Страница 125 из 164
The case must have seemed clear enough to blind Freddy. But such is the nature of small towns, and so deep was the resentment held by the good burghers over Ha
With the protection of George Madden, Ha
Finally a desperate Ikey was provoked into prosecuting his wife. The deputy district magistrate, not at all pleased with the return of the miscreant couple to his court, to the delight of the townsfolk, brought in a verdict that the charge of disorderly conduct and the use of obscene language was proved. He ordered that Ha
After many such disputes, the authorities became thoroughly disenchanted with 'The tribe of Solomon' as the chief probationary officer was wont to call Ikey's family. After some interdepartmental discussion, the authorities made one final ruling. The family should attempt a reconciliation in New Norfolk. But, if this should not come about, either husband or wife, but not both, must move to Hobart Town, with or without the remainder of the family. Having moved, they would not be permitted to return to New Norfolk until they received a conditional pardon. The authorities saw this as a clause so onerous that the quarrelsome couple would make every possible effort to reconcile their differences.
But, of course, no such thing happened. At first Ha
With no recourse to the law, Ikey was a doomed man. Ha
Each day Ikey became more of the vagabond. His bald pate went unprotected from the sun and the unkempt hair either side of it now fell to his shoulders. Somewhere he had acquired a great coat which he tied about his waist with coarse string. This ragged garment served him in appearance as his splendid bespoke great coat had once served him in England. But whereas a glance at the greasy original would have revealed the quality of the wool and sound workmanship beneath the dirt, this equally dirty coat was poorly made and threadbare. Ikey's yellow London boots now became his prison shoes, scuffed and broken away at the toe.
Ikey Solomon, Prince of Fences, the most celebrated criminal of his time, was brought to his knees, not by the vicissitudes of a prisoner's life, but by the unforgiving judgements of his wife and children.
Ha
Ha
If he did not agree to these conditions, Ha
Ikey knew he should leave New Norfolk and move to Hobart. But he could not bring himself to do so for he lacked the necessary courage to cut himself off from his family. Ikey, the rich loner with a family for whom he cared not at all, was a far cry from Ikey, the poor loner with no future prospects, who lacked the internal fortitude and even the energy to begin again in the chancy business of crime.
Ikey tried to convince himself that Hobart was too small for a fence of his reputation, but he knew this to be only an excuse. His bones ached and the yellow teeth rattled in his head, and he saw death in every sunset. Ikey knew he would not survive another sentence. Fear gripped at his bowels and sucked the marrow of resolve from his bones, until it was better to get drunk than to think at all.
Sometimes, when the sun shone brightly and warmed his creaking bones, Ikey would consider his prospects in a more sober frame of mind. He could go kosher, that is to say, above board and respectable, a small businessman, perhaps a return to his tobacco shop. The sale of the cottage would supply the capital needed. But he knew in his heart that this was simply a quicker and quieter way to die.
Ikey loved the nocturnal life, the whispers and the knowing looks of criminal intrigue, the hard-eyed bargaining, the joy of a deal well struck and the satisfaction of a neatly laid-out ledger which marked in numbers the progress of his private war against those who would bring him undone. He thought of himself as the enemy, and expected to be taken seriously by the rich and mighty. He was the destructive element in a world carefully constructed to benefit the self-serving better classes. Ikey had beaten the law dozens of times in a system that thought nothing of hanging a boy for stealing twopence. And now the same system had beaten him, not with imprisonment, but by stealing his courage. Ikey knew that, without courage, there is no luck and no hope. He who dares, wins. For him to become a respectable small businessman on an island steeped in the blood and sorrow of the outrageous system against which he had always pitted his cu
Ikey needed the fortune which lay in the Whitechapel safe to publicly proclaim the victory of his salvaged wealth. He knew he had been defeated. But the money he had stolen would at least allow him to flaunt his pyrrhic victory and so hide the immensity of that defeat, whereas meek respectability would forever emphasise his complete destruction.