by Paul Beatty
GIRL: Oh, isn't it romantic?
GHM: Shhh!
GIRL: Hey! Don't shush me!
GHM: You're going to scare the fish. Shut up and steer north.
GIRL: North?
GHM: North. By Northwest.
GIRL: East.
GHM: To where?
GIRL: South.
GHM: By what?
GIRL: God!
GHM: By god!
GIRL: That's a good line.
GHM: What are you doing?
GIRL: Bending.
GHM: What now?
GIRL: Your ear.
GHM: You're giving me the bends.
GIRL: Help! He's around the bend! Steady matey. Steady. All roads lead to the cooler.
GHM: Do you see anything?
GIRL: It's dark.
GHM: There must be stars!
GIRL: I can't see them.
GHM: I'm exhausted. Wait.
GIRL: Wait for what?
GHM: Wait for the wagons.
GIRL: Oh, you're good. Wait for the wagons?
GHM: [PULLING AT LINE, TESTS IT] Here come the wagons.
GIRL: Tongue. Some tongue.
GHM: Wagging.
GIRL: Waggin'.
GHM: Somebody's talking about us.
GIRL: Talking about us? Who?
GHM: Let that be a lesson to you.
GIRL: Wait.
GHM: Wait for what? Wait broke the wagon.
GIRL: I'm broke.
GHM: I don't know matey. Looks to me like it might be your tail.
Where's the tail? Where is it!
GIRL: It was an accident.
GHM: Indeed.
GIRL: The deed.
GHM: Indeed.
GIRL: It was a whale of a tale.
GHM: A wail?
GIRL: A low wail . . .
GIRL SOBS.
GHM: I'm going to whale the tar out of you . . . Shut up.
GIRL: [LAUGHS. WAVES PISTOL DRUNKENLY] Oh, yeah?
GHM: Wait! It's just a line. [EXAMINES LINE] Do you like me? Do you like me, you li'l booger? Do you like my line?
GIRL: What line?
GHM: What ho'?
GIRL: What ho'? Give me some slack.
GHM: I'm giving you a line . . .
GIRL: What's my line?
GHM: A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go, hi-ho, the dairy-o, a-hunting we will go!!
GIRL: I'm hungry. I'm wailing.
GHM: Wait. Don't wail so loudly. You'll scare something.
GIRL: Hopefully. I'll scare something up . . .
GHM: Go fish.
GIRL: Fish are so dear . . .
GHM: Dear fish.
GIRL: Dear deer . . .
GHM: Allez, move!
GIRL: I'm whipped.
GHM: Do you see anything?
GIRL: [PEERING INTO FREEZER] Nothing. [CROSSING HER ARMS] I'm cold.
GHM: Sometimes. Sometimes you are!
GIRL: [GLARES MENACINGLY] Sometimes you need to eat!
GHM: Wait! Don't do anything rash. [STANDING UP ON
FREEZER. GOOD HUMOR MAN DROPS HIS PANTS,
SQUATS OVER OPENING, GRUNTING] Nope! Nothing . . .
GIRL: Something stinks . . .
GHM: Your stinking ass. You speak rashly, you scurvy rat.
GIRL: My teeth are falling out.
GHM: We're being knocked out. [STRAINS] Wait. Let's see.
[PEERS INTO OPENING] Nope. Nothing.
GIRL KICKS HIM IN THE ASS. GOOD HUMOR MAN FALLS, GETS UP, PULLS HIS PANTS UP, GRABS CART, PUSHES IT IN CIRCLES. THEY GO AROUND A COUPLE OF TIMES. GIRL BUMPS INTO HIM, DROPS PISTOL.
GHM: Wait! Stop!
GIRL FREEZES.
GHM: Do you know what this is? This is a disaster! [LUNGES FOR PISTOL. GRABS IT. GROWLS LIKE LONG JOHN SILVER] Now, me matey! We'll see what this here is all about. Won't we . . .?
JOGGER RUNS BY. GOOD HUMOR MAN SHOOTS JOGGER.
JOGGER FALLS.
GHM: You see when I make a play for you, you make the wrong move, you could die. Just like that. [WAVES PISTOL]
GIRL: Nothing's changed.
GHM: Nothing ever changes. Names, dates, places, modes of technology. The wind.
GIRL: You're farting.
GHM: That's something. Let's see. [TESTING LINE] Ahh! [PULLS IT UP, REMOVES FLY, PRESENTS IT TO GIRL, TRIUMPHANT]
GIRL: It's the fly!
