by Ishmael Reed
“Why, Street, I could see the headlines in the Chronicle right now. ‘On holy Mission—Street says.’ Well, what do you say, Bigger… I mean Street!”
“What about that incident in the club in Oakland? That man they said I killed when they tried to frame me.”
“Thirty-two witnesses said they saw you do it, Street.”
“I don’t care. They was probably informers working for the fascist Amerika. They framed me, that’s what happened.”
“Don’t worry about it, Street. We got some of our money to get you off. That murder doesn’t count anyway. Negroes kill each other every day, and after a few hours the murderer is back out on the street. In New York they are killing each other at a rate of eight negroes to one white.”
“Hey, ain’t my sister leading this Moocher thing anyway?”
“She talks over the people’s heads, Street,” Max said, now cooler, lighting a pipe. “She runs around Berkeley with these bodyguards she has for herself called the Dahomeyan Softball Team, a bunch of butches who split a man’s head open with a baseball bat. They go about ejecting men from the Moocher rallies mostly, losing recruits for us, diverting attention from our real foe: LaBas, industry, Business.”
“LaBas—who is that?”
“He’s the man your brother Wolf brought in after your father was killed, I’m sorry, I …”
“Skip it. He wan’t nothin anyway. Bourgeois sell-out and a punk, that’s what he was. A punk. A torn.”
“I didn’t know you were political, Street.”
“I wan’t then but I am now. When I was framed and sent to the slams, mysterious visitors brought me this book. And it was this book that turned me on. I brought the book over here and read it from page to page. The first book I ever finished.”
Maxwell Kasavubu examined Street: This lousy son of a bitch! Why do I admire him so? Why did I permit them to put this man in? I couldn’t tell them about my dreams, my dreams about him. Jungle drums. There I am tied up and wriggling on a post while these yelping nigger savages are jumping up and down. Mary Dalton, virginal and nude, is about to be… about to face a crime worse than death. And I am saying or trying to say, “Mary, I’ll save you,” but the words won’t come out. I am forced to watch them violate this beautiful young thing, sticking Burgers into her cavities while she almost faints from … she feels faint. And then this huge black gorilla they are calling Old Sam whips out his “Johnson,” as they say. And the drums, the drums pound across my sensibility, and I cry, “Mary, my Ivory Snow Mother, I’ll save you,” and they shout, “Old Sam,” the natives shout, “Old Sam” at this hideous grinning creature, the creature in a Bosch drawing, and then the slow rhythm builds into a rising crescendo as the head of his Johnson slides on into home … EEEEEEEEEEEE!
“What’s wrong, Max? I was going to tell you that I would take your proposal when you started staring off into space real weird.”
“An old war wound, Street. It comes and goes. I got it in the Pacific. World War II,” Max said, holding his helmet. “Just let me sit down, Street.”
“Sure, Max. Shall I get you a drink?”
“That’s fine, Street, sure.”
Street went to the liquor cabinet, walking through the muck track on the floor.
“Nice place you got here, Street. How long did the President give it to you for?”
Street was making a drink. White folks wonts to know all yo business. How much you pay for this, how much you paying for that, how are you getting by? Always checking niggers. Like slavery days. Nigger, let me see your pass. Where you going? Whose nigger is you? Well, if he wants to sponsor me and my boys back in the States, that’s fine with me. I don’t care if it is my own sister. Dumb ho. Dad gave her all the benefits he denied Wolf, Sister and me. Well, I’m a Moocher’s Moocher. We’ll see about this.
“O, he give it to me until I can get myself together, why?”
“Just asking, Street. We have a little ranch-styled number for you and your people we leased up on Grizzly Peak in Berkeley. I know you’ll like it. You can stay as long as you want.”
“What about Minnie, my sister?”
“We’ve taken care of her. She didn’t make a big fuss about the committee’s decision, but you never can tell. She was my protégé and she got out of hand. She and her Dahomeyan Athletes.”
“When do you want me to return, Max?”
“As soon as possible. We have a chartered plane on stand-by in case you would come.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, huh, Max?”
“Not at all, Street. I know you, Street, know you better than maybe you know yourself. You started out in the thirties and got Bigger and Bigger, but you were on our minds and in our souls a long long time before that. We knew you’d come.”
