The Old American by Ernest Hebert

Author:Ernest Hebert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dartmouth College Press

Pure

First test—wrestling. The women come in from the fields to watch the matches. Nathan’s opponent is Agawam, the son of Seekonk.

While they strip down for fighting, Caucus-Meteor advises his servant. “Agawam is very young, fluid in his movements—you are probably stronger, though. Do you have experience in wrestling?”

“More than you might expect from a farmer. When I was growing up in Massachusetts, young men wrestled for prizes and prestige, just as you do here. I see no torn ears, gouged eyes, dislocated fingers among the Conissadawaga men, so you are not as ferocious as some Englishmen I have fought.”

“You—a fighter, I can’t believe it.”

“My father taught me to fight, but within restraints. He cautioned me about fighting for vengeance, which possesses the will; money, which violates a man’s dignity; and about punching with the closed fist, an offense against one’s livelihood. He told me more than once—aye, he told me everything more than once—‘God protects thy soul, thy wife thy heart, and thyself thy hands. A farmer can do his chores without soul or heart, but not without hands.’ So you see, Caucus-Meteor, my upbringing allows me to fight with a savage’s fury if not with a savage’s heart.”

He is confident and obnoxious, thinks Caucus-Meteor. I admire him very much.

The atmosphere for the match is festive. Revelry is at the core of this society, thinks Caucus-Meteor; if we can’t agree on anything else, we can agree to make music, sing, dance, be merry, or, in this case, cheer a contest. Agawam circles Nathan. He still thinks of Nathan as a slave, an Englishman who works with women, and as a result is careless in his attack. Nathan tosses him over his hip, and pins him. The match is over in two minutes.

This action elicits loud response from the women. They’re urging Nathan on, not because they’re against Agawam, but because they’re hoping to add one more able-bodied man to the tribe. Caucus-Meteor feels the old urge to wager on the next match, but he holds back. It is impolitic for a king to wager with his subjects, and anyway he owns nothing worth betting, except for his turban, whose loss he would never risk.

The next opponent is a follower of Haggis, Nubanusit, a huge, good-humored rowdy fellow, at the moment drunk. Nubanusit offers Nathan a hand in mockery. “Don’t confront this fellow,” Caucus-Meteor shouts in English. Perhaps Nathan’s success against Agawam has overextended his self-assurance, and he takes the hand. This will be the end of him, thinks Caucus-Meteor. Nubanusit pulls Nathan to his knees and leaps upon him. But the big fellow is drunk, and Nathan is able to squirm free. After that Nathan lets Nubanusit lunge at him, but avoids grappling with him. The two men dodge and feint until finally Nubanusit loses both balance and breath, and Nathan is on him. A minute later, the match is over, Nubanusit lies helpless with Nathan’s foot against his throat. Caucus-Meteor was wrong in his judgment. He’s grateful for the feeling of humility.

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