Fools' Gold (9 page)

Fujino looked at Ellen. Finn's tent had never seemed so far to her. People she knew, customers from the bath, stared blankly. Occasionally, from the beach, the dim sun caught the sand at a proper angle, and the metal yellow flashed in their eyes. It hadn't the delicacy of the snowflakes Fujino and Kaneda had found, but it had the color, and when the finders washed the gold it glowed like the sun itself, but darkly. People here were as sharks, had taken some portion of the beach in their mouths and were shaking it violently, ripping it from the earth like flesh. It was not yet noon but the beach was churning. And the beginning of winter was only days away.

Finn's tent was in a lucky position and, like the others, Finn and Henriette had used the four corners of it as the four markers of their claim. They were digging inside the tent. The stove was turned over and pushed aside and the cots had been ripped apart, the wood used for stakes, for extending the claim as far as they could toward the water. The canvas walls were rolled up on all sides. So far they had found only three sizable nuggets but they'd seen streaks of gold in the sand and were building a sluice. They looked up and saw Ellen, and when they saw Fujino they stopped and came over. All around them others bent their backs, pushing the sand around. The town had emptied, the beach was full. Out along the horizon the ocean moved into a slight froth. The water was getting colder each week and there were no ships or visible smoke stacks.

“Quicksilver is the only proper way to get at the gold.” Fujino spoke and the others listened. He told them how he and Kaneda had used mercury to extract even the finest powder, losing nothing. A rivulet six inches wide wedged through the sand at the edge of the tract they'd staked. Fujino took off his coat and after digging for a moment announced that he could increase the flow, that the rivulet might indeed be a perfect enough natural sluice to suit their needs. He told them they should buy a magnet, a large jar of quicksilver, copper for the bottom of the rocker, and that they could use Finn's old stove for the fire. He could see that Finn hadn't mined before and that if they were going to make the project work they would need to do things right from the beginning. All around them frenzied townsmen dug. Fujino spoke quietly, but the three of them knew that what he said was what they had to do. Even Ellen was convinced without a word that the proper thing was to close the bath and work here, and before an hour had passed she and Henriette had started back toward the eye of the city to buy the supplies. It was decided that each of them would get an equal share and that Fujino, if he stayed, would become a full partner. They assured him that a week of his time was all they would need. He told them about Kaneda and said he had to return with supplies, that the old man believed the entire trip would take only a few days, but Finn asked him to imagine Kaneda's reaction if he returned with twice the amount of money expected. “Twelve hundred dollars,” said Finn. “In an afternoon and using a stick.”

Fujino knew that if he went back with more than Kaneda expected the old man would be surprised and happy. He'd be able to make up for having mentioned the old man's daughter the evening before he left and Kaneda would surely praise his industry, would realize finally and forever that Fujino was no ordinary Japanese, that he was one of a few, not afraid to reach for a chance but still embodying those qualities that all Japanese cherish. And it really did seem to be a good strike. A chance to practice his English as well. He turned back toward Finn and said that he would stay until they were set up but that he must return well before winter. It was really too good to be true. Work one mine and get the profits from two. He said yes and smiled and bowed and said yes, yes, until they were both grinning and shaking hands.

By the time things were settled Ellen and Henriette had returned with the supplies. There was no more copper plating, however, in the whole town. They brought food and extra clothing and they brought a chicken, squawking and turning its head around. They had seen Phil and told him everything and Ellen had pegged the front of the bath shut and left a note that said only, “Gone for gold.” Fujino told them stories while they dug of how the gold when it was extracted from the sand would form a fine comb, how, like a snowflake, it would appear different each time. Ellen had remembered him when she was back at the bath and had also brought blankets, taking the walls from between the baths. They carried everything across two boards, Henriette at the front, Ellen behind. When they arrived Henriette said, “This is the life.”

