So it was not a very felicitous time for him to take on a Negro infant, no matter that there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow!
Yet Abraham Licht wouldn’t give up the pitiful creature, to turn it over to the tender mercies of the township. Instead he took it home with him, determined to love it, and make it his. “‘Poor, bare, forked animal!’—I baptize these Elisha, my ‘salvation,’” he whispered, bent over the baby, which slept now peaceably as a kitten atop his bed, and kissing its forehead.
And never would Abraham Licht regret his decision.
And never, until Elisha’s twenty-first birthday in the early winter of 1910, when the black foundling dared challenge him, would he love the boy less than he loved the children of his own loins.
3.
And it happened that, shortly after Elisha came to live with him, as if by magic Abraham Licht’s uncertain luck changed for the better. He acquired the wonderfully capable Katrina as a housekeeper—this mysterious, formidable woman who was a great-aunt of his, or a cousin several times removed, from the remote area beyond Mount Chattaroy; and he met, and at once fell in love with, Miss Morna Hirshfield, pursuing the lovely young woman with such ardor that she was won within three weeks; and, in the early euphoria of her love for Abraham Licht, vowed she would love his sons, all his sons, the Negro no less than the white, as well. (For Morna Hirshfield, daughter of a Unitarian minister and granddaughter of fervent Abolitionists, believed herself a paragon of Christian and womanly virtues; and yet, the year being 1890, a bravely modern person—independent enough to live with a man she loved “bereft of clergy” and even to bear him, in time, a child.)
And, too, Abraham was able to purchase the auctioned property of the Church of the Nazarene, Risen, for a mere pittance; and to move his now-large household there, to the beautiful wilds of Muirkirk, for greater safety, as he believed—“and safekeeping.”
Did it seem puzzling, and vexing, and somewhat shameful to Thurston and Harwood and, later, to Millie, that they had a Negro brother?—it did not.
Of course, Muirkirk observers must have gossiped. There must have been cruel, outraged speculation. There must have been coarse jokes, at least initially, before Abraham Licht became well known and well liked in the region. Whenever the children appeared together—Thurston in particular so fair-haired, so handsome a boy, in stark contrast to the swarthy-skinned, woolly-haired Elisha—you could depend upon it, people would stare. “For Homo sapiens is by genetic inheritance xenophobic,” Abraham Licht explained to his family, “—I would not doubt that there is, in the brain, some tiny cog that triggers ‘fear’—‘distrust’—‘loathing’—‘threat’—upon seeing another whose features and skin color seem foreign. So we must accept the foibles of others, who are our enemies in any case; but it would be well for us to contemplate how such foibles might be pressed to our advantage, rather than attempt to overcome them. All we need to know is, We are Lichts. Out of Muirkirk mud, a lineage to conquer Heaven.”
The white-skinned children of Abraham Licht didn’t require such wisdom from their father to feel affection for Elisha, or ’Lisha as he was called. For of all of them, ’Lisha was sweet, funny, and sly; a natural mimic, clearly bound for the stage or for public oratory of some kind; a “wily little Devil” as Katrina (who rarely indulged in such commentary on her charges) said; the smartest of the boys; hot-tempered, and quick to repent; quick to burst into tears, and quick to wipe away his tears and smile; a congenial household presence as “Little Moses,” and a good deal more intelligent. Also, it was always the case that Abraham Licht, as Father, determined how his progeny should think and feel and, to a degree, behave; and “feelings” not granted a vocabulary by him had not much existence, or at any rate could not be expressed. Abraham explained this simple psychology to his bride Morna, who laughed at its logic—“Why, if we had no word for sorrow, melancholy, wickedness, evil, would these not exist?” Abraham merely smiled, and laid his finger alongside his nose. To adore a woman is not to respect her intelligence. To find a woman infinitely desirable, we need not lay bare our souls to her.
Upon one memorable occasion, eight-year-old Harwood inquired frowningly of Katrina why ’Lisha, then six, was “dark-skinned like mahogany” and his hair “so fuzzy-strange,” and the insides of his hands “pinker than mine”; but Harwood’s childish questioning carried no evident suspicion or rancor, and Katrina’s reply, much repeated in the household, seemed to satisfy him completely: “Because Father wishes him so.”
