Two-Gun & Sun (29 page)

I looked up just as Vincent looked away.

I handed Doctor an envelope that contained his payment, along with a freshly printed copy of the first issue. It was only as I closed the door that I heard him say something about Uncle. Your uncle would be pleased, or proud. Something like that.

I climbed back into my coveralls and by late morning we were done cutting and folding the last copies, and still not a word between us.

He began cleaning up. I paused in the doorway, and finally spoke.

I won't be long, I said.

And then I headed straight out into the arsenic gloom of midday, canvas sacks slung like saddle bags across each shoulder, to deliver the newspapers.

I expected some hand-shaking with the townsfolk, another crowd of them outside my door requesting copies. But there was no one to greet me. I supposed a newssheet was no different to them than this first edition, but I was proud, and reviewed the headlines as I slipped the front page behind the framed glass, and then stepped down from the veranda.

Ch'ella mi creda highlight of La Fanciulla

Gunshot spoils opera night

Sun Yat-sen speaks of hope in Lousetown

Below it, a sub-headline:

Raid ends talk

and finally,

Coal heap chokes orchard

These front page stories continued onto the second page, filling it, along with an index listing the paper's contents.

Parker's was the largest order, but he had a sign on his door:
Back in 5 minutes
. So I dropped a bundle on his doormat and felt the load across my shoulders lighten immediately. I headed down Zero, walking briskly as I considered the third page of news items.

Wind storm brings blast of light

And next to it:

Future dreams crash with airship

These, along with several ads, filled page three. I'd written a small editorial to follow up that previous news item on strange fish:

Foul stream Runs through Black Mtn

and a larger one that trumpeted the new, full-sized newspaper, with plans for upcoming issues:

Bringing news on a regular basis

How regular remained to be seen. I hoped the next issue wouldn't take a month. We might have to run just six pages to make sure of that.

These editorials, along with more ads, left room for a small announcement on page four. I had thought long about this one, deciding in the end that this was business and was the right thing to do.

2-Gun backs Bullet

I was going to call him by his last name. That is proper newspaper style. But
Cohen
isn't a name that immediately conjured his visage, not to me.
Two-Gun
did, and its close proximity to
Bullet
amused me with its play on words. However, there wasn't room for six letters and a hyphen. That's when I struck on the idea of using the numeral 2. I was quite pleased with myself for my inventiveness, though Vincent merely nodded. I gathered he had seen many such headlines in his work in Shanghai.

Then there were all the smaller items that filled the remaining pages, such as the holes in the ground. Parker was always ruminating on them.

Black holes in the road a danger

and Morris had suggested hunting as an alternative to roast pig:

Hunting for game proposed in the wilds beyond Black Mountain

and then a small item:

Healing properties of leeches and tea

To fill a hole, once more I carried forward the subject of the front page story about the airship crash. This time it ran as a separate piece on the last page.

Women of the Saloon donate yards of linen — making bandages for the wounded

It was a first edition that would make a second hard to follow. Only eight pages but what news in them, more than I could have imagined a small town capable of producing. And again, so much more that I couldn't include: the
Lonesome
and its fresh food, the garden where the food came from, the press run by sunlight.

Meena's shop was closed, so I fed a slender bundle of six copies through the mail slot and returned to the street.

There were more ads and items on those back pages but the specifics left my mind quickly. Something was going on. There were few people on the street, but the faces of those I passed looked stricken, half laughter and half horror, which wasn't all that unusual in this town. But was there another strike?

I left a stack of papers behind the bar of
The Bombay Room
, as arranged. It was empty. Next, the opera tent. I left a bundle on the dressing table.

I dropped several copies through the mail slot of the bank's double doors.

We had fulfilled our part of the deal, the bank, at least, would be pleased. But with September over, now, what next? I came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. I had never thought beyond this deadline. The money from Morris had paid supplies and wages and reimbursed the bank, leaving but a few dollars. Had I simply earned the right to keep the business and borrow yet more money?

Up ahead I saw Meena, and I ran, calling to her.

