Courage and Cowardice - Chapter 15
Courage and Cowardice - Chapter 15
Blood was important, blood was everything.
“You have read Darwin,” I said. “But you read him misunderstandingly when you conclude that the struggle for existence sanctions your wanton destruction of life.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You know you only mean that in relation to human life, for of the flesh and the fowl and the fish you destroy as much as I or any other man… Why, you who live on the land know that you house your poor people in the slums of cities and loose famine and pestilence upon them, and that there still remain more poor people, dying for want of a crust of bread and a bit of meat (which is life destroyed), than you know what to do with.”
-The Sea-Wolf
“Now, when the red hog came spitting and snorting into the fields, and started gorging itself on everything in sight, all the other villagers grew frightened and ran away,” the lia-na’in spoke calmly but clearly. Surrounded by his listeners, the lord of words dutifully recited the tale that had been passed down for generations.
“But not,” the lia-na’in grinned. “Lord Bai Apoit. Upon the sight of the red hog eating all his food, he took a branch from the kusambi tree, lit it with fire, and rushed to confront the gluttonous beast. No monstrous fiend would barge in and take what was his, he swore!”
Yann’s face was the spitting image of his father’s, except for his hair and eyes. Where Ulisses’ pelt was gray and wavy, Yann’s was blonde and straight, and where the wolf’s eyes were a piercing green, those of his cub were a gentle blue. These qualities Yann had inherited from his mother, alongside the pet name his friends and family always referred to him by. Yann had been born Yanez Lobo, but his mother, a Breton, had begun to call him Yann when he was very young, and the name had stuck, even as his Breton voice was still laced with a rich Lusian accent.
“Hello dad,” Yann grinned, as his father cupped his cheeks in his hands and gazed into his son’s eyes.
“Ah, my son, let me look at you a while longer,” Ulisses sighed wistfully. “Goodness you’ve grown.”
“A life at sea does that to a man,” Yann replied. “I’ve gained a new appreciation for your days of youth.”
“Haha, I’m glad to hear that,” Ulisses was proud. “I can see you’ve earned our lupine title, just like that noble Beowulf.”
Yann said nothing at that, instead responding with a simple smile of gratitude. Beowulf had indeed earned a noble title, and borne a lupine name, but that name was not typically spoken with such a glimmering tone. Sixth of the Twelve Valiants, Beowulf’s adventures had begun when he was called upon to aid King Hrothgar, who had run afoul of a terrible beast named Grendel. The vicious descendant of Cain would come into Hrothgar’s mead hall each night, to devour his warriors in their sleep. None dared stand against this monster save Beowulf, who slew Grendel and then the monster’s mother, after she came to avenge the death of her only son. And after he slew Grendel’s mother, none dared stand against Beowulf, and his name was spoken amongst the monsters and fey as mankind did speak of them, in hushed whispers and fearful tones. Beowulf became a great king, and conquered new lands as he slew new monsters and foes. But soon his name became too famous and feared, and he could do nothing but sit idly on his throne as all bowed before him. Only a fearsome dragon, whose thousand-year slumber had made it ignorant of Beowulf’s legend, dared pose a challenge. And though it was far mightier and stronger than any foe Beowulf had faced, the lust in his heart for battle could not be sated, and he took up arms against the wyrm. He was slain, and only through the aid of his friend Wiglaf was the dragon finally brought down. And as he died a warrior’s death, Beowulf wept, for this was what his works had wrought. Soon his kingdom did fall, and the monsters returned from their caves and hiding holes, but the name and legend of Beowulf lived on, as a testament and warning to future generations.
“Now, tell me, where is your bride?” Ulisses’ laugh interrupted Yann’s somber thoughts, and the son could see that the father remained ignorant of the Valiant’s warning. “I can’t wait to meet my future daughter-in-law.”
“She’s quite the woman,” Yann chuckled. “I think you just might like her.”
“Might? My dear boy, if she’s the woman you chose, it isn’t a matter of doubt,” Ulisses laughed, then noticed that a lone figure had remained by Yann’s company, even as the crowd of passersby flowed around them.
