Throb!
Sparkling flashes cloud my vision, twinkling speckles of white. Only when I’m halfway to the ground do I realize something massive has just clobbered me on the back of the head. I remember hitting the floor. I do remember that. And spinning. Unbelievable spinning.
And a little bit of vomit.
Like being really drunk, I think, lying here.
Only, it’s not: It’s more like being on the verge of dying.
-65-
I’m inside her. Gin, my Gin. Her plentiful legs around me. Magnificent legs. A woman’s legs. And those hips, round and luscious. I lick them, lick around them, lick the small butterfly above her hip. Then lower, lower, down the hill of her curvy butt-cheek.
Behind her, on top of her, hearing her groan and moan as I maneuver my cock between her legs.
She spreads them, slowly.
“I love you,” I whisper to her, in her ear, while I press quietly at her entrance, maddening her.
“I love you, too.”
Her voice echoes, like in a dream, a wonderful dream where—
I thrust, unable to wait.
“Oh, god, my baby,” she cries.
Her voice is so lustful, so damning. I feel her tightness around me, completely. She’s hot for me, so hot. And I like that. That makes me hot as well. That makes me push and pull desperately into—
“Oh, yeah, Ace. Oh—”
Thrust.
Thrust. Thrust.
I move my hands under her, under her breasts; her massive, incredible breasts. Breasts every man dreams of. I rock into her, a rhythm forming, like music, like when we sang, like rock n roll. And my hands massage her.
And she says, “Oh, yeah.”
I—
“Wake up, nigger lover!” Ice and water crunch down on my brain. The pain of knowing I’m not with Gin is worse than the pain on my head from the bucket of ice and water I’ve just had poured on it.
I’m tied to a chair. Aaron’s next to me, bleeding from the mouth. Tied up as well, looking tired, woozy.
They beat him up good.
Everything hurts. Everything. And they must’ve kicked me in the nuts as well, because it aches there. Badly. A throbbing burst of sickening sensation.
We’re in the middle of the tobacco field. I smell gasoline. I see the fire burning in the distance, Aaron’s house.
And, to the left, about a mile away, my mother’s— “Momma! Momma!”
Randolf Berkeley laughs in a deep rumble in front of me. Randolf Berkeley, the man who stood in my momma’s house not long ago and threw a punch at me before momma pulled out the gun that would finally take my father’s life in self defense.
A good military man, Randolf.
Childhood friend of my father’s.
Fellow soldier.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what this is about.
Three other men stand around him. I don’t recognize them. Their faces are grimed up. Buzz-cuts, all of them. Big, military bodies. I’ve fought military before. In a ring, it doesn’t matter. You’re all the same. But four men?
The gasoline I smelled is from an unlit torch in Randolf’s hand.
And...
From my own body. Just a little bit, on my foot.
I see the gasoline can on the left, like a deathly shadow of black murder.
Randolf laughs. A deep, echoing laugh.
It’s only my anger that prevents me from being completely and utterly terrified.
GIN
-66-
The nightmare grabs me in the middle of the night.
Something’s wrong. Something. I know it. I just know it.
That unspoken connection, that moment.
Something’s wrong!
I call Ace. He doesn’t answer. I call again. No answer. I call a third time, and there’s an answer:
“Oh, baby, did I wake—”
“This ain’t yo baby, sweetheart. This is the lawd god and the light of vengeance! No fuck off, missy!”
The phone clicks off.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god—
“Oh my God! LAYNA! HELP! LAYNA!”
-67-
We’re on the phone to nine-one-one. And the operator tells me about the fire...
We’re in Layna’s car and speeding up to Virginia. I know, it’s dumb. But it’s all we can do.
An eight hour drive.
I’m feeling sick as we head out.
ACE
-68-
They say the mind is a powerful thing, that in a squeeze it can cause things to move and shift and cause all this poltergeist shit to happen.
I tried it. It didn’t work.
