The Last of the Freemen (12 page)

“Any favorites?” Frieda asked as she held open the gate of a wattle-fenced yard that was a short distance from the house, with tidy rows of green that glowed in the balmy afternoon sun; Bertie squeezed past Erin and ran into the garden, where she began jumping the rows like hurdles.

“I'm sorry?  What do you mean?”

“For the salad,” Frieda said as if it were obvious.  “I'll pick a mix of things, but I can throw in more of something, if you want.  Spinach, sorrel, cress,” she listed, pointing to various locations in the garden, “lettuce, roquette, purslane, burnet, dittander, sweet violet, mallow, fennel, salsify, chicory....”

“Oh, anything.  I'm not fussy.  At least not about salad greens.”

“Corn salad?  Or maybe I should call it
mâche
.  That usually impresses you English.  It’s funny.  They'll pay more sometimes, just because of the name.  You can sort of guess which ones by how they look.”

“So you think I’m the sort to be impressed by a name?”

“I'm not positive, but I think so.”

“Your first impression of me isn't all that favorable, I take it.”

“I didn't say that.  I'm just saying I think you’re a
mâche
type.”  She knelt down and picked a few handfuls of spinach leaves, then stood and moved along the row.  Erin wearily shifted a restless Hughie from one arm to the other.

“You can put him down, you know,” Frieda said.  “It won't hurt him to play on the ground.”

“Oh, I think I'll just hold him.”

“Suit yourself.”  She moved quickly over the burnet, taking just a few of the young fern-like leaves, before continuing to the violets, where she picked both leaves and flowers; after glancing up and locking eyes with Erin, she paused and stood.

“So... you and my uncle are
friends
?” she asked with suggestively raised eyebrows.

“Well, no, not like that.  I don't really know what we are.  He saved our lives.  But I’ve only known him since yesterday morning.”

“I'm glad to hear it, because your baby sure doesn't look like him,” she said flippantly, and knelt to gather lettuce.

“But he's done a lot for me, more than any of my so-called friends,” Erin added.

“That's my uncle for you. And English friends, I suppose.”

“I was only acquainted with Bern before yesterday. I thought he was my only neighbor.”

“Bern.  He’s a hoot.” She handed a lettuce leaf to Bertie as the girl paused to look in the bowl; the youngster took a bite and kept running. “He waited until he's an old man to decide he wants to be a smuggler and adventurer. But my uncle found a place for him.”

“Part of that - brotherhood?”

“No, that's something different.  They only do things to protect the
Kreis
, our community, and answer to the heads of the families.”  She straddled the next row, placed the bowl on the ground, and leaned over to pick the tiny leaves of corn salad.  “They've been around forever.  Uncle Harm helps them whenever they need him, but he has other men he works with for his business enterprises, men he's picked himself, who've been thrown out of the
Kreis
for some reason he doesn't agree with, or who live half on the outside like he does.  That's where he makes all his money.”

“He has his own private gang, in other words?”

“I suppose you could say that.  But they're just men trying to survive.  It's not easy to be a farmer if you've been shunned.  You lose the family help, the know-how of the old folks, the tools and equipment you could borrow, the pitching-in if your barn roof collapses in a snowstorm, so many things.”  She slid the bowl along the ground to where small, succulent purslanes were growing under glass cloches; after tipping the cloches aside, one at a time, her hands moved deftly to harvest a few leaves from each.

“Like Torsten, who -” she emphasized with a flourish of her arm, “is unfortunately married, and doesn't have any twin brothers - he fell for a hillbilly English girl whose family is neighbors with his.  He was completely shunned by his family for marrying her.  But he still tried to be a farmer, until the debt was too much.  He couldn't pay his bills after a year.”

She stood and propped the bowl against her hip.

“That's when my Uncle Harm made him an offer, and now they work together doing underground market things, like raising hogs in the woods, or growing tobacco they hide in fields of weeds.  I'm sure there are others like him, but Torsten is the only one I know much about, because I know his brothers and sisters.”

“So Harm doesn't think he should have been shunned for marrying - an ‘English’ girl?”

“He’d say it’s none of his business what the families decide, and that he’ll make up his own mind.  I think that’s how he put it.” She shrugged her shoulders, then cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Erin blushed.

