Ephraim considered the question. He wanted to know if the boys had ever
been able to fund or reduce the national debt. Seventy-four million,
five hundred and fifty-five thousand, six hundred and forty-one
dollars was a lot of money. He wanted to know if Mr. Henry had been
successful in his advocation of the ten amendments to the Constitution,
here-in-after to be known as the Bill Of Rights, and how many states
had ratified them. He wanted to know the tax situation and how the
public had reacted to the proposed imposition of a twenty-five cent a
gallon excise tax on whiskey.
"What," he asked Gertie, "would you say was the most important thing
that happened this past year?"
Gertie considered the question. "Well, Rita Hayworth had a baby and
Clark Gable got married."
"I mean politically."
"Oh. Mayor O'Dwyer got married."
Gertie had been very kind. Gertie was very lovely. Ephraim meant to
see more of her. With Martha fluttering around in heaven exchanging
receipts for chow chow and watermelon preserves, there was no reason
why he shouldn't. But as with modern wonders, he'd had all of Gertie he
could take for one night. He wanted to get out into the city and find
out just what had happened during the past one hundred and sixty-one
years.
Gertie was sorry to see him go. "But ya will be back, won't you,
Ephraim?"
He sealed the promise with a kiss. "Tomorrow night. And a good many
nights after that." He made hay on what he had seen the sun shine.
"You're very lovely, my dear."
She slipped a bill into the pocket of his coat. "For the Ferry-fare
back to Joisey." There were lighted candles in her eyes. "Until
tomorrow night, Ephraim."
* * * * *
The streets were even more terrifying than they had been in the
daytime. Ephraim walked east on 82nd Street, south on Central Park
West, then east on Central Park South. He'd had it in mind to locate
the Pig and Whistle. Realizing the futility of such an attempt he
stopped in at the next place he came to exuding a familiar aroma and
laying the dollar Gertie had slipped into his pocket on the bar, he
ordered, "Rum."
The first thing he had to do was find gainful employment. As a
Harvard graduate, lawyer, and former Congressman, it shouldn't prove
too difficult. He might, in time, even run for office again. A
congressman's six dollars per diem wasn't to be held lightly.
A friendly, white-jacketed, Mine Host set his drink in front of him and
picked up the bill. "I thank you, sir."
About to engage him in conversation concerning the state of the nation,
Ephraim looked from Mine Host to the drink, then back at Mine Host
again. "E-yah. I should think you would thank me. I'll have my change
if you please. Also a man-sized drink."
No longer so friendly, Mine Host leaned across the wood. "That's an
ounce and a half. What change? Where did you come from Reuben? What did
you expect to pay?"
"The usual price. A few pennies a mug," Ephraim said. "The war is over.
Remember? And with the best imported island rum selling wholesale at
twenty cents a gallon--"
Mine Host picked up the shot glass and returned the bill to the bar.
"You win. You've had enough, pal. What do you want to do, cost me my
license? Go ahead. Like a good fellow. Scram."
He emphasized the advice by putting the palm of his hand in Ephraim's
face, pushing him toward the door. It was a mistake. Reaching across
the bar, Ephraim snaked Mine Host out from behind it and was starting
to shake some civility into the publican when he felt a heavy hand on
his shoulder.
"Let's let it go at that, chum."
"Drunk and disorderly, eh?" a second voice added.
The newcomers were big men, men who carried themselves with the
unmistakable air of authority. He attempted to explain and one of them
held his arms while the other man searched him and found the Spanish
pistol.
"Oh. Carrying a heater, eh? That happens to be against the law, chum."
"Ha," Ephraim laughed at him. "Also ho." He quoted from memory Article
II of the amendments Mr. Henry had read him in the Pig and Whistle:
"'A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free
state the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be
infringed'."
"Now he's a militia," the plain-clothes man said.
"He's a nut," his partner added.
"Get him out of here," Mine Host said.
