Arriving at the camp at night, I couldn't make much out and was quickly hustled into a good sized canvas tent. The mother hung a partition for me of a sheet, apologizing that the sheet was diaphanous, coming from her own bed, was thin, but could be spared for the simple fact that it didn't offer much warmth to the two of them anyways--they slept in the same bed.
In the morning, I awoke on my thin cot with a rough wool blanket held for partition by a number of clothes pins. Getting up slowly, I ran my hand over the scratchy wool, which must have come form their bed, for when I pulled it aside they were no where about.
It all sounds so strict and rigid when you say it like that...I would never write in such a way. But I wouldn't write at all. It just seems like he must have gotten up and gone about his day. And if now he is in such a state of reflection it can have nothing to do with the morning at which he is doing all this writing for the sake of. Or perhaps it's that precisely. That the writing isn't for the sake of morning at all, but for the sake of some other time. Which is silly of course since he won't write any of it anyway but only sit there and think on it as if writing it on his memory was any more helpful. He's a sweet one, but not bright.
I met the mother coming back with water and a bowl of steamy food. It was just before dawn and the camp was up and piping out steam and smoke, full of the motion of its great many people.
-It's a city you have here, I told her with an innocent smile.
-You flatter us. It's hardly that, but a troop, a small party.
I asked her of what use I could be to them seeing as how hospitable they'd been to me, bug-covered cold in that hole of the tree when she found me. She told me to forget it and not despair, they were more than happy to help travelers along. If he was interested in saying on, of course, she was sure use could be made of him. Me.
I told her I tinkered. That being the profession I'd of late most observed and feeling at a loss for any of my own old skills. I'd not seen what the arm could do outside of tinkering. Or I suppose, I hadn't seen what the arm--the real one--was capable of doing without its mate.
-The kids are gathering water, but my daughter would like to see you. She fancies you're a new doll for her. Which, however, isn't enough work to earn your keep here, tho it would take your time.
-She's a sweet one, or something inane like that I must have said. Her face turned limpish as if she'd forgotten what I'd said before I'd said it. I'd never been one for wit or anything like conversation.
Or writing, if you ask me. Sailor wouldn't know the first time. Not like Map, no. With that big book of his. Map'd show him a thing or two about versifying. These journal accounts will be the death of us yet. A ledger of promises made throughout the day toward the future. Debt debt debt. And not a feather or farthing further.
I took up the work mending wagons she put me too. There were three other men working at it with me. Showing me the ropes as it were. And I them the things that the arm--the facsimile--could do. They appreciated its various clamps and levelers with proved useful to hold and pin and stay the various works of the machines. The machine and the machine work better together than our raw thumbs. Thumb.
Maggie was the mother's name she told me. Margaret, but I was to call her Maggie from there out post the proper introduction. She'd put me up for the time, but eventually I'd scrap together a tent of my own since that was fitting. She wasn't for marrying, told me that straight out. I tell you straight out, I'm not for marrying. Delial doesn't need a father. Hasn't ever had one. Doesn't care to, doesn't need one. The camp's fine for her and I. Don't mean to put too fine a point on it, but I don't want you getting the wrong notion. It isn't my way. If it's yours, there are plenty of girls in the camp that would think the world of marrying a nice young soldier come to join the party. You'd have Arthur's blessing or Map's I'm sure. And now that that's out, I'll tell you you're a good man. I knew from first I saw you you were a good man and well worth bringing to the camp. You'll get on well here I have no doubt. If nothing else, we can get you to a shore safely and you can get home. Get you adjusted to your new way of life. Or if you want to keep on, of course.
The work she laid out for me plainly, was simple enough and constant. They were getting by and always had. Everyone did their bit and they rolled on. At towns they'd stop, those who peddled would peddled, those who mended mended. Each their part and on again. It was a day to day. Never much more or less. I was more than happy to join up for consistent food and dry warm place to lie down. She agreed that it was worth it for me. You're out of place just now. It's a strange country today more than yesterday. You're a good man and we'll get you on your way, just stand by and we'll get you where you're going.
My first day in the party we were camped in a wooded grove. I'd hiked in from out in the rolling grass hills of the south. I can't remember now, but I'd been on the road some days since leaving the town. Which too had been some days of travel away from the Dead Letter Office. I couldn't say where on a map I was. The tinkerer had told me they were generally a town at the foothills of Pyrenees. And seeing the Pyrenees at my back as I made my way out again in the world, I must have been headed east or northeast. Unless of course I was in the northern Pyrenees in which case I suppose it could have been south. All for sure I know is that I wasn't headed west. Which after all is something. But not knowing where I'm intended to be headed, it is all fairly moot.
Maggie is a kind woman, very gentle in her ways, tho worldwise. As with the speech about marriage. She was, I granted, very set in her ways, solid in a way. I couldn't help but think tho, that things so settled seeming with her, what she would do with Delial grew up? That's a change I know tends not to be easy for anyone, a girl going woman. One might say all the world's problems have always come from that very instance. Or equally that all the world is set up to see that a boy becoming man goes smoothly as possible, which it never does. He loses an arm, or descends to hell and something comes back up, he makes a deal he can't know the whole of, a rash boon he can't grant. Even with all the stories we tell, those things keep happening. In sum all the transitions in all the world must make all of these mistakes over and again, a world of mistakes all warned against in advance but committed all the same. And so the flip, that of protecting women in their transition from girl becomes all the more crucial, because the sun of that isn't anymore the mistakes of man, but the weakness of women, in sum, which is equal of that of man, but inflected differently. Which is all to say, it's a messy place and I can't see how Maggie can image she'll stay so calm and stable amidst that sea. I certainly wouldn't, de-armed and all.