“Oh, I just find it interesting, how all this works.”

“Do you plan on staying with us for a while?”

“Maybe,” Erin said with a shrug.  “If you’ll have us. I really don't have anywhere else to go.”

“I see.” She stared at the ground in contemplation, then lifted her gaze with a smile as she heard the hum of an approaching tractor.  They both looked over to see Harm and Axel returning - Axel now on Harm’s lap, intently gripping the steering wheel, while Harm leaned back with his hands folded behind his head.

“Can you bring this in for me?” Frieda asked, handing the bowl to Erin and heading for the gate.  “Bertie, you go inside with this lady.”

Erin stood for a moment unsure how to proceed with her hands full and the gate left open, then became flustered when Bertie ran after her sister.

“Frieda!” she called out in panic.

“Don't worry, I'll get the gate,” Frieda answered, then waited to take her sister’s hand; together they hurried off to meet the tractor.

Erin sat at the table with Hughie on her lap while Hilda put food on the plates and the family assembled for dinner; Frieda entered first, leading Bertie and Axel, and proceeded to the sink where she helped them wash their hands.  Next came Oscar and Rudy, who washed as the others took their seats; the small children were seated across from Erin, while Frieda sat on her right.  Rudy then took the chair next to Frieda, by his grandmother.  Oscar was settling in at the head of the table, opposite his mother-in-law, when Harm entered.  After washing he looked at the table indecisively.

“Right here, little brother,” Hilda said as she piled a heaping portion of mashed rutabagas on the plate between Erin and Oscar.  “Where’s Herman?”

“Harm thought it best,” Oscar said, “to have someone keeping watch all the time, given how common the brigades are becoming, and the
Asesinos
moving around east of here.  And I agree, it's for the best.  We’ll take turns.  And of course we’ll save him some dinner.”

Each plate had thick slices of ham topped with a ring of sliced apple, balanced with a helping of mashed rutabagas, and a few sautéed hop shoots laid out like spears of asparagus.  Everyone also had a bowl of salad on the side, with a warm dressing of honey, vinegar, and generous amounts of chopped bacon and scallions.  Hilda sat once everyone had their portions, then all fell silent, as if waiting for a signal.  Oscar spoke.

“Das Heil unsere Haus ist die Huld unser Boden,”
he said quietly. 
”Vergessen wir nicht.”

With that they began to eat. Erin attempted to manipulate her fork while holding Hughie to one side, out of reach of the food, but he grabbed the plate and pulled it towards the edge; as she frantically caught it, her fork fell to the floor. Hilda sprang to her feet.

“I'm sorry that we don't have a high chair. We gave it away,” she said as she moved around the table.  “But I can solve this.  You need to eat.”

She took Hughie from Erin’s lap and handed him to Harm.

“Here, little brother,” she said with a mischievous grin; Harm stiffened and glared at her as she returned to her seat. Frieda fetched another fork as Erin looked anxiously at Hughie.

“But... Harm needs to eat, too,” she said.  “Doesn't he?”

“He can wait,” Hilda said. “I'm sure he's been munching on wild leaves all day.  That's what he does.  Isn't that so, Axel?”

“Yeah, we both were,” the boy answered. “Leaves and flowers. We ate some called spiderworts!”

“Sounds delicious.  So you see, Erin?  He’ll be fine. Harm, don't hold him like he's a nettle. You have to cuddle him!”

Hughie, upset, began to smack at Harm’s face.

“A fighter!” Hilda laughed.  “He has good instincts.”  Everyone but Harm and the old woman chuckled.

“The portable crib is in the car,” Harm said.

“I'm sorry, Harm,” Erin apologized, then scolded Hughie.  “That's not nice. It's not nice to hit people.”

“Depends on who they are,” Rudy quipped, and again they all laughed.

Frieda stood impatiently and came to Harm’s aid; she took Hughie from him and returned to her chair - which she pulled out from the table - and sat with her legs splayed, so that Hughie was unable to reach the table, and bounced him on her knee.

“I can do that, too,” Erin offered.

“Don't worry,” Frieda said curtly. “Just eat.”

“Well, thank you. Thank you all for the hospitality you’ve all shown us.  It gives me hope. It shows me that people really are basically good.”

