by phuc
"What can you tell us about the Popcorn King?" I asked.
"He went in there and he hasn't come out. Nobody can get in there neither. That blue light around it would fry an egg. I know, I seen an old boy get his hand burned off trying to go in there after the King and some food."
"Then why doesn't it kill the King?" I asked.
"Don't get me to lying. I ain't got the slightest," Crier said. "Maybe conditions were just different then."
"So, that's it on the King," Bob said.
"Well, almost," Crier said. "Those bodies his tiger dragged inside . . . He's eating those.
Got them hung up in the window there, and every time you look, there's less meat on them."
That would be right, I thought. Willard and Randy showing their power, showing that they have food, that it's behind glass, hung up nice and neat, and that the rest of us are lowlifes scrounging for popcorn kernels, killing one another and tearing the flesh off the bones like hyenas. But not him, not the Popcorn King. He's got it all fine and clean and well lighted, and he probably slices his meat off with a knife. Has soft drinks to go with it. Maybe some chocolate almonds for dessert. "The concession at B?" Bob asked. "Taken over again," Crier said. "But there isn't any food left. Those Banditos had already cleaned it out. Did I tell you I found a third of a bag of popcorn under a car a few movies back?
Over at North Screen too. Just lying there, and hadn't nobody seen it. Kind of in the shadow of a tire, part of the way under the car. I ate that sapsucker on the spot . . . Man, you boys got it made in this section."
"Right now," Bob said.
"Why don't you stay over here then?" I asked. "Got to keep moving. It's my way. Besides, I don't know that your neighbors would want me moving in. I've been coming and going as I please so long, they let me do that, but I don't know about moving in."
"A word from us wouldn't do you no good," Bob said. "We're sort of low man on the totem pole here." "Don't need a word. No matter what happens, got to keep moving. I used to drive a beer truck, you know. Always on the road . . . Got divorced twice because I couldn't stay still. Had to stay on the go. Get home and I wanted to drive around. One reason I liked drive-ins. You came and sat in a car, and when you watched the movie it was like you were driving through a new world or something. All you had to do was put your hands on the steering wheel and imagine . . . Sure you boys haven't got a thing to eat?" "Nothing," Bob said.
"Then I'll hobble on. Take care. Hope the next time I see you ain't neither one of us so bad we want to eat one another."
"Same here," Bob said.
Crier climbed the hoe handle and started off again, moving down the row of speakers, heading for the pathway between East Screen and North.
"We should have fed him," I said. "He looks bad." "Everyone here looks bad, Jack. It ain't practical to go feeding folks. Even Crier. He gets good and hungry, he might conk our noggins and take what we got. He's all right, but he ain't nothing more than a human being."
"Which as a group you don't have a lot of respect for, do you?"
"It's damn near got so I don't have a drop," Bob said.
I thought about the Christians, their meetings, their faith. It gave me moral strength. Their attitude assured me that there was more to humanity than a good meal, a cold beer and a roll in the hay. There was something strong and noble there too, something that, like a seed, needed fertilizing, and I told all that to Bob, and he said he thought beer, a good meal and a roll in the hay were just fine, and as for the seed that needed fertilizing, he had a strong suggestion for the type of fertilizer that would best be suited for such a seed.
You just couldn't talk to Bob. He was too narrow-minded.
And so we got worn down and went to sleep, the speaker rattling movie dialogue and sound tracks through the camper as we drifted into nocturnal lands of cold shadow and dark dreams. And it was then that the Popcorn King came to us over the speaker, oozed into our brains and outlined his plans for us, told us how we fit into the scheme of things.
And I will admit, they sounded inviting, these plans. He would be there to watch over us, feed us, give us a point on which to fix our wretched lives. And finally there was that voice, that lovely voice that was kind of Randy's and kind of not; that other voice that was kind of Willard's and kind of not, the one that hummed softly, shucked and jived, put a word in edgewise in just the right place. Those voices, those honey-poison, hot and cold voices of the Popcorn King.
2
So spake the Popcorn King—first one mouth and then the other: My little dearies, my little popcorn eaters and movie lovers, my little heathens and mortals, you who take dukies beside your cars, how are you, babies, how are you? And listen up tight now, 'cause you done gone and went and got yourself the Popcorn King here, and I want to whisper to you, tell you some secrets, make your life complete, and talk on a subject that is dear to both mine and your hearts.
Popcorn.
Food, my subjects. Chow. Grub. Chewables. Hit it, mouth number two.
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
Yes, brethren—
(pseudo organ music from other mouth)
—I am here to talk to you about how things are going to be. How things are, in fact, though you may not know it yet. But before I do, let me tell you about the corn, about the sweet, popping corn, hot and fine and ready to melt in your mouth; good ole popcorn the color of fresh bird shit, but the texture and taste of life.
Corn, babies, corn.
Hit it again, mouth number two.
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
So I come off the roof, and I'm feelin' wild, walk in the house, jive down the aisle. There's some blue air here, some blue air there, lots of dead bodies sho' everywhere—
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
—blood on the candy, blood on the floor, dried and gone nasty, and there'll be more.
