by Ishmael Reed
Taking a pinch of maize flour from a plate Loop began to draw on the floor in front of the altars various symbols associated with the Loa he wanted to call.
Loop began to shake a rattle slowly.
I the Father which wert in heaven conjure and command thee
O Legba master of the crossroads to connect this cowboy’s circuit to Guinea and summon forth:
Cousin Zaka who will parch their fields and slaughter their livestock and make their herd winding up the Chisholm stumble into a Twilight Zone
O Gu rust their firearms and cause their horseshoes to slip off the animals’ hooves
O Judas Iscariot who ratted on the Ghoul give me the treachery to turn this town upside down and spill evil from all of its pockets
O Jack Johnson give me the power to rise for the bell until Yellow Back Radio is down for the count
O Doc John, Doc Yah Yah and Zozo Labrique Marie Laveau the Grand Improvisers if I am not performing these rites correctly send the Loa anyway and allow my imagination to fill the gaps
O Mack Hopson blood of my blood teach me the secret of the 12 rabbits and the cheesecake
O Baron-La-Croix grip Drag Gibson so that every other day last rites will be requested
O Johnny of the delicate feet
Red-Eyed Ezili
Marinette of the dry arm send the dead swiftly to make my vengeance so complete and artsy craftsy that I though an amateur will be admired by houngans the world over
O General Dig, bury Drag Gibson in the stomach of wines next to George Wallace
O Black Hawk American Indian houngan of Hoo-Doo please do open up some of these prissy orthodox minds so that they will no longer call Black People’s American experience “corrupt” “perverse” and “decadent.” Please show them that Booker T and the MG’s, Etta James, Johnny Ace and Bojangle tapdancing is just as beautiful as anything that happened anywhere else in the world. Teach them that anywhere people go they have experience and that all experience is art.
The leaves outside of the cave began to stir as in the black of night demons started to camp about the land.
The ceremony completed Loop led a Billy Goat from a heap of straw where the animal had been placed to the very center of the area.
After slaughtering the animal Loop drank some of its blood from a wooden bowl.
This will indeed be the super-hero hype to end them all, Loop thought.
The men Jeff and Alcibiades who had maintained silence throughout the ceremony laughed aloud, no longer able to muffle their mirth. Tears welled up in their eyes and they rolled about the cave holding their stomachs.
What’s wrong men? Loop asked.
Nothing, Alcibiades said, it’s just that we’re programmed by the Hedda Hopper people from a wooden planet of wide black hats and stickpins. With gossip columnists invading our skulls you should not be surprised that we would ridicule anything we can’t understand.
O I see, Loop said returning to the grave business at hand, that of putting the goofer dust from Drag’s projected plot into a little bottle.
He removed some shiny black boots which hung near a colony of bats. On each boot was painted the emblem of a yellow chicken. He tried on a black fedora. Hanging above the altar was a whip made of bull’s hide and python skin. It was tough and heavy and when it flew through the air it whistled.
In another section of the cave, green eyes began to purr. Loop looked at his watch. It was time to feed the black cats prowling about the cave.
The two men, finished with their meal, lay back and started to sleep off the food they had so eagerly pan-handled. Loop worked on into the morning, mixing potions, chanting poems, making dolls and burning candles. Now all he needed was a horse.
The Germans attacked the next day. There had always been skirmishes to the north between these dauntless, hearty warriors and the cattlemen who taxed them heavily, rode off with their women, rustled their cattle, stole their best grazing areas and burned their corn.
A warrior blew a signal through the bone-horn from the top of Blackfoot Mountain.
The Marshal was standing in front of Big Lizzy’s Rabid Black Cougar discussing his exploits against the Sioux when a battle ax grazed his right cheek and slammed throbbing with thin pieces of flesh into the wooden façade of the Saloon.
The next one cut him down and he staggered and fell into the mud below the horses’ post.
The Germans burned down Yellow Back Radio in a matter of seconds—about the amount of time it takes for a station break. Their appetites for destruction whetted, they traveled to Drag Gibson’s Purple Bar-B.
Skinny McCullough knelt in a pasture about three miles from the Big Black House. He was scouting for grazing areas for greenhorns who would make up next year’s drive up the Chisholm. He was pleased because he had discovered grama grass, known to make happy contented cows. He held the blades of rich green feast in his hands and was about to ride back to the Big Black House to tell Drag Gibson of this choice discovery, when he saw something shining above a bush outside the fence. It was a helmet reflecting the sun’s rays. On each side horns protruded.
There was a stir and the Chieftain and two warriors leaped over the fence yelling consonantal war whoops and whirling their maces.
Skinny had just enough time to mount his horse’s sore back but even on foot the barefooted Germans were almost able to overtake him.
He found Drag asleep on the velvet couch, the historical romance, The Life and Times of Catherine the Great, lying on the floor. Skinny waded through the empty bottles of Red-Eye and tapped the boss on his shoulder.
