Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

by Ishmael Reed

  Loop Garoo seems to be practicing a syncretistic American version. I’ll bet you’ve found ugly matter in your pillows, dolls on the door steps, maybe a personal item of clothing and a portrait of yourself missing.

  It’s important that we wipe it out because it can always become a revolutionary force. Many of the Haitian revolutionaries were practicing priests, or houngans, as they are called. The present Prime Minister of Haiti Dr. François Duvalier was former head of the Haitian Bureau of Ethnology.

  Loop seems to be scatting arbitrarily, using forms of this and adding his own. He’s blowing like that celebrated musician Charles Yardbird Parker—improvising as he goes along. He’s throwing clusters of demon chords at you and you don’t know the changes, do you Mr. Drag?

  Father you let us handle this guy.

  May I make a suggestion?

  What is it Pope?

  Does he have any close friends or companions?

  Now that you mention it Pope, I think that I did see him ride off from here last night and join two men who were waiting for him on the hill, said Skinny McCullough the foreman.

  Then get 10 dollars and a bottle of wine plus two tickets to the East on the Black Swan Stagecoach. Those men will remove the mad dog’s tooth from the necklace he wears around his neck, the source of his power. They’re probably down and out artists. He always liked artists.

  O Pope you don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo do you? I mean you’re a swell conversationalist but come off of it Pope.

  The Pope looked at Drag in disgust. One should always believe the other side is capable of doing anything it says—you’re a young country and you don’t know that but you’ll learn—the hard way.

  Just to placate the Pope, Drag gave the men a bottle of cheap dirty wine, 2 stagecoach tickets and a rolled-up 10 dollar bill. And they were off to find the Peak of No Mo Snow.

  When they reached the Loop Garoo’s hideout, the Peak of No Mo Snow, Skinny put his finger to his lips, a signal for the horsemen to shush and kneel behind the foliage some yards from the cave. The hours passed and the sun settled behind the hills.

  The gang’s patience was rewarded because it wasn’t long before Alcibiades Wilson and Jeff Williams emerged from the cave’s mouth.

  Man, you know, Jeff, Alcibiades said, if a cat laid 10 dollars on me, a bottle of wine and a ticket on the Black Swan Stagecoach for the East I’d split in a jiffy. We can return to the cafes and just be throwing our mops against the walls and be boo-ga-looing until our hearts’ content.

  You said it Alcibiades, I would do it too. The Kid is really got the coo-coo fever. Having ceremonies with that snake, saying those curses and drawing funny scenes on the cave’s wall; extinct creatures and cattle in a head-on collision. If we can get to the East we’ll be just in time to do some macking at the Washington Square Art Show.

  Skinny McCullough walked out of the bush whistling with his hands behind his back. The two men, seated on a rock outside of the cave and smoking cigarettes, almost knocked each other over trying to run back into the hideout.

  Hold on, hold on there men, you’ve nothing to fear from me, why I’m nothing but a broken down hermit, given to such eccentricities as supporting artists and collecting roots. I live around these parts and just came over to comment on how much I like your aquiline noses. You kids really look smart there, I mean those thin lips, you look like some of them Roman statoots.

  You really think so? answered Alcibiades. Why I played Puck in the Central Park production of Midsummer’s Night Dream.

  Me too!! Me too!! Jeff echoed. I’ve played Puck plenty of times.

  You boys ought to go to New York and become artists and writers—I’ll bet you’d be a hot hit right off.

  That’s what we were just saying, mister, we said if we had a bottle of wine, two tickets on the Black Swan Stagecoach, we’d be off for the East right away. We’re being held captive by a mad man who wears a mad dog’s tooth about his neck and talks crazy.

  Is that so? Skinny answered. Why it just so happens I’m a collector of mad dogs’ teeth. I need one more to round out my hobby. You think your friend there will give it to me?

  Man, no good, Alcibiades answered, he plays with it all the time and never removes it from about his neck.

  Skinny started to walk away but said over his shoulder, Gee that’s too bad. I was going to give him a bottle of wine, two tickets back East and some fast finnifs.

  Jeff and Alcibiades conferred rapidly as Skinny started down Peak’s path.

  Hey mister!! Wait a minute!! I don’t think the Kid would mind if you borrowed it for a while. He’s asleep right now but we’ll go in and ask him.

  Now you’re talking, Skinny said, I’ll wait right here.

  The men lit torches and entered the cave. When they came upon the area where Loop Garoo was asleep they stole towards him and gently removed the necklace from around Loop’s neck. The white python glared from his cage above the altar.

  Alcibiades and Jeff crept away while Loop watched with one eye open. He chuckled to himself as the men headed out of the cave and into the night where Skinny was waiting. They extinguished the torches.

  O.K., said Alcibiades panting like a puppy, suh, heah’s yo mad dog’s tooth.

  Skinny examined the mad dog’s tooth through a magnifying glass. Excellent!! Excellent!! Thank you gentlemen, and here is the filthy half-full bottle of muscatel wine in an ol beat up dirty sack, the tickets on the stagecoach and some finnifs for your trouble, Skinny said throwing the items at their feet.