She was a petite woman, her head only coming up to Yann’s chest, and a Cathayan. Ulisses mulled her over briefly, and decided she must be a servant of some kind. Her attire did not look like servant’s garbs, but perhaps slaves dressed differently in Santama. As Ulisses drank the girl up with his eyes, he had to grin. She was pretty, for a Cathayan, and Ulisses had to congratulate his son. If Yann was any kind of man, he had several other pretty maids at his house, and several resultant bastards.
“Ah, girl,” Ulisses snapped his fingers at the Cathayan, and tossed his traveling sack her way. “Here, take my bag, would you?”
To Ulisses’ surprise, Yann deftly stepped in the trajectory of the sack and caught it himself. His expression was gentle but firm.
“Now, dad,” Yann chided the wolf. “I won’t have you disrespect my wife. She is the lady of my house, and nobility. She is not a house maid, and not to be treated as you have just treated her.”
Ulisses stared blankly at his son for several moments.
“Excuse me?” he chuckled at last, failing to see the point in Yann’s joke.
Yann did not laugh.
“I… this… I’m sorry,” Ulisses sighed. “There seems to have been some misunderstanding.”
“Yes, there does,” Yann said. “Allow me to properly introduce you. Dad, this is Yong Min-Na, my bride.”
“I…” Ulisses continued to stare, before his genteel demeanor realigned itself, and he smiled. “I see. I am sorry, but in the… your letter, you said her name was Mina Young.”
“Well, that’s one way to write it,” Yann grinned sheepishly. “It’s sometimes hard to transliterate Jianghese names.”
“If it please you,” Min-Na said. “You may simply refer to me as ‘sikfu’.”
“Sick… what?” Ulisses furrowed his brow.
“It means son’s wife,” Yann explained.
“I… I see. Your bride… she speaks Lusian so well,” Ulisses said.
“Thank you,” Min-Na replied. “Your son is a good teacher.”
“Her Lusian’s better than my Jianghese,” Yann laughed. “Although, there are a lot of Jiangheses to learn.”
“And you’ve got all those other languages knocking about in your head,” Min-Na chuckled.
“Well, that’s alright,” Ulisses said. “After all, no-one expects you to learn a foreign language. But… this… your bride…”
“Min-Na,” Yann interjected.
“Or sikfu, if you like,” Min-Na added.
“Yes yes! I mean-” Ulisses muttered. “Are you quite sure she will be suitable in Brittany? How is her Breton? You know how cruel noblewomen can be, Yann. Don’t you think she’ll have a rough time in our home?”
“Yes, I imagine she would,” Yann said. “But we don’t intend to go to Brittany. Our home is here.”
“Your-!” Ulisses was dumbfounded. “But… Yann, what are you saying? You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can,” Yann said. “This is our decision. Believe me, dad, you’ve only seen a fraction of Santama. Once you get to know it, you’ll know why I want to stay.”
“But our fief!” Ulisses cried. “Our title and legacy! Everything I built for you!”
At those words, Yann’s smile at last disappeared, and his face took on a grim and somber expression. He had known this conversation would come, sooner or later. But that didn’t make it any easier.
“Dad,” Yann sighed. “I don’t want it.”
Ulisses stared at his son.
“What?” was all he could say.
“Our fief in Brittany, or our holdings in São Tomé,” Yann clarified. “I don’t want them.”
“And… why not?” the wolf began to growl.
“You…” Yann tried to think how best to gather his words. “You have given me so much. Everything I have has come from you. My name, my life, I would not be standing here now if it weren’t for you and everything that you gave me and taught me and made for me. But… you made all this on the backs of slaves, and that, I cannot-”
“Great Yehovah!” the wolf snarled and bared his teeth. “Have you gone mad, boy? I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Did I raise a milksop? I took the name Lobo because that is what a man should be! A solitary wolf, courageous and strong, not some sniveling pup with a bleeding heart!”
