Sir Galahad

I met Hosea Job on Randolph Street     Who said to me: "I'm going for the train,     I want you with me."          And it happened then     My mind was hard, as muscles of the back     Grow hard resisting cold or shock or strain     And need the osteopath to be made supple,     To give the nerves and streams of life a chance.     Hosea Job was just the osteopath     To loose, relax my mood. And so I said     "All right" - and went.             Hosea was a man     Whom nothing touched of danger, or of harm.     His life was just a rare-bit dream, where some one     Seems like to fall before a truck or train -     Instead he walks across them. Or you see     Shadows of falling things, great buildings topple,     Pianos skid like bulls from hellish corners     And chase the oblivious fool who stands and smiles.     The buildings slant and sway like monstrous searchlights,     But never touch him. And the mad piano     Comes up to him, puts down its angry head,     Runs out a friendly tongue and licks his hand,     And lows a symphony.             By which I mean     Hosea had some money, and would sign     A bond or note for any man who asked him.     He'd rent a house and leave it, rent another,     Then rent a farm, move out from town and in.     He'd have the leases of superfluous places     Cancelled some how, was never sued for rent.     One time he had a fancy he would see     South Africa, took ship with a load of mules,     First telegraphing home from New Orleans     He'd be back in the Spring. Likewise he went     To Klondike with the rush. I think he owned     More kinds of mining stock than there were mines.     He had more quaint, peculiar men for friends     Than one could think were living. He believed     In every doctrine in its time, that promised     Salvation for the world. He took no thought     For life or for to-morrow, or for health,     Slept with his windows closed, ate what he wished.     And if he cut his finger, let it go.     I offered him peroxide once, he laughed.     And when I asked him if his soul was saved     He only said: "I see things. I lie back     And take it easy. Nothing can go wrong     In any serious sense."          So many thought     Hosea was a nut, and others thought,     That I was just a nut for liking him.     And what would any man of business say     If he knew that I didn't ask a question,     But simply went with him to take the train     That day he asked me.          And the train had gone     Five miles or so when I said: "Where you going?"     Hosea answered, and it made me start -     Hosea answered simply, "We are going     To see Sir Galahad."          It made me start     To hear Hosea say this, for I thought     He was now really off. But, I looked at him     And saw his eyes were sane.          "Sir Galahad?     Who is Sir Galahad?"          Hosea answered:     "I'm going up to see Sir Galahad,     And sound him out about re-entering     The game and run for governor again."     So then I knew he was the man our fathers     Worked with and knew and called Sir Galahad,     Now in retirement fifteen years or so.     Well, I was twenty-five when he was famous.     Sir Galahad was forty then, and now     Must be some fifty-five while I am forty.     So flashed across my thought the matter of time     And ages. So I thought of all he did:     Of how he went from faith to faith in politics     And ran for every office up to governor,     And ran for governor four times or so,     And never was elected to an office.     He drew more bills to remedy injustice,     Improve the courts, relieve the poor, reform     Administration, than the legislature     Could read, much less digest or understand.     The people beat him and the leaders flogged him.     They shut the door against his face until     He had no place to go except a farm     Among the stony hills, and there he went.     And thither we were going to see the knight,     And call him from his solitude to the fight     Against injustice, greed.         So we got off     The train at Alden, just a little village     Of fifty houses lying beneath the sprawl     Of hills and hills. And here there was a stillness     Made lonelier by an anvil ringing, by     A plow-man's voice at intervals.          Here Hosea     Engaged a horse and buggy, and we drove     And wound about a crooked road between     Great hills that stood together like the backs     Of elephants in a herd, where boulders lay     As thick as hail in places. Ruined pines     Stood like burnt matches. There was one which stuck     Against a single cloud so white it seemed     A bursted bale of cotton.          