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Wake me up in the dead of night and ask me what I hate the most, and I’ll say ‘em Alienos. I hate ‘em Alienos. Ain’t rightly know what to do to keep the warehouse from bein’ robbed. Goddamn brownskins. Good stuff, that’s an 1897 Bates. And a good price too; ol’ man Barry sold it to me for only 30 dollars! In the City, it would’ve been 50. It’s expensive, but what can I do? How else can I deal with these scoundrels? It’s a fine gun. 16-gauge. “Slam-fire,” that’s what they call it now. Practical, durable, reliable gun; you can sit all day long, and the little one won’t let you down at the right moment. I’ll definitely tote it with me next time I go huntin’. Yeah. What we gonna do? What do we do ’bout these savages? How do we fight ‘em? The humble Caldwell pistol ain’t no defense ‘gainst a nighttime attack by these hawks. My Pop said that as a teenager, he never left the house without a gun, so often there were skirmishes between Alienos and Abenlanders. Yeah… When did I first hear the word “Alieno”? Uh, probably in my early teens. There was this kid at school called Joseph, not a pure Alieno, but a half-breed, mother from Misceos tribe. We used to get all tense when he showed up at school. Strange kid. He was a reserved person himself, hardly socialized with anyone. Was he a bad guy? I ain’t know. But he certainly wasn’t no good guy. Never got into no fights at school. Never even fought over a girl. Strange type.
“Dear Jurors, I would like to draw attention to a number of circumstances that prompted my clients to commit this undoubtedly horrible crime. It must be recognized, distinguished jurors, that the lives of these young people are no less horrible. A poor family, forced to limit ‘emselves in everythin’ to feed and raise their children. The inability to get a good education. Are they to blame for bein’ born into such conditions? Let’s be honest, honorable jurors, our Firenzican society is to blame. For a long time, we’ve been indifferent to folks of color, to hardships and sorrows. Today we’re reapin’ what we sowed from that behavior. Two of the defendants were recently laid off due to cuts at the factory. These boys had their futures stolen… What does a man do when his future’s stolen? A man goes to the extreme. These boys went to the extreme. Do I say, my dear jurors, that I’m tryin’ to acquit the two defendants? Not at all. I’m just tryin’ to get y’all to look at the whole story. I hope for your discretion, gentlemen…”
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Last week some men robbed Teddy Wilson, the blacksmith. Stole tools and horseshoes. Poor Teddy’s heart couldn’t take it, and he died the next day… A wife and five young’uns. Two of ‘em are almost grown enough to take over their daddy’s business. Not the way ol’ Teddy woulda wanted to pass on his trade, that’s for sure. Sheriff Ferguson ain’t got no doubt the atrocity was committed by youngsters from the nearby Musco tribe. Who else would need horseshoes in such quantity? Farmers, farmers will definitely be next. Horses will make it easier to steal crops from farmers. I done warned ol’ Gordon, Stevenson, and Wood. We should definitely expect visitors. Maybe even tonight. Yeah, they won’t be puttin’ it off too long. I ain’t gonna be caught with my pants down.
All right, I should grab a bite to eat ‘fore the night watch. And drink some coffee. Otherwise, it’s gonna make me drowsy. Make beans. Now, where’d I put the pot? Oh, beans. I love beans. Yeah, ain’tt forget to stir ‘em. Slowly, just like my Pop taught me. Yes… Oh, Pop, you should see what our dear Firenzica has become. Ain’t the country you loved. It’s a pity you didn’t catch your grandchildren and granddaughters… Damn war, yes… So, can I check the beans already? It’s hot! You gotta be careful what you eat. Mmm. Delicious, as always. You eat a little bit of it and you’re full. Thank you, God, for givin’ us these small pleasures of life. That you give us a chance to take a break and move on with our lives. Our fathers and grandfathers ate beans too when they was explorin’ these wonderful lands. Eh… I remember how we went out to the pasture with son Ike last year. We spent the whole day in the field, decided not to go home, and made a small camp right in the pasture. Ike was real set on spendin’ the night in the field. And I wanted to remember my childhood. We built a fire, cooked beans, and ate ‘em with great pleasure. I remember that day there was such an incredible sunset. How long can you watch a sunset? Eh, how nice it would be if the sunset lasted forever. Forever breathin’ in that fragrance from the field. Forever watchin’ the sun go down. Just so it never sets. After all these years, I can’t help bein’ happy ’bout the sunset. I remember Ike liked that sunset a lot back then, too. He told me ’bout our trip to the field many times. Ike. My poor Ike. How long? Three years now, I reckon, he’s been havin’ these seizures. Yeah, that’s right, three years. Oh, my God. How agonizin’ly long and yet how quickly time has flown by. What to do ’bout poor Ike? City doctors didn’t help, maybe the smart heads in the Capital will. But when and on what to go? It’s a long way. And we can’t leave the mill and the factory now. Nancy can’t do it alone. Maybe in the winter. Yeah, if he don’t get better, we’ll go with him. Poor boy, what’s he in for? How did we sin with Nancy to give him these seizures in his twelfth year? But we gotta try, we gotta find a cure. There’s a reason those nitwit doctors go to university and we Firenzican farmers pay taxes? Not so they can sit in theaters and restaurants? Someone has to help poor Ike. We didn’t do nothin’ wrong to have God take him away from us. Yeah…
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