Read A History of the Future for Free Online Page A

to death.” Perses was a Belgian gelding used by the logging crew of which Travis Berkey was chief teamster. He seemed to search the air in front of him for an explanation.
    “He stepped on my foot.”
    “I suppose he did that on purpose.”
    “It wasn’t the first time.”
    “Perhaps you’re not so good around horses.”
    “He’s a bad-tempered horse.”
    “Horseflesh is dear. We can’t breed them fast enough these days. And we can’t be prima donnas about their temperament. We certainly can’t abuse them with ax handles. He was pissing blood, you know. How would you like it if I took an ax handle to your kidneys?”
    Berkey seemed to search the dim corners of the ceiling for something to say.
    “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I won’t never do it again.”
    “Of course you would. That’s your temperament.”
    “Put me on some other crew, then. I’ll work. I’ll do whatever you say.”
    “I hear that you hit your wife now and then too,” Bullock said.
    Dick Lee coughed into his sleeve. Berkey stared into the carpet and seethed.
    “Who told you I did that?” he said.
    “Does it matter? More than a couple of people.”
    “How come I don’t get to defend myself in front of my accusers?” Berkey said. In the old times, he’d been a deputy building inspector for the city of Glens Falls. He was not ignorant about official procedure. “Bring them in here and let’s hear it out face-to-face.”
    “This isn’t some civil service union grievance.”
    “I’m entitled to a hearing. It’s still America, goddammit.”
    “That’s debatable. But this is my farm. I decide what happens around here, and I’m inclined to kick your ass out.”
    Bullock sighed and puffed out his cheeks. He wanted to pour himself another whiskey, but Berkey was also reputed to be a problem drinker and he didn’t want to further aggravate the man’s state of mind.
    “I’ve got a family here, a house,” Berkey said. His tone had shifted from defiant to pleading.
    “I wouldn’t let your wife and child go with you, the way you act. They can stay here in that house. Sooner or later she’ll find a better man than you to keep company with and in the meantime we’ll see to their needs.”
    “You can’t come between a man and his family!”
    “You bet I can. And I will.”
    “It’s Christmas, goddammit,” Berkey said and began to weep great heaping sobs. “Show a little mercy? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for anything I done. Please. Have mercy. Please . . .” Berkey sank into his haunches on the carpet and blubbered.
    Dick Lee got up to poke the logs on the hearth.
    Delson put his hand over his eyes so he didn’t have to look.
    “Please don’t cast me out,” Berkey blubbered. “Have mercy. Oh, Jesus. Have mercy.”
    If the man sank any lower into the carpet, Bullock thought, he’d vanish and leave a mere stain. Then Bullock swung behind his desk with catlike grace, took a seat behind the desk where he didn’t have to see Berkey on the floor, and poured himself another whiskey after all. He let Berkey carry on for a good five minutes. The clock ticked between carols and then the King’s Choir segued into “The First Noel,” and the music got to him as images of poor shepherds keeping their sheep softened his heart.
    “Get up off the floor,” he said.
    Weeping quietly now, Berkey gathered his loose limbs together and arose from the floor.
    “Quit blubbering and look at me.”
    Berkey hocked down a draft of phlegm and turned his rheumy eyes to meet Bullock’s.
    “I’m putting you in the lockup tonight and you’re going to remain in there the next few days until Christmas is over,” Bullock said. He’d established a brig in a room behind the smithy where it stayed reasonably warm on a winter night. “We’ll send in rations and take out slops, and you’re going to reflect on your behavior while you’re there. When work resumes after the holiday you’ll report to the sawmill. I don’t want you