Elisha himself, sly Elisha, thought well enough of ’Lisha, and “Little Moses,” or any of the black boys of Abraham Licht’s creation, to have no fear that he was inferior—not him! Nor even set aside from the others by any peculiarity of being. He loved to contemplate his image in any mirror: for was he not handsome with his tight-curled, glistening hair trimmed close to his skull, or allowed from time to time to fuzz out splendidly, like dandelion seed; and his wide-set dark eyes, liquid-bright, and flecked with hazel like glints of mischief; and his slightly flat nose, and deep, dark nostrils, and chiselled lip? When ’Lisha was lazy, it seemed ideal to be lazy; when he leapt and pranced about, and kicked up (as Katrina fondly scolded) a “ruckus,” then that seemed ideal. If Father was at home Father closely observed whatever ’Lisha did, took note of whatever he said, as, indeed, Father was inclined to do with all the children, not to censure or scold, but, it seemed, simply to observe: that he might, perhaps, discover where Elisha’s best talents lay, and which traits in him were weak. (“You are the chameleon of the household,” Father declared, laughing, “—and so very quick, one would not be surprised to see you slip out of that skin, and into another.”)
It might have distressed Elisha that his brothers, and, in time, his pretty sister Millie, were sent away to expensive private schools (at least intermittently: for Abraham Licht’s fortunes continued to rise and fall with less predictability than the moon’s tide), while he was kept at home; but, as Father chose to tutor him himself, in such subjects as French conversation, and mathematics, and Shakespeare, and the manners of a gentleman, and declared him his “right-hand man,” even at so young an age, Elisha could not forbear feeling pride, if not outright vanity: for he sensed himself—indeed, did he not know himself?—Father’s favorite. “You are all loved equally, as you are all deserving of the same degree of love,” Father sometimes said, staring, with a kind of wonderment, at his children, and approaching them each in turn, to kiss them, or embrace them to his bosom, “—for it is the irrefutable truth, you are all marvels.” Such declarations had the effect of fairly mesmerizing the children, and bringing tears to their eyes; for they had no doubt but that Father spoke the truth; for that which Father spoke—was it not Truth? Yet, afterward, regarding his reflection in a mirror, or even, hazily, in a pool of marsh water, Elisha murmured aloud in elation, “He loves us all equally—and ’Lisha most of all!”
Nor was he jealous when Darian was born, and then, not long afterward, Esther—these little ones, Sophie’s children, being so very little, it was hardly reasonable to think that Father would ever care to love them; or even to observe them with much interest.
WHEN FATHER WAS away on business that did not involve him, and Elisha was left behind in Muirkirk, he hid his disappointment and impatience, and set about completing tasks assigned by Father: for instance, studying the latest edition of The Young Christian Gentleman’s Guide to Perfect Etiquette so very meticulously, he could pass a quiz on the correct employment of visiting cards, and every manner of fork, spoon, and knife, to be encountered at a formal dinner party, and how precisely one must behave when presented to Royalty; he learned to sing, from memory, a Bach cantata, “Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot,” which Father had assigned for mysterious, yet urgent, reasons; and he learned to recite, in faultless French, an exquisite poem about angels by a poet name Rilke. It fell to Elisha, for the most part, to do an inventory of the various items stored in the church, which, someday, Father hoped to sell at auc
tion; these mismatched items of furniture, artwork, clothing, musical instruments, etc., being articles “in lieu of cash settlements,” given to Abraham Licht by his debtors. And, though unbidden to do so, he spent a strenuous morning cleaning the hickory cross of cobwebs and grime, and polishing it to a high sheen, in which his own adolescent face (might he have been about fourteen at the time?) was reflected, with a ghostly sort of beauty. As to the human figure nailed to the cross—made of pewter rather than wood, it could not be salvaged, but had become so badly tarnished by the passage of time, it might well have represented a personage as black as Elisha himself—!
