The Rambling

by Jimmy Cajoleas

  Boss Authority wasn’t even Orating anymore, not really. He was telling me a story, I realized, a true one. But the power of the cards remained, and I could see him, the Fish Boy, a little runt of a fella with a pug face, carrying this giant portrait of flowers. I could smell them, they smelled like honey and lavender, they smelled like Mom’s bakery in the afternoon, with the pies just out of the oven. I was walking with him, I was, not even the Fish Boy, but Boss Authority when he was younger, just barely an adult. I could feel the joy and anticipation sparking in his heart, how excited he was to give the witch his present, to thank her for being so kind to him. I couldn’t wait to give it to her either. It was all I wanted in the world.

  “Bobby Felix,” said Pop. “Please.”

  Again Boss Authority slammed his clockwork fist on the table, this time splintering it.

  “Don’t you talk,” he said. “Don’t you say another word. This is my story, and I’m telling it exactly as it happened.”

  There was a moment of stillness then, a flicker of magic thick as fog in the air, you could smell it, you could taste it. Everyone was rapt, no one moved. Except for Tally, inching along toward Boss Authority, her hands in her pockets, just a trace of spider on her face. What was Tally up to?

  But I couldn’t think about it for long, because Boss Authority got back to his tale, and the magic swallowed me whole.

  “I tell you again,” said Boss Authority, “I had no designs on her. I only wanted to say thank you. And when I opened that door, expecting to see Samantha Annie’s face beaming at me, all smiling at the pretty little thing I grew her, I was about the happiest man on this earth, and that’s a fact.”

  I saw her then, my mom as she was when she was young. Bright and pretty and strong, unafraid. None of the scars from the oven or the crow’s-feet around her eyes, no hint of worry or exhaustion or frustration. I saw her the way Boss Authority saw her, just the same as she was on his Parsnit card, and she was beautiful.

  “But when I opened that door, who should I see there but the Rambling Duke himself, old Davey Boy Pennington, and his durn cronies. Awful Sinclair, that durned redneck pretty boy, and a couple others. All sitting around, laughing at their bad jokes, mugs half-empty, lousing up the place.

  “‘What do we got here?’ said Davey Boy. ‘Looks like Bobby Felix got himself a picture. It’s a pretty picture, ain’t it boys?’

  “‘Y’all ain’t supposed to be here,’ I said. ‘Y’all are supposed to be gone.’

  “‘But we ain’t, are we, boys?’ he said. ‘Nope, we’re right here. Right where you are.’

  “‘If I ain’t mistaken,’ said Sinclair, the louse, the coward, ‘that there flower picture looks an awful lot like your girlfriend, don’t it, Davey?’

  “‘Sir, I do believe you’re right. How do you feel about it, Sinclair?’

  “‘I believe the runt has his sights set on your lady, I do.’

  “‘She isn’t your lady,’ I said. ‘She’s her own, and she’s my friend.’

  “‘Your friend is she?’ said Davey Boy. ‘I suppose that’s right. She’s the only reason we keep you around, anyway. But I’m starting to think you’ve overstayed your welcome, Bobby Felix.’

  “‘But this is my home,’ I said. ‘The only place I ever belonged.’

  “‘Belonged?’ said Davey Boy. ‘You’ll never belong here. Not with us.’

  “Davey Boy started to dance, a stupid little jig, singing while the others clapped. And he took my flowers and he shredded them, he plucked them out one by one and scattered them across the floor. I scrambled to pick them up, my months of work, all my heart put into that, and they began pushing me, back and forth, spinning me around until I got dizzy, until I thought I’d vomit. Then they picked me up by my trousers, they did, and tossed me back and forth, little guppy that I was, little runt. That’s what my daddy always called me, Runt, or Worm, or Scab, anything nasty he could.

  “‘You hang on to her like a scab,’ said your daddy. ‘Like a tick, sucking her blood. And I won’t have it anymore. I won’t have you anymore.’

