Chelloveck weighed his options: side with Android Lovethorn or John and his men. And the exploding pillar of fire placed its finger on the scale and shifted Chelloveck’s loyalties to John, making it an easy but regrettable decision to free Joad and Santiago. “I viddy that I have no choice,” said Chelloveck. And he shouted down at Joad and Santiago, “Come now, you two. Climb out of the arena and be gone. Be done with us and be gone with your master.”
As if lifting a bag of feathers, Joad hoisted Santiago high over his head so that Santiago could grab the top of the wall and climb into the stands. And then with a small jump, Joad grabbed the top of the wall and effortlessly pulled himself over. And Chelloveck, knowing he had no choice, led the men from the stands and out, to the Tent of Meeting, where he fed them and loaded them with provisions. And though Chelloveck protested vehemently, John decided to leave the mesa through its back entrance and head out on the red brick road, directly in the direction of Android Lovethorn’s approaching men.
Chelloveck led John, Joad, and Santiago to an enormous oak door on the side of the mesa opposite to where they entered the Chelloveck village. Alf the Sacred Burro waited for them at the exit door, loaded down with saddlebags of provisions. The donkey lifted his face from snacking on the grickle grass, brayed with joy and rubbed his head against John’s side. And John discovered a certain affection for the broken-down ass. He rubbed at a not unhealthy-looking patch of hide on Alf’s head and felt the joy of greeting an old friend. Alf leaned in and wrapped himself around John as much as was possible for a stiff old burro, giving his friend a donkey hug.
“You, I have nothing but respect for,” said Chelloveck to John. “You are a virtuous man and I easily choose my allegiance to you over Android Lovethorn. But you must go now. Be gone and be done with us, before Lovethorn’s men arrive. May your load be light and your journey short. May your enemies be scattered and may your foes flee before you.”
“Thank you,” said John. “Thank you truly. I have a feeling that we will meet again and it will be as old friends when we do.”
“And as for you,” said Chelloveck, shaking his ear trumpet at Joad and Santiago, “you are saved by the good grace of your friend here. I allow you your freedom at his behest. But should you pass through this way again, give my mesa a wide berth, or I will hang you from the highest branches of the bloodfruit tree as birdfeed for the vultures.”
“Lookie here, Chelloveck,” spat Santiago, and his face began to cycle through its emotional range. “I’m not afraid of you and I’m not afraid of dying. I’m scared of living, dying is easy. But it don’t matter nothing to me. You got your mind made up about me. You’ve got your inflections in your voice and your implications. You don’t know me, brother. I ain’t no devil or no god, I’m Santiago, and if we should meet again…”
But before Santiago could truly launch into a rant, John took hold of his arm and dragged the twitching spasmodic away from Chelloveck. And Santiago did not resist. He allowed John to lead him away from the stern-looking Chelloveck and away from the mesa.
The red brick road sloped into a steep, sinuous slant away from the mesa. And they stepped through the grickle grass growing from the cracks in the red brick road. Spiky spurs from the grass stuck to their legs and pierced skin. Santiago’s lewd comment about the best blumpkins he ever went balls-deep into trailed behind him and broke up into meaningless grains of sand on the path before it could find its way to Chelloveck’s deadened ears. And Joad trailed his new friends, holding onto a frayed rope that gently pulled Alf the Sacred Burro along with him. Alf found that he liked the big, thickheaded man. Joad discovered a fondness for Santiago and John. And John grew in strength and resolve, relishing the ability to feel the sadness at his departure from the Chelloveck village. He worried about the Chellovecks and how they would survive Lovethorn’s men. He suffered guilt for slaying the guard Chellovecks with the pillar of fire. He silently wished the men in the village luck. He looked back at the mesa one last time. And they were on the road again, headed straight toward the distant, oncoming patrol of Lovethorn’s warriors.