We reached the summit     And drove along past orchards, past a field     Level and green, kept like a garden, rich     Against the coming harvest. Here we met     A scarecrow man, driving a scarecrow horse     Hitched to a wobbly wagon. And we stopped,     The scarecrow stopped. The scarecrow and Hosea     Talked much of people and of farming - I     Sat listening, and I gathered from the talk,     And what Hosea told me as we drove,     That once this field so level and so green     The scarecrow owned. He had cleaned out the stumps,     And tried to farm it, failed, and lost the field,     But raged to lose it, thought he might succeed     In further time. Now having lost the field     So many years ago, could be a scarecrow,     And drive a scarecrow horse, yet laugh again     And have no care, the sorrow healed.         It seemed     The clearing of the stumps was scarce a starter     Toward a field of profit. For in truth,     The soil possessed a secret which the scarecrow     Never went deep enough to learn about.     His problem was all stumps. Not solving that,     He sold it to a farmer who out-slaved     The busiest bee, but only half succeeded.     He tried to raise potatoes, made a failure.     He planted it in beans, had half a crop.     He sowed wheat once and reaped a stack of straw.     The secret of the soil eluded him.     And here Hosea laughed: "This fellow's failure     Was just the thing that gave another man     The secret of the soil. For he had studied     The properties of soils and fertilizers.     And when he heard the field had failed to raise     Potatoes, beans and wheat, he simply said:     There are other things to raise: the question is     Whether the soil is suited to the things     He tried to raise, or whether it needs building     To raise the things he tried to raise, or whether     It must be builded up for anything.     At least he said the field is clear of stumps.     Pass on your field, he said. If I lose out     I'll pass it on. The field is his, he said     Who can make something grow.             And so this field     Of waving wheat along which we were driving     Was just the very field the scarecrow man     Had failed to master, as that other man     Had failed to master after him.          Hosea     Kept talking of this field as we drove on.     That field, he said, is economical     Of men compared with many fields. You see     It only used two men. To grub the stumps     Took all the scarecrow's strength. That other man     Ran off to Oklahoma from this field.     I have known fields that ate a dozen men     In country such as this. The field remains     And laughs and waits for some one who divines     The secret of the field. Some farmers live     To prove what can't be done, and narrow down     The guess of what is possible. It's right     A certain crop should prosper and another     Should fail, and when a farmer tries to raise     A crop before it's time, he wastes himself     And wastes the field to try.             We now were climbing     To higher hills and rockier fields. Hosea     Had fallen into silence. I was thinking     About Sir Galahad, was wondering     Which man he was, the scarecrow, or the farmer     Who didn't know the seed to sow, or whether     He might still prove the farmer raising wheat,     Now we were come to give him back the field     With all the stumps grubbed out, the secret lying     Revealed and ready for the appointed hands.     We passed an orchard growing on a knoll     And saw a barn perked on a rocky hill,     And near the barn a house. Hosea said:     "This is Sir Galahad's." We tied the horse.     And we were in the silence of the country     At mid-day on a day in June. No bird     Was singing, fowl was cackling, cow was lowing,     No dog was barking. All was summer stillness.     We crossed a back-yard past a windlass well,     Dodged under clothes lines through a place of chips,     Walked in a path along the house. I said:     "Sir Galahad is ploughing, or perhaps     Is mending fences, cutting weeds." It seemed     Too bad to come so far and not to find him.     "We'll find him," said Hosea. "Let us sit     Under that tree and wait for him."         And then     We turned the corner of the house and there     Under a tree an old man sat, his head     Bowed down upon his breast, locked fast in sleep.     And by his feet a dog half blind and fat     Lay dozing, too inert to rise and bark.     Hosea gripped my arm. "Be still" he said.     "Let's ask him where Sir Galahad is," said I.     And then Hosea whispered, "God forgive me,     I had forgotten, you too have forgotten.     The man is old, he's very old. The years     Go by unnoticed. Come! Sir Galahad     Should sleep and not be waked."             We tip-toed off     And hurried back to Alden for the train.