First thing that I have to do, Ethelreda says to Sam Policheck, Ethelreda said, is make forgiveness amends to Hondo Holloway. How can you make amends to a dead man asked Sam Policheck, Ethelreda said he said. Take him off of the cold stone slab at the Morgue in the terrible town where I lived, says Ethelreda; and where he has laid ever since I struck him the fatal blow. So first thing they done, this excaped couple and the last ones of all of us to leave the old Missoura jail and to board it up forever, since the town was plannin to open up a new one in a shoppin center it was goin to build next to a cultural center it was goin to build, somebody said; meantime all crooks run free in the town; first thing they done was to head for the bitter town where pore lonesome Hondo laid cold dead on a slab of stone all this time without a livin soul to claim him with a sign on him that said PERSON UNKNOWN. And to take off the sign and carry him back to boarded-up Missoura jail and bury him there under the Rose a Sharon where so much had been buried—Old John and the golden baitbox of Savings and Loan to name two. What are the others? I don know guess I was exaggeratin. No I wasn’t because Nan Policheck was buried in that jailyard too but not under the Rose a Sharon. Anyways Ethelreda laid Hondo Holloway in the ground of Missoura jail under the bloomin Rose a Sharon tree that always was abloomin, never anybody saw ever that sweet little tree ‘ithout a blossom on it. Old ground’d been dug up so much just opened up on its own before Ethelreda when she lifted up her great big hand, didn’t even have to dig, ground just opened up to take body of Hondo Holloway in it, seemed like he was home. This’s what Ethelreda Johansson told me.
So big Ethelreda made her forgiveness to Hondo Holloway by diggin with her own big shovelin hand, the very one that struck him down to death, iz grave. And next to the grave of Old John where the cardboard tombstone made of a box top said OLD JOHN printed long ago, whenever it was, when was it my Oyente do you know? can you follow all the years and all the happenings that I’ve told you, how many years? how many things happened? What is this world Oyente? You wan hear. But now I felt better about my friend Hondo cause I knew where his grave was and said that I’d one day go back to the Missoura jail to put flowers on it. But guess I didn’t have to since I’m sure sweet Rose a Sharon tree dropped flowers enough on it night and day, flowers on the grave of Old John, too.
And one night when there was heard a big esplosion in the bitter town of Sweet Janine the jail door of mine opened like in La Biblia Blanca like in San Pablo, and when I run through the open door I found Ethelreda and Sam Policheck arunnin through the streets, we was in a reunion together! God and Jesucristo had brought us together again in a miraculous, in a milagro.
Why have you returned to this bitter town? I cried. And with my God Sam Policheck the Bohunk. I says this Bohunk out loud to him this time after what he had done to me, thrown me into Missoura jail. Everthing has changed all the past is forgotten and all is forgiven by everbody, cried out Ethelreda. And when I says I hope that includes pore Hondo Holloway that come to you in a pure heart and you wiped him down out of his life, pore Ethelreda Johansson cried biggest tears I’ve ever seen, they fell on the sidewalk of that bitter town like pancakes. You could hear her big tears flop down on the sidewalk. I was ascared a little, to see such a great big person acrying like that; and then she told me what I have just told you, about her amends of buryin Hondo Holloway off the cold slab into the blessed ground of Missoura jail that opened up to take him in. I’ll go take flowers to iz grave she cried. Please, said Sam Policheck. Not back to Missoura jail. Although I second everything that is happening, said Sam Policheck, a very changed man. Nan Policheck was a little woman a good woman and a good little wife for a jailer, said Sam Policheck. But a little woman. Now I have me a good big one, Ethelreda Johansson, and ever-thing has changed I am no longer of a jail and have boarded it up and buried the keys under the Rose a Sharon by the hole of everbody’s excape, said Sam Policheck. We have come, said Ethelreda right into what Sam Policheck was saying, for me to get a few of my things before the desgracia hits the town. Well I have just excaped from the jail of this town because of a terrible injustice of a President Fred Shanks but a mysterious esplosion busted open my jail door and I am at large again, I said.
