He smiled at his own bravado. He had never ventured farther than the market town of Coats, twenty miles away—he had not even been to Edinburgh—but he was telling himself he was willing to go to exotic destinations as if he knew what those places were like.
As he strode along the rutted mud track he began to feel solemn about his journey. He was leaving the only home he had ever known, the place where he had been born and his parents had died. He was leaving Esther, his friend and ally, although he hoped to rescue her from Heugh before too long. He was leaving Annie, the cousin who had taught him how to kiss and how to play her body like a musical instrument.
But he had always known this would happen. As long as he could remember he had dreamed of escape. He had envied the peddler, Davey Patch, and longed for that kind of freedom. Now he had it.
Now he had it. He was filled with elation as he thought of what he had done. He had got away.
He did not know what tomorrow would bring. There might be poverty and suffering and danger. But it would not be another day down the pit, another day of slavery, another day of being the property of Sir George Jamisson. Tomorrow he would be his own man.
He came to a bend in the road and looked back. He could still just see Castle Jamisson, its battlemented roofline lit by the moon. I’ll never look at that again, he thought. It made him so happy that he began to dance a reel, there in the middle of the mud road, whistling the tune and jigging around in a circle.
Then he stopped, laughed softly at himself, and walked on down the glen.
II
London
13
SHYLOCK WORE WIDE TROUSERS, A LONG BLACK GOWN and a red three-cornered hat. The actor was bloodcurdlingly ugly, with a big nose, a long double chin, and a slitted mouth set in a permanent one-sided grimace. He came on stage with a slow, deliberate walk, the picture of evil. In a voluptuous growl he said: “Three thousand ducats.” A shudder went through the audience.
Mack was spellbound. Even in the pit, where he stood with Dermot Riley, the crowd was still and silent. Shylock spoke every word in a husky voice between a grunt and a bark. His eyes stared brightly from under shaggy eyebrows. “Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.…”
Dermot whispered in Mack’s ear: “That’s Charles Macklin—an Irishman. He killed a man and stood trial for murder, but he pleaded provocation and got off.”
Mack hardly heard. He had known there were such things as theaters and plays, of course, but he had never imagined it would be like this: the heat, the smoky oil lamps, the fantastic costumes, the painted faces, and most of all the emotion—rage, passionate love, envy and hatred, portrayed so vividly that his heart beat as fast as if it were real.
When Shylock found out that his daughter had run away, he hurtled on stage with no hat, hair flying, hands clenched, in a perfect fury of grief, screaming “You knew!” like a man in the torment of hell. And when he said “Since I am a dog, beware my
Leaving the theater, Mack said to Dermot: “Is that what Jews are like?” He had never met a Jew, as far as he knew, but most people in the Bible were Jewish, and they were not portrayed that way.
“I’ve known Jews but never one like Shy lock, thank God,” Dermot replied. “Everyone hates a moneylender, though. They’re all right when you need a loan, but it’s the paying it back that causes the trouble.”
London did not have many Jews but it was full of foreigners. There were dark-skinned Asian sailors called lascars; Huguenots from France; thousands of Africans with rich brown skin and tightly curled hair; and countless Irish like Dermot. For Mack this was part of the tingling excitement of the city. In Scotland everyone looked the same.
He loved London. He felt a thrill every morning when he woke up and remembered where he was. The city was full of sights and surprises, strange people and new experiences. He loved the enticing smell of coffee from the scores of coffeehouses, although he could not afford to drink it. He stared at the gorgeous colors of the clothes—bright yellow, purple, emerald green, scarlet, sky blue—worn by men and women. He heard the bellowing herds of terrified cattle being driven through the narrow streets to the city’s slaughterhouses, and he dodged the swarms of nearly naked children, begging and stealing. He saw prostitutes and bishops, he went to bullfights and auctions, he tasted banana and ginger and red wine. Everything was exciting. Best of all, he was free to go where he would and do as he liked.