Drag! Drag! Some kind of half-naked unsaddled infidel white men attacking nesters from the north blond-haired blue-eyed devils wearing bearskins!
Aw go on Skinny, you some kind of folk nut or something? Drag answered half asleep.
No boss, he said running to the laced green curtains. They’re coming up the path right now.
Soon Drag lay on the floor, his head resting on the ankles of his dead foreman.
When the rest of the hands and the servants were scalped the warriors headed for the stable to steal the horses.
The barnyard was in an uproar with much cackling squealing barking braying neighing clucking meowing and even some strange new noises (the revenge of Horrible Hybrid!).
When they reached the entrance to the stable the Chieftain stumbled backwards, his hands shielding his eyes.
Ugh! Vor crying oud loud! I hate green! Vill you get rid of mit der green. I tink I’m going to get kranky.
The warriors obediently walked over to the horse’s stall and were about to chop off its head when it awoke—wringing wet and snorting from the affects of its recurrent nightmare.
A black villain with unusual attributes was standing over it. A white snake moved around Loop Garoo’s neck, green with envy. It frowned above its pink eyes and whistled its pink tongue. From then on the Hoo-Doo cowboy would hagride the night holding the horn of the lone green horse.
III. She May Not Be The Rancher’s Daughter But She Sure Can Cook
Rocking on its axles, the Black Swan Stagecoach rumbled to the front of the Hotel the next evening. Mustache Sal held the hem of her dress and was helped down by a cowpoke the foreman had sent from the Purple Bar-B to fetch her.
I be from Drag Gibson’s Purple Bar-B, ma’am. Are you Mustache Sal, da one who answered da ad: old ugly ignorant cattlerancher with lots of acres wants woman with unusual habits?
The woman nodded at the fool and smiled as the man helped her into the buckboard that was to take them to the ranch. The two occupants faced forward not noticing the horseman who could be seen riding behind them as soon as the moon appeared.
How long have you been working for the Purple Bar-B, driver? Mustache Sal asked Drag’s hand, who sat next to her, whipping the horses.
The man’s senses reeled from the heavy perfume Sal wore imported from Gay Paree, “Hogcalls in Nocturne.” Her busts were about to break out of the top of her velvet dress
as he could well see when he turned to answer her.
Duh, I been here for two years, mahm, I likes it swell.
Mustache Sal removed a cigar from her purse and began to moisten it with her tongue darting through her round beckoning lips. What’s his Dun & Bradstreet rating?
Duh, don’t know no fellers go by that handle working up here. Miss Sal you sure you haven’t gotten da Purple Bar-B mixed up with some other place? the driver said, an itchy feeling creeping about his groin.
What is your job here driver? Mustache Sal continued realizing that further probing of this hick would reveal him to be as simple as they come.
I’m da assistant to the wranglers. I pumps da spring water for da horses.
Mustache Sal removed her hat and lay her head in the driver’s lap. Her silky black hair hung between his knees.
What’s wrong Miss Sal you gettin sleepy? the driver asked straining to keep his eyes in front of him.
Can you pump good, driver man?
The driver felt the words become hot breath. Steam edged about his already inflamed lap.
Well I tries my best Miss Sal da hosses don’t complain.
Mustache Sal unzipped his pants and rubbed the bulb of his organ about her gums.
The horses went crazy and ran about the edge of a cliff.
The driver pulled them to a halt.
Whoa there whoa you fillies.
He smacked Sal’s hand.
Hey duh stop that you…you…female you I’m trying to keep my eyes in my teeth, I mean my nose has to be on da trail so that my ears won’t break da harness I mean…
Mustache Sal had expertly pulled off the man’s britches shoving him into the rear of the chuck wagon parked on the side of the road and soon that section of the vehicle began to yodel as if a hundred Memphis hillbilly bands had teamed up with a locomotive.
The moon smiled from crater to crater.
When they were inside the Big Black House of the ranch the cowpoke started bowlegged up the stairs. He reached the top, his hands weighed down with bags, his eyes downcast—too bad, because Drag appeared on the top landing. He scared the cowpoke so, he stumbled backwards. No wonder, because Drag was quite a sight. He wore a flat black hat with a string dividing his chin into two huge beery lumps, laced trousers, a red sash around his waist, tight-fitting shoes, and as he came down the stairs he began to snap some castanets together.
Mustache Sal raised her head and did a double take.
What have I gotten myself into this time? she thought.
A rose between his teeth, Drag continued down the stairs. When he reached the suitcase which had opened in the cowpoke’s fall, he slipped and rolled down the steps like a huge barrel.
The servants who had been peeking from behind the curtains broke up. Drag rose to his feet, an aging buffalo patriarch with ragged stumps for legs, and fired into the curtain. Sounds of little feet could be heard running down the hall.
The cowpoke edged out of the room leaving it to Drag and his prospective bride.
Hi sweet stuff, you must be the mail order bride, here let me see your teeth. He held Mustache Sal by the jaw and she complied by opening her mouth. Good, he said sitting across from the woman. I’m a big man in these parts, fish fill my full I mean full fish my swim.