The mysterious esplosion was a part of a warning, said Ethelreda, that there is about to begin an infernal battle to the death between rathawks and rats, we have for a long time known this would happen it was even prophesied by a famous Medium. What was the Medium’s name? I asked. How would I know? answered Ethelreda. I thought it might be Gloria Ox, I said. But Ethelreda went right on into what I was sayin. Medium, Ethelreda went on, said that it will be preceded by a mysterious esplosion and a bloody battle will demolish the whole town forevermore. That is why I have returned to get a few things. Let em demolish it, I said, it is a bitter town. A town of nastiness, said Ethelreda, excuse the word but it is a nasty town. What happened to you in it? I asked. I have never told my story, said Ethelreda. Now that the town of my life is about to be demolished, I think I will. You’ll have to be brief, said Sam Policheck. I’ll hurry, she said. We were two sisters in a nasty town. Bitter, I said. Please, said Ethelreda. I have only a few minutes and my time is limited. My sister Janine and I suffered at the hands of a nasty town. That is a gringo espression, I said, that a town would have hands. Please, said Ethelreda. My time is limited. They were always, since we were just girls, trying to take advantage of we girls. Who? I asked. The town, said Ethelreda. I may, she said, not have to tell this if I continue to be interrupted and with such a limit on my time anyway, because of the coming any minute of this town’s demolishment, as history and the Medium decreed that it would. Gott! said Ethelreda. It was the only time I ever heard her speak foreign. What does that mean translated? I asked Ethelreda. Not into Mescan but into Anglo. God said she. In Swedish—or German, I can’t remember—we are Swedish, or my father was, with some German thrown into it. My mother Innisfree was Irish—so I am part Irish and part Swedish with some German and my mother had some Scotch in her so I have that, too. I hate to rush you, said Sam Policheck, but only to remind you that time is limited. I’ll hurry, Ethelreda said. My father Hans Johansson ran the oldest bakery in the terrible town. He made the best bread in Texas, up every morn to bake it in a four-o’clock oven. The only sweet thing about the nasty town was that the smell of bread was being smelled by the people before dawn. But… I said. Please, cut in Ethelreda. I was only going to say, I said, that if the people of the terrible town were so nasty why was it good that they smelled your father Hanses bread every morn? He should have laid out a nasty smell over that nasty town. Please! cried Ethelreda. When I have such limited time! cried out Ethelreda, almost raising up her big hand. Perdóname Usted! I said. Señora. Señora Ethelreda Johansson Policheck. A beautiful name, Sam Policheck put in. But Ethelreda went on with her story. But my father was treated so nasty when somebody found an unmentionable object in a loaf of rye that he was forced to close down his ovens. The whole nasty town treated him like a dog and tried to run him out of town. What was the object in the rye? I asked. An unmentionable object, answered Ethelreda, but an object that is supposed to keep you from having babies. Which set the town against each other, two sides, those in favor of sexual pleasure and those in favor of just having babies. A condom said Sam Policheck. My God, I said. Who won, which side won? Please, said Ethelreda. My father Hans was forced to run out of the nasty town. What about your mother? I asked her. My mother Innisfree? said Ethelreda. Locked us up, we two girls, in our house and run out of town with my father Hans, saying that they would be back. But they never come back. So we were two girls waiting for some help. One sweet one and one great big one I says to myself. Who come with the help? I said to Ethelreda. Hondo Holloway, she said. O my God, I said. How did Hondo get there? Hiding out from some people who were after him, said Ethelreda. By a lake outside the town Hondo had pulled a man’s arm out of its socket and the people were after him. He was only trying to help up the man because he had fallen into the lake and
