Galore - Michael Crummey [117]
Clap.
—In love, he is, King Cole shouted to applause and whistles. —Now tell us, Horse Chops, is his love a secret love?
Clap.
—Undeclared, friends. Is his beloved in the hall, Horse Chops?
Clap.
—Aha, aha, the King said, circling to survey the crowd, a buzz in the air. He held his staff out as a pointer and he let it come to rest on one girl after another, Hannah Blade and Az Trim’s youngest and Peter Flood’s great-granddaughter, Horse Chops galloping to stand over each in turn before he offered his judgment.
Clap clap.
Moans of disappointment following every denial, names of other hopefuls shouted from all sides. Eli tied to his chair by the room’s attention, wishing he was dead.
The King knocked his staff on the floor in frustration. —Horse Chops, he said, are you sure the beloved is in the room?
Clap.
—Then go, the King shouted. He sat in Eli’s lap, an arm around his shoulders. —Show us, he said.
Horse Chops trolled slowly from table to table, passing the newlyweds once, then a second time, chased by whistles of impatience. The mummer stopped suddenly as he passed Tryphie’s bride a third time, stepping behind her seat, the huge head swinging above her like a pendulum. She buried her face in her hands in embarrassment and the King jumped from Eli’s lap. —No, he shouted, it’s not our bride? Is the best man in love with the bride?
Complete silence in the hall as Horse Chops deliberated.
Clap clap.
—Stop teasing us, Horse Chops, the King begged. —Out with it, man.
Horse Chops wagged his head, as if catching a scent in the air. He shifted sideways to stand directly behind the groom, the hunchback, Tryphie Newman. Eli was out of his chair and aboard the King before another word was spoken, hammering at the man’s head with a fist, half the crowd rushing the floor to pile on. Az and Obediah Trim and the Reverend Violet waded into the mess, shouting for calm, and nothing much came of the altercation in the end. The mummers slinking out the door without ever revealing their identities and the dancing started up again as soon as they left. Eli disappeared after the mummers and no one laid eyes on him the rest of the night.
The crowd escorted the newlyweds to the marriage bed when the dance ended, banging pots and pans and shouting behind the couple as they went. Eli heard the distant uproar from his perch on the Tolt, following the medieval wedding party along the harbor streets by the noise, the same as if they were carrying storm lamps in the dark. The well-wishers saw the couple through the door of Selina’s House and a few minutes later their racket fell silent.
After the wedding party dispersed Eli walked back down into Paradise Deep, picking his way along the waterfront until he reached Judah’s asylum cell. He had only the vaguest memories of his grandfather and the man had all but disappeared from their lives in his mute isolation. Eli listened outside awhile but heard only the ancient sish of ocean on the landwash. The progress of time barely registered on the shore, he thought, circling on itself like that endless conversation of water and stone. They were bearing down on a new century and everyone Eli knew was still sleepwalking through the Middle Ages. All of them lost to the larger world no less than Judah was, shut away behind an unlocked door, scribbling nonsense on the walls. If he wasn’t half-frozen from standing out in the cold he would have wept at the thought.
There was a light in the Blades’ window as he walked back through town and he let himself into the kitchen where John was sitting up with James and Matthew, a bottle open on the table. The two younger Blades were still dressed in the costumes they wore to the hall, Horse Chops’s head on the floor at Matthew’s feet.
—Is Hannah about? Eli asked.
John Blade stood to fetch him a glass. —She’s gone to her bed, he said. —She and her mother both. Sit down, he said.
James was holding a piece of ice to the swollen side of his face and Eli nodded toward him. —You’re all right are you, Jimmy?
—Hannah is some poisoned with us,