Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down (11 page)

The Pope rode on a loud red bull in front of a great stagecoach full of attendants, with footmen on each side. The bull wore a garland of hyacinths around his neck. The people of Yellow Back Radio, still high out of their minds from devil's pills and accustomed to fantasy in their lives, stood on the sidelines and cheered for this gigantic whopper now appearing before them.

 

All the notables stood in front of Big Lizzy's Rabid Black Cougar to greet the Pope. Big Lizzy held a bouquet of violets, ignoring the scorn of the town's women, standing on the sidelines.

 

The Banker stood next to Drag and Doc. He had made an honorary batch of traveler's checks with the Pope's picture on them.

 

Only Rev. Boyd was missing. He was in the saloon sucking like a champ. He felt that Drag had double crossed him when he promised that Protestantism would last at least a month and there was only a day or so to go and here Drag was greeting some foreign discipline.

 

No children in sight, the Pope distributed pennies to the townsfolk. The people scrambled about in the dust for them, except for those too mind blown to move, who just stood on the sidelines and clapped while answering the Father's waves with:

 

Work out, Pope. You got the business! Rap, Pope! Run down strong things and be as savvy as you always have been.

 

When the procession stopped in front of the Rabid Black Cougar, Drag Gibson stepped down and handed the Pope a welcome-to-our-city gift:

 

On behalf of the citizens of Yellow Back Radio, I give to you this jumbo-size cheeseburger.

 

The Pope smiled indulgently, although he turned up his nose and ordered one of his footmen to take charge of the big beef between two half-done buns.

 

The people applauded.

 

Thank-a you citizens of Yellow Back Radio. I'm-a come to cool tings out and get rid of this maleficiem what's been making the cattle break out in sores, their milk to dry, that's parching your fields with-a plague—in other words howdy pardners before I'm-a adios everything will be really really fine as wine in the summertime.

 

Wow, everybody said, what a showman this Pope is, man-o-man.

 

Drag curtsied and fell flat on his face. Everyone laughed while the men helped him out of the dirt and brushed off his clothes. In the prevailing good mood Drag chuckled along with the peasants.

 

We're going to make your visit very enjoyable Pope. How long you want to stay in Yellow Back? The town is yours.

 

I have-a no time to tarry, the Pope said looking at the pocket watch he brought from underneath his gown.

 

Drag tried to remove the skull cap the Pope wore on his head. The Pope started to slap Drag around the arms. Get you cotton pickin hands off my head!

 

O I'm sorry I was just trying to make your visit comfortable. Well Pope we'll take you and your coachmen footmen and aides up to the ranch where we can all have a big celebration tonight.

 

At the celebration the Pope sat on a throne Drag had made for him. Drag sat next to him looking important. Whenever the Pope leaned over and whispered into his ear, he would look on to the proceedings knowingly, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger as if he had been privy to secret knowledge.

 

A commotion was caused in front of the door near the garden. Suddenly it opened. The preacher stood in its well. Iridescent wings annexed to his shoulders were flapping and his eyes were bugged. His tail was ignited with electricity. The Preacher started across the floor towards the Pope. The Pope's aide brought a giant can of DDT and the Pope started to squish. The Preacher grabbed his neck and stumbled back. He keeled over with his feet up and his wings oscillated until they were still. Never again would it oviposit eggs.

 

I'm-a sorry I had to do that to one of your dignitaries, Pope said to the Drag.

 

O that's all right Father. He tried his best but Protestantism was the heathen German's reaction to the glory of Rome. He was bound to go all atavistic sooner or later. Besides this was no costume party anyway. We is big time and serious.

 

Glad you understand Drag, the Pope said while people gathered around the Preacher on the floor.

 

Where can we talk about this Loop-a Garoo Kid?

 

Now you're talking there Father, Drag said, come on into my study.

 

The men went upstairs, the cowpokes stomping their boots so as to impress the hurdy gurdy girls they brought from Big Lizzy's on how they had access to high places.