  “My shirt ripped first, my best shirt, the one I saved up all my money for. That went straight to the floor, with my wilting ruined flowers. Sinclair shoved me hard as he could and I tripped, I fell face-forward, and your daddy yanked me by the back of my trousers. And as I fell, they ripped. I mean, clean split down to my ankles.

  “I tumbled naked onto the floor of Samantha Annie’s cabin.

  “And that’s when the door opened. There stood Samantha Annie, with her witch pal Marina right behind her, staring aghast at me, naked and dirty and weeping, covered in browning rose petals, while the rest of them stood around and laughed. I bolted past her and threw myself into the swamp, into the mud and snakes and leeches, into the scum of it all. And that’s where I been ever since.”

  I could feel it, oh the emptiness and despair, the pain and humiliation that cuts inside of you, that rots you from your bones. I’d never felt a thing like it. I’d never felt so lonely and awful in all my life.

  The room was silent, then, entirely, nary even the buzzing of a mosquito. I couldn’t believe it, my daddy acting that way. Pop, who was my hero, my favorite person in all the world, the man I’d always wanted to be like, who I’d wanted to imitate down to the gold tooth in his mouth ever since I could remember. Pop, who I came all this way for.

  “So now, little fella, you know your pop, who he really is,” said Boss Authority. “But didn’t you know all along? Wasn’t it he who left you and your mom to fend for yourselves in that godforsaken town up north? Wasn’t it he who only showed up every year or two, who never bothered to know you, who never bothered enough to be a real daddy? He whose arrogance doomed you, who was so cocky he could not conceive of losing to a little runt like me, that he was willing to bet not only his blood, but yours as well? Who sold you out in a card game? Didn’t you already know he was a scoundrel, a weasel, the worst kind of coward? Haven’t you known it all along?”

  Boss Authority laid down a Journey card then, his own Rambling Duke. He looked just like my daddy, he did, same gold tooth, same cocky grin on his face. But on Boss Authority’s card, there was something ghastly to him too. The swagger was all menace, a bully on the prowl, his smile cruel, his eyes glistering with hatred. Blood all over his hands. This Rambling Duke was nothing but a villain, a swine, and a braggart, a dog of the lowest sort. But it was Pop all right, right there in front of me, like the card had flipped him inside out and shown me only his heart, how he really was.

  “So tell your tale, boy,” said Boss Authority. “Tell the story of the daddy who betrayed you, the father who let you down, the husband who abandoned his wife, the man who had everything and let it all ride on a game of cards. Tell it to me and tell it to yourself and tell it to everyone in this room. But most importantly, tell it to him, right over there.” And he pointed with his long metal clockwork finger at my daddy, at Pop, weeping there in the corner.

  “I’m so sorry, Buddy,” said Pop. “I’m so, so sorry for everything.”

  Pop couldn’t even look at me. He wouldn’t dare even raise his eyes to mine. Pop was broken, and Boss Authority had used me to do it.

  “No,” I said. “That ain’t my story. That’s not how it goes at all.”

  But I was lying. That’s the story the cards told now. I couldn’t say another thing about it.

  “Well then, if you got nothing further to add, why don’t you go ahead and play your next card, Buddy,” said Boss Authority. “Play the card that comes natural to this story, the only conclusion that’s fair for the old Fish Boy, play the card of justice.”

  I flipped it over then. She stood cruel and menacing, three eyes on her head, one dead center, clad in ghastly crimson, a long black mark burned through her. The Red Bride, the revenge card. Boss Authority tipped his head backward and let out a cackle.

  “There she is, Buddy,” he said. “There’s my justice. There’s the recompense for all the misery your pop p
ut me through.”

  And I guessed Pop deserved it, he did. There was nothing in me that could defend what Pop had done, not to Bobby Felix, not to Mom, not to me. Pop was a scoundrel, through and through, this man I had so admired, my own hero, same as he had been Bobby Felix’s.