“Huh?”
“It’s that book I’m working on. The critical work on Native Son. Can’t get it off my mind.” What’s a nigger doing with a villa like this? A French chef. While back home his people are starving. Why, I don’t even have a home as good as this. Thick carpets. Probably lies about all day smoking pot and getting laid. Just the kind I need for psychological scab service to strike LaBas and Wolf. He’ll do for the assignment, though. Then I can really retire. My baby and me.
CHAPTER 19
LaBas and Wolf are seated on a sofa sipping some white rum as they watch the flat TV screen on which Street is being interviewed.
“Look at him running off at the mouth. He’s become a media event.”
“What do you suppose led to a reconciliation between him and the authorities of the Moochers, Pop? I thought they’d put out an alert on him—that he was to be killed on sight. Now he’s returned.”
“He’s been brought here to stop us. That’s for sure, Wolf. As if Minnie wasn’t enough. Another one of our convoys was ambushed by her Moochers the other night. I tried to get the politicians in this town to do something about her terrorist activities against the Business, but they’re suspicious of me because I’m from the east. The fear of the stranger. Vestiges of the American dark ages co-existing with nowadays when people are constantly shifting about. Next time she starts something we’ll have to invoke one of our ancient company.”
“I hope not. The last time you called one up and had him touch someone, the man implored you to take it off of him. It was pitiful seeing him just pine away like that after he’d been picked by one of the ancient company.”
“I had thought at one time of giving it up, but you need it, Wolf, really, just a little seasoning of Louisiana Red. I used to think that love was all that you needed, but anyone who believes that doesn’t stand a chance in this world. I just want to flip her about a little. I don’t think I’ll have to call up the leader of the ancient company. The mutilator, the Killer Dealer. I just want one of the Board to send a messenger to give me a briefing on how to proceed; I don’t want to harm Street or Minnie, and so maybe they have some ideas the messenger can reveal to me. They only give counsel when summoned, not desiring to invervene; like the good Board of Directors they are under the watchful eye of the Chairman of us all.”
“There seems to be some kind of conflict broken out between Moochers and Street’s people now that Street has returned, Pop. The attacks by Street’s gangs on Moochers have increased. One remarked that although Minnie wants to be Joan of Arc, she’ll probably play Hamlet till the end.”
They chuckle.
CHAPTER 20
Chorus: You know, people will go through many roundabout ways to get what they want. Antigone was that way. Creon had it right when he said that Antigone worshipped one God and that was Hades. She was a monotheist with a twist; she wanted to make it with Death. Creon saw through her rhetoric, her passionate appeals, her attempts to impose mob rule on Thebes. I mean, if she was so interested in Polynices’ welfare, why didn’t she go and stop him when he started back to Thebes with his seven? Oh, there’s that half-hearted attempt to stop him when Polynices went to Colonus seeking information on the whereabouts of his
father’s gravesite, but Antigone’s insincerity is obvious in this scene. I mean, she wasn’t as passionate about saving him as she was about burying him. Why didn’t she try to bring Eteocles and Polynices together to settle their differences? No, she wanted the whole family dead. She wanted them to be the first family of Hades with herself as queen. I’m sure that if she had survived the others, a jury would have acquitted her of the deed. She would have talked her way out of it. She was extremely good with words and could argue a man to a standstill.
CHAPTER 21
Ursinely, Street lies on a sofa, picking his teeth, in a home the Moochers have rented for him and his Argivians on Berkeley’s Grizzly Peak. Not far from the house lies Tilden Park, named after the blind sculptor, where there once was located a detention camp for the Japanese-Americans. On Sundays, for recreation, the citizens of the Berkeley 1940s used to go and leer at the Japanese-American captives.
Through Street’s window can be seen a sweeping view of the Gateway to the Pacific. Somebody rings the doorbell. Street’s aide enters the room, followed by the Seven.
“Hey man, it’s your sister, Minnie, with some rough-looking broads who look like they want to rumble. What should we do?”
“What does she want?”
“She didn’t say. She said she wanted to talk to you. The Argivians and that Dahomeyan Softball Team are eyeballing each other. It’s real tense.”