It was decided that Fujino and Finn and Phil would sleep here, that the women would go back to the bath. They could hear shouts from claims along the beach and occasionally someone would leave, holding a sack to his belly and looking about. They boxed a portion of the rivulet, loaded it with sand and gold, and watched as the water pushed the lighter materials away. Henriette was in charge of the magnet, a horseshoe, which she held in both hands and moved over the mixture, laughing. The black sand jumped to her magnet like magic, and she flung it away happily. Ellen started the round stove, first trying to scrape off some of the fish and beef that was burnt to its top. She took Finn's old frypan and gave it to Fujino, who showed them what to do. He put bits of the red sand in the pan then poured a portion of the quicksilver over it. He rocked the pan gently, letting the gold dust settle in the heavy silver. He took the top of the frypan, the lid, punched a hole in it, then took a piece of rubber hosing, attached it to the hole in the lid, and poked the other end into an old whiskey bottle, ready to be sealed. He set the pan on the hot stove and they all stood close to watch. Presently, through the clear glass of the bottle, they saw the volatile mercury settle, falling out of the invisible air and re-forming, the same silver glob they had placed in the frypan. Fujino removed the frypan lid and showed them the gold sitting in a bowl of burnt sand, connected thinly like the perfect web of a spider.

“A golden snowflake!” cried Henriette. “It's marvelous.”

Fujino stood like a proud father. He held his palm open and pointed with his entire hand. He smiled.

“We had dozens and dozens of these,” he said. “They fit together, one on top of the others.”

Ellen asked if it was all right to pick it up so Fujino hooked it with a small stick and handed it to her.

“Hold it over paper. Don't let parts of it fall.”

Ellen held the webbing gingerly. She cradled it. She crouched on the sand and held her knees together so that any falling particles would land in her lap. It was pure gold. She looked up at Finn, beaming. Pure gold and the shape of a snowflake! Finn stepped forward with a clean box and offered it. “We'd best get started,” he said softly, “if we want to make this venture worthwhile.”

They worked the rest of the day, until evening, until the sun no longer kept the region gray. Now there was real night, the first any of them had seen since arriving in Nome. Other people struck lanterns and swung them over the holes in which they worked. All along the beach it was so. Lights and voices, cries spinning through the dark like bats. There were more than a thousand people now, working and calling themselves prospectors. Those on one claim did not speak to those on another. The bars of Nome, the Gold Belt and the others, were closed and pegged like Ellen's bath. The lights of the city moved to the beach, some of them liquid and seeming to come from the depths of the sea itself. Down toward the Snake, toward the tight tents of the army camp, more voices could be heard. The soldiers patrolling the area had been forced to ride their mules and horses knee deep in the water to bypass the busy prospectors. The soldiers made Finn remember Dr. Kingman and smile. Miners working close to the city had heard of the beach strike and were coming down, abandoning the mines. Work was stopping everywhere.

At the top of the beach, above Finn's tent, a group of men sat drinking from bottles, talking of beach gold. They were near Finn and Fujino so the two sat back, eating the food that Ellen had brought, and listened, waiting. Phil would be there soon as well.

One of the drinkers said, “It is replenished. We need only to rest at high tide then dig again at low. The gold is replenished by the sea. We'll be rich men. We can work here forever and not worry about others getting the best spots.”

Fujino looked toward Finn and remembered the talks on mining that Kaneda had given him when he wasn't talking history. Surely these men didn't believe what they said. In truth there must be a very limited supply. The sea doesn't carry gold to the shore. Quite the opposite. He thought of the beach prospectors as fools then and knew quickly that he had made a mistake, that he should be getting supplies and riding back toward the real claim, the one he and Kaneda had worked so hard. The old man would be sleeping now, resting so that he could get at least a small amount of gold out of the earth while Fujino was gone. This was supposed to be a time of rest for both of them, yet Fujino was more tired than he had ever been at their claim. And he had promised a week of his time to these others. They were his shipmates, but did he owe them a week? He had seen the beach strike and knew now that it was no better than theirs. Twelve hundred dollars a day is what had convinced him. But that would not be equaled again. The ocean battered the gold into a powder finer even than that of their creek. To get a thousand snowflakes here would take longer than fifteen hundred there and his share would be only one-fifth of that. And now he was obligated, for he had promised Finn. But what about the old man? Hadn't he promised him also, that he would be back, that he would bring supplies and whiskey and be back soon? He wondered if Kaneda would be worried and he knew he had placed the future of the old man's daughter in great jeopardy.

