Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

by Ishmael Reed

  Well whaddya expect, Theda, look at all of dem far-out amendments he got pushed through da Constitution. He looks down his nose at us Congressmen, I see him, just because he can do fol de rol, calculate an eclipse, tie an artery, plan an edifice, break a horse, do a mean minuet and play da fiddle, he ain’t so smart, why look.

  O Peter you don’t have to be so graphic.

  Look at dis, Peter said, bringing out 24 cards. Credit cards to da finest stores in Boston and New York. He ain’t so smart.

  He has nothing but contempt for you Peter, you and your kind, why he called politics the hated occupation.

  Well he can’t think much of me because I’m politics from foot to head.

  He said he didn’t want to go the way of the French to Bonaparte.

  Well if you ask me Theda my opinion, I tink some of dees protestors need a little Bonaparte right up side da fucking mop baby, pow dat’s what dey need.

  Now you’re cooking with gas Peter, my compatriot and dear friend. I’ve been thinking about it Peter and you know what would happen if the British start acting up or them nigger pirates in Barbary start screwing around with our ships. Do we want to look like faggots?

  He’s stripped the Navy and uses the boats for those old nasty women he’s always fooling around with, takes pleasure boat rides with those goddamn anarchists and those pseudo intellectual professors. Why just this morning he took off again. Papers piled high on his desk. Just went away. Too La Doo. Said he was nothing but a lowly dirt farmer waved to us and said he’d see us around. Always using slang like that I can’t keep up with him or understand a single thing he says half the time. Said he wanted to catch an eclipse tonight through his telescope. Last time he went to his farm he remained 3 whole months.

  Geez dat’s a shame Theda. If we had a ballsy leader da whole shebang would be one big goof off from coast to coast, everything would be boss.

  Theda looked at himself through a hand mirror and busied the mole on his cheek.

  There are plenty of talented men around. Yourself Pete?

  O I’m just a poor simple Congressman. I just got da job because my uncle’s an undertaker.

  Then what about me, Pete? Theda hopped from the crate and clutching the lapels of the Congressman’s coat pressed Peter against the wall.

  Aw not me, baby, I’m not getting mixed up in no plots.

  But your name will become a holiday Peter, just think.

  I’d rather bar-be-cue a holiday dan be one Theda. No tanks. You saw what happened to da Aaron Burr conspiracy, dey busted da poor guy all da way down to da floor—he’s ruined.

  Aw Burr was a lemon. I’ve been secretly planning here in my little hole in the wall. Maps have been made, an invasion route laid out. Royal Flush Gooseman is extending credit for supplies in exchange for me sub-leasing Florida to him, plus I have an intelligence officer on the biggest cattleman’s household staff to boot.

  Gee Theda da way you run it down so clear and fresh as spring water you make it zap my mind.

  Of course Peter, dear friend. Why just this evening our Indian scout out on the range sent a message via electronic horsey that he was coding Yellow Back Radio when all of a sudden it went off the beam. He suggests that it might not be long before I took my sword and led a cavalry charge on that part of the country full of black diamonds, black gold, abundant streams of trout and swarming with healthy steer beef.

  Look Theda suppose we just bumped da guy off? I’ll let da boys back home know dere’s a contract and while’s he’s out looking for rare butterflies bingo poof and my man is in doornail country.

  O Peter you’re so sweet but sometimes I forget you’re the Congressman from New Jersey. Assassinations were crude techniques of the Middle Ages. Perish the thought that civilized men like ourselves would be forced to such tactics in this the century of American Enlightenment.

  Wipe the mustard off your tie Pete.

  O excuse me Theda I didn’t notice.

  No I have a better plan. If indeed Yellow Back Radio wilting feathers are preparing to take a dive into History why don’t we take over the Western section of the country and then declare a civil war? Why with the plentiful resources and cheap labor out there our logistics will be unbeatable and we’d get rid of this crowd once and for all, Hamilton, Paine and Jefferson, the whole civilian crew. Phooey. What do they know. Why I’ll be Emperor and Pete…well Pete you can park all the stagecoaches. By the way Pete how are things in Congress these days?

  O Field Marshal I tink sooner or later we’ll get da bakery bilt on da floor of the House. We’re wasting money allatime sending out for pies.

  I’m just a poor ol snoljer Pete. I mean far be it from me to interfere with the separation of powers but don’t you think the fellows ought to put a little hoi-polloi into the proceedings? People are beginning to lose confidence—they’ll decide they don’t need us and we’ll have free stores free money free land—what will happen to our little ego games if anarchy comes about?

  A page walked in.

  Hey chums there’s some redskin out here sez he’s got a message for you. He’s out in the lobby with his valet and tailor.

  Thank you page, Theda answered, but in the future please address us by our rightful titles…we’re a young country and all but…

  Up yours, the page replied bringing the forefinger of his right hand up with a sharp thrust. The page slammed the door.

  Dear, dear, Theda sobbed as Pete screwed on his enormous red nose. Did you see that, they won’t even appropriate enough money for me to get a first rate office staff.

