The Folk of the Fringe by Card Orson Scott

Author:Card, Orson Scott [Card, Orson Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781429966535
Amazon: 142996653X
Goodreads: 9471644
Publisher: Orb Books
Published: 1989-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

“Soldiers of the United States! We could march on Philadelphia and—we could march—”

“March under arms and grind Philadelphia beneath our boots.”

“Soldiers of the United States! We could march under arms and boot Phila—”

“Grind Philadel—”

“Grind Philadelphia beneath our boots, and what then could—”

“What Congress then could—”

“What Congress then could deny our rightful claim upon the treasury of this blood which we created by—”

“Nation which we created—”

“I’ll start over, I’m just confused a little, Janie, let me start over.”

Old Parley had gone over George Washington’s speech to his troops so many times that Deaver could have recited it word perfect, just from hearing it while he worked on bypassing a relay to the heater fan. With his head buried deep in the truck’s engine, one leg holding him in place by hooking across the fender, the sound of Parley memorizing echoed loud. Sweat dripped off Deaver’s forehead into his eyes and stung him a little. Nasty work, but as long as the fan kept blowing they’d remember him.

Got it. Now all he had to do was climb out, start up the truck, and try it to see if the fan motor actually worked.

“I’ve got it now, Janie,” said Parley. “But are we now, for the sake of money, to deny the very principles of freedom for which we fought, and for which so many of our comrades fell? Help me here, Janie, just a word.”

“I.”

“I what?”

“I say.”

“Got it! I say thee, Nay!”

“I say that in America, soldiers are subject to the lawful government, even when that lawful government acts unjustly against them.”

“Don’t read me the whole speech!”

“I thought if you heard it once, Grandpa, you could—”

“You are my prompter, not my understudy!”

“I’m sorry, but we’ve been over it and—”

Deaver started the truck engine. It drowned out the sound of Parley Aal unfairly blaming Janie for his collapsing memory. The fan worked. Deaver turned off the motor.

“—suddenly starting up! I can’t work on these lines under these circumstances, I’m not a miracle worker, nobody could hold these long speeches in their heads with—”

It wasn’t Janie’s voice that answered him now—it was Marshall’s. “The motor’s off now, so go ahead now.”

Parley sounded more petulant. Weaker. “I say the words so often they don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“They don’t have to mean anything, you just have to say them.”

“It’s too long!”

“We’ve cut it down to the bare bones. Washington tells them they could seize Philadelphia and break Congress, but then all their fighting would be in vain, so be patient and let democracy work its sluggish will.”

“Why can’t I say that? It’s shorter.”

“It’s also not at all what Washington would say. Dad, we can’t have a Glory of America pageant without George Washington.”

“Then you do it! I just can’t do these things anymore! Nobody could remember all these long speeches!”

“You’ve done them a thousand times before!”

“I’m too old! Do I have to say it that plain, Marshall?” Then, more softly, almost pleading. “I want to go home.”

“To Royal.” The name was like acid sizzling on wood.

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