The Cowboy and the Cossack (Nancy Pearl's Book Lust Rediscoveries) (4 page)

“Where did it come from?”

“Well”—this was getting to be kind of embarrassing because it wasn’t a generally known fact—“I was named after a pair of pants.”

There were snickers from a couple of the men behind me, and without turning I said quietly, “Anybody who don’t like those pants ain’t a real American.”

Yakolev scratched one of his hugely bushy eyebrows. “Tell more,” he said suspiciously.

“The pants’re called Levi-Strauss. Ma wanted Levi an’ Pa wanted Strauss. Ma won.” Somebody, I think it was Dixie, chuckled from behind again, and I was starting to get mad anyway. “I like the name whether it’s Jewish or a pair a’ britches or anything else!”

Yakolev wasn’t about to let it go at that. “There are certain areas of Imperial Russia,” he said coldly, “where Jews are not welcome, or safe.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Slim said, starting to be as impatient as Shad. “How can anybody hold anything against a pair a’ Levi’s?”

“This is going to take much time,” Yakolev said. “Captain, you will bring a table and chair.”

Shad stepped forward. “Those papers clear me and my men into Russia. What is all this bullshit?”

“Bullshit? What’s this?” Yakolev said, making it sound like “Vullssit? Vawsis?”

Captain Barum said anxiously, “My sailing schedule and the tides don’t allow me more than a few hours here.”

Yakolev suddenly turned viciously ugly. “
I am Harbor Master!
I
say a table
and
a chair
!”

“Drop anchor!” Captain Barum bellowed to the men up forward. Then, resentfully, “Get a table and chair for the—Harbor Master.”

A couple of crewmen went to get them, and Old Keats said quietly, “Our Russian friend’s decided to try any way he can not to let us go ashore.”

Crab nodded. “He was out of joint in the first place, and then Shad’s bullheadedness really got to ’im.”

“What I think,” Slim said, “the sonofabitch is looking for some kind of a handout.”

I went over to where Shad and Captain Barum were and said to Shad in a low voice, “Maybe the sonofabitch is lookin’ for some kind of a handout.”

“That’s helped before when I’ve put in here.” The captain rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “All these goddamn Russian officials think they’re little tzars.”

“No,” Shad said.

“We’ve come clear out here to the end of the world, Shad.” I took a deep breath, knowing how he felt. “Don’t you think we oughtta go by whatever their rules are just this once?”

He spit some tobacco over the railing. “Goes against the grain.”

For at least an hour now everything went against the grain. Yakolev, with maddening slowness, asked all the men endless and stupid questions. Shad was tensely ready to bite a nail in half, and Captain Barum was getting more and more edgy, taking his pocket watch out every little while to see how many minutes had gone by.

The only good thing I can remember about that time was that we learned a few things about each other’s names that wouldn’t normally come up in any cowhand’s conversation. They had told us when we got on the
Queen
in Seattle to be careful to put our real names down or we could be sent back. And it turned out, for example, as Yakolev read the Sea Papers, that old Purse Mayhew was actually named Percival.

After Yakolev got through talking to him, and we’d made a few casual remarks, he told us with some small resentment, “The name Percival is perfectly normal in England!”

Rufus said, “Sure, Percival.”

Link put his hand on Purse’s shoulder. “No need for explainin’. We think Percival’s real sweet, Percival.”

The next name that Yakolev called out was “Lincoln Washington Jefferson Jackson!”

“My God,” Purse got back at Link, saying, “you’re the only nigger ever elected President four times.”

But under the circumstances we weren’t really in too funny a mood, so nothing we said was overly hilarious.

Big Yawn’s name was Jan Oblensky, but his first name happened to be pronounced the same as yawn. Dixie Claybourne was really Dick C. Claybourne. Chakko had a hard time until Shad stepped in and explained through gritted teeth that he was an Ogallala Sioux and he only had one name, which meant “The Silent One,” and he didn’t like to talk to strangers. Old Keats’s first name was William, which nobody had ever known. Mushy Callahan was really Mushy. Natcho was just a normal Mexican nickname for Ignacio Rodriguez. Slim’s actual first names were Leroy Eugene Cecil, which were so bad it would have been almost criminal to take advantage of them. And Crab Smith could have been a honey to kid, because his first name, which was a subject of grouchy, secret concern to him, was Jehovah. But by the time Crab’s name came up we were all too mad at Yakolev to pretend any kind of a sense of humor.