 

Upstairs the Pope had an aide roll out a map while he held a pointer. It was a diagram of Yellow Back Radio.

 

Do you know where he's hiding out?

 

No, that's just it, the Drag said, there are so many caves around here he could be hiding out in who could tell. Why the night he came to our party there the men fearlessly rode after him and they couldn't find him. Right, men?

 

The foreman looked on as the other men lowered their heads. Right Drag, that's what we did. We almost had him but couldn't catch up.

 

Snow is the ticket, the Pope said, removing a cigar from his gown pocket and lighting up.

 

What happened to your final A's there Pope?

 

Shit, man! That's for suckers. Me and you cattlemen are in the same bag, always have been, moolas where it's at, look at that Sistine. Whatdaya think bilt that dump. Cheese? The mob loves final A's, them Protestants they never know, no ritual no class, so that when a generation of kids came along who could concentrate on more than one thing at a time they couldn't handle it.

 

The Pope's aide was handing out cigars and the men, leaning back in their chairs, laughed at one another while pulling forward their suspenders.

 

That was no threat for us. We hand out them wafers, and swing them censers, lot of loud singing, organs, processions. They like it that way.

 

That's the way I was running things Pope, till this nigger come in here and turned the place out.

 

Well we'll see about him—when we were threatened by the Albigenses, the Waldenses and other anarchists way back there when we couldn't absorb them we burned or hanged them. Where was I? the Pope continued.

 

You were talking about caves.

 

Look for the Peak of No Mo Snow, Drag. He hates snow.

 

Why I seed a naked mountain top just the other day, Skinny said. Let's go boys.

 

The men rose and were about to head for the hills when the Pope cautioned them:

 

Hold it, hold it, you don't go in there with your cowboy thing like that—shoot-em-ups won't work this time. He's got power stored in that mad dog's tooth hanging on that necklace he wears. The mad dog's tooth is the thing.

 

You have to find some way to remove it from his neck. Then he's powerless. In Haiti it's called an arret but here in America it's liable to be named anything. America is such a strange place that according to the new occult dictionary that just arrived at the Vatican Library there are more queer sects here than anywhere in the world. The religions turn out to be as rag-time a collage as the American Episcopalians who received their charter from a heretical Irish group.

 

Just for the record Father, Drag asked, what is he putting on us anyhow?

 

Well we've figured it to be the Hoo-Doo, an American version of the Ju-Ju religion that originated in Africa—you know, that strange continent which serves as the subconscious of our planet—where we've found the earliest remains of man. Ju-Ju originated in Dahomey and Angola. You'll find that wangol, one of the magical terms of the system, is a play on that country's name.

 

Who knows what lurks in the secret breast of that Continent, shaped so like the human skull? We've tried to hide the facts by ridiculing the history of Sub-Sahara Africa and claiming that of North Africa as our own. Notice how the term “blackamoor” was dropped from St. Augustine's name, and how our friends the German Aryan scholars faked the History of the Egyptians by claiming them to be white. Have you ever seen any examples of their art? If you just look at the pictures—the way they painted themselves black—and ignore the propaganda in our texts or Nefertiti which is a fraud, you will find that undoubtedly they are black people. The overwhelming majority of their art depicts black people.

 

Sometimes I suspect that if Eve had remained in that garden, probably located in Dahomey, because that's where the snakes are, Rome would be merely one of the centers of the Ju-Ju religion and I'd be nothing but a poor wretch, stomping grapes or directing traffic in New York City.

 

The men were falling asleep. Drag stood and fired into the ceiling. Wake up you guys, have a little respect for the Vatican.

 

Well anyway, the Pope continued, when African slaves were sent to Haiti, Santo Domingo and other Latin American countries, we Catholics attempted to change their pantheon, but the natives merely placed our art alongside theirs. Our insipid and uninspiring saints were no match for theirs: Damballah, Legba and other dieties which are their Loa. This religion is so elastic that some of the women priests name Loa after their boyfriends.