“I know,” Yann laughed. “I know. Yehovah, I thank you every day for all that you taught me about courage and rugged individualism. You taught me that life is a venture to be seized, and not passively accepted. You taught me that I should always strive to be better today than I was yesterday. You taught me that anyone can win when the weather is fair and the odds are easy. It’s when the going gets tough, when there seems to be no chance, that’s when it counts.”
“Then why-?”
“Because… you also taught me that, even if the odds are not always favorable, the game is always fair,” Yann continued. “And those who are losers in the game lost fair and square, while the winners always played by the rules. You taught me that there is black and white, wrong and right, and nothing in between. And even as you preached the ideals of man transcending his limitations, you also taught me that at the end of the day, men are only rats. The weak are meat, and the strong do eat.”
“And did I raise you to be weak?” the wolf now howled. “My blood runs through your veins, my legacy, my empire! It rests on your shoulders and you shrug it away because you pity those… those sambos? The wolf does not concern itself with the plight of sheep, because it is a wolf. You are a wolf, a higher being than those mongrel bucks I reared for your sake! It’s very easy for you to sniff at slavery, when you only had to reap the benefits without making any sacrifices. I worked my fingers to the bone! All because I knew I was better, that I wasn’t born for the life of a common sea dog. I was a wolf! And my bloodline and empire are those of the wolf, not the dog or the sheep. Slavery is what gave me my title, my fief, my empire. Why should you reject it when it gave you everything you have?”
“Because that doesn’t make it right,” Yann said. “You are right. Everything I have came from your enterprise. I have to acknowledge it, and the debt I owe to it. But that doesn’t mean I have to blindly accept it or glamorize it.”
“I did nothing wrong!” the wolf barked. “I made a life for you and your mother. I made my country great. I got rid of surplus stock. That’s all. The souds were in the middle of a civil war and they needed to get rid of their prisoners of war. I was helping them!”
“Really?” a flash of anger finally rippled across Yann’s face. “And did you give the prisoners back when you were done with them? Did you stop the trade once the war ended? Did you follow the same laws the Soudanians had in place for their own slaves?”
“There were no laws for prisoners of war,” Ulisses sneered. “I was free to do what I liked with them once I had legally purchased my stock, which I did. I broke no laws.”
“Wrong,” Yann remained firm. “You violated the law of the church when you kept your wards in chains even after they converted to our faith. You violated the law of Soudanians when you kept the children of slaves in chains. And you violated the law of Yehovah when you treated them like cattle, like beasts instead of men.”
The fury and ferocity that rippled off Ulisses could be felt for yards around. It was like a tangible wave of hatred, that frightened and alerted the crowds of people that surrounded the wolf, and soon a space had been cleared around the father, son, and woman.
“It is very easy for you to say that when you have never seen the things I have seen,” the wolf’s voice rumbled. “You can’t imagine it if you are sitting outside on a sunny day sipping an ice-cold drink. I was there! I saw the beasts, those black bucks led in chains and prodded with spears. Their bulging eyes and slobbering lips, what crime did I commit, when I decided to siphon a little profit from the native practice of those animals?”
Yann stared at his father for a long time.
“I can’t answer that,” Yann admitted. “But I know that, even after the war ended, you and your business partners convinced the new dynasty to keep the conflict alive. Whole tribes were conquered and sold, to keep your profit going.”
“And who are we to judge the inscrutable motives of sambos and souds?” Ulisses sneered. “Would you rather we took our Augustine brothers and sisters in chains, to fuel our empire?”
“To be honest, I’d prefer no slavery at all,” Yann shrugged.
“Well you can’t have that!” the wolf snarled. “The world must have its empires and slaves. It isn’t my fault that Yehovah willed it for Lusians to be wolves and Soudanians sheep!”
“If I may interject…” Min-Na attempted to enter the conversation.
“Hold your tongue, cow!” Ulisses spat.
“Dad!” Yann snapped. “I won’t have you speak to my wife that way.”
“No, don’t you lecture me, boy!” Ulisses howled. “I am your father! And I came all this way, only to find you rejecting all I made for you, marrying this yellow sow, spitting on our legacy! Why did you even invite me? Why write to me at all, if all you were going to do was spit in my face?”