And then Yakolev called a name that sure as hell threw me.

“Marvin Samuel Shapiro!”

A bunch of us looked at each other, kind of puzzled, and then Sammy the Kid stepped forward.

“That’s me,” he said.

“This name is Jewish,” Yakolev said, saying it so it sounded like “Ziss name’s Hooish.” But I don’t even want to bother about the way he talked anymore.

“You’re damn right it’s Jewish,” Sammy said. “And so am I.”

“Then you admit it!” Yakolev seemed pleased at finally finding a name he could, in his own mind, legitimately find some fault with. He repeated it, shaking his head. “Marvin Samuel Shapiro. For your own safety, I cannot allow you into Russia.”

Shad had been just about ready to fight for some time, and now he leaned forward, knuckles down, on the table where
Yakolev was sitting. His voice was low. “These men have all been given clearance by my country and by your consulate. With these papers, you cannot refuse us entrance.”

Yakolev raised his hands up in mock concern. “But I cannot, in my small authority, guarantee this man’s safety.”

“I’ll take my chances with my friends,” Sammy said.

“You can’t guarantee
any safety
for
any
of us!” Shad stood back from the table, his jaw muscles tight and hard. “We’re taking our cattle over a thousand miles into Russia, and your ‘small authority’ won’t last half a mile out of Vladivostok.”

“But I do rule here.” Yakolev smiled his smile that looked like he was ready to bite something. “Perhaps if we talked about it privately.”

Shad leaned on the table again. Now his voice was not only low, but deadly. “I will not pay you one goddamn penny, mister!”

Yakolev said quickly, “I did not suggest that!”

Shad tensed forward, like a mountain lion about to spring. “Those Sea Papers
are
in order.”

“Yes.” Yakolev stood nervously, moving away from the table to where his two men were waiting near the railing. “The papers are in order. Your men and animals can enter the port of Vladivostok and go into Russia.”

“Good,” Captain Barum said, relieved. “We’ll arrange to dock immediately.”

Yakolev started toward the rope ladder, then turned back before he answered. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He looked at Shad, his eyes malicious under those two thick eyebrows. “As Harbor Master, you have my permission to enter—sometime.” Then he looked at the captain. “In my judgment, the bad seas are too heavy for you to put in tonight. Serious damage could happen in docking, to your ship and my wharf. Perhaps tomorrow—or the next day.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow!” Captain Barum protested.

“It may be many days, or weeks.” Yakolev rubbed a thick eyebrow.

“You know I can’t wait here indefinitely!”

Yakolev raised his shoulders helplessly. “That is your decision, Captain.” Then he turned quickly and hurried down the ladder, his two men following.

There was a long silence as Yakolev’s men rowed away from the
Great Eastern Queen.
Finally Shad said, “Could you dock your ship in there all right, Captain?”

Barum nodded, his face grim. “Certainly I could. But not without his permission.”

“What the hell we gonna do now, boss?” Slim asked.

“There’s only one thing you can do,” Captain Barum said. “I’ll take you back to Japan on the
Queen—
no extra tariff. And you can make whatever plans about your cattle and getting back to America from there.”

“Our outfit’s been paid t’ deliver a herd a’ longhorns a thousand miles into Siberia,” Shad said quietly, “and we’re gonna deliver ’em.

“I tell you I can’t put ashore!” Captain Barum’s voice showed how bad he felt about the whole thing.

“I know you can’t put the
Queen
ashore,” Shad said. Then one side of his mouth muscled very slightly in the half grin, half frown he showed sometimes when he was thinking. “But we can get our longhorns onto the beach just outside town.”

“How?” I asked. “Us and five hundred head gonna fly?”

“No.” He turned to me. “But if any of our men or cattle haven’t learned how t’ swim, they damn well better learn fast when they hit that water.”

CHAPTER THREE

P
ERSONALLY
, I wasn’t all too keen about getting into that black surging water in the middle of the night and swimming to a shore you couldn’t even see from where we were. But when Shad called the men on deck together and told them about jumping off the ship, I seemed overjoyed compared to some of the others.

“Water is only to drink,” Big Yawn said with heavy finality, “not t’ get in.”

“Ain’t never swam a stroke in m’ life,” Rufus Hooker muttered. “Wouldn’t be much good t’ anybody if I wuz drowned an’ dead.”