Of the “Savior, Jesus Christ,” Elisha knew only what Father had told him and the other children: that, like “God, the Father,” and any number of fraudulent deities throughout history, this “Savior” was nothing but an inspired lie told by crafty men to their simple-minded brethren, that they might cheat them of the pleasures of this world, in exchange for the pleasures of the next. Elisha had been puzzled by the notion of a next world: was it next in time, he asked Father, or next in space, many thousands of miles away? Amused by the boy’s question, Abraham Licht laughed heartily; but pondered awhile; and finally said that what the majority of men meant by any of their ludicrous beliefs and fancies, he did not know, and could not care. “For, Elisha, it is only the meaning we Lichts assign,” he said, “that has merit for us.” Elisha had felt the rightness of the answer; yet, one day not long after, studying the contorted pewter figure closely, and peering at its corroded face, Elisha felt a curious tug of pity for the “Savior,” and sympathy. For if “Jesus Christ” had been a lie these many centuries, had He ever known it Himself?—had the terrible truth ever been revealed to Him?
Left happily to his own devices, Elisha learned to play a drumroll; and taught himself simple melodies on the piano; and read voraciously, hour upon hour, in haphazard volumes of the Encyclopedia Britanica, A History of the Penal Code in the United States, The Art of Mesmerism, Poor Richard’s Almanack, Home Cures & Emetics, Selected Sermons of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, P. T. Barnum’s Illustrated News of 1877–1881, etc.; he outfitted himself in splendid silk-lined evening capes, and ruffled shirts, and brocaded vests, and top hats, and even certain articles of women’s clothing—organdy gowns, swans’-feather boas, fox-pieces, turbans—that set off his glowing mahogany skin to great advantage, and brought out a subdued lustre in his eyes. The door to the rectory shut tight against any unwanted intrusion, Elisha whiled away many an afternoon in languid contemplation of his own exotic image; or danced about—kicking up his heels, flinging his arms about, learning to leap from a stationary position, even to “fly” through the air as if weightless! So agile did Elisha become at these secret times, so possessed by an unknown Spirit of elation, bravado, and cunning, he laughed aloud, to think of what he might do, one day, to Father’s great approval, in that world of contemptible enemies that surrounded them.
4.
The tragedy that befell Thurston struck nearly as deep in Elisha as it did in Abraham Licht himself: for of all the persons in the world, after Father, it had always been his eldest brother whom Elisha most admired and loved.
Not that Thurston was especially quick-witted or inventive (for Millie was sharper—indeed, nearly as sharp as Elisha himself); and not because Thurston was so remarkably attractive a youth, causing, at times, heads to turn in the street (for Elisha was confident that he was more striking); but rather, because Thurston maintained so placid a temper, and seemed so artlessly to inhabit his skin, not minding a defeat now and then, and not overly glorying in his successes, as Elisha was inclined. (Ah, Elisha!—as he passed into adolescence, and then into young manhood, it became ever more difficult for him to predict a mood of his own, from one hour to the next, unless of course he was under Father’s guidance. Successes like that of the “Black Phantom of Chautauqua” he positively revelled in; defeats wounded him to the quick, and haunted him for months, though, as Father consoled them all, “Failure is but a crafty rehearsal of Success: have faith!”)
When, one somber midsummer evening, Father at last summoned Elisha to his room to inform him of Thurston’s arrest in Atlantic City, the capital charges brought against him, etc., Elisha could not at first believe what he heard; felt the blood drain rapidly away from his head, and the strength from his legs; he knelt before Father, clasping his hands like a small child, and begging to be allowed to help—for surely he might be of special aid in saving his brother?
But for the first time in memory Abraham Licht seemed to have no ready reply, and to be as much in need of comforting as Elisha himself.
“Yes, surely—you will help us with Thurston—he will be saved—he cannot not be saved, as he is my son—we will do it, somehow—we will free him,” Father said, in a voice that, to Elisha’s surprise, faltered. “I know not how, precisely, at the moment—but we will do it: we must.”
