of the baby that took the last of the savings. The midwife had to be paid in advance. They had to buy a blanket to line the crate they would use as a cradle. And when the midwife, after a seven-hour labor, insisted that they call a doctor, the doctor took all the money that was left, and muttered even so that no man knew poverty but the man who made his living from the poor.

Charlie was sure, as he watched the events through his childish eyes, that they were being persecuted by fate. Actually, however, they were lucky. The doctor was so disgusted by the squalor of the neighborhood and his low fee that he didn’t actually touch Anna, which doubtless saved her life—if he had examined her he would have given her an infection that her body had no strength to resist.

In fact, Providence, after so long a quarrel with the family, was downright kind to them now, for the baby died. That meant no one to nurse. No one to weary them with nightlong wakings. Mother could go back to work as soon as she healed. Charlie admitted no doubt that she would heal. We will let her rest, Charlie assured himself, and she will get better.

Charlie watched her all day, for of course Robert and Dinah couldn’t afford to stay away from work. He watched as she tossed back and forth on the bed, usually unconscious, sometimes delirious. He could hardly tell when she was in her right mind and when she was not. She might call him over and talk to him clearly about what she would do as soon as she was well, and then end the conversation by calling him John and saying strange things that Charlie didn’t understand. She would talk sometimes about the baby, how beautiful she was, her pretty black curls, her turned-up nose, though the infant had died within hours of birth, and Anna had never seen her.

It made him afraid. For the first day he tried to read and memorize passages to please her, as if performing that daily ritual in exactly the right way would restore her. Surely if he memorized and recited she would remember her proper role and catechize him on what he had just read. But no passage from
Wealth of Nations
would rouse her, and when he quoted the Queen Mab speech from
Romeo and Juliet
, she wept and wept and would not be comforted, calling out again and again for her little girl. Charlie did not know that one of the children born and died before his own life began had been called Mab. He only knew that he had recited and caused his mother to grieve; he blamed himself, and it made him try all the harder to bring her to herself. He went back and forth to the well to bring cool water and bathe her fevered face and arms. He kept silent for hours once, and another time kept up a constant stream of talk. When he was silent she grew afraid and began to cry out; when he talked she seemed to become confused, and tossed and turned until he thought she would throw herself from the bed in her writhing.

By the time Robert brought Mr. Whitesides, Charlie was so filled with guilt for his mother’s suffering that he was ready to do anything that might help. He did not notice that Robert approached the subject cautiously; it did not occur to him that Robert was afraid he would say no. For, inadvertently, Robert began the conversation in such a way that Charlie could not refuse.

“Charlie, since Mother’s been so sick she’s had no wages, and with her wages stopped we’ll soon be out on the streets to starve unless we can do something to take up the slack.”

Charlie, obsessed as he was with his mother’s condition, immediately imagined her, delirious and raving and burning up with fever, forced to sit in the road and beg.

“There’s a man, Charlie, who’s willing to take you for an apprentice. He’ll feed and shelter you, and train you for a trade.”

“Will I have wages, then?” Charlie asked.

Robert shook his head. “You’re too young for wages, Charlie, only eight years old; you wouldn’t earn enough to pay for what you eat. But if you go with Mr. Whitesides, you’ll at least stop eating up part of our little money here. That’ll be a help.”

And, miserably, Charlie agreed. The best thing he could do would be to leave, to stop harming his mother, to stop costing them money. Robert only confirmed what he had already feared: that he caused more harm than good in the family. “I’ll go,” Charlie said.

Then Robert went downstairs and brought Whitesides up with him. The man was tall and thin and wore a coal-black suit that didn’t fit him and a top hat that looked to be the perfect home for lice. His hair was also black, and his skin was dark and stained.

Whitesides was all business. He smiled and shook Charlie’s hand briskly, then said to Robert, “All right, I need the mother’s permission, the boy can’t do it.”

“She’s asleep,” Charlie said.

Whitesides smiled broadly. “And I’d never think of interrupting her slumber, lad, except that it’s a Sunday, and it costs me money to be standing about on a Sunday.”

Robert nodded and went to the bed where Anna lay. He touched her gently, then shook her until her eyes opened. Charlie knew immediately that she did not know what she was about—she had one of the looks of madness on her. But only he would know that. Dinah and Robert hadn’t been around her enough since the birth to know.

“Mother?”