Yann sighed a long sigh, and Ulisses could see that his son’s expression was one of genuine sadness.
“I invited you because I love you, and I wanted you to come to my wedding,” Yann said. “I won’t accept your fief. I won’t accept your trade. I won’t accept the presence of slavery in our empire. But I will always be Yanez Lobo. I will always be your son and I will always carry your name, because you are my father and I love you.”
The father and son remained at an impasse, each staring silently back at the other, neither one giving way.
Ulisses was standing in front of his son, but he was also standing on the deck of the Franklin Star. It was his first of many voyages aboard that ship, the first of many days spent at sea. This was where it had all begun for Ulisses, as a lowly cabin boy.
He still remembered every detail; His beatings at the hand of that sadistic third mate, his subsistence on the scraps left over by the other men, his battles with disease and grime and human cruelty. Day in and day out, Ulisses eked out a meager existence, all while that third mate waited for a chance to take the lash to his back.
He remembered the storm, the dismasting of the Franklin Star. The ship had been stranded in the middle of the océan, no land for miles and miles around. The days and nights passed, until the rations grew sparser, the tensions grew higher, the crew grew madder. It was on that ship that the wolf had learned the truth of man. The rats, they alone were responsible for the men’s survival. They ate the provisions but the men ate them, stopped the rats from killing them and reared them just as any other livestock, to keep themselves alive. The meat was diseased and filthy, and sickness was rife on the boat. But Ulisses survived, he remained strong and kept that fire in his heart. Hatred and stubbornness kept him alive, as his crewmates fell one by one.
One day the third mate flew into a rage. Why had so many others died when that cabin boy remained? The third mate’s beard was matted and grimy, his fangs were stained and filthy. He looked like a fearsome lion. But Ulisses was a wolf, and as the lion lunged at him, he ducked and dove, dashing and darting away as the lion’s bulk kept him slow and clumsy. For an eternity, the two beasts continued their chase, until at last, Ulisses hid below deck, hid among the rats, where he stayed safe and silent. The lion stalked and prowled and howled in rage when he could not find the cabin boy.
And then, when the third mate’s back was to Ulisses, and his eyes were clouded and blind with rage, the wolf struck. Pouncing onto the lion’s back, the wolf sank his fangs into the lion’s throat, teeth sharpened by panic and desperation. The lion roared and thrashed all around, knocking over the cages and everything in his path, but the wolf would not let go. He smelled and tasted the lion’s life as it left his body, and when at last the third mate fell, and the rats rushed over to the fresh meat, Ulisses spewed his sickness everywhere. The tears and the bile would not halt their escape, but as Ulisses saw what remained of the third mate, he knew he had lived because he was strong. The bile and tears were simply his weakness leaving his body, and when at last they stopped, Ulisses howled and howled and howled. He, the wolf, had beaten the lion, the monster of his nightmares.
Three days later, the Franklin Star ran ashore, and the surviving men trekked their way to the nearest factory. And years later, it was Ulisses who would captain his own ships, command his own enterprises, come by his own noble house and title. He only ever told a single soul of his slaying of the lion: gentle, darling Mary. It was she who held him when he would wake in the night, screaming and sobbing, she who listened when he bared his soul, she who helped him heal. And every morning, when Ulisses woke and walked to his balcony, and saw the plantation he had built, he felt a deep and powerful gratitude in his soul. He was alive, and his son would never have to see the things he had seen.
Yann was standing in front of his father, but he was also standing on the Lobo Plantation. Tia Nancy had just called all the children to her side, for storytime was just beginning. All the young ones were eager to hear whatever tale she had in store for them that day, and Yann quickly took a seat with the other children. That day’s tale was of João the Conqueror, and how he had managed to outsmart his master into obtaining his freedom. It was a thrilling adventure, with plenty of twists and turns, and Yann laughed and cheered with all the other children as it was told. Then Yann’s tutor found him with Tia Nancy, and hurriedly dragged him away, though not before admonishing the old woman for telling such subversive fantasies.