(pappapap, pappapap, pappapap, pappachew-chewchew)
Yes sir now, babies, friends and pals, gonna tell you a story 'bout the Popcorn King, how he rolled and walked and talked so clean, yessiree billy, I'm the Popcorn King.
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
Put your ears to the speakers, put your brain on hold, listen up, honeys, and don't get bold, popcorn's the magic and that's no load.
(jujujujujujujujuju-pap,
pap,
pap,
pap,
yeah,
chuckachew,
chuckachew,
chuckachewchewchew)
Yeah, Popcorn's the magic, it's the tiny bomb, when it sees your insides goes off like a four-alarm.
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
Now if you been eatin' your kids, dead dogs too, licking cold shit off the bottoms of your shoes, this oughta thrill you, oughta make you feel grand. I'm here to tell you Popcorn King is a friendly man—
(boop, boop, boop—tadtadtad tadachew, chuckachewchewchew)
—gonna offer somethin' special, offer somethin' fine, gonna tell you a story of the popcorn kind.
(chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew)
Listen up tight, don't stray from me, keep them ears wide open and I won't tell you no lie.
(jujujujujujujujupap, pap, pap, yeah, chuckachew, chuckachew, chuckachewchewchew) You ain't gonna make it, you don't be my friend, so better do what I'm askin' then.
(boop, boop, boop—tadatada, tadachew, chuckachewchewchew) Now we gonna close up shop with the rappin' man, gonna take us a trip to the Promised Land.
(bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves, we'll all come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves)
Yes sir, brethren, I have come to you today with a line of pure truth. I come to fill your hearts with love or panic or hate or blood, whatever it takes. Listen up, sinners, let me tell you about the Lords of Popcorn. Let me tell you that those movies are lights from the very eyes of the Lords.
(amen, brother, amen)
Was a time, though I can only distantly remember it and can't make sense of it, when I was a man like you. Two men, to be exact. And sinners in the eyes of the Lords of Popcorn, (amen)
Yes sir, a sinner, I surely was, a great sinner ... a damn big sinner. Where's the amen corner? (amen, brother, amen)
I didn't know the laws of popcorn and soda, of hot dogs and chocolate-covered almonds, didn't know blood and death were the paths to destruction, didn't know that the very flesh of man was salvation and that all we could do was to please our needs and instincts and all else was out the window. Yeah, didn't know love and beauty when it was looking me in my own eye. (no you didn't, brother, no you didn't) That's right, I didn't, so the Lords of Popcorn in their ultimate wisdom—blessed are those Lords—seen this, and chillun, they saw I was trying to live like everyone else, and they brought me here. (yes they did, brother, yes they did) And I was picked by those Lords as your messiah, your grand executioner, your grand lover, your Popcorn King. They gave me the lightning and the lightning gave me the powers, and these powers made me better than you, and that's all there is to that tune, (tell it like it is, Brother Corn) But I come down off that roof a new man made of two, and I come in here and I saw these movies and I knew the truth, seen it was all a sign.
(come to you in a flash of light, this sign)
That's right, it did. Say amen.
(AMEN)
Man but I feel good, sanitized and homogenized. Say it again, good brother.
(AMEN)
Oh, but I like the sound of that. One more time.
(AMEN)
All right, glory hallelujah, popcorn and corpses be praised.
(amen on that popcorn and dead folks)
You see, I saw these movies were the juice of the Lord's brains, the very juice done squirted out of their heads and onto them big white things we call screens. There is the way to live, brethren. It's a dog-eat-dog, folk-eat-folk world, and ain't nothing matters but one thing. That you ain't the one that gets et, if you know what I mean.
(that's the truth, Brother Corn, ain't no denying)
And I said aloud right off the top set of my lips—
(yes, you did)
—I have been sent down here from that roof a changed couple of individuals to make sure those little people out there who are not nearly as neat as I am have an example, someone to follow . . . someone with the corn. 'Cause this place is full of corn, my friends. You too can eat again, and not your neighbor. I'll eat your neighbors, just bring them to me when they go belly up ... get tired of living, bring your own self, I'll be glad to kill your ass dead.
(be thrilled to do it, yes, he will)
And now you say, but what is the point of all this? It is confusing, Brother Corn.
(was gonna ask that)
Sure you were. And the point is I do as I like when I like and you do what I like when I like. And there is just really very little that I want.
(ain't asking much)
No I'm not. Just that meat I told you about, alive or dead. And another little thing. The-most important thing. I want you to know the movies to be real.
(just as real as can be)
They are the reality and you are the nonreality. You cannot prove your reality by touching yourself. That means nothing.
(go on, touch yourself, don't mean a thing)
It's what you can't touch that's real.
(can't touch reality, no matter how hard you try)
If you want to become as real as the lights on the screens, you have to give yourself to them, do as they do, live as they live. They are the scripture and I am their voice.
(talking for them just as plain as can be)
So come on over to the other side, Reality City. Embrace the truth of the flickering dream, hold on to reality and let the nonreality flow out of you like piss from a bladder.