John felt a hot wind on his shoulder, blowing in from a world that is older. He constantly scanned the red brick road ahead of him but did not spy Android Lovethorn’s men. The clop-clop of Alf the Sacred Burro’s hooves beat out a steady rhythm on the bricks and John’s feet fell into time with Alf’s. The steady pace and the distraction of watching for Lovethorn’s soldiers drew John’s attention away from the emotions fermenting in his chest and gut. He still had trouble recognizing and putting names to the conflicting feelings, though he knew he felt them. And without trying, his mind started the process of sorting the emotions out. Had he taken stock of the sentiments, he would have realized that there was dread, sadness, guilt, joy, anger, anticipation, and excitability. But John allowed himself to be mesmerized by the steady metronome of Alf’s hooves on the bricks. As well as his blindness to his emotions, John likewise was oblivious to all of his surroundings – the magnificent natural bridges, gargantuan saguaro cacti, bloodwood trees in full bloom, the turkey buzzards in the trees watching them as they passed – focusing only on the path ahead in anticipation of Lovethorn’s soldiers. And the emotional blinders blocked out John’s peripheral vision, making him oblivious to the distant silhouettes of a leaky-eyed Indian and a droopy basset hound on a cliff, both staring in John’s direction.
Ahead of them on the trail, an enormous red, yellow and black snake, its body thick as a log and longer than the width of the trail, slithered its way across the road. Something about the giant snake snapped John out of his walking trance. He looked in the direction that the snake crawled. His vision honed in on a gathering of men all tightly packed in a circle just off the side of the trail. The overcast sky above, and the span between John and the group of men, left much to John’s imagination. He pictured an attack by Lovethorn’s men. He imagined an ambush by vengeance-driven Chellovecks. Or maybe it was more lunkheads. John felt no worry about lunkheads, for he knew there was nothing to fear from them. But Lovethorn’s men would be something to beware of.
The group of men in the distance did not move toward John. It remained a stationary, shifting blob of pink flesh, its actions indiscernible but still somehow lewd from afar. As they gradually neared the gathering, John recognized the herky-jerky motions of lunkheads. The lunkies paid no attention to John and Joad and Santiago as they drew near. Then, as if sensing the approach of some malevolent force, the lunkhead congregation split into many lunkie-pieces and the half-dead men dispersed like crevice roaches in every direction but toward John. They hobbled and crawled and hopped away from their gathering, leaving one figure on all fours on the ground.
At first they could not tell anything about the remaining person except that he was rotund and naked and on his hands and knees. But as they approached, they saw the man stand and wrap a soiled towel around his waist. And even from the great distance, they knew who it was. From afar they watched the tubby Melungeon chase down lunkies, trying to give them hugs as they scrambled for safety. And the lunkies fitfully swung their fists and legs at Two-Dogs-Fucking, trying to knock him away.
“Aw, sufferin’ succotash,” spat Santiago. “I thought we ditched that guy. But there he is again. Maybe we can sneak off of the path and go around him so he doesn’t see us.”
John considered the idea but knew he could not leave the trail. He thought about stopping where they were and hoping that Two-Dogs-Fucking would move off in another direction. But, in the distance, after he had embraced all of the fleeing lunkheads, Two-Dogs-Fucking turned their way. He shaded his eyes and stared directly at them. And then Two-Dogs-Fucking jumped up and down and waved. He ran at John and Santiago and Joad, moving quite nimbly for an obese man in sandals and a bath towel.
So they continued to walk the path. And Two-Dogs-Fucking’s voice carried over the distance. “Hallloooooo,” he shouted and then broke out with his grating laugh, “bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
At the soun
d of the laugh echoing across the desert, vultures lifted from the trees and scattered drunkenly in the air. Santiago twitched and muttered to himself. Joad’s face pursed up in confusion and distaste. Alf the Sacred Burro stopped and plopped his hind quarters to the ground, refusing to budge. His ears flicked in annoyance and he turned his head to the side so as to not even acknowledge the approach of Two-Dogs-Fucking.