JOGGER: Help! Help me!
GIRL: [EATING FLY] Good Humor Man, let me do it, please. Let me help that person.
GOOD HUMOR MAN SHOOTS JOGGER. JOGGER DIES.
GHM: Beggar! Plagiarist!
GIRL: It's the code of the West!
GHM: East!
GIRL: North!
GHM: South!
GIRL: Mideast!
GHM: Midwest!
GIRL: Blow wind!
GHM: Softly.
GIRL: Quietly . . .
GHM: As a morning sunrise.
GIRL: Good Humor Man, where are we going?
GHM: That's "captain" to you. Captain Good Humor Man.
GIRL: "Captain" to me, where are we going?
GHM: [GROWLING] In strictly nautical terms, nowhere. We're going nowhere . . .
GIRL: Going with the flow. Drifting . . .
GHM: On a reed . . .
CHARLIE PARKER'S "DRIFTING ON A REED" IS HEARD FROM OFFSTAGE.
GHM: Wait! Shut up!
MUSIC STOPS.
GIRL: What's that?
GHM: I don't hear anything . . . What ship is this?
GIRL: Captain—it's the Bull Rush . . .
GHM: How many men are we?
GIRL: Well, sir, captain, sir . . . there is just you and me . . . unless
you count those poor souls over there . . .
GHM: They're dead. They are our ancestors now.
GIRL: Lovers. Brothers. Sisters. Fathers. Mothers.
GHM: Our cousins . . . Our aunts and uncles . . .
GIRL: Great people. Saints . . .
GHM: Ground down. Crushed.
GIRL: At sea . . . maybe there's something to eat . . .
GHM: I wouldn't count on it. Those people are rotten. Rotten, I tell
you. Pushovers. Push 'em over.
GIRL: They'll pop up, maybe.
GHM: We'll see. I wouldn't count on it . . .
GIRL: Let's save our strength . . .
GHM: I see. S.O.S.
GIRL: Is that Trinidad?
GHM: [PEERING INTO OPENING] Where? What? I don't see anything. Do you?
GIRL: That light over there with those clouds hovering over it.
GHM: That mountain over there that appears to be a mountain to my sore eyes? No—that's China. Where the magnificent khans play . . .
GIRL: We're on the road to Mandalay!
GHM: Flying fishes! Have you ever seen such a thing? I think we're onto something. What do you think?
GIRL: I think we're Yankees!
GHM: We're Dodgers!
GIRL: [TO THE HEAP OF BODIES] You're Indians. Do you want to play a game? We'll get our hits in and you run around. Okay?
GHM: The object of the game is to steal home.
GIRL: He says his name is Guacanagari, Captain!
GHM: That's funny . . . That's not a name. He doesn't know his own name . . . We'll have to give him one . . . It should be Con. Surname—Viet. Hmm . . . [PEERS INTO OPENING] Con Viet. I think we're getting somewhere.
GIRL: At last! Do you have any corn? I'm a commodities man.
GHM: Look here, my fine feather of a friend. I'm the Good Humor Man. I'm a Christian. Do you have any gold, Gua-Gua . . . I can't even pronounce it . . . It makes me choke. I'll make a report . . . Killed while trying to escape.
GIRL: Good Humor Man—! Let me do it!
GHM: [TURNS, LEVELING PISTOL AT HER] Avast, there, woman!
GIRL: [TO BODIES] Got any berries? [GOES TO BOY] Soldier?
Nope. Nothing. He's dead . . . It was an accident. It was not a freak of nature. It was our destiny. We we
re going to get married.
Four score and twenty years ago, I think that was it.
GHM: He was a disaster! [SHOOTS BOY AGAIN] Oh, god. What a waste of ammunition! We'll have to save our shots . . .
GIRL: S. O. S.
GHM: Steady, woman! Don't show any fear—Steady!
GIRL: I need some coffee.
GHM: Role call. How would you like your orange juice?
GIRL: In the can.
GHM: White bread?
GIRL: Jeffrey Dahmer . . .
GHM: David Rabinowitz.
GIRL: Oliver North.
GHM: I have to tell you something . . . a confession. This is not
china.
GIRL: What is it?
GHM: It's porcelain laced with lead. Sugar?
GIRL: Please.
GHM: That will be one clam.
GIRL: I don't have any clams . . . I ate it.
JOGGERS RUN BY. GOOD HUMOR MAN SHOOTS THEM.
THEY FALL.