I didn’t pray, because I’m not a religious man. But I begged, in my mind, whoever was listening, to let me see Gin’s face again. Just one more time.
And then I did see it: Pale and beautiful. Eyes so blue. Breasts so white. Naked, pristine, perfect, waiting for me.
I knew, in that moment, that I would die. I closed my eyes, and looked at her, just as I last remembered her.
And I waited to be set into flames.
GIN
-69-
His phone is dead. Dead. Just dead. I’m not crying, only because I’m too stressed out to cry.
Layna’s driving like a maniac. This is crazy. Ridiculous. We’ll never make it. So why are we doing this? It’s all we can do.
Oh, Ace, I should have been with you. I should never have left you!
And then I do cry.
But Layna just drives. And drives. And drives.
ACE
-70-
Randolf decides to give a speech. It ruins my mood, because I was ready. I was in that Zen moment. I was ready to burn, to see my girl’s image in my mind while I left this earth to face the destiny we all must meet some day. I was ready to drift away, holding on to that fog of her image.
“This farm don’t deserve to be run by no nigger-lovin, music-playin faggot-boy like you, Ace Travers! Your father was a good man—”
“My father was a fucking criminal!”
He thwacks me, flat-hand. I feel blood ooze out the corner of my mouth.
“Your father was a hero! A goddamn war hero! And his daddy before him! And you? What the fuck have you done for your country, huh, boy? Huh?” He’s right up on my face. Screaming at me.
I scream back. “You’re a fucking chicken shit, Randolf. You hide behind your bullshit, telling me I’m a faggot, and you bring three other men to fight me and a nigger?” I’m using his own language against him, to make sure he’ll listen. Because even thinking that word makes me sick. “You’re fucking scared! You couldn’t take me down even if you wanted to!”
That gets the right reaction. Rage burns in his eyes, contrasted with the two burning homes behind him.
A sickening smell of gasoline and thick black smoke whistles through the air, like a quiet barbecue, mixed with the summer scent of the aromatic flowering tobacco plants. What irony, tobacco—stinks so bad when you smoke it, and smells so good when you grow it.
Eight feet tall plants this year.
We’re hidden completely, unnoticeable here.
I hear screams, muffled screams, by the house. In the distance.
But we’re a mile away, maybe two. And, buried under the large leaves, we might as well be half a globe away.
Randolf’s pride has been offended by my accusations against his manhood. He doesn’t even bother hitting me. He throws the unlit torch on the ground. “Untie him!” he says to his goons. They look at him, doubtful. “Untie him, damn it!”
They do.
I hear sirens, firetrucks. Finally! Everyone will be at the house. Even before, with the flames, we could’ve screamed and no one would have heard us. Now? With the sirens? It’s pointless.
Randolf played it smart. I wonder how many villages of innocent people he burned down in his heyday.
A real pro.
He tells his goons to stand back. He gets into fighting st
ance. “Let me teach you a lesson, little boy. A lesson your father failed to teach you.”
I’m standing, my head woozy. My stance shaky. I must have lost a lot of blood.
He strikes!
He lands his fist deep into my stomach. I didn’t even see it coming I’m so out of it. I fall on my knee and cough, blood spattering from my mouth and filling me with the flavor of old, warm copper.
“Ha ha!” Randolf croons. “Not so fuckin tough now, are you! Get up! I’m gonna give you a chance! Get up!”
I can’t. I can’t get up. Too much pain. Too much!
BOOM!—His boot, under my chin—god, that hurt!—and I’m reeling, swinging back. I hit the ground with the back of my head, an arc of red blood spinning out from my mouth.
I’m lying on the floor, spinning, dazed, weary...
That scent... That flowery scent. Like perfume. Beautiful perfume from fragrant flowers. Large and beautiful flowers.
Large and beautiful...
I’m at the blues bar—
“Get up!”
—and there’s a girl next to me, laughing. A silver laugh that echoes like the mellifluous calls of the gods—
“See? You can’t fight me, you fuckin punk! Ha ha ha ha!”