  Alcibiades started to fight with Jeff over the wine while Skinny leaned back and laughed heartily.

  When they finished the bottle they picked up the tickets and money and ran down the hill towards Yellow Back Radio to fetch the coach.

  They ran so hard that every few steps they leaped into the air like chickens.

  Skinny walked to the bushes where the men were giggling over the scene they had just witnessed.

  All right men, Skinny said, let’s go get this black berserk who thinks he’s a buckaroo. We’ll show him a thing or two.

  The men spat into their hands and, lighting torches, started into the cave.

  The cowpokes descended, holding the flares in their hands until they came upon an opening where Loop Garoo lay, pretending to be asleep.

  Gotcha now!! Gotcha now!! Raise your hands you frightening coon you!! Start grabbing the blue. You ain’t so tough, cause you lost the mad dog’s tooth from around your neck. Now we understand them dolls we found on the boss’s doorstep every morning, making him sick, and the rooster with the top hat and tails. The goat without horns makes a lot of sense now, a lot of sense.

  Them artists you’ve been holding captive, they took the thing and gave it to us and the Pope of the Romans—he snitched to us about what you were up to.

  So the Pope told you of my connaissance huh? Loop asked sitting up from the cave floor.

  Reach for the sky and don’t be smart.

  How’s the Pope these days?

  What, insolent nigger, you trying to question Rome or something? Skinny yelled, knocking the Loop Garoo to the ground. Get up and start marching.

  They tied Loop’s hands and began to shove him out of the cave.

  He looked back to the altar. Then above to the cage. The cage was open and the snake was nowhere to be seen. Loop looked over to a dark pool on the other side of the cave and saw a white tail disappearing into the water.

  I said move on Loop, keep movin, the foreman said, as he and the cowpokes took their prisoner to Yellow Back Radio.

  The hump-backed attendant was tormenting the Loop by dangling a grey mouse before him. He would rush forward with the dead rodent on a string and push it through the bars. As soon as Loop was about to knock the stick down the attendant would quickly retreat laughing.

  Loop, impatient with the antics, was about to turn the little man into stone—having had it up to his ears with Yellow Back Radio—when he heard a commotion outside the cell
block.

  The Pope walked into the corridor of the prisoner’s section. Other prisoners, when they saw the visitor, banged their coffee mugs against the bars.

  Wow, the pin-headed attendant shouted when he saw the Pope. He ran up to the Pope and began kissing him all over his hands. Moof, moof, Pope, wait until I tell my mother about seeing you, moof, moof—let me hold your train.

  The Pope stroked the attendant’s back and it became straight. The attendant skipped about the room, then returned and kissed the Pope’s hands with even greater passion.

  O.K. little attendant, let’s not get carried away now, take the rest of the day off—I want to be alone with this sinner.

  You sure you don’t need me Pope? He’s a tough hombre, the attendant said, snarling at Loop.

  I can handle him little attendant. Now you go off and fall into the first well you see.

  Anything you say Father, the attendant said, running out of the block.

  What do you want Innocent? Loop asked as soon as they were alone. Isn’t it enough that you turned me in?

  The Pope drew his skirts up around him and folded his hands glowing with huge rings.

  Look Loop you know me, I wouldn’t have done anything if it hadn’t been for the woman. She wants you to come back Loop. Ever since her ascension she’s been with the blues. T. S. Eliot, one of those trembling Anglicans, said “blue is her color.” But now it’s her song and her day. Those other two, they behave as if they had ice cubes up their asses.

  The raunchy Pope, Loop grinned, you were always my favorite. What did they say of you?

  eight boys eight girls

  the Pope in sinful love begat

  Rome him “father” rightly calls

  Cut it out Loop. Why don’t you give up this nonsense and come back home?

  Loop ignored the Pope’s request and looked distantly out of his cell window.

  How did you find me?

  Wasn’t hard—mass murder, sexual excess, drugs, dancing, music. It was quite simple. We used the Vatican dirigible and circled the Valley until we spotted the Peak of No Mo Snow. After all Loop, in these many years we have come to know you as well as the back of our left hands.

  You’ve got your nerve. What about the Witches’ Hammer that you and the ol man cooked up to crush my followers way back when? When you and your cronies finished it was so bad that in some villages only a few women could be found alive.

  O Loop let sleeping dogs lie. Anyway I’m here to question you, not you me.

  As always—Inquisition Inquisition. I would venture to guess that your Inquisition signaled the triumph of the clerk, the bureaucrat, and the West has been in the committee thing ever since.

  Loop you know you could have leveled this town with a word. We were observing you. We looked it up in the Book of Mysteries and found what you were doing with the snake and the charms. We thought we’d play along with you. Of course the ol man wanted us to come blasting like before, you know how ill tempered he is—belligerent chariot fleets, thunder storms, earthquakes. But she overruled him, gave him a headache. At times it seems she’s about to take over. Loop, we figured out your game, what’s your point?