was adrownding. Hondo was so surprised by what he had done, that the man was crying out in pain from the arm that was pulled out and dangling, Hondo was so mixed up that he jumped into the lake, just where the man had been, and tried to drown hisself. Ethelreda said Hondo said. You wan hear. He did not know his own strength, la mensura, how to measure his own strength, I says to Ethelreda. Like me, said Ethelreda. Sí, I says. But pore Hondo Holloway died from it. I told you how much forgiveness I have given Hondo Holloway, cried out Ethelreda. How much amends can a woman make? she cried out, pore murderer. Perdóname, I says, Señora, escuse me. God knows, went on Ethelreda, how Hondo excaped from the lake and got into our basement which was so boarded up by our father Hans and our mother Innisfree Johansson. But we found him one morning. Janine did. My sister Janine. Sweet Janine! I says. Ethelreda said that you might as well to have a white butterfly in your house as to have Janine her frail white sister in your house. Sometimes said she thought a white scarf like a veil was afloatin around her and twas Janine; or said if you would think of in your mind’s eye—we have no such espression—of a petal of a dogwood then that would be Janine; said she was a white saint said she was pure snow. Sweet Janine! I said and thought of Hondo Holloway that loved and killed her but didn’t even know that he was doin it. I am having to rush my words, said Ethelreda, so I will rush on. So we had a nice life in the boarded-up house me and Janine and Hondo Holloway; that is, until…I am feeling the beginning shudder of the demolishment of the town! panted Ethelreda. And suddenly before she could say us any more of her story there was a terrible sound more than I can say to you, twas demonio, and we run, me and Ethelreda and Sam Policheck, out of the town that was beginning to be torn to pieces by the infernal battle of the rathawks and the white rats. And before we parted again, never to get to hear the rest of Ethelreda’s story, I give to Ethelreda Johansson Policheck back the little curl of hair that once was Sweet Janine’s and everbody forgive everbody once again and then run on their way to excape the fall of the bitter town.
I run on, and up on a hill I looked down and saw like of the evil cities of La Biblia flames and esplosions of the terrible destruction wrought by the rathawks and the rats and heard, even over the esplosions, the demonio cries of the rathawks shrieking over the bitter town of Sweet Janine.
And I went on my way awanderin.
14
Song of Hombre
YOU ARE PERHAPS now asking for noticias of my father Hombre. Now while keeping out an eye for Chupa I now hunted Hombre my father whose nakedness I looked upon might have cursed me, I don know. And I guess I was still keeping out an eye for the Show, too. For Old Shanks that might not be dead and the glass wagon of jewels not broken, for any posters of the Show showing Heracles the Lion feroz, which was a lie but now was the truth. I kept all these eyes out. One day I asked myself, how many eyes I got? How many eyes I got to keep out for everthing? I’m blind with so many eyes out. That question ended, at that time, my hunting. I had out an eye for God and Jesucristo only. And I just went on at large telling my stories out of the White Bible, singing my song, cantando, to who would listen, a day for a day, a night for a night. And on my way to God.
I have no doubt that God sent me to where was my father Hombre, you wan hear? If you have stayed this long—the sun is falling behind the smokestack of whatever kind of mill that is that smokes up the smoke that lays over this place. What kind of shit is that what kind of people would lay that shit of smoke over where they breathe, what kind of people?—if you have stayed with me then you will hear about my father Hombre. If you wan go, Oyente, the air, as I have told you, will hear, for I will finish this song that I begun. I see you are still here, compadre. I never asked you who are you? You must be something like me to have stayed this long—from morn to almost night—and to have heard with such hospitalidad my whole long song—well, not all, there are some parts that I left out. I must go into the bushes to let nature have its way but never mind I will go on singing from the bushes, quizás maybe you will want to do the same over yonder while you go on listening. Can you listen while you let nature take its course can you listen while you piss? Some people find it hard to piss and listen. Or to piss and sing. I do not myself have any difficulty pissing and singing. You wan hear. Who are you, who are you that comes here under this rayroad trestle without a rayroad, in this riverbottom without a river. My song must be filling your ear. You will have to sing it out yourself to get my song out of your head. Like Julius Hohen-steckel, man I knew where was it, I don know. Anyway, who are you, are you going to sing my song to someone else? I do not care, compadre, I sing to what ear hears. I have done my best to sing you others’ songs, hope you will do as well, should you try to sing again this singer’s song. I have heard, God knows, some others’ song sung out so badly tongue of the singer should be tied, that is no song they sing that is no music. You wan hear.