John knew that he had the power to make lunkheads flee him and to drop pillars of fire from the sky. But, despite his efforts, John could not budge Alf the Sacred Burro. Finding his powers ineffectual over the donkey, John tried to send telepathic signals to turn Two-Dogs-Fucking away from them. And he felt the suggestion seeping from him and carrying across the scorching desert air in waves. He could almost see the message floating just off the ground and flowing toward Two-Dogs-Fucking, but the waves parted and passed the Melungeon without nearing him. It seemed to John that perhaps he never had the powers to disperse lunkheads with his mind or rain fire from the sky. In fact, Two-Dogs-Fucking moved in toward them with greater zeal as if John were waving and yelling at him to hurry up. John decided they needed to keep moving forward. And Joad pulled at Alf’s rope, dragging the reluctant donkey along the bricks. But Alf resisted to the best of his ability and the rope snapped after dragging him several cubits.
So they stopped and rested at that spot on the road. They passed around a skin filled with water and awaited the approach of Two-Dogs-Fucking. And the filthy Melungeon approached, stinking of sweat and the musk of lunkhead nuts, coated in a dusty crust of jism and earth. “Hallooooo,” he crooned again, his mouth twisted in a large, ecstatic grin. A salty crust and a halo of stretched, chapped, red skin circled his smiling mouth. And his skin bubbled with boils and lesions from the plague that Android Lovethorn cast over the land. Throbbing cold sores dotted the irritated skin around his lips. “Those damn lunkies got me again. I don’t know what it is, but they are drawn to me. It’s quite a traumatic thing to be manhandled by those fellows. But you have to let them finish or they’ll tear you apart. So,” he grinned, “how has the road been treating you fellows.”
Two-Dogs-Fucking took the water skin from Joad and put it to his mouth, guzzling a bellyful of the water. When he tried to pass the skin, none of the men wished to drink from it any longer and they turned their heads away as if to pretend that it had not been offered to them. “Well, now, who’s this big fellow?” asked Two-Dogs-Fucking, nodding toward Joad. “What’s your name, amigo?”
Santiago’s features ticked through his range of emotions and settled on a look of concern. He grabbed the unwanted waterskin and threw it off to the side of the road. Santiago moved in close to Two-Dogs-Fucking’s face and said, “His name is Goobly-Didger-Doodle-Meigh-Geigh-Gong. You call him that, friend. You call him that.”
“I see that you have not changed, amigo,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking, his tone dripping with condescension. “Well, I think I’d like to hear from the big fellow himself. I don’t think his name is May Day Kong Noodle or whatever you said. And quite frankly, I’m a bit concerned about a new person becoming a part of our group.”
“What do you mean, our group?” asked Santiago. “You’re not a part of our group. Where were you when I was locked up in the Chelloveck dungeon being threatened with execution? Where were you then? Where were you when we needed to gain entry to the Chelloveck village? You’re not part of the group. You’re a leech, a tick, a blood-sucking parasite. The big man,” said Santiago, “now, he’s part of the group. He stood and faced death with me. So you show respect or I will X you out of this world. I have a system for dealing with people like you.” And Santiago stomped about on the red bricks, kicking up dust and grumbling curses toward Two-Dogs-Fucking.
“Hold on, now,” said John. He put a hand on Santiago’s shoulder and eased the ranting madman back from Two-Dogs-Fucking. “Take it easy, Santiago. Three Tooth sent Two-Dogs-Fucking along with us for a reason. He sent Crazy Talk for a reason, and he helped us when we needed it. He kept us on the trail and got us into the Chelloveck village, didn’t he? I have to believe that there is also a reason that Two-Dogs-Fucking is with us. Now,” he said to Two-Dogs-Fucking, “you clearly have been touched by the plague. Sit down and I will clear up your sores.”
“Thank you,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking and he plopped himself down for a seat in the middle of the red brick road. “Although I don’t think there’s much you can do about the blemishes. I get these regularly and they just clear themselves up.”
And John laid hands on Two-Dogs-Fucking and consumed his illness. As the affliction soaked into John’s hands, his face turned a crimson hue and he vented the foulness in the form of bleating flatulence and booming belches. When he finished, all of the blemishes, save the angry cold sores, were cleared from the Melungeon’s skin, and the area reeked of John’s sour intestinal turmoil. And John once again felt a boost of energy and power from taking on another’s sickness.
“Thank you,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking, getting to his fat, flat, four-toed feet, and readjusting his towel. “I still have not been properly introduced to the big guy. My name is Two-Dogs-Fucking,” he said to Joad. “And who be you?”
