and then extended his arm toward the conductor; he might have been holding a gun the way the conductor leaned away.
“I speak English,” Czolgosz said. “Better than you.”
The conductor pulled himself upright as the train came out of the bend. He took the clipper, and as he punched the ticket there was a precise metallic click. He returned the ticket and moved down the aisle to the next passenger.
Czolgosz laid his forehead against the cool window glass and closed his eyes, and at that moment he realized what his duty was: he was supposed to shoot the president. He had thought about this before, many times, but now there was an absolute certainty to it—as though Emma Goldman had whispered in his ear.
AS Norris walked down Market Street, he saw Hyde standing at the head of the alley next to the Three Brothers Café, looking impatient and worried. Norris decided against going inside the café, and they walked toward the back of the clapboard building. He listened to Hyde and finally stopped him when they reached a cabbage patch. Throughout Buffalo there were such fields between buildings, where people grew vegetables.
“What did I tell you?” Norris said.
“I know.”
“But you went and lost him.” Norris stared across the cabbage field; on the horizon he could see a series of tall stacks rising above Lake Erie, thick smoke angling into the blue sky. He was so disgusted he didn’t want to look at Hyde. “And where does he get the money for all this traveling?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he working?” Norris waited. “You don’t know that, either.”
“No.”
“Did he
say
he was working?”
“No.” Quietly, like a child.
“Then maybe someone’s giving him the money? John D. Rockefeller says he received his money from God. Who’s giving it to Leon Czolgosz?” He took out his cigar case, removed a cigar, andput the case away. He didn’t light it but just held it between his fingers, where Hyde could see it. “And according to this Russian whore, he’s an admirer of Gaetano Bresci?”
“Yes.”
“You said Czolgosz wouldn’t even go upstairs with a girl.”
“He did last night.”
“So he likes women.”
“I said he’s often shy around them.”
“He fuck her?”
“I’m not sure what they did up there in her room.”
“So what does that tell you, Hyde? Maybe they’re plotting something together.”
“No.”
“With Russians, you never know.”
“I don’t know exactly what they did up there, but she’s no anarchist.”
“Why
don’t
you know, exactly? You find
out
, that’s what you
do
. It’s hard work, this is, but sometimes it has its little rewards. You get her in the sack and you get her to do to you what she did with him. See? You become him. You got to
become
Leon Czolgosz, also known as Fred C. Nieman, which is goddamned German for ‘nobody.’”
Hyde stood perfectly still. Norris realized this was a man who was accustomed to being chastised; he suspected it had to do with the orphanage. There was a time and place to just take it, to bend but not break. Hyde was smart enough to hold his temper.
Norris removed his bowler hat, inspected the white satin lining, and then seated it on his head, tapping it down until it was snug. “I was starting to think he was an onanist.” He glanced at Hyde, who was clearly baffled by the word, and he made a back and-forth gesture with his fingers around the cigar. “And then I was half expecting you to report that he, you know—” Norris sucked on the end of the cigar before biting off the tip, which he spit on the ground. “So now it appears our friend enjoys sexualintercourse like any normal man.” He struck a match with his fingernail and took his time lighting the cigar. “You’re both just a couple of normal, God-fearing American men, that it?”
“He’s left Buffalo,” Hyde said. “I’m sure of it.”
Norris exhaled cigar smoke and asked, “You know the story of Daniel, the prophet?” He was
“I speak English,” Czolgosz said. “Better than you.”
The conductor pulled himself upright as the train came out of the bend. He took the clipper, and as he punched the ticket there was a precise metallic click. He returned the ticket and moved down the aisle to the next passenger.
Czolgosz laid his forehead against the cool window glass and closed his eyes, and at that moment he realized what his duty was: he was supposed to shoot the president. He had thought about this before, many times, but now there was an absolute certainty to it—as though Emma Goldman had whispered in his ear.
AS Norris walked down Market Street, he saw Hyde standing at the head of the alley next to the Three Brothers Café, looking impatient and worried. Norris decided against going inside the café, and they walked toward the back of the clapboard building. He listened to Hyde and finally stopped him when they reached a cabbage patch. Throughout Buffalo there were such fields between buildings, where people grew vegetables.
“What did I tell you?” Norris said.
“I know.”
“But you went and lost him.” Norris stared across the cabbage field; on the horizon he could see a series of tall stacks rising above Lake Erie, thick smoke angling into the blue sky. He was so disgusted he didn’t want to look at Hyde. “And where does he get the money for all this traveling?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he working?” Norris waited. “You don’t know that, either.”
“No.”
“Did he
say
he was working?”
“No.” Quietly, like a child.
“Then maybe someone’s giving him the money? John D. Rockefeller says he received his money from God. Who’s giving it to Leon Czolgosz?” He took out his cigar case, removed a cigar, andput the case away. He didn’t light it but just held it between his fingers, where Hyde could see it. “And according to this Russian whore, he’s an admirer of Gaetano Bresci?”
“Yes.”
“You said Czolgosz wouldn’t even go upstairs with a girl.”
“He did last night.”
“So he likes women.”
“I said he’s often shy around them.”
“He fuck her?”
“I’m not sure what they did up there in her room.”
“So what does that tell you, Hyde? Maybe they’re plotting something together.”
“No.”
“With Russians, you never know.”
“I don’t know exactly what they did up there, but she’s no anarchist.”
“Why
don’t
you know, exactly? You find
out
, that’s what you
do
. It’s hard work, this is, but sometimes it has its little rewards. You get her in the sack and you get her to do to you what she did with him. See? You become him. You got to
become
Leon Czolgosz, also known as Fred C. Nieman, which is goddamned German for ‘nobody.’”
Hyde stood perfectly still. Norris realized this was a man who was accustomed to being chastised; he suspected it had to do with the orphanage. There was a time and place to just take it, to bend but not break. Hyde was smart enough to hold his temper.
Norris removed his bowler hat, inspected the white satin lining, and then seated it on his head, tapping it down until it was snug. “I was starting to think he was an onanist.” He glanced at Hyde, who was clearly baffled by the word, and he made a back and-forth gesture with his fingers around the cigar. “And then I was half expecting you to report that he, you know—” Norris sucked on the end of the cigar before biting off the tip, which he spit on the ground. “So now it appears our friend enjoys sexualintercourse like any normal man.” He struck a match with his fingernail and took his time lighting the cigar. “You’re both just a couple of normal, God-fearing American men, that it?”
“He’s left Buffalo,” Hyde said. “I’m sure of it.”
Norris exhaled cigar smoke and asked, “You know the story of Daniel, the prophet?” He was
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