My pore father Hombre was a Texas man, white not brown como like mi madre and he was borned around here by this river that once was. Since you have asked for noticias de mi padre or have you? cain’t remember, Hombre is the Texas part of me, the one-half of my mestizo that my mother called it. Twas mi madre Chupa give me the Mescan as you will remember and lots of it, more than the Texas that my father Hombre give me. In my searching I come upon a man looked like my father. Twas in a tomato shed outside of Jacksonville Texas in the tomato season in East Texas, broiling August. Nothin like a ripe tomato of the fields in the sun of East Texas in the month of August. Twas not my father, but told me where to find a man said might answer to me.
Twas in a roomin house, then, that the man was, down in Houston, that this man in the tomato shed said might answer to me, comprendes you understand. If you are ahuntin somebody this is the way you have to hunt. So twas on Congress Avenue back behind the rayroad by the bayou, back in there, that I found him. How could this man answer I wondered because he was so drunk, sitting in a rocking chair with a blanket wrapped around him. Are you named Hombre? I said. No answer. Hombre? I called. No words. Hombre! I shouted. And the answer came, who are you looking for? Hombre, I said; my father. Where is your mother, he asked me. She run away again and I am again hunting for her. I would help you search for her but I cain’t walk, knees still healing, said he and he pulled off the blanket and showed me the ugly knees. There was no more of Hombre after his knees. My God I said. Right said Hombre it was your God, twas certainly not mine, that took my two good legs, one day I’ll tell you how. Oh I’ve eaten my bread in the sweat of my face. Can you buy me just a little shortdog of Red, I need me some wine. Hombre, my father! I cried. Sugarboy! Sugarboy! my father wept and hugged me to him. Cuidado I said, watch it. I was sure he was my father for I was familiar with that old grabbing hand, knew the feel of that old hand. And besides, how else could he have known my name. You never told me that you loved me, said my father. Well I never did I says to him, but guess I really never thought I did, but guess I always did, I says, and guess I do. And then my father Hombre grabbed aholt of me and hugged me and cried and I held him back just a little bit and said don’t try anything funny like you used to. May the Lord Jesus Christ strike me dead if ever I was to lay one hand on you again, my father says. O.K. I says. And we hugged together and both cried. I have been hunting everywhere for you, Hombre said. But I was hunting for you, keeping out an eye everywhere, I said, what is this world where everbody is huntin for everbody and cain’t seem to find them. Oh I looked everywhere, Hombre said. How could you look everywhere without any legs, with only two sore knees that haven’t even healed. Well I looked before God took my legs, Hombre explained. My God I said what is this world.
