______________________________
31
That night, the hag has been tied to a chair, seated near the bonfire
where her features can be seen. There are boxes and various chairs
lined up to one side, where the jury has been assembled. Six men and
six women are seated, listening. The camp mistress is bringing the girl
to the other side, where her features can be seen by the jury in the
firelight. The girl will testify as to her experience, and what she
observed at the shack. The girl points at the hag.
Smelly rag over my mouth and held me down.
The hag of course is objecting.
She’s a lying. I found them lost and brought
’em home.
In the shadows on the edge of the court scene, the parents can hardly
keep silent.
Burn her, burn her alive! Why are we having
this stupid trial, it’s obvious.
Someone walks up to Finegan and hands him a bottle.
You’ve earned this, I recon.
Finegan takes the bottle, taking a swig. He points with his bottle
hand.
Now what? I half expect them to toss her into
the fire.
______________________________
Later that night, the hag, her hands still tied, is being muscled to
the rowboat on the edge of the shore. She is resisting, being pushed
and carried between two men when she tries to dig her feet into the
soft earth along the shore.
Can’t do this. Those kids lied. This is murder
I tell ya.
Almost covered by the people who have muscled her to the rowboat, she
is lifted and set into the center of the boat, and then tied down by
numerous ropes – feet, knees, and elbows tied to the boat in some
manner or another. The rowboat, without oars, is pushed away from shore
and into the receding tide and the outflow from the river.
Exile at sea, to starve to death in the same manner she was starving
the kids. The boat drifts from shore and into the night, the hag’s
cries becoming distant and barely audible.
32
Industrial Revolution
Finegan is sorting through various small mechanical parts stored inside
the house of the houseboat. He is pulling boxes out, checking the
contents, pouring some out on a table in the center of the thoroughly
cluttered house, and labeling other boxes. He is sorting stuff on the
table into small boxes and labeling these. The overall approach is to
move what he has sorted and labeled into one cleared corner of the
house - taking a total inventory so to speak. Finegan says,
I forget what all I have, ya know?
Joey is being a loyal assistant, taking labeled boxes away and bringing
others closer to Finegan who is seated on a stool during this process.
Every once in awhile Joey finds something totally inappropriate, like a
dirty shirt, and holds it up for Finegan to pass judgement. Finegan
shrugs and says,
I dunno. . . Put it on the laundry pile, I
guess.
Finegan sighs, and looks up at Joey.
I suppose that’s another thing we should be
doing.
He returns to his work, pulling things out of a box Joey has dragged to
his feet.
______________________________
The houseboat is moving along the outer edges of a flooded subdivision,
some rooftops seen sticking out of the water and some just under the
water. Finegan is keeping a distance away, as the slope appears to be
shallow. He is sticking to deep water. Finegan points to the flooded
rooftops.
The last thing we need is to be stuck on one of
those. I don’t fancy trying to lift this boat
offn’ one of ‘em.
Finegan flashes a smile at Joey, who is looking worried.
Well, we could always wait a day or two until
the water rises.
Then, muttering under this breath.
Just keeps rising. . .
A thin trace of smoke is rising from a ravine, indicating a campfire.
Some women are running from the open grassy area behind the subdivision
into the woods around the ravine. Finegan is not attempting to steer
the houseboat to any shoreline near them. He sees an unspoken question
33
in Joey’s eyes, as Joey keeps looking at the scampering women, then
back to Finegan’s face. Finegan says.
They’re not ready yet. Too early. They’re
living off what they pulled from these houses
and . . well . . ah . .
Finegan is struggling for a way to explain to Joey the nature of
business and self-survival. After the rescues he’s seen recently, Joey
has come to think of their role as some kind of emergency services. But
some survivors need to run through their supplies and feel a pinch of
some sort before they are ready to barter on a fair basis. This Finegan
has learned. Finegan’s face brightens, as he has arrived at an
explanation.
They’re expectations would be too high.
______________________________
The houseboat is seen approaching a partially flooded pastureland, the
fence posts and wire running down a slope and into the water. At the
high end of the pasture are several wooden shelters, flat topped, for
goats. Goats are seen standing on the tops of their shelters, as well
as ranging in groups around the pastureland and clustering around a hay
dispenser.
A lean man, bow-legged and sprightly, comes striding down the pasture
toward the shoreline. The goat-herder is wearing faded blue jeans
several sizes too large, as he has lost weight. A leather belt is
cinching the pants, keeping them from falling down. The belt has
obviously been pulled several notches past their usual worn catch
point, tightened regularly lately. He has a stained white t-shirt that
has not seen Tide or bleach for many months, but looks like it has been
washed recently as it is not stained by sweat or dirt.
The goatherd seems to be following him, and gather behind him at the
shore. Curious, and following their herder as goats do without needing
any prodding. The goat-herder calls out.
Howdy. Need some help there?
Finegan has come to the front and is preparing to toss his grappling
hooks.
Nope, just give me a little room. . .
Mooring the houseboat, Finegan strides across the gangplank, his hand
outstretched.
Finegan Fine here, trader. No doubt I’ve got
something you need.
The goat-herder is rubbing the back of his head, dark hair obviously
cut by scissors, not professionally done. He extends an invitation.