Caesar, A Love Story. 1.5k (standard:romance, 1473 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 16 2020	Views/Reads: 1399/961	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Caesar, a free black man back in 1715 Boston, saves his wages to buy his sweetie.

Caesar hurried along still-dark Boston streets, fearing he would be late
to work.  He passed old Elmer, the lamplighter, the man engrossed in 
snuffing out whale-oil streetlights.  Elmer used a long pole with a 
metal cup on the end.  The old Negro would maneuver his pole over a 
flame to snuff it out.  Elmer, like Caesar, was a free black in the 
year 1715. 

“You bet'ta hurry you ass.  I sees Mr. Johnson have lights on a'ready in
his shop.” 

“I'm hurrying, old man.  You just keep an eye on your job, and you never
mind mine,”  Caesar joked as he hurried past. 

The street did seem to be getting lighter.  Of course, it was out of the
question for Caesar to own a watch.  He was saving every penny he could 
to buy his girlfriend from his employer. 

Mr. Johnson had promised, when hiring Caesar, to save Mary for him.  It
was sort of an informal condition of employment.  The Johnson family 
foundry business hadn't been doing too well at the moment, and Mr. 
Johnson was being forced to sell slaves.  Of course, Emily Johnson was 
too lazy to do any housework herself, so Mary would be one of the last 
to go.  Also, keeping the girl enabled Mr. Johnson to acquire a good 
worker like Caesar cheap. 

Caesar was already sweating at six am.  It promised to be a hot day,
even more so around molten iron and brass.  Being a freeman, Caesar was 
a sort of jack of all trades at the foundry.  Although the pay was 
little, he was both working for a purpose and receiving a good 
knowledge of the business.  Mr. Johnson trusted him to not only judge 
the temperature of the molten metal, but also to mix the concoction 
when he wasn't around himself. 

Both tasks were done by sight and smell.  By stirring molten brass,
Caesar could judge if it needed more tin or copper.  The degree of 
color determined the temperature in those days without thermocouples.  
Caesar hoped one day to own his own business.  First though, he would 
have to buy his mate out of slavery and learn more about the trade. 

“About time you got here.  Scipio's sick again, can't even stand up,” 
Mr. Johnson called out on seeing him enter.  “Lazy bastard.  If he 
wasn't the strongest man here -- when he works -- I'd sell the 
bastard.”  He stopped talking while performing the exacting and 
dangerous task of ladling and pouring molten brass into a sand and clay 
mold.  “You're gonna have to help with the bellows today,”  the boss 
finished. 

Finishing the task, Mr. Johnson wiped his brow, dropped the red-hot
ladle onto bare ground and, taking off thick leather gloves, addressed 
Caesar. 

“Now, you gotta watch that new copper, a lot of impurities.  You gets it
too hot and it'll boil over.  Got it from Kentucky and those bastards 
try to screw us by adding pyrites to the ingots.” As an afterthought, 
he added,  “By the way, Mary wants to see you when you gots a chance.” 

They worked steadily until around two, when it became too hot to work. 
Finishing a heat, Mr. Johnson called a halt.  They used the downtime to 
clean the shop and chip slag from the inside of crucibles.  Caesar was 
occupied in trying to patch a leather bellows, used to force air into 
melting metal, when he heard a sound behind him. 

“Baby, why you don' come see me?”  It was Mary, his girlfriend.  They
hugged, to the guffaws and envy of the others.  “She's keepin' me busy 
ta'day.  Can you come over ta'night?” 

“Sure, honey, you know I will,”  Caesar told her.  “I'll see you then.” 
He had noticed the boss eying them.  As the girl left, he turned back 
to his work. 

They continued long into the coolness of the night.  Most of the hotter
work was done at night because of cooler outside temperatures.  It was 
also, for the same reason, the best time to break-open and remove cast 
objects from molds filled during the daylight hours. 



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