“You mean, like the Culls?” Rudy asked.

“No - I don't know,” Erin blushed.  “I can't explain everything.  I just -“

“Dad,” Frieda interrupted, “are people basically good, or not?”

Oscar’s eyes moved from Frieda to settle on Erin while he finished chewing; then he quaffed some apple wine and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“I think all we can say,” he began diplomatically, “if we observe, is that people are basically
driven
. Mostly they don't understand what drives them, or where they're going. Leaders and governments count on that, they channel it for their own wealth and power. Now, if you have people free of distortions like that, from an old culture, and from a solid family, then they will tend to be kind. They’re informed by the natural law, even if they don’t realize it.  But without those, and with the manipulations of empire thrown in, you'll just as likely be dealing with cruelty and depravity.”

“But then,” Erin protested, “which is it?  Which is more basic?”

“You English,” Oscar smiled patiently, “or, in fairness, I should say you people of empire - have the unfortunate tendency to believe in absolutes, the notion that there is such a thing as perfection, as reduction to a single principle. Of course you can see how those in power would benefit from this belief, because it locks out so many other possibilities. It's a kind of mental fatalism, and it makes the world they rule seem inevitable.

“So as to the question, I see it as, maybe, a slightly confused question. All people are not much of anything you can fit into a neat category. The world isn't so neat. To think so is to close your eyes to other possibilities. If we say people are basically good, then perhaps we trust in this, and fail to arm ourselves? But unarmed people, always and everywhere, become the victimized.  On the other hand, if we say that people are basically bad, life would be unlivable, we would live in fear of our neighbors, we might run to some higher authority for protection.  The rulers win, however we might answer, because the absolute nature of the question leads to absolute answers. Absolute thought is fertile soil for the roots of tyranny.

“So I don't begrudge your question, but understand that your thinking has been molded by how your manipulators want you to think.”

“Okay,” Erin began in a doubtful tone that indicated her willingness to debate, “but you speak a lot about natural law.  Isn’t that kind of an absolute for you?”

“No,” Oscar smiled, “because it’s not a concept.  No more so than life itself, or a plant turning toward the sun.”

“So then -” Erin started again with a hint of frustration, “will you at least let me say that I'm glad you're nice people?”

“Of course you can,” Hilda interrupted, “and forgive my husband’s lectures. Frieda should know better than to get him started.”

“Idle brains are fodder for tyrants,” he said, folding his arms across his chest; Hilda ignored him and went on speaking to Erin.

“We know that you're not so brainwashed as most of the English are.  You fought to keep your boy. And I can see, by how you watch us, that your mind is churning. You're trying to figure things out.  That's a good sign.”

“It's like in the old verse,” Rudy said, “how the fetters fall away when the right words are spoken, or something like that. That's why they outlawed them all, right?”

“It is,” Oscar said. “But let's not burden her with too much weighty history on her first day.  Your mother is right. And my father would be furious to hear me talking about the world over dinner. So let's eat.”

Rudy ate quickly and was first to clear his plate. He wiped his mouth and pushed himself back from the table.

“Oheim and I have some practicing to do,” he said.  “Can I go? He’s going to teach me how to fight against machetes and clubs, in case I'm ever attacked, by Culls or anybody like that.”

“Oheim is still eating,” Oscar said.

“It's all right,” Harm said.  “Time is short. I can always finish this later.”

“You don't want pie?” Hilda asked. “I made rhubarb pie.”

“Later, thanks,” he said as he stood to follow Rudy.

“
Oheim
,”
Frieda called, “you said you'd help me bring in the geese.”

“I will, in a bit. I'm sure Rudy’ll need a break after I throw him around some.”

“Ha!” Rudy laughed. “The other way around, you mean.”

The old woman looked on disapprovingly as they went out the door.

“Harm spielt nur,”
she grumbled.

“He can do what he wants,” Oscar said sharply.  ”We owe him greatly.”

Her gaze fell and she quietly went back to eating. Frieda rocked Hughie back and forth on her leg; he played with the end of her braided hair as she watched Erin furtively.

“Oheim doesn't seem to be himself,” she said to her parents.  “He seems - bothered.  More bothered than usual.”