“Hmmm?”

“This is Mr. Whitesides, Mother.”

She giggled. “Such a bright name for so dark a man.”

“Mother, Mr. Whitesides is in the chimney-cleaning business.”

“A sweep?”

Whitesides raised his hands in genial protest. “Oh, no, ma’am, a director of sweeps, a superintendent of sweeps, but never a sweep myself. I’m much too big for the chimneys anymore.” So it was that Charlie first learned what trade Robert had chosen for him for the rest of his life.

Anna smiled bashfully and touched her hair. “Robert, how can you bring me company to see me in bed? I must look like a monster from the deep.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” said Whitesides. “Charming to the core. Boy here says you have a sweep to give me.”

Robert interrupted. “Charlie, Mother. He’s still small. Mr. Whitesides is willing to take him on as an apprentice.”

“My Charlie, a sweep?”

“It’s not a bad life,” Whitesides said, and as he talked his hands came alive and inscribed spiderwebs in the air. “The boys earns an honest living during the working days, and in the schoolish time of year I sends ’em to the finest of teachers that moderate money can afford so they grows up to be what any mother could be proud of. And it’s a jolly time for the boys, they gets to see Manchester like no other boys ever does.” Whitesides reached over and pulled on Charlie’s cheek. “You like a jolly time with the boys, don’t you?” The hand was a claw, and Charlie’s cheek hurt.

Anna tried to make sense of what was going on. “My Charlie’s a reader.”

“I love a good book myself,” said Whitesides.

“And the best of it is,” Robert said, “Mr. Whitesides doesn’t ask an apprentice fee.”

“Oh, I never needs it. The boys is useful to me from the start. I have a special training method that has them up the chimney the first day. They always catches on quick, especially boys what comes from fine homes like yours.”

Anna’s face looked troubled. She didn’t understand what was expected of her. Of course, Robert and Mr. Whitesides didn’t know how to interpret her face as Charlie did. “Never mind, boy,” said Whitesides. “She doesn’t want to.”

Charlie came closer to his mother. “Let me tell her.” He reached out and touched her face, and she instantly turned to his hand. “Mother, we’re down to our last nothing, and Robert’s found a way for me to earn my keep. Is it all right?”

“Not in the factory, son. I’ll have no son of mine working in a factory.”

Charlie felt Robert stiffen—now he knew she was in her madness. But it made no difference, really. Charlie was sure that even if she were quite herself she would consent to it. Why should she not? Charlie was useless, worse than useless around home; better if he at last earned his own way. “It’s no factory, Mother. He says I can read with him.”

“Oh, do, yes, do!” she said. “And he’ll teach you geometry and Latin, too, and raise you up to be as wise as you ought to be!” Clearly she now took Whitesides to be a teacher. Well, I’m not lying, Charlie told himself. He’ll teach me a trade, and that makes him a teacher, even if it isn’t in a school. “You’ll take care of my little boy, won’t you?”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

It was then that Dinah came in. She had gone to the cathedral to pray for their mother—somehow it was always assumed that religious duties properly belonged to the women of the family. She saw Whitesides and seemed immediately to know what was going on. Charlie thought it was part of Dinah’s seemingly infinite cleverness; in fact, she and Robert had discussed the idea of putting Charlie out as apprentice before.

“We’re family,” Dinah said. “We stay together.”

Robert whirled on her, his face bright with anger, yet his voice a whisper. “Stay together, is it? Do they put us all out on the street together with no roof at all over our heads? Do we all together watch Mother die? What’s together? Do you think we’ll care about together in the cemetery?”

“I’ll do it,” Charlie said. “I’m glad to.”

Robert’s outburst had done nothing to bend Dinah’s determination, but Charlie’s willingness changed everything for her. “Charlie,” she said, “do you
want
to be a sweep?”

Charlie hardly knew what it was that sweeps did. He was only eight, and like any child of the time he admired the small boys dressed in cut-up men’s clothes who seemed completely free on the streets, romping and cursing and crying out for business. He thought it wonderfully romantic to be such a boy, unwanted by his family but still happy with his lot. “Better than anything else,” he answered her.

It was then that Whitesides produced the papers and held them out for Anna to sign. Anna took the pen willingly enough. Of course, Dinah had to block things one more time—it was her way. “What do the papers
say
?” she asked.