  “You know what card comes next, don’t you?” said Boss Authority. “You know what card I’m going to turn and play against you. It’s the Red Bride, same as what you played against me. It’s the revenge card, it is. It’s justice for the way your daddy’s treated you and your mom. It’s your revenge on all he’s put you through, all the pain and loneliness, the way you had to leave your swamp home, for shutting y’all up in that awful village. It’s what he deserves. So take this card and play it against your pop. Tell him just exactly how it is you feel. Tell him how much you hate his guts, how you’re gonna smile while I drain him dry. You Orate it well enough, it might even save your life. I might even let your own blood stay right where it is, in your veins. I might not even squash that little spider-girl you made friends with. I might let her go free. How about it, Buddy? How will you tell the Red Bride what your pop has done?”

  Boss Authority flipped the top card on his deck, that clockwork hand grinding, metal on metal, and laid it faceup on the table.

  But no, it wasn’t the Red Bride, not one bit. It was the Banquet Table. A long wooden table stuffed with food, folks lounging all around, laughing, breaking bread together. It was the table of friendship, of forgiveness. That’s the card Boss laid down, not the Red Bride.

  You should have seen his face. You should have seen that white swirly eye nearly pop right out of his skull.

  “No,” he said. “That ain’t right. The Red Bride was next. I could feel her.” He turned to Drusilla Fey. “What’s happening here? What went wrong?”

  Marina glared at him, her face stern as stone.

  “That’s the card you turned, Bobby,” she said. “That’s the card you got to play.”

  I looked over at my pop, huddling on the floor, moaning like a kicked dog. Boss Authority was right, I was awful mad at him. I was ashamed of him. The pain I felt in my guts was deep, and it had changed everything for me, probably forever. But I also realized something else, right there in that moment, watching him curled up on the floor crying.

  Pop had hurt me worse than anyone ever had, and that was a fact. But all the same, I realized I still loved Pop. No matter what he had done, no matter what he would do. I loved my pop, and only people you love can hurt you like that. That’s why Mom sat up nights crying, that’s why she wouldn’t let Pop into the house when he came by to visit. It’s because she still loved him, and that’s what made it hurt so much. I still loved Pop too. Maybe that’s wrong, or maybe that’s what love is, how it’s unconditional, how it forgives and forgives. I’m not saying it forgets, because never could I forget what I had seen and felt from Boss Authority’s Orating, never could I forget the cruelness on my daddy’s face, never could I forget how it felt to be the object of a losing wager. It all mattered, it did, and nothing would ever be the same. Pop wasn’t my hero anymore, not by a long shot. When I grew up, I didn’t want to be anything like him, not anymore. I wanted to be someone better, someone kinder and gentler, someone who would never bully or hurt another person, someone who would never take my family for granted. But even if he wasn’t perfect, if sometimes he was downright wicked, I still loved my pop. And I realized I always would.

  “Fine, Boss,” I said. “I’ll tell my tale. I’ll tell the story of the Fish Boy who loved the Rambling Duke so much until he found out he wasn’t perfect, that he’d done some downright horrible things in his life. Oh and it broke that little boy’s heart, it did. And Boss, I want to apologize to you, on behalf of my daddy, who ruined your life. I know it ain’t any consolation—nothing could ever be, not really—but you didn’t deserve that, not one bit. And if my blood has any say in the matter, then let my apology count for something. Please.”

  I bowed my head to him.

  “But if you think what Pop did gives you the right to bully other people, to rob them and steal from them and banish them, to take power over other folks any way you see fit, well, you’re just wrong about that. And I won’t stand for it. Because let me tell you something about this Fish Boy right here. He still loves his pop, flawed a man as he is, and this boy still forgives his daddy for every ounce of pain he caused him. Let me tell you, Boss, forgiveness can whoop vengeance’s tail anytime.