“Show the bitch in,” Street says.
Minnie enters as the Argivians exit, giving her the once-over. She is wearing boots, tight pants, a jacket made of rabbit with natural fox trim.
Street, not looking up: “What do you want?”
“I’d rather not talk with people present, Street.” A girl rises and leaves the room. All she had on was a mink jacket and earphones with which she was listening to a record.
“Sit down.”
“No, Street, I’d rather stand.”
“I’d rather stand (mimics). Knowing you, you’d probably want to sit down but only stand because I asked you to sit down—a man asked you to sit down. You want to defy me like you did Dad. Why did you hassle him all the time? What was bugging you?”
“Let’s forget about our differences, dear Brother. We come from the same womb, have shared the same experiences. I have come in peace.”
“Aw, Minnie, this is not one of those Moochers who carries a handbag after the Italian style. You don’t see me wearing grannie glasses like those punks who follow you around. You could never come to a man in peace.”
“I’ve changed, Street. The Moochers have opened my eyes. I don’t regret that you’ve taken over the leadership. I plan to follow you.”
“Then why don’t you get rid of those scurry skuzzy skanks who follow you around? Our Argivians are enough muscle for the Moochers. Let them make themselves useful. Mimeographing my speeches, licking stamps, fixing drinks, giving massages, cooking our dinner, giving up some drawers.”
“Street!”
“That’s right, giving up some PUSSY. Lying down like a woman and letting the cream flow down her legs.”
“Street.” She holds a hand to her lips as if to keep sickness from slipping through her fingers.
“Ha. Ha …” Street doubles over with glee. “You’re my sister, all right. Scared to get fucked. Scared to do anything. Trembling. Whatever gave you the right to think you could lead a man!”
“I’m qualified …”
“Qualified. Qualified for what? To talk theory. Talking a lot of shit. You sound stupid. You know what people call you behind your back? THE YELLOW STELLA DALLAS. You better try and get you some dick and take your mind off of this bullshit.”
“O Street, don’t be so melodramatic. All you know is brute force.”
“Those guns your women carry around don’t look like no water pistols.”
“I have to defend myself. I’ve been threatened during my campus appearances.”
“I want you to cut that out.”
“Cut out what, Street?”
“Them campus appearances. We don’t need you to talk for the Moochers any more. I’ll do the talkin. The people like me to do the talkin. I reaches them. They’re always clapping. Lots of clapping. Lots of stomping cheering and whistling. Do you know what the people want? They want lots of blood; monkeys roller-skating; 200 dwarfs emerging from a Fiat, and lots of popcorn—that’s what they want. Scorn you when you alive, but if you die—a hero’s funeral. The people gobble up anything in the limelight and then ask for seconds. That’s the people. Do you think the people like to hear about all those issues you bring up? You load them down with issues—free this, free that, Algeria, Bulgaria, the principality of Diptheria, buttons, slogans and posters. The people hate that shit.”
“Whatever you wish, Street. The whole reason for my visit was to vow to you my cooperation and to advise you of an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
“The Solid Gumbo Works.”
“You mean some kind of restaurant Dad opened and was so mysterious about? What such an opportunity is that? I don’t know nothin about no cookin.”
“They’re breaking all records in profits. They have to turn the gullible clients away. They even have a auto service.”
“Dad’s Gumbo is back in business? I thought that when he was killed the thing fell to pieces.”
“No, it didn’t. They got a man from New York. Papa LaBas, he calls himself. He’s some kind of hustler.”
“Max told me about him and my brother Wolf.”
“Wolf has changed, Street. Dad took him off into the Business but he won’t listen to me, his own family. He and that LaBas are as thick as thieves and don’t talk to anybody, and their Workers are real snooty. People in Berkeley don’t even know where they are.”
“Well, Wolf and I never got along. He was always taking them other people’s side when they framed me for those crimes. Framed me. Ever since I was a kid, Minnie, you know they framed me. Set me up. You know they did.”
“They never understood you, Street; Wolf, Sister, Dad. You and I understood each other, didn’t we?”
“We sure did,” he says, frowning. “I’m going to pay my brother a visit. Look into these profits.”
