The two Georges by Richard Dreyfuss & Harry Turtledove

Author:Richard Dreyfuss & Harry Turtledove [Richard Dreyfuss]
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction, Fiction, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction - General, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, United States, Alternative histories (Fiction), Great Britain
ISBN: 9780312859695
Publisher: New York : TOR, 1996.
Published: 2010-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Percy McGaffigan squatted in a corner of the parlor with an enamel basin half full of water, a rag, and a bar of soap. His face and arms and most of his chest were pink, the rest of his chest, his ridged belly, and his back still the coal-dust black they’d been when he emerged from the mine. The rag and the water had already gone gray with the dust he’d washed from himself.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, lathering the soap in the dirty water. “Just cleanin’ up a bit afore supper, I am. Some o’ the fellers, they eat first and then wash, but I figure I been breathin’ coal all day long, an’ I don’t much fancy swallowin’ it, too, that I don’t.” He soaped the left half of his belly, scrubbing away at the grime there with the washrag.

In a rather faint voice, Kathleen Flannery said, “But, Mr. McGaffigan - haven’t you got a bathtub?”

“If I did, Miss, you think I’d be doin’ this?” McGafflgan’s voice had been mild, even affable. Now it turned sharp. “Dang few miners hereabouts with bathtubs, Miss, or toilets either. Can’t afford such. These here houses are back to back, is what they are, with others just like ‘em built against the far wall there. Us, we get to look out on the street, but we got to go round the corner to visit the loo. Them others back around there, they have themselves a short walk, but they get to look at the backhouses and the rubbish pitch all year long. You had your druthers, Miss, which’d you sooner do?”

Kathleen didn’t answer. She looked green. Bushell had read, had heard of the conditions in which the miners lived. Running up against the reality was like a kick in the face.

“You’re not a wealthy man, then?” he said.

McGaffigan stared at him, then laughed raucously. “Oh, sure and I am. This here is just me summer home, you know. Come winter, the missus and me, we takes an airship to our Florida mansion, and brings the young ‘uns with us.”

Bushell smiled, enjoying the miner’s pungent sarcasm. “One for you. But if you haven’t the money for a better house, how did you come by the train fare for your trip to New Liverpool? How did you manage to pay your hotel bills, you and all your friends?”

McGafflgan’s face went hooded, wary. “All the lads roundabout, we been pitching in sixpences and shillings and the odd half a crown as we could, all these past months,” he said at last. “Do it with enough of us, do it long enough, and in the end you have yourself a fair pile o’ brass.” Methodically, he began to wash his back. The water in the basin was now as black as he had been. Bushell marveled that it would still clean him. Pale skin did emerge from under the coal dust, though. Samuel Stanley said, “If you all clubbed together to pay for your journey, you’ll have the accounts of the money you collected, I expect.

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