Read Online Heartfire: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume V by Orson Scott Card - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Orson Scott Card
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babies.”
“Oh, you plan to get them some other way?” Jean-Jacques laughed again. “Look, Pantagruel has seen us! He is coming to crush us!”
Mike Fink strode angrily toward them. “You know what damn time it is!” he called out.
People nearby looked at him and glared.
“Watch your language,” Alvin said. “You want to get fined?”
“I wanted to get to Trenton before nightfall,” said Mike.
“How, you got a train ticket?” asked Alvin.
“Good afternoon, Pantagruel. I am Jean-Jacques Audubon.”
“Is he talking English?” asked Mike.
“Mike, this is John-James Audubon, a Frenchman who paints birds. Jean-Jacques, this is Mike Fink.”
“That’s right, I’m Mike Fink! I’m half bear and half alligator, and my grandma on my mother’s side was a tornado. When I clap my hands it scares lightning out of a clear sky. And if I want a bird painted, I’ll pee straight up and turn the whole flock yellow!”
“I tremble in my boots to know you are such a dangerous fellow,” said Jean-Jacques. “I am sure that when you say these things to ladies, their skirts fly up and they fall over on their backs.”
Mike looked at him for a moment in silence. “If he’s making fun of me, Alvin, I got to kill him.”
“No, he was saying he thinks you make a fine speech,” said Alvin. “Come on, Mike, it’s me you’re mad at. I’m sorry I didn’t get back. I found Arthur Stuart pretty quick, but then we had to stay and help Mr. Audubon paint a goose.”
“What for?” asked Mike. “Was the old colors peeling off?”
“No no,” said Jean-Jacques. “I paint on
paper
. I make a picture of a goose.”
Before Alvin could explain that the former river rat was making a joke, Mike said, “Thanks for clearing that up for me, you half-witted tick-licking donkey-faced baboon.”
“Every time you talk I hear how much of English I have yet to learn,” said Jean-Jacques.
“It wasn’t Mr. Audubon’s fault, Mike. It was Arthur Stuart who made us stay while he talked a goose intoholding still. So Mr. Audubon could paint a picture without having to kill the bird and stuff it first.”
“Well that’s fine with me,” said Mike. “I’m not all that mad about it.”
“You get more mad that this?” asked Jean-Jacques.
“None of you ain’t seen me mad,” said Mike.
“I have,” said Alvin.
“Well, maybe a little bit mad,” said Mike. “When you broke my leg.”
Jean-Jacques looked at Alvin, seeing him in a new light, if he could break the leg of a man who did indeed seem to be half bear.
“It’s Verily who’s about ready to explode,” said Mike.
“Verily?” asked Alvin, surprised. Verily Cooper hardly ever showed his temper.
“Yeah, he drummed his fingers on the table at lunch and on the porch he snatched a fly right out of the air and threw it at the house so hard it broke a window.”
“He did?” asked Arthur Stuart, in awe.
“I said so, didn’t I?” said Mike Fink.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot who was talking,” said Arthur.
“Arthur and Mr. Audubon are hungry and thirsty,” said Alvin. “You think you can take them in and see if Mistress Louder can get them a slab of bread and some water, at least?”
“Water?” said Audubon with a painted expression. “Do you Americans not understand that water can make you sick? Wine is healthy. Beer is good for you as long as you don’t mind making urine all the time. But water—you will get, what you call it, the piles.”
“I been drinking water all my life,” said Alvin, “and I don’t get no piles.”
“But this mean you are, how you say ...” Then he rattled off a stream of French.
“Used to it,” said Arthur, translating.
“Yes! Yoost a twit!”
“Used. To. It,” Arthur repeated helpfully.
“English is the stupidest language on Earth. Except for German, and it is not a language, it is a head cold.”
“You speak French?” Alvin asked Arthur Stuart.
“No,” said Arthur, as if it were the stupidest idea
“Oh, you plan to get them some other way?” Jean-Jacques laughed again. “Look, Pantagruel has seen us! He is coming to crush us!”
Mike Fink strode angrily toward them. “You know what damn time it is!” he called out.
People nearby looked at him and glared.
“Watch your language,” Alvin said. “You want to get fined?”
“I wanted to get to Trenton before nightfall,” said Mike.
“How, you got a train ticket?” asked Alvin.
“Good afternoon, Pantagruel. I am Jean-Jacques Audubon.”
“Is he talking English?” asked Mike.
“Mike, this is John-James Audubon, a Frenchman who paints birds. Jean-Jacques, this is Mike Fink.”
“That’s right, I’m Mike Fink! I’m half bear and half alligator, and my grandma on my mother’s side was a tornado. When I clap my hands it scares lightning out of a clear sky. And if I want a bird painted, I’ll pee straight up and turn the whole flock yellow!”
“I tremble in my boots to know you are such a dangerous fellow,” said Jean-Jacques. “I am sure that when you say these things to ladies, their skirts fly up and they fall over on their backs.”
Mike looked at him for a moment in silence. “If he’s making fun of me, Alvin, I got to kill him.”
“No, he was saying he thinks you make a fine speech,” said Alvin. “Come on, Mike, it’s me you’re mad at. I’m sorry I didn’t get back. I found Arthur Stuart pretty quick, but then we had to stay and help Mr. Audubon paint a goose.”
“What for?” asked Mike. “Was the old colors peeling off?”
“No no,” said Jean-Jacques. “I paint on
paper
. I make a picture of a goose.”
Before Alvin could explain that the former river rat was making a joke, Mike said, “Thanks for clearing that up for me, you half-witted tick-licking donkey-faced baboon.”
“Every time you talk I hear how much of English I have yet to learn,” said Jean-Jacques.
“It wasn’t Mr. Audubon’s fault, Mike. It was Arthur Stuart who made us stay while he talked a goose intoholding still. So Mr. Audubon could paint a picture without having to kill the bird and stuff it first.”
“Well that’s fine with me,” said Mike. “I’m not all that mad about it.”
“You get more mad that this?” asked Jean-Jacques.
“None of you ain’t seen me mad,” said Mike.
“I have,” said Alvin.
“Well, maybe a little bit mad,” said Mike. “When you broke my leg.”
Jean-Jacques looked at Alvin, seeing him in a new light, if he could break the leg of a man who did indeed seem to be half bear.
“It’s Verily who’s about ready to explode,” said Mike.
“Verily?” asked Alvin, surprised. Verily Cooper hardly ever showed his temper.
“Yeah, he drummed his fingers on the table at lunch and on the porch he snatched a fly right out of the air and threw it at the house so hard it broke a window.”
“He did?” asked Arthur Stuart, in awe.
“I said so, didn’t I?” said Mike Fink.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot who was talking,” said Arthur.
“Arthur and Mr. Audubon are hungry and thirsty,” said Alvin. “You think you can take them in and see if Mistress Louder can get them a slab of bread and some water, at least?”
“Water?” said Audubon with a painted expression. “Do you Americans not understand that water can make you sick? Wine is healthy. Beer is good for you as long as you don’t mind making urine all the time. But water—you will get, what you call it, the piles.”
“I been drinking water all my life,” said Alvin, “and I don’t get no piles.”
“But this mean you are, how you say ...” Then he rattled off a stream of French.
“Used to it,” said Arthur, translating.
“Yes! Yoost a twit!”
“Used. To. It,” Arthur repeated helpfully.
“English is the stupidest language on Earth. Except for German, and it is not a language, it is a head cold.”
“You speak French?” Alvin asked Arthur Stuart.
“No,” said Arthur, as if it were the stupidest idea
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