 

When Vodun arrived in America, the authorities became so paranoid they banned it for a dozen or so years, even to the extent of discontinuing the importation of slaves from Haiti and Santa Domingo.

 

Loop Garoo seems to be practicing a syncretistic American version. I'll bet you've found ugly matter in your pillows, dolls on the door steps, maybe a personal item of clothing and a portrait of yourself missing.

 

It's important that we wipe it out because it can always become a revolutionary force. Many of the Haitian revolutionaries were practicing priests, or houngans, as they are called. The present Prime Minister of Haiti Dr. François Duvalier was former head of the Haitian Bureau of Ethnology.

 

Loop seems to be scatting arbitrarily, using forms of this and adding his own. He's blowing like that celebrated musician Charles Yardbird Parker—improvising as he goes along. He's throwing clusters of demon chords at you and you don't know the changes, do you Mr. Drag?

 

Father you let us handle this guy.

 

May I make a suggestion?

 

What is it Pope?

 

Does he have any close friends or companions?

 

Now that you mention it Pope, I think that I did see him ride off from here last night and join two men who were waiting for him on the hill, said Skinny McCullough the foreman.

 

Then get 10 dollars and a bottle of wine plus two tickets to the East on the Black Swan Stagecoach. Those men will remove the mad dog's tooth from the necklace he wears around his neck, the source of his power. They're probably down and out artists. He always liked artists.

 

O Pope you don't believe in all that mumbo jumbo do you? I mean you're a swell conversationalist but come off of it Pope.

 

The Pope looked at Drag in disgust. One should always believe the other side is capable of doing anything it says—you're a young country and you don't know that but you'll learn—the hard way.

 

Just to placate the Pope, Drag gave the men a bottle of cheap dirty wine, 2 stagecoach tickets and a rolled-up 10 dollar bill. And they were off to find the Peak of No Mo Snow.

 

When they reached the Loop Garoo's hideout, the Peak of No Mo Snow, Skinny put his finger to his lips, a signal for the horsemen to shush and kneel behind the foliage some yards from the cave. The hours passed and the sun settled behind the hills.

 

The gang's patience was rewarded because it wasn't long before Alcibiades Wilson and Jeff Williams emerged from the cave's mouth.

 

Man, you know, Jeff, Alcibiades said, if a cat laid 10 dollars on me, a bottle of wine and a ticket on the Black Swan Stagecoach for the East I'd split in a jiffy. We can return to the cafes and just be throwing our mops against the walls and be boo-ga-looing until our hearts' content.

 

You said it Alcibiades, I would do it too. The Kid is really got the coo-coo fever. Having ceremonies with that snake, saying those curses and drawing funny scenes on the cave's wall; extinct creatures and cattle in a head-on collision. If we can get to the East we'll be just in time to do some macking at the Washington Square Art Show.

 

Skinny McCullough walked out of the bush whistling with his hands behind his back. The two men, seated on a rock outside of the cave and smoking cigarettes, almost knocked each other over trying to run back into the hideout.

 

Hold on, hold on there men, you've nothing to fear from me, why I'm nothing but a broken down hermit, given to such eccentricities as supporting artists and collecting roots. I live around these parts and just came over to comment on how much I like your aquiline noses. You kids really look smart there, I mean those thin lips, you look like some of them Roman statoots.

 

You really think so? answered Alcibiades. Why I played Puck in the Central Park production of
Midsummer's Night Dream
.

 

Me too!! Me too!! Jeff echoed. I've played Puck plenty of times.

 

You boys ought to go to New York and become artists and writers—I'll bet you'd be a hot hit right off.

 

That's what we were just saying, mister, we said if we had a bottle of wine, two tickets on the Black Swan Stagecoach, we'd be off for the East right away. We're being held captive by a mad man who wears a mad dog's tooth about his neck and talks crazy.