Whitesides looked annoyed. Robert sighed in impatience. “Dinah, they’re apprenticeship papers. They say what all papers say.”

“There’s words,” Dinah said, “and the words will bind us and we ought to know what they say.”

Whitesides laughed at that. “Truth to tell, little girl, I had a lawyer do it all up in fine language, and I don’t know a bit of what it means myself.” And he held out the papers for her to read them.

Dinah didn’t understand the legal language and might have caused more fuss about it, except that she noticed that Anna did not sign herself as Anna Kirkham. She signed herself Anna Banks. To Dinah, that was proof that the papers didn’t mean anything after all, and so it didn’t matter what they said. Robert also noticed it, but took it only as a sign that his father was gone for good, as if his mother had divorced him. Charlie did not see it; he was too occupied with wondering what it would be like to stand on the top of a chimney or get as dirty as he pleased, without having to wash. And as for Whitesides, he saw her sign but knew as little as if he hadn’t—for he couldn’t read a word to save his life. That was one reason why he already hated Charlie more than any other boy he’d ever had, and loved him more, too, in his dark way: the boy knew how to read, and that made him powerful and strange and wise. So clever, aren’t you, Whitesides said silently, you children reading, you woman signing. But these papers give me the boy, he’s mine and never yours again, and he’ll soon find out how much of good his books’ll do him when he’s up to his arse in ashes.

As Charlie left the house, he heard his mother call to him. “In all your education, son,” she said, “don’t forget the Lord of heaven.”

“This is Raymond,” said Whitesides. “He’s my best boy.”

Raymond, a cocky twelve-year-old, took a deep bow. His hair was long and shaggy, his face stained, but his smile was completely winning. Charlie smiled back.

“
Was
my best boy,” Whitesides amended. “For
you
shall be my best boy now, Charlie.”

Charlie was confused but pleased at the thought of it. “I’ll try to be, Mr. Whitesides,” he said.

“You may call me
master
,” Whitesides said. “Raymond here, he’s too fat.” He took a pinch at Raymond’s waistline. There wasn’t anything loose enough to grab, but Whitesides grabbed it anyway. Raymond bent slightly with the pain of the claw pulling at his skin, but the smile never left his face. “Raymond can’t get up the chimney so good anymore. So he’s my teacher. He teaches boys. And Charlie, here, he’s a smart lad, Raymond. He can
read
.”

“Oh, he’ll learn fast, he will, Master,” Raymond said. Smiling.

“All my boys learns fast, Charlie. Or the boys suffers.”

It was the first open statement of Whitesides’s teaching method. The second came a moment later. Whitesides bent and smiled in Charlie’s face. “You aren’t smiling, boy. My boys is happy. My boys smiles.” And he cheerfully struck Charlie across the head, knocking him to the floor.

“Smile,” Whitesides said, grinning. It was impossible. Charlie had rarely been hit in his life—even at his most depressed and angry, John Kirkham had been gentle with his children, and Anna scarcely less so. “Charlie, you
must
smile or I’ll think you aren’t happy with me.” And Whitesides kicked him in the hip. Charlie screamed with the pain.

Raymond, still smiling, tugged at Whitesides’s coat. “If you break his bones, Master, he can’t climb.”

“He must smile,” Whitesides said. “I won’t have any sadness near me. It’s a sad world, Charlie, and it’s our duty given us by God to smile and bring gladness to every heart.”

Charlie, tears running down his cheeks, holding his painful hip, smiled.

“Ah, Charlie, that’s no smile. That’s no smile.” Whitesides lifted his foot and used it to shove Charlie flat on the floor. Then he pressed down, putting more and more weight on Charlie’s stomach. Charlie felt the air go out of his lungs as his stomach caved easily to the pressure. The pain became intense. He whimpered high in his throat.

“Careful, Master,” said Raymond, smiling.

“A real smile, Charlie,” said Whitesides.

And Charlie put a ghastly grimace of pain on his face, desperately trying to make it a smile so he could breathe again, so the terrible pain in his stomach would go away. He wished, desperately, to be home. He would sit beside his mother and repeat the words of Mercutio about Queen Mab. “She it is who presses girls and teaches them to bear, making them women of good carriage.” Was that how it went? And what next? “There is in every society or neighborhood an ordinary or average rate both of wages and profit.” No, that was Adam Smith, not Shakespeare. Sorry, Mother. I’ll get it right next time.