ELISHA FANTASIZES, THESE sleepless nights, an extravagant drama in which he (alone? or leading a contingent of armed men?) rescues his eldest brother from the gallows: so terrorizing the armed guards, and the gawking populace, that not a hand is raised against them; and within the space of a few minutes Thurston is freed—riding away on a fiery stamping snorting stallion.
Yet another fantasy, of heart-quickening poignancy: Elisha sacrifices himself for Thurston: stepping between Thurston and a bullet meant to kill him: with the consequence that Father, and sweet Millie, and all the world, indeed, celebrate his courage.
That such astonishing dramas might be performed, raises hope in the heart of the “Black Phantom” that they can be performed.
Less extravagantly, but more reasonably, Thurston might well be freed from prison beforehand, following one or another of the provisional sketches Father has drawn up; these plans involving an escape by tunnel, or over the wall; and necessitating the cooperation (which is to say, the paid cooperation) of various guards, fellow prisoners, perhaps the prison physician, perhaps (if Abraham Licht’s money is not too severely depleted by this time) the warden himself. “For men have been escaping from prison as long as there have been prisons,” Father has pointed out with faultless logic.
Yet further, Father has broached the subject of a certain herbal medicine, or drug—derived from a species of marsh nightshade (Circaea quadrisulcata) with which Katrina is said to be familiar. So potent is marsh, or enchanter’s, nightshade, a single dram will cause a full-grown man to fall down in a stupor; and, for a period of twelve hours or more, to so mimic death, no heartbeat can be detected, nor any breath, or bodily warmth. The primary danger of the drug, Elisha gathers, is that it might also cause death, if administered to a man in ill health . . . and that, as Katrina has warned, the precise dosage required for the trance, and not Death, is difficult to calibrate.
“Perhaps Father might experiment with the dosage, using ‘Little Moses’ as a subject,” Elisha thought uneasily.
But, whether out of prudence or simple forgetfulness, he was never to pursue the notion further.
THIRTEEN YEARS BEFORE, Thurston had saved his life.
Taking advantage of Father’s absence from Muirkirk, the three boys—Thurston, Harwood, and Elisha (seven years old at the time)—went exploring in an area of the great marsh unknown to them; crossing into the dense interior by way of a ridge of earth that formed a natural bridge, wildly overgrown with vines and suckers; and making their way forward with extreme difficulty. Asked where they were headed, and why, they could have supplied no answer: only that Thurston had felt idle and restless at home, and Harwood was in the habit of following Thurston about; and little Elisha had pleaded to be taken along.
Once in the swamp, however, Elisha soon outdistanced his brothers, being so much smaller than they, and wiry and clever as a monkey; and gripped with a sudden fever, that he might go where he would, no matter that Thurston called worriedly after him.
“Let them catch up with me, if they can,” he thought, “it is only ‘Little Moses’ after all!”
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Unsurprisingly, the reckless child was lost within a half hour, and had not the faintest idea of where he was; whether he was still pushing forward, or had turned about in a circle. His face and hands were reddened with insect bites, he was wet past the knee, and stinking of swamp mud; his breath was ragged and sharp.
How strange, and how terrifying, to be, so suddenly, alone.
As if Father had never snatched him up from the flood, and saved him, and brought him home . . .
By now he could no longer hear Thurston’s voice, and was too stubborn, or too ashamed, to shout for help. On all sides a pale luminous whitely glowering mist hung low, smelling of chill stagnant water and animal decay; nothing looked familiar; yet he half ran, stumbled to his knees, rose, and ran further, in another direction, instructing himself that this was the way back, and that he would be in sight of the church tower shortly.
Though, earlier that day, the temperature had been warm and the air mild, now it seemed that, far overhead, the tops of the marsh trees were shaken by fierce gusts of wind, that rose out of nowhere, and quickly subsided. What was it that splashed in the water close by? . . . or, spreading its wings, flew violently upward, crashing through the sinewy vines? . . . Elisha’s heart leapt in his breast as he saw a female figure drifting ahead (but it was only the mist, forming and dissolving) . . . and heard faint ripplings of laughter. A gigantic butterfly floated near, or was it an immense lily? . . . covered, it seemed, in bright-glaring eyes, eyes very like his own, focused sharply upon him.