“He had to burn his house down!” Hilda exclaimed.  “How would you feel?”

“I suppose that could be it.”

“And he has a lot on his mind,” Oscar added. “He's been able to live the way he has up until now because they never knew who he was. No name, not his real name, and no picture.  That could change. He said there were surveillance cameras all around at the Cull massacre. He thinks it’s only a matter of time before they make the connection, and his picture is appearing on the news along with Erin’s. That would certainly change his life.”

“And it's all my fault,” Erin said.  “I just didn't know where else to go for help.”

“No one blames you,” Oscar assured her. “Certainly not Harm. He knows - better than anyone - of the trouble caused by the system. He fights them at every turn.  He sees it as the load he has to carry, as we all perhaps should. If they identify him, he'll simply have to change his tactics. He's already thinking on how he’ll do it.”

“I hope it works out all right for him,” she said with a shrug, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and turned to Frieda.

“I can take him back now,” she said, reaching for Hughie.  “Thank you for holding him.  And thank you, Hilda.  Everything was delicious.”  She hoisted Hughie onto her lap.  “It's hard to remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much.”

Herman entered, looked at the table, and headed to the sink.  “I hope you left some food for me,” he said as he washed his hands.

“Of course we did,” Hilda said.  “I made you a plate, there on the counter.”

“They relieved you of watch duty?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, so I can practice with them after I eat.  That is, if you can take the watch for a while.  Oheim says he'll take the night shift.”

“And when will he sleep, I wonder?” Oscar asked.  “But yes, that will be fine.  We shouldn't waste the opportunity for you to learn from him.”

“What about me?” Frieda asked.  “I can take the watch, too, you know.  I'm a better shot than Rudy anyway.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Oscar said, while Hilda shook her head slowly and emphatically in disapproval.

“Mom!” Frieda pleaded; Hilda returned a scolding glare that silenced her.

Herman brought his plate to the table and sat between his parents. Hughie tried to pull Erin’s empty plate off the table, fussed when she took it from him, then contented himself tapping a spoon on the chair.

“Do you think we'll survive all this?” Herman asked.

“Of course we will!” Hilda answered, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“There are challenges ahead, to be sure,” Oscar said.  “We can't know how difficult.  But we’ve always found a way in the past.”

“It's not like the old days that you always talk about,” Herman insisted.  “They have spy drones now, they have assault robots, and they have millions, millions of hungry
Hirnchens
ready to march out here and take everything we have, everything our family has ever worked for.  How do we survive that?”

“By not being the target,” Oscar answered calmly.  “If things fall apart so badly for them, those millions will mostly be fighting each other.  Not looking for us.  But you have legitimate concerns.  That's why we're having the meeting tomorrow.

“And not all the English are predatory. Your Uncle Harm and some others are in contact with English who are resisting these things, the same as us.  Sometimes supplying them.”

“Like the New Whiskey Rebels?”

“Yes, just like them.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Erin joined in.  “They’re considered dangerous domestic terrorists.  But then, I suppose my husband was one small step away from that.  Even though he never sabotaged hundreds of government vehicles.”

“The Whiskey boys don’t even broadly target
government
,” Oscar mused.  “They only go after
Federal
equipment.  But they’ve done tens of millions in damage.  And the truth is, they’re just an extended family.  That’s why they haven’t been caught.  But the day might come where more of us in the
Kreis
have to do more, or even coordinate with some of these people.”

“Yeah, I know, our
Last
,” Herman said sullenly.  “But the government just prints itself more money.  Those losses don’t really hurt them.”

“Not as much as we’d like, it’s true.  But they take a toll in morale, and in their efficiency.  And there’s more going on than just the armed groups, the flamboyant stunts.  There are untold numbers of families who resist in quiet ways. We don't know how many, or how far they will go, and neither does the government. More people are ignoring their laws, many have dropped out, become less productive, to sap the government’s energy. In all likelihood it will work out for us.”

“In all likelihood?” Herman said. “So then our lives - and everything else - depend on an English likelihood?”

Oscar sighed.  The old woman scowled and raised her fork at Herman.

“We always go on,” she admonished.  “You keep that weakness, that fear, out of yourself.  Always.”