Yeah Mac, Sal said, I read your scrawl in the newspaper.
Good then you know that I’m really what counts, Drag said sitting on a tack and bouncing up his hands holding the seat of his pants.
What’s in it for me? Sal asked. I mean, you know, what about my piece of the action?
Well there’s a messy part to it, but we got separate bedrooms and I won’t bother you. You don’t have to worry about me and women. I got my Bible and as much Dharmas as the next fellow. Although I do hope you’re warmer when I bang you than the last one who wuz so cold she give one frostbite of the penis as if your prick was on an excursion in Antarctica go in like a normal organ come out a seal haw haw…o igloo pussy—
O.K. O.K. I got yooz, Sal said.
It’s a deal, he said crunching her fingers between his huge hairy hands. I’ll have the little chink show you to your room.
The man came in picked up the baggage and started upstairs. Drag stroked his chin and gave the chinaboy a dollar bill, and pondered the figure shaking its hips as it went up to the second floor of the building.
Strange creatures, women, Drag thought. Well, wonder what’s for chow?
Thunder stabbed the night. Long yellow daggers. It rained on YBR-on the swinepit behind the gallows. Hogs in trench coats. Downstairs of the Big Black House the Dr. was playing poker with Drag Gibson on the eve of his wedding.
Drag I’ve been thinking, you don’t think the Loop Garoo Kid could have anything to do with these strange events —the black cow found with its neck broke this morning? Drag, those were peculiar people—those circus folk. Think they got some tricks up their sleeves, making plans out there beneath the sod where we buried them?
Naw Doc. Coon won’t show his face in this town. We kilt off the injuns and we can take care of anything he has in mind, even if he managed to get across the desert.
Upstairs the door banged violently, the curtains flapped against the walls. Sal attired in a blue negligee, was combing her hair for bed.
I really got ahold of a john this time. Like those old guys in Club Harlem, Atlantic City, drop a dime of their lives just to sniff me. This guy looks like he’s got a weak ticker—if I turn him out a couple of times he’ll kick off and this will be mine. Maybe a little arsenic to ease it along.
She looked in the mirror and saw him and like the hungry balladeer she was she shrieked, Mitt man mitt man where you been so long O mitt man my beautiful darlin. The black-haired beauty’s hand rushed to her jaw.
Loop Garoo moved towards her. Yeah bitch! I thought I told you to stay in the Attic.
Loop baby I just kept bumping into the fairy stone I do declare. A girl can’t go on making one night stands all her life. I tried therapy but the Dr. turned out to be a Democrat. I even tried scientism Loop, gave up Las Vegas steaks, and even the swami tried to fuck me Loop—you know men, only one thing on their minds.
She walked over to the Kid, unbuttoned the diamond solitaires on his buckskin jacket and dug her long sharp fingernails into his chest. She mussed the hair underneath his shirt. The blue negligee became a heap around her ankles. She took his hand and pressed it against her naked buttocks which showed a scar here and there. Her right knee stood out between his legs. She was panting hard.
They caught me Loop. The old man, you know how he is, Loop, the other one just watched—as if the fishermen weren’t bad enough he’s really got a degenerate crew around him now. He does lewd dances and shows off his scars, he uses 12 types of make-up, and the old man he did things to me Loop, I bleed a little—but hold me Loop, don’t be so cold, we can have swell times again like before, you know, sniff airplane glue, make a bee-line to the two reelers, take a spin in the flivver, like, do the things we used to do.
Loop hurled the woman to the floor where she dramatically rolled over.
Honey bunch what did you have to go and do that for?
You know why bitch. When she georgiaed me, you had to follow. She made a fool of me and now you and that other one with the fur trapper who’s always handing me subpoenas. All of you made fools of me. I walked the streets and ate ugly soup. Only wallpaper of zigzag designs kept me company. And you wanted to go and party time. Even when she left I thought you might still be loyal—but when I called you that night for a sandwich you hung up the phone and I could hear you in the background, the glasses clinking, the laughter, and to add to the insult it was Christmas Eve.
He removed a long brand from the black bag he carried. He went to the fireplace and returned to where she lay on the floor, trembling and naked. Her feet were about ten inches apart and a forest lay between her thighs.
O Loop my mitt man. How I missed your good good loving. She closed her eyes and gritted her teet
h as the poker pressed against her abdomen. Saliva formed around her lips, her tongue shot out over her lower lip and she yelled, no longer able to contain the pain and beauty of being branded with a Hell’s bat.
LOOP GAROO GAROO! LOOP GAROO GAROO! LOOP GAROO GAROO!
What’s going on upstairs Drag? the Doc asked.
The way things are going on around here it must be the barnyard crawling into the house, Drag answered.
At the wedding the next night Drag interrupted the festivities to make an announcement:
The likker was fine, folks, the fiddler really cooking and you’ve met my wife who I think is going to turn out fine, the last one being so cold she give one frostbite of the penis haw haw.
