TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

SCHERZO - STAVE XXXVIII

S T A V E

XXXIII

Women over washtubs behind the barracks, on their knees. Penance. Mounds of laundry awaiting the Water. Shirts and trowsers foul with muck while 'round the yard rows of clean washing. Supplication. Washtubs in a circle and at the center, two large Kettles, one Copper – to boil water, one Iron – to cook the soap of potash lye and tallow. Every so often a Woman stirred the mixture, taking a drop on the tip of her tongue. She spits. Too much bite still. In and Out mollies scuttle with water for the Copper. Children too with wood. To one side, a bleaching tub, where a Wife, with a Bat, 'bucks' the laundry, a temple Priestess purging semen and shit – a man with any sense keeps out – no secrets. And beyond, through the waving linen, disfigured New York – a half-face – one side whole and the other scarred . . . like the Country.

Jaruesha, to her elbows in steamy water, jaundice. She shook, deep-down. It'll pass, though she winced, her belly 'gainst the tub. She worked, barely, under the sun that's hotter on her than others. A beating in her temples and a hairy tongue. O' for a tot of Rum. Just to calm her. Like a steadying hand –

She'd bought what she could, then stole the rest, and had the last drop this morning. She'd finish this wash for her five pense and then off for Beer – Rum, if she could get it – Gin, better still; and took it to walk Sober.

Tom Tree kept watch, the violence in him barely controlled. If she tied on another, he'd beat her to death . . . for her own good. Death's preferable. The women looked out for her, except the new ones – glad to see her fall. Bloody bitch has it coming.

Jaruesha, wringing out a shirt, waivered and dropped it back in the water. Hand to her mouth to hold back her stomach, but there was nothing to hold down. She rocked, the world spinning, then rolled to the ground.

A Philadelphia girl laughed. "There – Again."

Bess, on the next tub, gave her a bottle from her pocket. Jaruesha drank greedily.

Bess released it in disgust. "Keep it then. How long will that hold you?"

Jaruesha shrugged.

"Will it get ye through?"

Jaruesha, cheeks spidered with veins, licked her lips not to waste a drop. "An hour, maybe." And wiped her mouth with a quivering hand. "I need to save some 'til I can get money."

"And you've got nothing?" Bess turned to the New Women. "Have any of you Drink?" They stared. "Any of you?" She's a fool. "Any of you bitches have a goddamn bottle?"

"Not for her," a New Wife said.

"Then I'll buy one." She dug into her purse while Jaruesha drank. "Here's fourpense."

"Go on," the New Wife said. "I'd pay fourpense to see her croak."

Bess dug further. "Sixpence."

The alcohol took effect and Jaruesha wobbled up to her knees, trying to hold steady. "The hell with them," she said.

"Shut up," Bess said and pulled out more pennies. "Eight."

"The hell with them, I said."

"She don't want your help," the New Wife said.

Bess wheeled on Jaruesha. "Shut up or I'll slap ye stupid."

"Now for that you'd get eightpence," a Philadelphia girl said. "Why waste time on her?

She's lost."

"Have you no compassion?" Bess said.

"The same she showed Mary Hammel," replied the Philadelphia girl.