* * * * *
Ephraim sat on the bunk in his cell, deflated. This was a fine
resurrection for a member of the First Congress.
"Cheer up," a voice from the upper bunk consoled. "The worst they can
do is burn you." He offered Ephraim a paper spill of tobacco. "The name
is Silovitz."
Ephraim asked him why he was in gaol.
"Alimony," the other man sighed. "That is the non-payment thereof."
The word was new to Ephraim. He asked Silovitz to explain. "But that's
illegal, archaic. You can't be jailed for debt."
His cell mate lighted a cigarette. "No. Of course not. Right now I'm
sitting in the Stork Club buying Linda Darnell a drink." He studied
Ephraim's face. "Say, I've been wondering who you look like. I make
you now. You look like the statue of Nathan Hale the D.A.R. erected in
Central Park."
"It's a family resemblance," Ephraim said. "Nat was a second cousin.
They hung him in '76, the same year I went into the Army."
Silovitz nodded approval. "That's a good yarn. Stick to it. The wife of
the judge you'll probably draw is an ardent D.A.R. But if I were you
I'd move my war record up a bit and remove a few more cousins between
myself and Nathan."
He smoked in silence a minute. "Boy. It must have been nice to live
back in those days. A good meal for a dime. Whiskey, five cents a
drink. No sales or income or surtax. No corporate or excise profits
tax. No unions, no John L., no check-off. No tax on diapers and
coffins. No closed shops. No subsidies. No paying farmers for cotton
they didn't plant or for the too many potatoes they did. No forty-two
billion dollar budget."
"I beg your pardon?" Ephraim said.
"Ya heard me." Swept by a nostalgia for something he'd never known,
Silovitz continued. "No two hundred and sixty-five billion national
debt. No trying to spend ourselves out of the poor house. No hunting or
fishing or driving or occupational license. No supporting three-fourths
of Europe and Asia. No atom bomb. No Molotov. No Joe Stalin. No
alimony. No Frankie Sinatra. No video. No be-bop."
His eyes shone. "No New Dealers, Fair Dealers, Democrats, Jeffersonian
Democrats, Republicans, State's Righters, Communists, Socialists,
Socialist-Labor, Farmer-Labor, American-Labor, Liberals, Progressives
and Prohibitionists and W.C.T.U.ers. Congress united and fighting to
make this a nation." He quoted the elderly gentleman from Pennsylvania.
"'We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang
separately.' Ah. Those were the days."
Ephraim cracked his knuckles. It was a pretty picture but, according
to his recollection, not exactly correct. The boys had hung together
pretty well during the first few weeks after the signing of the
Declaration Of Independence. But from there on in it had been a dog
fight. No two delegates had been able to agree on even the basic
articles of confederation. The Constitution itself was a patch work
affair and compromise drafted originally as a preamble and seven
Articles by delegates from twelve of the thirteen states at the May
'87 convention in Philadelphia. And as for the boys hanging together,
the first Congress had convened on March 4th and it had been April 6th
before a quorum had been present.
Silovitz sighed. "Still, it's the little things that get ya. If only
Bessie hadn't insisted on listening to 'When A Girl Marries' when I
wanted to hear the B-Bar-B Riders. And if only I hadn't made that one
bad mistake."
"What was that?" Ephraim asked.
Silovitz told him. "I snuck up to the Catskills to hide out on the
court order. And what happens? A game warden picks me up because I
forgot to buy a two dollar fishing license!"
* * * * *
A free man again, Ephraim stood on the walk in front of the 52nd
Street Station diverting outraged pedestrians into two rushing streams
as he considered his situation. It hadn't been much of a trial. The
arresting officers admitted the pistol was foul with rust and probably
hadn't been fired since O'Sullivan was a gleam in his great-great
grandfather's eyes.
"Ya name is Hale. An' ya a veteran, uh?" the judge had asked.
"Yes," Ephraim admitted, "I am." He'd followed Silovitz's advice.
"What's more, Nathan Hale was a relation of mine."