Lila! she said, turning to greet me. Thank goodness you must help me.

What's going on? Where is everyone?

I don't know, she said, but I need your help.

I've got just a few more copies to deliver.

It can wait, she said. I'll explain.

She hooked my arm in hers and yanked me off Zero and down two rows of metal shacks that were the miners' quarters. Three shacks in, she took my canvas sacks and handed me the bucket.

Fill it. The cleanest water you can find. And hurry!

She ducked into the doorway. The very foul-looking sludge of a stream that I'd written about slid past the shacks. Just ahead was a tap coming out the back of either
The Saloon
or the shop next to it, the taxi garage. It would be the same grey water that flowed into my bathtub, but it would have to do. I filled the bucket and counted the doors back to the third shack.

Inside, dark as you would expect a tin shack to be. Against the far wall, that same girl from the mine who had fought with the women from
The Saloon
. She was on her back on a cot, that same gaping dress yanked up, a gruesome view of a sea creature opening up between her legs.

I felt the horror inch across my face as Meena watched me.

She isn't due for another three months, she said. I'm the closest we have to a midwife, here. Not much call for it. Put the bucket on the stove, over there. We need it hot.

What about Doctor? Can he help?

Her eyes smiled until I remembered.

Perhaps later, if any stitching is needed.

My scar twitched where he'd pulled the thread out. And then I recalled the dress he had helped to sew, and had then delivered, and how he made that curious comment about my uncle not liking the general attitude about Lousetowners: For obvious reasons.

He knew my uncle, I told her. Did you?

She didn't answer. Her slender hand and then her arm up to her elbow had disappeared inside the girl. I lost my footing for a moment.

The look on Meena's face said something was terribly wrong but she told the girl, Easy now, breathe, I'm just turning the baby around. Head down.

To me she said, I need you to go see Deirdre.

You mean Dee?

I need to borrow back a bottle of medicine. I got it from Mr. Bones—Doctor—and gave it to her. She'll know what you mean. Hurry.

You mean above
The Saloon
?

Oh, yes, the matinee is still in progress. Go the back way. No one will see you. Hurry, she repeated. See if she'll come back with you.

*

I ran across the alley and up the wooden backstairs and knocked at the door, winded, considering as I did that the town and neighbouring Lousetown were too small for a library or a school, yet managed to support a bank and three drinking establishments, one with a whorehouse.

When no one answered the door I grabbed the handle and pushed, sticking only my foot and head into the opening. My eyes were met with a room that pulsed with red wallpaper, lush, burgundy sofas, cream-coloured lampshades on crystal stands, a large carpet with roses on a black background. I was so busy staring I didn't see a girl approach.

Hello, she said.

It was the one whose shoes were too large, and her eyes were round and sad.

I explained why I was there.

Just a minute, she said. Have a seat.

Before you go, I said, If you don't mind me asking, are you happy here?

What do you mean?

I mean is this where you want to be, to stay?

Where else could I stay?

No, I said, never mind. Thank you.

The problem was me. I wasn't putting the question right. I sat on a large sofa, then considered how many liaisons might have occurred there. Swiftly I stood, and moved to a single chair next to a side table, with a vase filled with pale pink roses. Indeed the boudoir stench was everywhere. I sighed deeply. I hadn't come to terms with those feelings, after all.

Miss?

The girl had returned.

She'll see you.

And she indicated the second door on her left. I crossed the floor and entered a room as lush as the sitting room, only in copper tones not unlike the dress I never got to wear.

Dee was lying back against cushions on her bed, her legs akimbo beneath a gold satin quilt that climbed to her bare shoulders, sucking on a plum, juice dribbling onto her skin.

Hand me that cloth, she said.

Hello, I replied.

I didn't want to touch the folded cotton. It swam in a basin of water beside the bed and alluded to other purposes. She had been entertaining a client, and I had interrupted. And most disconcerting of all was another vase of pale pink blooms next to the bowl.