More laughter, from other guys.
—She smiles at me—blue, aquatic eyes. Turquoise, the Mediterranean, every beautiful shade of blue you’ve ever seen.
I could die here. I could—
And there’s dirt on my lips. Black dirt. Sand, soil.
—I’m in the ring, swaying, fighting Bradley Mad-Dog Westley. On the ground. Blood on my lips, the canvas red under my eyes. Spinning, fading...
“Travers! Travers! Travers!” The crowd, cheering.
“Travers! Travers! Travers!”
Mad-Dog was supposed to lose this one. It had been arranged. And I was supposed to win. And everybody would have been happy.
But he’d hit me, kicked me. On the ground. “Oompf!” And again, now—
“Ha ha ha ha! We’re gonna burn your little nigger friend here, Ace! Gonna burn him good and make you watch! And then we gonna burn you!”
—Where am I?
Mad-Dog. The ring. Gin. Momma. Dad. Janice.
And then I stood up. I stood up and saw two of Mad-Dog. Two. Four fists. Two heads.
And I swung for him, aiming right in the middle of the two images in front of my eyes. And all I remember is the crunch of his nose under my fist.
And the roar of the crowd.
“Travers! Travers! Travers!”—
“Time to get up, little pansy-wansy. Time to Wake. The Fuck. Up. ... And burn!”
—Where?
—Momma. Mad-Dog. Janice.
Janice.
Janice.
The tattoo.
“In fear or shadow, I will be your Justice, when no one else can.”—
“He’s a goner, boys. So much for his big-talk”
—“In fear or shadow, I will be your Justice, when no one else can.”
Janice. That hand. My father. The man who started this all and who, from his grave, continues it.
I won’t let it happen.
If it kills me, I won’t—let—it happen.
If it’s the last thing I do...
It feels like it. It feels like my final act. I have no strength left, no power, no vision. Like in that ring with Mad-Dog...
It takes all the will in the world for me to gather my strength, to force my eyes open, to focus, to look, to form a plan.
To clench my fists.
And then to act.
I’m back.
I don’t think. I swing my leg out! Catch Randolf behind the calf and he drops!
I’m up, staggering, falling, three men coming for me at the same time—
Boom! My fist. In the stomach of the first! He goes down.
Boom! Someone else’s fist, in my stomach, and now I’m on my knee again, swaying, swallowing blood—
—“In fear or shadow, I will be your Justice, when no one else can.”—
I see the knee coming for my lips before it can hit me and I slide back, swing my leg again—bam! Another goon on the ground!
Two of them grab me, stand me up, hold me by the arms. I fight them, struggle with them. But I’m weak, so weak—
—Like I was with Jed and Bobby and Lewis. Just like that. I got a few punches in. And then they ganged up on me—
The dude in front of me goes for an upper cut...and I kick his fist with my boot. Perfect timing! He holds his broken hand and falls to the ground!
Then a bullet hits me—no, a cannon—on the side of my lower back. Or it feels like a cannon. But it wasn’t. It was a fist, a mighty fist, accompanied by a loud and booming voice. Randolf’s voice: “Fuck this pansy-party. I’ve had enough. Burn the fuckers!”
I fall to the ground, knees hitting it hard. Lightning-pain pulses through my body, focused on my lower back, the area of my kidney.
White lights in front of my eyes. Tears in my eyes. Pain all inside and through me.
I pass out.
—Looking at you, babe. Looking at you. I love you, love you always. Your face, perfect, beautiful, exquisite. You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking universe, Ginger. I’m so happy I’ll die looking at you, right here, in front of my eyes. My mind’s eye.
Goodbye, my love.
I’ll always love you. Endlessly.
~ ACE ~
-71-
In the blackness, confusion hits.
The whoosh of fire being lit.
Heat.
Then: mad-crazy insects—thousands of them!—are at my foot, Biting. Gnawing. Chewing away. It’s the fire. This is what fire feels like...