Take the first step toward gratification, toward becoming real. All you got to do to have this thing and the popcorn—
(bless that popcorn)
—is listen to me, dear hearts, the voice of the scripture. All you got to do is listen, and give me what I want.
(amen, Brother Corn, amen)
3
What the nutcase in the concession wanted was simple.
Power.
For the King, power was the end and the beginning —the snake biting its tail. There was nothing else. For in his brains were the distant and confused memories of Randy and Willard. Two people who had seen themselves as outsiders, felt like hitchhikers on the road of life, forever watching fast cars pass them by.
But now, they were the drivers, hands firm on the wheel. It was they who drove with the pedal to the metal, smiling, looking out at the pedestrians, passing them by, shooting them the finger, giving them a rude honk and a flicking wave.
And if you could have heard the King's voice, that incredible voice massaging your brain like a cat kneading a pillow, you could understand a little how he suckered those folks in, gave them the religion of violence and greed to believe in.
And if Bob and I hadn't had the jerky, the juice of it giving fuel to our thoughts, keeping our brains clearer than the masses (but not as clear as the Christians fueled on the higher octane of faith), we would have joined right up with old King, praised him on high, begged for the corn, worshiped the action on the screens and tried not to think about the time we would die.
And it must be said that the Popcorn King not only had the voice, he had presence. He'd stand out in front of the concession with smiles on both his faces, plastic bags of popcorn in all of his hands (both of Randy's and one of Willard's—the other being permanently full of .357), and he'd close his eyes and flex his body, and the tattoos would quiver, and he'd open his eyes, and the popcorn would begin to pop in the bags, bursting them, and the King would toss the bags forward, beyond the blue glow, and it would snow corn onto the asphalt and fights would begin (the King would chuckle) as people tried to secure the puffs. But there was always plenty— least at this time I'm telling you about—and the fights were more ritualistic than desperate, like punk rockers slam-dancing.
Then would come the buckets of soft drinks carried by the King. Big buckets with paper cups floating in the liquid. People would form unruly lines, come forward one at a time, take a cup, dip from the buckets and drink the syrupy drinks, increasing, more than satisfying, their thirst. But that was the thing that bothered me most as Bob and I stood at the back of East Screen looking over the hood of an abandoned car, those people lifting those cups and seeing little drips of liquid running down their chins. All we had for liquid was the juice from the jerky, but it wasn't water, and we were feeling the slow effect of dehydration. But still, we held out.
Then the weak and the dead would be brought to the King, laid before the blue glow like sacrifices, and the tiger tattoo would leap from the King's stomach, finish off the living, then drag all the bodies inside, where later they would appear in the window, gradually losing flesh in strips.
These eaters and drinkers were not only from Lot A, but B as well. They would all come to eat the King's corn and drink his soft drinks, and afterward go back to their cars and sit on the hoods or roofs and quote the lines in the movies. Quote them with the reverence of holy scripture.
And ole Popcorn King, from inside the concession, using the intercom, would talk to his congregation via the speakers, that hot-cool voice fogging their brains. He would quote the movie lines with them. He would turn the sound down, preach at them, rap at them.
This version of loaves and fishes continued for a time to the happy contentment of the followers, and then the popcorn stopped.
Zip.
Nada.
No corn.
The King did not appear in front of the concession, and his voice did not grace the speakers. There were just the movies rolling on and on, giving evidence to the fact that someone was changing them, keeping them in order, but the King did not make an appearance.
The faithful continued to
gather outside the concession, and they would call to the King, but he would not respond. The calls turned to chants, and finally to angry cries, but still no King. The meat in the window gradually disappeared. Someone was eating it. (The bats and the skulls? Nope, cut too cleanly from the bone.) Bob and I got brave, and we'd go over there for a look, standing behind that same abandoned car, but there was never anything to see besides that confused crowd and those pathetic bodies in the window. People looked at us, but they looked at the shotgun too.
Bob made sure they saw it, displayed it like a proud rooster tossing his comb.
I always carried the baseball bat. I liked its weight. It was my friend, Louisville Slugger.
One time we're up there standing behind that old car (a Fairlane Ford with the windows knocked out, I might add), watching, not really expecting anything, but maybe hoping for something. Standing there with our mouths and throats dry as Kitty Litter, our bellies howling and rolling like a storm, thinking maybe how it would be to have something warm to eat and sweet to drink, thinking hard on that meat in the window there, when out of the concession steps the Popcorn King.
The King had turned quite a bit darker, both Randy's naturally dark flesh and Willard's.
They had blended together to make a charcoal hue, except in spots where Willard's original flesh tone swirled amid the darker skin like twists of vanilla in a chocolate Bundt cake.
The popcorn tub hat was now amalgamated with Randy's head, and veins like garden hoses stood out from it and extended down his forehead and came to rest above the single eye. The eye itself reminded me of that old Pinkerton ad with the bloodshot eye and the slogan that read: WE NEVER SLEEP.
Randy's knees had blended almost entirely into Willard's chest and shoulders, and the back of Willard's skull had nestled deeply into Randy's crotch like a large egg in a nest.