  Horse opera. Clever don’t you think? And the Hoo-Doo cult of North America. A much richer art form than preaching to fishermen and riding into a town on the back of an ass. And that apotheosis. How disgusting. He had such an ego. “I’m the Son of God.” Publicity hound, he had to prolong it for three hours, just because the press turned out to witness. And his method had no style at all. Compare his cheap performance at the gravesight of Lot—sickening—and that parable of our friend Buddha and the mustard seed. One, just a grandstand exhibition, and the other, beautiful, artistic and profound.

  Like Father like Son always, getting hang-ups in the way of craftsmanship. Nails, driven into the wrist, hypocritical and maudlin women. Why she was screaming at his feet for three hours and the next night in my room I thought she would bite off my horns with the steel of her hungry teeth. Two weeks later I had her on the block and rolling bums. She even attracted two other tricks, and I had a family. It was groovy until that angel he sent—the impostor who spread the rumor of her ascension and before you knew it—it became a Papal Dogma.

  She went uptown on me and left me holding the bag—and as soon as she left, Mighty Dike and Mustache Sal mustered enough courage to leave too.

  You’re his Son too, Loop.

  Yes, the eldest according to what they call apocrypha. You know how his propagandists are—anything they disapprove of they ascribe to hearsay, apocrypha or superstition. But I’ve never cashed in on it like he did. I knew very early that he wasn’t the only one, there were others—but his arrogance and selfishness finally got the best of him and he drove them all underground. Now they’re making a strong comeback.

  So you’re through with this performance, huh Loop?

  Yes, even martyrdom can be an art form, don’t you think? Hoo-doo, which in America flowered in New Orleans, was an unorganized religion without ego-games or death worship. In the States, books like the 6th & 7th Books of Moses, The Art of Burning Candles, The Explanation of Voo-Dooism, Mystic Secrets of Mind and Power, Egyptian Secrets of Albertus Magnus, or White and Black Art for Man & Beast, are sold across the counter at drugstores. I even had a betrayal motif, giving one upmanship on his most obvious forms.

  You always did dig artists Loop, in the old days passing the elixir to those writers and painters in the cafe, pretending to be a patron.

  Loop reflected. Remember when he came home that day Innocent? The old man made love to him as if they were man and wife. He licked his punctures and fed him from the breast.

  So you think by allowing yourself to be humiliated by mortals he’ll respect you too, huh?

  No I just wanted to show the world what they were really up to. I’m always with the avant-garde. Seems to me that people are getting sick of daddies. You know—“thou shalt have no other before me”—Tsars, Monarchs, and their deadly and insidious flunkies.

  Loop, one last time before you get on your soap box. He wants you to come home too—she’s driving them batty. O Loop she’s so bitchy, you know how she is. He even put a curse on her but she found a way to absorb that. Matter of fact she’s getting a following up there. Both of them are afraid she might start something that’ll make your uprising look quite small.

  There was never an uprising, Innocent, you know that. That was some of his propagandists in the late Middle Ages who came up with that idea. Just got sick of that set-up and left. The fool—vagabond with the rucksack on my shoulder—always on the road. That’s me, the cosmic jester. Matter of fact, I’ve always been harmless—St. Nick coming down the chimney, children leaving soup for me—always made to appear foolish, the scapegoat of all history. You and your crowd are the devils. The way you massacred the Gnostics, not to mention the Bogomils, Albigenses, and Waldenses.

  Loop, he sent me to do the interrogating…I ask you one more time Loop, end this foolishness and come on home. He built a special district for you, red lights, the works. He sent for some of your bohemian types to keep you and Diane company. You can start a commune if you want, get high, walk around nude, anything you want Loop, just so you satisfy the wench.

  No dice, baby.

  O.K., Loop, the worldly Pope said rising, I should know that when you have your mind made up on something, nothing can change it. When I get back he’s really going to put me down.

  How’s that?

  Makes me crawl on my belly toward him and kiss his feet. Some days Loop I can’t stand the place. People singing the same old hymns and he sits there performing the familiar spectaculars—every day. I miss St. Peter’s chug-a-lugging fine brandy with the gang and jamming some strumpets.

  Sorry, can’t help you out Innocent, I told the bitch to stay. I almost went out of my mind to suicide, but she went on. As they say, or as he use to say when he tried to con the farmers, pretending he was one of their own, “as ye sow so shall ye reap
.”

  The Pope’s mission a failure, he left the jailhouse and climbed into the waiting carriage to start the long journey home. Since there was no further need to impress the people of the town, the red bull had been flown out the night before to the ship waiting for the Vatican party.

  Sulking, Drag walked to the window of the carriage.

  Well Father, too bad you can’t stay for one of our old fashioned lynchings that we Americans love so much and that’s a traditional source of entertainment. Why the hangman just ordered some new gadget special all the way from France for the killing this time. But since you can’t stay, as a token of our appreciation and for “enlightening” us here’s another gift—a plastic hot dog, one foot long, that grew in a swamp in the basement of Kresge’s. How’s about that shit, your Pontiff?