I pinched the edge of the cloth between two ragged fingernails and passed it to her. I'm here on an emergency, I said. Meena sent me.

Meena? She sat upright, cotton in one hand, satin in the other, barely covering her bosom.

She said she gave you a bottle of medicine, and she needs it now.

She looked at me quizzically.

The girl from the mine, she's giving birth.

Is she! The little tart. Well, I still need it, too. Did Meena tell you that?

I shook my head.

Then let me tell you because it was that deputy from the mine you warned me about. I wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for that—girl. But that was the deal to settle the strike.

I know, I said.

Yes and that filthy scum of a deputy was—well, in an unsatisfied state. He blamed Lousetowners for it. Said they had contaminated us and there was only one thing to do with fish.

She dropped the satin quilt to expose a breast, its nipple bruised the colour of blackberries where it had been pierced with a fish hook.

I felt my stomach rise, my womb throb.

He got his satisfaction, then, she said. I'd never seen a man so quickly satisfied as when he stuck that thing in me. I screamed, God, I screamed, and Suzie, she finally pulled him off me. But we couldn't pull out the hook. It's got those things.

Barbs, I said thickly.

She'd closed her robe, but I was still seeing it.

He's left town, I told her.

I know.

She then reached under the nightstand and brought out a long, silver bottle.

Here. Pour some out into that teacup over there. You can have the rest. Bring it over here, will you?

Encouraged by this sign of generosity, I added, Meena also thought you might come back with me.

Her grip tightened on the bottle and she called the girl a worse term than a sluice box. I had hoped she would show more grace, but it seemed she had grown coarser since we first met in the dress shop. It was the deputy's doing, though I had a role in creating that strike, in bringing about the confrontation with the girl. I worried she might even change her mind about sharing the medicine.

This, I said to her, taking the bottle by the neck, tugging it gently, this alone is generous of you, considering.

And I nodded toward her bruised nipple.

Yes, it is, she agreed, and let go.

I poured some of the cloudy liquid into the cup, pushed it towards her, and dropped the bottle into my pocket. I asked her then what I had been anxious to ask since I saw the pale blossoms.

Who, from Lousetown? And I pointed my chin at the vase.

Her eyes narrowed for a minute.

I heard there was a fuss about your printer, she said. I can't speak for the other girls, but he ain't one of mine.

I breathed out, not aware until then that I had been holding my breath.

I'm sorry about that, and I nodded again at her breast.

I'm stuck with it, I guess. But it's healing over. Some of the gents even ask for me because of it. I'm in demand, now.

Her pride in her new notoriety saddened me. Still, I left her boudoir satisfied that at least one man wasn't asking.

*

I crossed the alley and pushed through the door of the metal hut. Dead silence. And a peculiar smell of meat.

Hello, I called.

In the gloom I finally made out the form of Meena, in the corner, and I crossed the floor to her, silver bottle in my outstretched hand.

Here you are, I said.

She had tipped her chair back and, looking up at the metal ceiling, said, I knew your uncle, yes.

I had forgotten I'd even asked her.

Oh?

Before Marcel, she explained, letting the chair fall forward.

She looked at me until I understood.

The same place I live in, now, she said. Near the café.

I tried to control my face. For obvious reasons. That was what Mr. Bones had meant. To Uncle, Lousetown was Meena. No wonder his room above the press looked so empty. He didn't live there. I thought of the brass plate on the press. “B” for
Bluebell
.

He said to me once,
It isn't easy, loving someone from another world
. He was thinking of himself as much as me. He was married to his business because he couldn't bring a woman like Meena home, not to our family, not to Black Mountain. I fumbled for the right response. If Meena thought I was shocked, she was correct. I had always thought I was my uncle's niece and here was proof: We had both looked for love in Lousetown. Yet it hurt to know that he had not only looked for it but had found it, and I hadn't. And I wanted to ask her how she could love another man so quickly, a man who was younger, more handsome. Darker. Was that the reason? Would I be replaced as quickly? And I was also thinking, wasn't it greedy of her to have two when I had none.