“This is the way it’s gonna be,” Shad said. “Barum’s men’ll row our supplies ashore in small boats. Any man afraid of the water can go with ’em. But we’ll need about every hand we can get t’ drive those cattle t’ land through the dark.”

“But Christ, boss,” Rufus complained, “if a fella can’t swim—”

“You’ll be on horseback, Rufe, and your horse can swim,” Shad told him. “Just don’t let Bobtail’s nose or eyes go under water, and don’t let him turn belly-up under you. Either way he’ll panic and likely kick your head off. And if you do get unseated, grab ahold of his tail and he’ll pull you to shore.”

Rufus thought about this, frowning sadly.

Crab Smith took off his hat and scratched his head. “We’d follow you most damn anywhere, Shad, but I doubt if more’n half of us can swim more’n a doggy paddle. The water’s ice-cold an’ black as hell, and the idea of goin’ into it just plain scares me shitless! Maybe you ain’t scared of it, but—” His voice trailed off.

“I know it’s spooky.” There was a quiet understanding in Shad’s voice. “So take a boat, Crab.”

Sammy the Kid said flatly, “I don’t know about him, but I’m damn well takin’ a boat, and that’s that.”

Shad nodded slightly. “No fault taken, Kid. So be it.”

I had a sneaking hunch that Slim already knew the answer to the question he asked Shad now. “Can you swim, boss?”

Shad shook his head just once. “No.”

“Well, that’s sure good enough for me,” Slim said. “I ain’t about t’ take no boat then if you ain’t.” He turned to Crab. “Hell, we’re both at least a year past due for a bath anyhow.”

Crab put his hat back on. “Okay, Shad,” he said unhappily, “I’ll go. But I still don’t like it.”

Sammy the Kid turned and went over to the railing, his back to the rest of us.

Shiny Joe called out, “Link an’ me can swim like catfish. We can keep an eye out f’r Crab an’ some a’ them who can’t.”

Natcho was sitting in the chair that Yakolev had been using. He looked up now and smiled, his gleaming white teeth brilliant in contrast to his deeply tanned face and blue-black hair. “In Tampico I learned to swim before I could walk. And Chakko here is a strong swimmer too.”

Chakko nodded.

“With luck maybe we can make shore,” Old Keats said. “The thing I’m worried about is the cold. There’s still chunks of ice in that water. And it’s a good three-hundred-yard haul. A man could freeze.”

“I’ll be the first one in, and I’ll let you know if it can be stood,” Shad said. “Doubt it’ll kill us. But my guess is it’ll be invigoratin’ as hell.”

“Now that you got us humans convinced about how much sheer fun this swim is gonna be,” Slim said, “what I’m wonderin’ is, just how’re we gonna convince them longhorns t’ join along with us too?”

“After bein’ cooped up so long, a lot of them’ll likely dive for the first openin’ they get a chance at.”

“An’ the ones that don’t make that choice?” Old Keats asked.

“We’ll use gentle persuasion—and fire.”

Forty minutes later we were down in the main hold about ready to go.

Following Shad’s orders, half a dozen of Captain Barum’s crew were now forcing open an old, unused sea door on this lower deck where we could drive the cattle out from where they were milling and bawling in the big hold. It was only about a five-foot drop from this sea door to the pitching waterline below, so they wouldn’t bang each other up too much jumping out. That is, if Shad was right about us getting them to jump in the first place.

We’d lighted enough lamps to be able to see a little bit in this big, swaying place, and with the cattle now getting nervous, grumbling throatily and bumping each other around restlessly on the heavy plank floor, there were all kinds of funny, deep noises and wild, flickering shadows wherever you looked. Our thirty-horse remuda and the pack mules had made the trip at one end of the hold, separated from the longhorns by a rough partition of nailed-up two-by-fours. All of us, except for Sammy the Kid, who had stood pat about taking a boat, had saddled our best horses and led them through the cattle up to near the sea door. Even Big Yawn had decided to ride ashore. It was the first time I’d ever known him to change his mind. He still looked pretty grim, but I guess most everyone else deciding to go had kind of shamed him into it.

Crab Smith, wetting his own lips uneasily, said to Big Yawn, “You look as edgy as a whore in church.”

Upon occasion Big Yawn did manage to have a way with words. On this occasion he said shortly, “Fuck you and the horse you rode up on.”

The sailors, working with sledges and crowbars, and swearing a lot, now got the rusted sea door sliding with an agonized sound, and it slid all the way it would go, making an opening about twelve feet wide.