GHM: [PEERING INTO THE OPENING] Nothing's real. It's all
symbolic . . . Red, white, and blue.
COPS ENTER, RUNNING.
COP: What's fishy now?
GHM, GIRL: [TOGETHER] Nothing, officer!
COP: I need a report!
GHM: The days are getting shorter . . .
GIRL: Don't say that!
GHM: That's right! I'm not dead yet. Am I . . .? [SHOOTS COPS] There. How's that for a report. That should get you a raise.
GIRL: Wait, what's that?
GHM: Sounds like shooting.
GIRL: What for?
GHM: Sounds like it's coming from that house over there.
GIRL: That's a nice one.
GHM: Somebody's already took a shot at it. It's not on the map. It's out of the park. You'll have to aim for something else.
GIRL: Can you push for a while?
GHM: Look, it's gotten to where you'll have to push your own load. At your age, you should be comfortable with mine too. You should also know that there is no such thing as a free ride.
GIRL: Don't try to give me that. You can't give me that anymore.
GHM: That's what I'm saying. Keep pushing.
GIRL: You have pushed me to my limits.
GHM: No limits I can see. None. We must push for the frontiers of space.
GIRL: Out of uniform, you look like a pirate.
GHM: It ain't softball.
GIRL: I want to play. Give me a shot.
GHM: I've been having a ball by myself.
GIRL: You've got all the balls. I can see that.
GHM: You've got some smart ass.
GIRL: Are we getting anywhere?
GHM: I'm getting off.
GIRL: We can get on together.
GHM: Get on with you. You're pulling my leg.
GHM: Whatever you put out is what you get in.
GIRL: We're going in circles.
GHM: I think we're getting somewhere. Circle the wagons.
GIRL: It's your shot. Aim anywhere. Try where that house was.
GHM: That's nothing.
GIRL: I've been there. I think when I was very young.
TWO WELL-DRESSED MEN, LATE THIRTIES, SITTING ON A BENCH. THEY ARE "FRIENDS."
1ST FR: I would like to have you over for tripes.
2ND FR: Tripe?
1ST FR: Tripes. We call it—them—"tripes"! At least, my wife does. She's not of our persuasion.
2ND FR: With an "s"?
1ST FR: What an "s." The most elegant I've ever seen. That's why she's the wife. And guess where I ran into her.
2ND FR: Where?
1ST FR: At an intersection. I almost tore her fender off. The door. She survived. It wasn't anybody's fault. We both had insurance—I figured, hey—what the hell! I tell you I caught myself a beauty. A real shiner. It was all the way out to here! That was when I found out about that "s." It was the coolest, most level-headed thing I have ever done. Dead on. Pretty much the way I ran into you. Only with a car.
2ND FR: More liability.
1ST FR: You got that right. The deductible was not negligible. But you know what—nothing is an accident. With one fell stroke of the pen I acquired myself quite some "s."
2ND FR: Capital! Capital!
1ST FR: Not in this case. Small. A career.
2ND FR: I see. As you must know, I love tripe. Even with an "s" as you so elegantly put it.
1ST FR: Jowls too! And trotters!
2ND FR: Stop it. You make me want to roll my eyes.
1ST FR: You just go right ahead. You remember that old saying, don't you?
2ND FR,
1ST FR: [TOGETHER, LIKE A RAP SONG] Yo' eyes may shine. Yo' teeth may grit, but none o' dese trotters shall you get!
LOOKING AROUND GUILTILY AND SEEING NO ONE THEY LAUGH UPROARIOUSLY, SLAPPING PALMS AND THIGHS.
2ND FR: We'll I'll be a monkey's uncle. You. You haven't forgotten . . . You haven't forgotten! After all these years.
1ST FR: You tell me. How could I? How could I? Particularly in this business, and that's conventional wisdom.
2ND FR: Why yes, but should I take that literally?
1ST FR: Not at all.
2ND FR: Strictly business.
1ST FR: You are a friend. You are a dear friend and that is a grand idea, isn't it? It's so comforting we bumped into each other. You are the very first person I thought of. [STARTLED] Did you hear that?
2ND FR: What?
1ST FR: That noise. It sounded like a shot.
2ND FR: A shot? No, no. I can't say that I did.
1ST FR: [LISTENING] Hey, that was another!
2ND FR: Really? Shots? Are you sure? [LOOKING AROUND, HALF CROUCHING]
1ST FR: My god—it sounds like a war!
2ND FR: [STILL CROUCHING] That's funny. I can't hear a thing.