When Phil finally arrived at the site the other two were asleep. He brought a bottle of whiskey and several more blankets. It was cold and cloudless. He draped Finn and the young Japanese with extra covers then sat by himself looking at the sky. Ellen and Henriette had brought several snowflakes back to show him and to hide in the bath for safekeeping. The gold had been heavier than it looked. It was the first pure gold he had ever seen. It wouldn't look bad, he thought, hanging from the necks of his wife and sisters. He would take his share as it was; it would be much more interesting that way. There was beauty in the way it formed and in its weight and color. Earlier, when he was a boy, he had found nuggets in the streams and had valued them too, for their heft and shine. But this, what he had seen today, was far superior. It was man-made and yet it was not. It was made by man and by nature. Made by man but not controlled by him.

Phil was content. He would build the bath during the day and would not only be paid for his labor but would receive gold as well. How could he do better? He would return to the village with gifts more unusual than anyone in his family could imagine and he would return to a village where the lean-tos had already been lowered, the preparations for winter already done. Phil looked at the lights of the beach. Men were peering into the dark sand, holding their long-wicked lanterns high. How foolish when they could wait until daylight. The tide was coming in again. For a while it would be in at night, then out during the better part of the day. Phil closed his eyes and listened to the waves. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins and hear it in his ears. The tide and his blood pounded rhythmically for a while inside and out. Five hours' sleep would be enough, he thought. The bath will be finished; everything will work out well.

For eight more days the beach was turned and gnarled, its corpse, goldless and not to be touched again, piled ten feet high. There had been a run on quicksilver; Finn and Fujino had only the large flask purchased by Ellen on that first day. They had to make it last, to use it again and again and again. They learned to seal the bottle carefully, to taste even a little of it in the unnatural air.

Fujino was still with them but was leaving in the morning. He'd stayed too long and would have trouble getting back. Three days before he'd gotten the money from the assayer, and kept it with him now always. He had readied the mule and had two dozen bottles of whiskey in boxes, ready to be loaded on the mule's back. They'd taken one hundred and nineteen golden snowflakes from the beach in the time they'd been working. Just over two thousand dollars. They'd already divided it among them so that Fujino would have the extra gold to give to Kaneda, but he was unhappy with himself and felt a growing dislike for the others. They had talked him into staying and now they took it for granted that he was in no hurry to get back. None of them mentioned Kaneda by name. Even Ellen had taken to calling him the old man. “Won't the old man be proud,” she'd said a dozen times.

The old man working at one-third his normal speed would realize that it would have been better if Fujino had come directly back. Four hundred extra dollars was not enough to make up for the lost time. He had made a serious mistake. Anyway, at last, tomorrow it would be over and he would make up for it by working extra hard even though he'd had no rest during his time in Nome. Fujino checked his supplies again. He could no longer feel Kaneda's daughter close to him.

During the week Phil had taken to bringing lunch from the bath and spreading it before the prospectors at exactly midday. There were always eggs, and he usually had a smoked or roasted salmon as well. The outside of the bath was finished, each room had a window, and now he was working on the interior, building permanent shelves for the chickens and for the rows of canned goods that Ellen would sell. Phil too would go home soon, but he had no uneasy feelings. They would be glad to see him and he would be glad. Winter, he knew, could come at any moment.

Finn and Fujino had finished their lunch and were waiting for the two women to return from the bath when they noticed for the first time the reappearance of John Hummel on the beach. He was carrying his walking stick, but he bore it over his shoulder, like a rifle, like the rifles of the army sentries that faced the beach from the other side of the Snake. The soldiers had become familiar in Nome. Many of them dug at the beach furiously during their off hours, and some sneaked across the river using night lanterns and got back tired and sandy before reveille. Hummel took his way of walking from them. He marched up and down the water line, holding his stooped shoulders back and not talking to anyone. His gums bled through his pursed lips, occasionally forcing them open, forcing him to spit.