“So you lost your power and came to body snatching?”
“I was brought low by a certain passion I have,” the liveryman admitted.
Eddie recalled the times he’d seen this fellow crouched in the alleyway behind the stable, all but hidden in the falling dusk. He’d often had a pipe with him. There had been times when Eddie had observed him fast asleep beside his horses, dead to the world or only half-awake, his eyes hazed over from the effects of smoking poppy. There were opium houses across lower Manhattan, in the cellars of bordellos and taverns. Eddie had been to many such places while working for Hochman. His young age hadn’t mattered to anyone in this world where a man’s craving was paramount. All that was necessary for him to gain admittance was to pay a dime to the sheriff who guarded the door; he was then allowed to search through the warren of cubbyholes. In these dim and filthy cubicles a man could smoke himself into a stupor, most often lying on one hip so he could get to his pipe even as he slipped into a dream. It was a dream from which he’d never have to wake, as long as he had money enough, and wasn’t murdered in his sleep.
“The Professor concocts his own opium in his workshop,” the liveryman informed Eddie. “He takes the raw stuff that looks like amber flakes and mixes it into a paste with those chemicals of his. He’s a wizard, I’ll grant him that. He vowed I’d never go without as long as I keep my mouth shut.”
“But you’re talking now,” Eddie reminded him.
“So I am. I’ve had enough of being lorded over by the likes of some so-called scientist who has me dragging around the dead. I may take his money, but he hasn’t got my loyalty. You keep me out of it, and I’ll talk all right.”
“You’ll do more than that. You’ll take me there.”
Eddie then brought out the dime-store photograph of Hannah. After a single glance, the liveryman looked away, pained. Even a man such as he had a soul, one he worried over more as each year went by.
“That’s her,” he admitted. “God forgive me.”
To Eddie’s great shock, the carriage man then began the initial phrases of the Kaddish, the mourning prayer of the Jews. Yit’gadal v’yit kadash sh’mei raba. May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified. B’al’ma di v’ra khir’utei. In the world that He created as He willed. V’yam’likh mal’khutei b’chayeikhon uv’yomeikhon. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days. Uv’chayei d’khol beit yis’ra’eil. And in the lifetimes of the entire family of Israel.
The prayer was so ingrained, Eddie found himself murmuring the words in unison, though the liveryman seemed less a Jew than a heathen, a criminal with no allegiance, however he might call upon God.
“There you have it,” the carriage man told his confused companion when the prayer had been completed. “I’m one of your brethren.”
“I’ve left my faith,” Eddie was quick to inform him. “So we can hardly be brothers in any way, shape, or form.”
“You think so? I did the same as you, covered up who I was. We’re not so different. It was easier for a man like me to make my way without carrying the weight of our people. I suspect the same held true for you. I became whatever and whoever suited the times. I changed my name when need be, and who says that’s a crime? I’ve been Bill and Jack, and half a dozen other people. Joe Marvin, Joe Morris, William Murray—there’s an entire list of who I’ve been, and none of them have been too pleasing. But where do I go when there’s no one else to turn to? Adonai, our God.”
“If you think I’ll let you off easy because of this, you’re wrong. You’ll take me to her.”
The carriage man shook his head sadly. “You’ll likely regret it. I say this in all respect and as a brother.”
“Likely I will,” Eddie agreed. “But I’ll be in Brooklyn when I do.”
A frayed red cushion covered the seat of the carriage, to ease the pounding a person’s rear end took as the wooden wheels hit against the ruts in the roads. Eddie noticed the liveryman didn’t use a whip on the horse, yet the gelding trotted easily, as if he knew his master’s intended destination.
“You’re good with animals,” Eddie granted.
“I don’t need you to tell me so. I owned a pet shop on Broome Street when I was young. I was bird crazy. Still am. Honest creatures, aren’t they? Wild little things.”
The weather was warm and the sky had opened into a clear cerulean blue. The liveryman stopped the carriage on the flatlands, where there were still farms. Rows of cauliflower and beets grew for nearly a mile. The road was dusty, and it seemed no one was around. Eddie’s hackles were immediately raised as he speculated that some foul play was under way. It was possible that his companion would try to do him in on this empty stretch of highway; it might be that one of the liveryman’s old cohorts was nearby, ready with a club or a gun. Then Eddie realized their journey had been halted because they’d come to a well. The carriage man had already leapt down to retrieve a bucket from beneath the rear seat, which he filled so that his horse might drink. Eddie jumped down as well, in order to stretch his long legs.