Told me that he fell on the rayroad and train run over his legs but I believe it twas a woman got his legs. Everthing that happened to Hombre was a woman, you wan hear? I believe it twas a woman got Hombre’s legs at the knees so he couldn’t get away from her no more, so that he couldn’t get on his knees over any other woman. Bet it didn’t bother your long member, I said to him, that
you made me with, like you used to tell me over and over. Wan see what made you, you used to ask me, wasn’t God made you, was this, you used to tell me. Bet the rayroad didn’t bother that, did it? I hope you will forgive me, Hombre my father said. Has been the curse of my existence, said, reaching for it. Don’t reach for it, I said: I cain’t speak in the Texas way my father spoke, I am too much Mescan from my mother Chupa to do that, but this is what my father Hombre said. I could see that he was worse than ever. With his great long member that had worn him down and made him tired and old and crippled without legs and sore scabbed knees that he couldn’t get up on over a woman. But you sold me to the Chinaman I told him. We needed the money, he said. Hombre was still a sinful man of flesh, never known anybody like him, lived for his flesh, even with’s two legs amissing, still an old flesh fiend. He was the sinful part of me, all my sin had come from that hell member that hung down from him. My joy and fear comes from mi madre, my sin of flesh comes from this man. I had to get that straight with him forevermore. See what I’m saying? he said. Three-legged man. See what I’m tellin you? Well I don wan hear that member talk again, I said; anyway it’s whiskey talking, I said; get the tongue of that shortdog out of my ear, don wan hear whiskey talkin. It’s wine, said Hombre. Red. Well bottle’s got a tongue I don wan speaking into my ear, I says. Makes me think of Julius Hohensteckel, foul-mouthed individual once I knew, said Hombre. With’s foul mouth pulled around under his left ear by a palsy—heard tell that it’s the left ear the Devil whispers to us in—Julius Hohensteckel whispered to himself into his ear like a phone, his head was receiving the dirtiest things you could think of. Julius Hohensteckel had spoken so many foul words Lord one day just grabbed aholt of’s mouth and pulled it around up under his ear and left it there for his lifetime. Buried him that way, mouth up under his left ear, ‘s widow Roberta Hohensteckel asked the funeral home if twas any way could set his mouth back where it used to be so that he would look the way he used to be, in iz casket; funeral director said cain’t, impossible for a funeral director to do; said, Miz Hohensteckel is too tricky to work with, working with the mouth of a corpse is very tricky, ‘slike trying to work the hole in somethin, how can you get aholt of a hole, can you feature that? the funeral director told the grievin widow Roberta Hohensteckel; he’d a said that to me I’d a told him to go work with iz own hole, smart-mouthed cocksucker talkin like that to a pore widow; and anyway, he said, people in the town wouldn’t know who it was lyin in the casket, come to know his face so familiar with that lipless hole working and hissing up under the big flapped earlobe, said. The human mouth my ass! cried my father Hombre. Didn’t stop Julius’s dirty language one bit, his foul words went on apourin into his own ear, just beat his helpless eardrum with fucks and shits, whispered into his big bald windy head like a keg; plug iz ear or gag iz mouth, didn’t matter, was always one open hole awaitin, if you plugged em both, ear hole and mouth hole, that brain blowin dirty words around probly would’ve tried to use iz bunghole to get em out. Julius Hohensteckel’s brain boiled out foul words, spewed them into iz mouth and iz mouth spurted em into iz brain again. Like a fountain, I says. Saw one onct in a convent outside San Antonio where I hunted for word of my mother, fountain sprayed up same water over and over again, was its own beginning, comin from nowhere but itself, suck it in spit it out suck it in, over and over again, into itself, out of itself, bringin itself back to itself, dead water. I hate things like that, I said. What I was sayin, said my father Hombre, was not no convent what I was talkin about was Julius Hohensteckel with’s mouth up under iz ear. Give himself his own ear. Could rim iz tongue into iz brain, said with iz tongue could feel iz brains, bunched like a cluster of grapes, said my father Hombre. My God I said, what an abnormality. Was a pervert said my father, I despise fuckin perverts. Who am I, I said to myself, who was Julius Hohensteckel who is this man before me what is this life? I’m gettin crazy I could go crazy. And I was going to get crazy and mad with my father like I used to and my old self was comin back and I was afraid I would get a streak going like I used to and that I would push him over to the ground, without any legs. All connected to my old wildness, wildness of words and wildness of feelings; and oh my Jesucristo many times wildness of deeds because sometimes in those old days with my father Hombre when I would get a streak I didn’t give one flyin fuck. Comprendes? You wan hear?
Arcadio Page 10