  Why do you think da injun’s allowed a valet and tailor Theda?

  O he’s the last surviving injun in Yellow Back Radio—Drag Gibson keeps him around in case the Pope wants to visit or something.

  Chief Showcase, representative of red pow wow, was escorted into the room. The Field Marshal looked around for a chair.

  Don’t bother gents I’ll just sit here on the floor. I know things are rough for you Field Marshal, having a freaky bopper peacenik for President and all who has no respect for the military.

  I was on the way back from gay Paree where I bought this fine Pierre Cardin jacket with fur in the hood and I wanted to stop off to tell the Field Marshal that signs point to an early invasion of Yellow Back Radio. Have a smoke.

  O thanks Showcase, here try one Peter dear, the soldier said handing one to the Congressman.

  Cough! Cough! Cough!

  The conspirator’s mouths became smokestacks as fumes filled the room.

  You know Chief we always regretted the way those rude Western white trash, that human offal wiped out your people like that. It was really too bad.

  Well Theda if we had had about 50 more troops at Big Horn I’d be the one sitting on that crate and you’d be going around the world reading militant poetry, that is if your ass wasn’t on display in some museum.

  Yeah, funny da way tings turn out ain’t it, Pete said fidgeting his huge red thumbs and drawing on a cigarette with two free fingers.

  Both Theda and Pete began to be wracked by spasms.

  Easy easy gentlemen, Showcase said slapping them on the back to ease their agony. You must inhale them slowly.

  When the two men were finished coughing and spitting blood Showcase returned to his seat on the floor in the corner of the room.

  Now as I was preparing to report…Drag Gibson and the ranch hands were talking about you like a dog. They said they weren’t troubled at all about your demand that they join the Union because they knew you didn’t have enough troops to make it stick. It was so bad the way they were running you down I cried all the way to Paris.

  O isn’t that sweet of you, you fine sugar-pappa with the candy between your lucious red thighs. I’ll be your little old buffalo calf anytime you want.

  Thanks Field Marshal and I’m here to tell you that you and Pete have nothing to fear. Theda something uncanny is happening on the ranch these days. At this very moment some nigger wampus is giving them a run fo
r their money indeed. Cattle are wasting away emitting pitiful moomoos of mayhem, the fish die on shores and appear in bedrooms in strange flapping monster dances. The darkie even ran the Marshal out of town after a tremendous display of bullwhacking—popped the man with fiery whiplashes and played songs all over the Marshal’s butt so good with his lash that a moose galloped towards a lake and almost drowned, the poor animal was laughing so. And if that wasn’t enough the nigger put a hex on John Wesley Hardin and left John Wesley Hardin demented, only fit for tending the hogs.

  You mean da famous gunslinger I’ve read about in da lurid sensational yellow kivered books?

  That’s the one Pete, the man do nots play—do nots stand for no chump issues. See, he got ringy cause Drag Gibson the cattleman ordered his waddies to burn down a circus troupe the Loop Garoo Kid was hooked up to.

  Fact is, gentlemen, Drag is sick now—I don’t think he’s going to pull through. The local jack-leg squaw on the talk show who gives out the produce market reports and dabbles in astrology shut down her scene. The Kid put some cross on her, had some kind of gris gris dolls placed in her transmitter and the Woman had to sign off and get out of town.

  Drag even went and got a mail order bride and it wasn’t a week before the Loop Garoo Kid had her running through the mountains in the nude, had done offed with her mind and she was screaming foul nasty things like “make that mojo trigger my snatch one mo time” and mumbling some bad nigger words—you know how they move up and down the line like hard magic beads out riffing all the language in the syntax.

  O Red man!! O Red man!! Talk that talk, the Field Marshal said twisting on a crate thrilled to his socks, what jive talking dada you bring us.

  Think nothing of it Field Marshal, just hate to see some good cats get a wrong deal. When you going to give me the three colonies?

  Soon Showcase soon, if you bring me some more good news like this I’ll be polishing my sword and preparing my Army. Sounds like the West is really vulnerable at this point. By the way Injun, from now on call me Theda, Blackwell said, doll circles of pink appearing on the yellow of his jaundiced face.

  It’s a deal Field Marshal, said the injun rising from the floor and pulling his cashmere blanket about his shoulders, taking a few puffs from his diamond hookah with a beaver rimmed mouth piece. Tipping over to the Field Marshal the savage gave Theda a few taps on the thin layer of skin covering his coccyx.

  By da way Injun if Drag hired John Wesley Hardin da great Western ghost chaser to get rid of da Kid and Hardin failed how did Drag have da compassion to keep him on? I thought Drag had da heart of Two-Pawed Bitch Wolf of da Plains.

  O Drag is still his old name Pete, Showcase responded, his hand on the door knob and looking over his shoulder. Got a sign above John Wesley Hardin’s pigpen chores—sez for two bits see John Wesley Hardin pay heavy dues.

  O I see, Pete the Peek said as the door was closing behind Chief Showcase.