“That’s what I would do, Street, and then maybe you can make them go public.”
“Why should I do that? What about me?”
“But Moochers are all about that, Street. Go public. We break up industry and make them go public. Make them share things with us.”
“Shit. Moochers ain’t got nothing to share. That’s what so chickenshit about Moochers. They want the other fellow to share.”
“But, Street, if you don’t believe in what we stand for, then why did you come back to lead?”
“I’m going to work with this Max. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“But when I tell him you are cynically using the organization to further your own ends—”
“Max is with me. He ain’t up here in Berkeley for no Moochers. He’s up here for another reason. That’s the way it look to me. That man is from New York. New Yorkers don’t believe in anything. They like crows, the shrewdest bird on the telegraph wire. They size up a situation and see what they can get out of it. I met some New Yorkers and I know. It’s people in the sticks like you believe in things. Max ain’t up here for no Mooching. I bet he’s up to something else.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Why … why Max is a respected English teacher who is writing a book. He’s one of the most respected men to walk through the Sather Gate. It’s you who’s deranged even if you’re my own brother. I’m going to tell—I’m …” Street grabs her by the wrist.
“You won’t tell nothin. If I hear you saying something, I’ll break your hand. They ain’t going to believe you anyway. They say you crazy.”
“Crazy!”
“That’s how come they put you out.”
“But Max said it was because they wanted a darker brother to lead.”
&nbs
p; “That ain’t what they told me.”
“Street, I didn’t come here to be humiliated by you, I came to offer my cooperation. Now, if you want to get crazy, I will call in one of my girls to deal with you; she knows Karate Kung Fu Thai Boxing Tai Chi Chaun Akido Tae Kwon Do Judo Jiu Jitsu Samurai Sword and Kick Boxing.”
“Well, I don’t know nothin about none of that, but I do know I will put a dick horse-whipping on that bitch so hard she’ll leave your service.” Street tightened his grip on her wrist.
“Street, you’re hurting me. Help, Reichsführer! Help!”
Hearing Minnie’s plea for help, Reichsführer rushes past Street’s 7 and into the room. She is dressed in a Wonder Woman’s outfit, white boots, spangled chest, short shorts. She and Street start circling each other, Minnie against the wall sobbing and trembling. Reichsführer jumps all up in Street’s chest, making some kind of celestial cry. Street moves aside and she lands on the floor. Street laughs. She then gets up and runs into Street and starts tangling with him. Street rips her bra off, and her two curvaceous breasts start to flop about. She picks Street up and slams him to the floor and then jumps on Street so that her crotch is all up in his chin. She tries to get Street to yield, and Street bites hard into her thigh, leaving teethmarks on the flesh. She lets go with a piercing scream.
Minnie rushes out of the room. All this body contact she has witnessed is too much for her.
Street leaps to his feet and picks up the moaning Reichsführer, grabs her by the waist and gives her a bear hug. She grabs some of Street’s hair, still struggling. Her arms go limp slowly. He gently eases her down. She grabs his neck and kisses him warmly, slobbers of passion rolling down their lips. They begin a pumping motion. He puts her in a position so that her knees are on the floor while his chest is to her naked back. He grabs one of them big old juicy titties and starts to rock with her. He bites her left ear hard and holds her tightly, rocking some more, and then she starts to moan. And then a little louder as he keeps rocking, their sweat making them glisten and slide on each other. But they don’t call her Reichsführer for nothing. While his left hand is busy pulling her short shorts down her legs showing that big old beautiful luscious behind, she suddenly bites him on the ear and clings there with the teeth. Street screams. He then slaps her against the cheek and with his hands lifts her up and then gently rests her on him in a fashion that his Dong shoots up all in her hot wet orifice and like a sneaky SAM missile starts probing for them secret dark places. She starts convulsing and trembling like a 3-point Richter-scale earthquake, her passion stemming from a deep fault in her soul. She says something like “aw shit awwwww shit” as Street is driving on home. And then there is nothing left but squishy, slurping, squeeky, smacking, slippery and popping snapping sounds coming from behind the door outside of which Minnie red-faced has gone into a huddle with her Dahomeyan teammates; they leave the building in a huff, the Argivians behind, laughing.
