The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 81
“If Lazarus says my dad’s a tyrant, he’s a liar!” We all talked at once, trying to calm Germanicus, trying to make peace between those two stubborn lovers. Jane loved Germanicus—who did not?—yet she also loved learning and was also a Gaunt. She would not let Germanicus’s temper distract her summary.
“If we can propose a candidate to unite the families, a union candidate,” said Jane, “your dad would see the sense of an election. Then we can get us a constitution. Lazarus says a government of men is lawless, a government of law is a rock.”
“What’re you saying, girl?” said Abigail hesitantly.
“You’d be a fine candidate, Abbie,” said Jane.
“I’m a Longfaeroe and a Frazer and mother of a bastard,” said Abigail. For their own reasons, Jane and Abigail laughed.
“There be a man,” said Germanicus heavily.
“No! Hold your tongue, you Germanicus Frazer,” said Abigail.
“Grim Fiddle,” said Jane.
I had not thought Wild Drumrul understood what was said, but he then stood up and said in English, “In the name of Allah the Compassionate, the Merciful, Grim Fiddle!” I knew it the preface to his Moslem prayers, a way of announcing the profound. He put his hands on my shoulders, met me eye to eye. It made me recall the promise I had made to his dead brother, Dede Gone, in Vexbeggar. How had I been my brothers’ keeper? Goggle-Eye was dead at Port Praia. Little Dede Gone was dead trying to get Black Crane back to me. Wild Drumrul was on an island that was spiritually farther from his heritage than it was physically. And he was still game, a seaman on King James, a Volunteer for people he barely understood. What right did I have for further exemption from struggle because I was orphaned, was sad, was ashamed for my berserker nature? What did Wild Drumrul have, and yet he engaged fate. And now he asked for my help.
I made a rambling attempt to protest their scheme. I could hear myself talk—a sign, Israel once said, that a man does not believe himself. I was not wise; I was healthy. I was not well-spoken; I could speak my heart. I was not humble; I knew some of my limits. I was not a good Christian; I loved and knew love. I was unqualified for anyone’s trust; I was a young, earnest man who respected the truth. And now they called me to be a problem-solver by being a truth-teller. It did please me, my vanity and my courage. I imagined that it would have pleased Peregrine, and Grandfather. I imagined that Skallagrim Strider too had felt shame for his life wasted on his own concerns yet had met the call of his men when they were banished from Iceland forever. I watched Abigail as I debated my qualifications with Germanicus and Jane. Abigail’s eyes were wet; she did not smile, she did not frown. I gathered her face and their words and felt stronger. To them I was an idea.
They carried the idea of Grim Fiddle, peacemaker, union candidate, back to Gaunttown, to Elephant Frazer and the Hospidar, to Lazarus and the Zulemas, most importantly to Dolly Frazer, Violante Furore, Frances Gaunt, Amanda Rose, Beatrice Harrah, Victoria Hospidar, and Bonnie Moog. Longfaeroe took up the idea as if it were a gift from Jehovah. The debate was quick, too quick for it to have been constructive, more as if conciliation were desired, not compromise. On the first Sunday in the new year, 2001, the first Sunday in a new century and new millennium Longfaeroe was happy to proclaim, Longfaeroe preached and sang on the rise of David from the flocks of Bethlehem to the throne of the Hebrews, a sermon—I was told, because Lazarus advised me to stay clear of the campaigning—that left the women of Gaunttown in tears and the men scarlet and resolute. The rumor was spread by my supporters that the mutton supper in my hut had brought together the noblest spirits on South Georgia, a Frazer and Gaunt and Longfaeroe and beastie and outlaw, calling to Jehovah for Guidance. Jehovah had sent a message, in that storm that broke over my hut as we ate and talked: Grim Fiddle was South Georgia’s found hope. Did they call me a savior? Some did. Others said, usurper.
The debate flowed and ebbed through the summer. The original issue of the beasties enslaved seemed forgotten. Lazarus said the issue became: devotion with or without representation? Concessions were required and made by all sides. The assumed verdict was that no popular vote for the president of the Gaunttown Assembly would be permitted; instead, the president would be chosen by a ballot of the elders of the families. Also, the president would be the convener of and spokesman for the Gaunttown Assembly, nothing more, and the Assembly’s power would remain undefined pending further debate. The hopes for a constitution and popular democracy were, as Lazarus mused, left on the tables of the taverns.
The South Georgians were dominated by Scots Presbyterians, a people who suspect kingship but who are equally distrustful of permitting commoners—just everyman—a voice in matters of property and blood-kin authority. Lazarus counseled himself and the young people to remain patient. He explained to me that South Georgia fascinated him as a political phenomenon where, because of its isolation physically and now economically, time had seemingly stopped, or regressed, to something very close to what America had been at its birth as a nation. Liberty was the desire, to be fought for at any cost; however, and paradoxically, that liberty was seen to be as threatened by universal suffrage as it was by despotism. The South Georgians wanted to live free, yet knew they must have some government, and so they concluded the less government they had, the better they would be. Lazarus concluded they were immature, and smiled in that expectant,