1ST FR: It's funny how we perceive things as existing or not existing according to our sensibilities.
2ND FR: Some things have to be seen to be believed.
GIRL ENTERS FOLLOWED BY GOOD HUMOR MAN.
2ND FR: Oh good. There's the Good Humor man. I'd like some. Wouldn't you?
GOOD HUMOR MAN SHOOTS 2ND FRIEND. 2ND FRIEND SLUMPS, DEAD. FIRST FRIEND STARES IN HORROR.
1ST FR: My god, you shot my friend! I think you killed him! Who are you? What did you do that for? Look, don't you hurt me. I can give you money. Listen, don't shoot—see—my wallet—if that's not enough, we can go to the cash machine. This just might be your lucky day. I'm a wealthy man. I can give you as much as you like, but you'll have to take me—see—it's a special machine with video imaging. I swear!
GIRL: [TO GOOD HUMOR MAN] My! He sure can talk, can't he? Knows all the right sounds to make. I don't understand. I want ice cream, that's all. Do you have any of that?
1ST FR: But your friend there—he is your friend—isn't he—doesn't he—if he doesn't, I can get you some—how about a sundae—sundae hell—a frappe, just don't shoot!
GHM: You see you are addressing the wrong person. As you can see, I am the one with the gun . . . and I don't want ice cream.
1ST FR: What—do you want? I can get—you anything you want!
GHM: It's not enough. [RAISES PISTOL]
1ST FR: Stop—Stop—Why are you doing this?
GHM: [SHOOTS] I do it because I can.
FIRST FRIEND DIES.
GIRL: Why'd you do that? He was going to get ice cream.
GHM: [HOPPING ONTO CART] Shut up. Just shut up. Stop whining and push.
BLACK
ELIZABETH ALEXANDER
talk radio, d.c.
1996
Leave fatback and a copper penny
on a wound 'til it draw out the poison,
'til the penny turn green.
Tobacco's what works on a bee-sting,
but for poison ivy—I'm serious, now—
catch your first morning urine in your hands
and splash it on that rash.
When they had the diptheria epidemic
I was burn
ing up with fever, burning and burning.
When the doctor left the house, my grandmother
snuck in the back door with a croaker sack of mackerel.
She wrapped me all up in that salt mackerel.
The next morning, my fever had broke
and the fish was all cooked.
ERIKA ELLIS
from good fences
1999
1988: Blackflight
". . ."
". . ."
". . . man oh man oh man . . ."
"Damn. That geechee bitch you was bonin' befo' musta put a curse on your ass, Spade my man."
"Sheeet."
"I feel for you, my brother, but thank GAWD I'm not in your shoes. Your shit is in the pan, about to get deep-fried."
"Give me some dap on that one, my brother." Lloyd, from Idaho, got up off the bed and did a slow pimp across the area rug and banged fists with George, from Silver Springs. The air was thick with soul. Tommytwo ground his teeth. He was like, not in the mood.
"He be fucked."
"His ass be grass."
Tommytwo sure wished they'd all shut the hell up. He'd come to these guys for maybe some practical advice, maybe a little bit of sympathy, not for Shaft and Blackula to remind him that he'd flushed his life down the toilet.
"Daaaamn!" Clyde from down the hall erupted, fingers snapping so hard as he slid into the room that he could have been flicking off red ants. Tommytwo could not believe his luck. First he gets somebody pregnant—pregnant! pregnant!—and then he ends up in here with this bunch of lunchboxes when what he needed was some privacy and a Ginzu knife.
Oh God—was Dad right? Always remove yourself from a bad situation, his dad had been urging him each and every time they spoke for the past three years. Transfer. Anyplace but Morehouse, anywhere but Atlanta. He wondered what Dad would say when he found out Tommytwo was an unwed father. Dad had sworn this place would bring out the nigger in him.
"Yo, nigga, you sure she said anti-abortion?"
"Twice."
As far as Tommytwo was concerned, pregnancy was the creature from the black lagoon. When she said the word . . . oy-yoy-yoy. It came at him like a meat cleaver. PRREEGGNNNAAANNNTT, there it still was, echoing in his hollow head. Pregnant, she'd snapped at him again when he just stood there trying to figure out what in the heck a guy was supposed to say.
Woman, don't start trippin' out on me, he'd snapped at her, out of the blue. About the last muhfucka I need is a baby. He'd said that, in the same Superfly voice he used with the guys. To LaKisha, who knew him, the real him. She'd smacked him with her book bag, out in the middle of the quad, then run away.