  One more thing O noble Red man. How will we know when to move our forces on Yellow Back Radio?

  I’ll wire you Theda.

  Well be sure to wire collect, Pete the Peek said.

  No matter Gentlemen I’ll pay for it, anything to help out. In fact Theda here’s some money, why don’t you go out and get some new duds? Don’t want you to come to your new Palatinate looking like a bum. Show the cowpokes you got class.

  O no I can’t take your Indian Bureau check Chief Showcase.

  Never you mind, Theda, you deserve it, the abuse that a great military mind like yours has to take.

  Well if you insist Chief. When Peter and I take over that territory you’ll be set for life. Why you can have your little happy hunting ground right now here on earth.

  I know you’ll keep your word you fine white gentlemen, the Indian said as he walked out of the Field Marshal’s office.

  Field Marshal I don’t want to dispute what da redman said, but don’t you tink we ought to get a clean white man in here to give us da facts from da point of view of Science?

  O what were you saying Peter? a blushing Theda Blackwell asked.

  O drat it Theda can’t you keep your mind on da affairs of State? With him lost in agrarian reveries and with my problems (catching flies!), one of us has to keep our heads.

  Your problems Peter?

  I’ve become a very complex freak, Theda baby, Peter said pulling his pockets inside out. Why I can grope grok frink—you name it. On da way over here I even learned to geek. So now I can geek as well as peek.

  O Peter with such a crisis mounting don’t fun me now please be serious.

  Peter threw up his hands.

  Well I guess I have to show you—you asked for it.

  Peter went to the control and pressed a button. The page walked in, a clothespin fastened to his nose. He carried a chicken by the neck. A real live chicken.

  The Page threw the chicken at Pete the Peek who expertly plucked the chicken’s feathers and then devoured the fowl—feathers, coxcomb, gristle, feet disappearing into his mouth.

  Theda looked around for a lavender sink. He was sleepy, see, and thought he was still at home. He ran to the window and released his insides on passing tourists.

  Hey what’s going on up dere, buddy, and, you a wise guy? and other choice Americana expletives rose from the sidewalk below.

  Pete approached Theda with a wishbone.

  So you see Theda my problems are very serious and thought out.

  Theda looked around and pulled the larger half of the bone.

  To da conspiracy Theda!!

  To the conspiracy Peter!!

  A noise was heard at the window. Pete hurriedly put the wishbone into his coat pocket. Harold Rateater, Government Scientist, opened the window and stepped into the room. In one hand he carried a jar filled with smoke and dying insects. He was dressed in a plaid tight-fitting suit and wore a loud bowtie, his hair pasted with staycomb and parted down the middle. He did a mummy-walks-again stride across the room until he stood before Pete and Theda.

  My goodness will you please knock next time Harry?

  Don’t have to Pete, I’m such a smart operator dat I defy da laws of nature. I walk in and out of windows instead of doors. Besides, understand you want to peep through my long glass at dat Loop Garoo Thingamubob unidentified flying phenomenon what’s been zooming around.

  Please sir! the Field Marshal said, please break it down so that the laity might understand.

  In otha words dis is some bad noos for Yellow Back Radio—the Prez ought to be informed at onct—but I got da long glass so what’s in it for me? he said gripping the telescope.

  Pete was furious. What do you mean what’s in it for you? We just appropriated a whole row of iron men so’s Dr. Coult could study a rifle dat wouldn’t leak gas and get jammed chambers. What more do you guys want?

  Theda removed a mallet from his satchel and hit Pete on the head with it. A large lump rose and its peak was immediately occupied by a grey sparrow that flew in through the window.

  Ouch! Field Marshal Theda whattaya have to go glunk me on da bean like dat for? the statesman complained.

  Forgive Peter, Harold Rateater Government Scientist, he doesn’t know any better. Having come up through the ranks he hasn’t developed the respect for SCIENCE that a military man like myself has.

  Dat’s more like it chum, Harold Rateater said, counting the wad of green backs the Field Marshal forked over. Well who wants to look first?

  Theda walked over, bent down and looked through the telescope which stuck out of the window.

  Field Marshal Theda Blackwell could see into the Cattle Baron’s bedroom. He saw the straws in cups of orange juice, the pills, the heavy breathing of Drag Gibson, and his Doctor friend listlessly staring through the window.

  O this is too much, Theda said rubbing his frail thin hands together.

  Come let me look too dere Theda, I’m da professional voyeur who’s suppose to advise and consent like in da constitootion.

  Pete the Peek gazed
through and it was cookies. Plain cookies.

  Yellow Back Radio was indeed falling apart, its batteries were going on the bum, and soon the whole kit and kaboodle would blow a fuse.

  The sheep are happier of themselves, than under the care of wolves.

  Thomas Jefferson

  Meanwhile back at the ranch Chief Showcase entered Drag’s sick room. The old fat and ignorant cattlerancher lay in bed, his chest rapidly rising and falling. The Dr. was seated next to the window, his head in his hands as he did vigil for his old friend. Whispering, he saluted the Indian.