Senhor Lobo did not pay too much attention when the tutor expressed her worries over Yann socializing with the slave children. He was a child, his father said, and was naturally wont to socialize with those his own age. I see no harm in letting my son run wild with these human creatures any more than a stockman’s son playing with calves, or a horse breeder’s daughter running with foals. So long as it does not interfere with his studies, he is free to do and go as he pleases.
And so, Yann continued to laugh and play, and soon he spoke Patuá just as fluently as Lusian and Breton. But as age came to him so too did curiosity, and one day Yann noticed how so many of his playmates were with mothers but without fathers. He was naturally confused, and sought the answer to this mystery, but the only responses he received from his playmates were castaway glances and sealed lips. Finally, he went to Tia Nancy, for if anyone would know the answer, it would be her. But even she was reluctant to tell the young master.
Finally, after much pleading and imploring on the boy’s part, Tia Nancy relented, but only if Yann promised to never tell a single soul the truth. Yann promised, crossing his heart and hoping to die, and so Tia Nancy pointed out into the distance and said that there, on the top of that hill, was the father of so many of Yann’s playmates. The boy did not understand at first. The only figure he saw on the hill was his own father, overlooking the plantation. But then realization cut him like a razor-sharp knife, and he began to feel sick.
From that day on, Yann saw with a crystalline clarity that these were not his playmates, but his brothers and sisters. As he grew, every morning when he played with his siblings he would see his reflection and resemblance in their faces, and every evening when he dined with his parents he would hear their warnings and admonitions of growing too close now that he was older. Yann soon learned that, even as his father spoke of human creatures needing guidance and benevolence, shared humanity did not entail shared equality. There were boys on the plantation who could have passed for Yann’s doppelgangers, save for the darkness of their hair and skin. But their parentage could not be acknowledged, because for a slave woman to produce a free son, it would threaten the sanctity of the Lobo family’s enterprise.
Blood. It was blood that separated the Lobos from commoners, the blood that had been given to Yann by his father. But his father had been a commoner, hadn’t he? The Lobo Plantation was young, their noble title freshly given. Surely the blood had not changed just as suddenly. Your blood is the blood of a mighty wolf, Ulisses would tell his son. But secretly Yann would wonder, if that were so, did that not mean the wolf’s blood was in his brothers and sisters as well? Blood was important, blood was everything. Blood was what separated nobleman from commoner, white from black, man from beast. But how could it be so valuable, when it was the same before and after being granted its rank?
As the years passed, the friendships Yann had thought he possessed revealed themselves to be nothing more than a lie, just one of the many justifications put in place to preserve his family’s peculiar institution. And when his mother died, his brothers and sisters were slowly sold off one by one, and the Lobo family retreated to their fief in Brittany, Yann knew he had to escape. The love his father showed him was real and genuine, but the cruelty he displayed his charges was just as authentic, and it terrified Yann. It terrified him to know the duality of his father, of his legacy and empire. When he came of age, he fled. He said it was to reconnect with his Lusian heritage, to get to know his empire’s factories, but really it was just to escape.
He had meant to escape, to run away and cast aside his family’s black legacy. But it was on the seas, as he toiled and worked on the ships and docks, that he realized that he could not run away. It was a part of him, a part he had to confront, if he had any real nobility in him at all.
It was Min-Na who broke the silence.
“If I may…” Min-Na said carefully. “Senhor, your son is a good man. And he loves you very much. It appears there are things you do not see eye-to-eye on, but Yann wants you to be here for our wedding. Can you not at least accept that?”
Ulisses stared at the woman before him. She was quite attractive. She would have made a good mistress or lover. But a wife? What would their children look like? How would this woman dilute the blood of the Lobo clan? But then, as he glanced back at his son, Ulisses could see that his son truly loved this woman, and at once he felt disgusted. He was too late, he realized. His son had already rejected the wolf in his blood. He had become a soft and timid sheep.
“No,” the wolf growled at last, before grabbing his bag and stalking away. And the people cleared a path for him, as befitting a wolf such as he.