The pain is so exquisite. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
Gnawing. Gnawing. Gnawing. Chomp chomp chomp!
On my foot.
God, that hurts!
I’m paralyzed. Out. Can’t move. Just feeling the licking flames of hungry termites at my foot, the one that had the gasoline on it.
And then, in the distance, like an old warship, echoing over the ocean: Boom!
And again: Boom!
Nothing. Silence.
Then: Boom!
“...The nigger... a gun!...How the fuck did the nigger...a gun!...”
Boom!
—Four shots.
—Am I dreaming?
—Four shots. Four. Yes, I’m dreaming. Father. He was shot. Four times. By momma.—
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Something punching at my foot. Hitting it! Like a hungry dog biting it!
“...goan be ok...”
—Four shots.
—It’s a dream.
Screaming.
Gunshot. Gunshot. Gunshot.
Thwoomp. Thwoomp.
Bodies falling.
Flames. Everywhere.
Flames. Flames.
Hot!
I feel them. And see their redness in front of my closed eyelids.
Red. Bright red light.
And hot, so hot. Unpleasantly hot. Burning hot.
But I’m not burning.
Am I?
The tobacco is burning.
-72-
“...you goan be OK, sir. You goan be, OK...”
Dragging. Hurting. Raw skin. Hot. Hot. Hot!
“...I tole you I wadn’t ejjucated, but I’m smarter’n a poodle’s beehind...”
Dragging. Dragging. Dragging.
“...I too ole fuh dis. God, that hurts...I goan get you outta here, Misser Ace. You goan be OK. You’s a good man. Only a half a mile or so ta go...”
Dragging. Dragging. Dragging.
My skin’s on fire. My chest burns.
My back, that punch to my lower back...
Gin, baby, I love you.
~ GIN ~
-73-
An hour into the drive, all hope is lost. We’re too late. I know we’re too late. I’ve called his phone a hundred times and no one answers.
Except for that one answer.
And then that Click.
Then my phone rings.
I almost drop it. The call’s from Virginia.
I answer.
It’s his mother: “Ginger? Oh, god, Ginger!”
“Mrs. Travers, what, what is it!”
“Oh, god, Ginger! They wanted to burn him!”
All motion stops.
Somehow I manage to keep holding the phone.
Somehow.
My mouth goes completely dry.
“Mrs. Travers, please, is Ace OK?”
“They burned the house, Ginger! They burned Aaron’s house! They took Ace!”
I start to panic. I wanna get sick— “Mrs. Travers. Please. PLEASE—What. Happened!”
“He’s in the hospital, Ginger. They’ve taken him to the hospital.”
Then he’s alive. Oh, god, then that means he’s alive!
“He was asking for you, Ginger. He was asking for you as he got into the ambulance.”
“I’m on my way, Mrs. Travers. I’m on my way!”
When I put the phone down, I see Layna’s already going at a hundred miles an hour. I don’t tell her to slow down.
-74-
St. Mary’s Hospital. Early morning the next day. Before sunup. We’ve been driving all night. And when Layna couldn’t drive, I took over. Layna slept about an hour. I didn’t sleep at all.
Christa Travers is too difficult to understand. The woman is in shock. She says to me that “he’s” in critical condition... “again.” That “he” dragged “him” over a mile and a half through the tobacco fields and “he’s nearly seventy years old, y’know?”
Huh?
All these personal pronouns are driving me nuts, but when I push her, she goes almost catatonic. I have to keep in mind this woman has lost a lot in the last few weeks. And then the threat of losing her house, and now her son...
So I hug her.
I’m freaking out, because I still don’t know what’s happening to Ace, but I hug her. She cries onto my dress as we fall onto some hospital chairs.
It reminds me of when her son cried on me. The boy who would later fill me. The boy to whom my heart belongs, forever, eternally. Oh, Ace, I love you so much. I’m so sorry for leaving you.
Red Hot Blues Page 15