“My name is Joad of the Po’kinhorns of Gath. John saved me from sure death and I owe my life to him. I am his servant and his soldier. I am John’s conscience and Santiago’s counterbalance. I am the angel to Santiago’s devil. I am what I am.” Joad smiled and tipped an imaginary hat toward Two-Dogs-Fucking.
“It’s a pleasure, amigo,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking. “I, too, am what I am. And I am tired and lacking in motivation. I think I will go rest under yonder bloodwood tree until I’m feeling the need to do more.” He looked to John. “I will be rejoining your travels, as Three Tooth requested. But you do not need to wait for me. I’m just not motivated right now and I can think of many good things to do other than hoofing it on this hot road. The donkey can come with me if he wishes.”
But Alf the Sacred Burro did not wish to remain with Two-Dogs-Fucking. The lazy Melungeon moseyed toward a bloodwood tree that did not have a man dangling from its branches. Alf rose to his feet and led the band of men away from Two-Dogs-Fucking, and on a course toward Android Lovethorn.
Two-Dogs-Fucking and the tree he lay beneath quickly shrank to a dot in the background as John and the men moved on with a new vigor. Alf the Sacred Burro set the pace at the front of the group, moving along briskly. And the men did not speak for some time. Still not understanding the situation back at Chelloveck village, John looked to Santiago and asked, “What the hell did you do to piss those Chellovecks off? They were so angry they couldn’t even talk about it.”
“I didn’t do nothing so bad,” said Santiago, and he cast his eyes down at the trail, avoiding the curious gaze of John. “It ain’t like I killed nobody. I ain’t never killed nothing but some dirt-rats when I’m hungry. But, they act like I boiled their babies in hot oil. It ain’t like that, dig? And what’s wrong with a little diversity in their lineage anyway?”
“What are you talking about, diversity in their lineage?” asked John.
“I stuck it to their blumpkins,” said Santiago with renewed zeal. And his voice rose in volume and pitch as he explained it to John. “Oh, yeah! I shagged the shit out of those babies. And there weren’t a damn niksik in the whole bunch. I rolled around in their comfy pools and made those little fuckers sing the songs. And I tapped well over half of their stock before those Chellovecks came in and discovered me laid out on the floor, spent and sloppy and satisfied. And don’t tell me you would’ve done any different, Johnny, because you know you would’ve laid into those blumpkins, too.” Santiago looked to Joad for support.
“I do like blumpkins,” said Joad, his voice low and muffled as if it were coming from deep within him. And he flashed a smile of enormous square teeth.
“What, please explain, are blumpkins?” John’s voice rose to the intensity of Santiago’s. He stopped walking and his eyes burned with a ferocity that demanded answers. Al
though Santiago and Chelloveck had both mentioned blumpkins, John never received any kind of explanation as to what blumpkins were. His questions were always interrupted and he did not let it worry him because whatever blumpkins were, they did not seem relevant to his journey. But enough was enough. John decided he needed some sort of answers and they were not going any farther until he had them.
Santiago laughed nervously and tugged at his beard. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow with thought. Santiago tried to explain: “Well, blumpkins are…well…they’re put together nice.”
Joad grunted in agreement and nodded his boulder of a head.
“They’re,” Santiago scratched at his head as if trying to stimulate thought, trying to find the right words. He smiled and said, “they’re all soft and spongy and warm. When you’re holding one, you never want to let it go.”
“Umm-hmmm,” agreed Joad.
“They’ve got soft fleshy nubs and warm, wet crevices. And you squeeze ‘em and poke at them with your fingers and your rod. And, great gods almighty, I’m getting myself worked up just talking about it.” Santiago adjusted the swelling in his loincloth to allow his erection a more comfortable placement.
“Ah, now I get it,” said John. “Women. Blumpkins are broads.”
“Okay,” said Santiago. “I’ve never heard them called women or broads. But if that’s how you know them, then you get what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah,” said John, “I was starting to wonder why we’ve seen no women. But I guess they keep them locked up safe so you can’t get at them.”
“That,” answered Joad, “and you can find them wherever there are hot springs.”
Sloughing Off the Rot Page 11