  “Besides, I’m sick of all these games.” I threw Pop’s cards onto the ground. “I won’t put my fate on any cards, no sir. I’ll put them on my actions, and on my friends, and on whatever lies beyond the stars. I’m through with Parsnit, and I’m through with games, and I’m through with bullies, both my pop, and you, Boss Authority.”

  “You forfeit the duel?” said Boss Authority. “Then you forfeit your blood, both yours and your daddy’s.”

  “No, Boss,” I said. “My blood doesn’t belong to anybody but myself. No game can give you a right to it, nor my daddy either. I renounce the power of these cards, of this game. I renounce your authority, Boss. I renounce any claim you have to this swamp or its people. I ain’t got time for this garbage anymore, and that’s a fact. So you can get on out of Marina’s Place. She don’t want you around, and I don’t either. Scram already!”

  Boss Authority leapt out of his chair. He flipped the table across the room, and it shattered against the wall. I thought he was gonna rip my head off, I thought he was gonna crush my neck in his palms.

  But then something happened, something changed. Boss Authority’s ponytail fell from his hair and wriggled on the floor. His teeth fell out, one by one, clattering on the ground like dice. His muscles wilted and his gut sagged. He was nothing without his magic. He was just regular old Bobby Felix, gone wild and strange with power, giving everything that was natural to him away. He lifted his great clockwork fist at me and shook it, but it fell clanging from his wrist.

  I could feel it in the air, the spark in my blood, the thunder and boom of my own heart in my chest. I’d done it. I’d out-Orated Boss Authority. The Parsnit duel was mine, and Boss Authority’s power was undone.

  Marina grinned. “Looks like we have a winner.”

  Harlen burst into the bar, carrying a bouquet of purple and red flowers in his teeth. He bounded past Boss Authority and Drusilla Fey, dropping the flowers right in Marina’s hand. Cecily Bob came chasing in right after him, all huffing and out of breath, his trousers torn to shreds and a big bite mark across his calf muscle.

  “Don’t let her have them flowers!” he hollered. “Don’t let her get a hand on them!”

  But it was too late.

  Marina closed her fist on the flowers and whispered into them, and when she opened her hand the crushed petals rose like embers above her palm.

  “I knew it,” she said. “It just took me a second, is all.”

  The petals turned into a ball of fire, hovering over Marina’s open palm. She took a step toward Drusilla Fey, and Drusilla Fey backed away from her.

  “Somehow you’d gotten powerful enough to break my hex and step foot in here,” said Marina, “and for a minute I just couldn’t figure out how. But it was the stench that gave you away, all that perfume. All those flowers. And I sent Harlen for the one thing I knew could defeat you, could undo every spell you cast on yourself. And Harlen’s a good boy, ain’t he? He brought them right to me.”

  Drusilla Fey hissed and charged at Marina. Before she got even two feet Marina blew on the fire in her palm and it erupted in Drusilla Fey’s face. Her hair exploded in flames, and snakes fell from her gown, dozens of them slopping, squirming on the floor. She flew out the window, her hair a great red blaze, and vanished into the swamp night shrieking.

  Boss Authority—no, he wasn’t boss of anything now, so I’ll just call him Bobby Felix from here on out—stood there, wide-eyed and vacant, nothing but a little tattooed fella now. He sat down on the floor, just slumped over an
d hunched there, breathing all heavy. No one quite knew what to do with him.

  Pop walked up to Bobby Felix.

  “Bobby,” said Pop, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you. It wasn’t right.”

  Pop stuck his hand out to Bobby Felix, like he was gonna help him up. Bobby Felix stared at Pop’s hand a minute, like he didn’t hardly know what it was. That white eye of his was swirling in its socket, and something seemed to be broken deep inside him.

  “You’re sorry?” said Bobby Felix. “That’s what you’re saying?”

  “Yes sir,” said Pop. “I’m apologizing to you, best as I know how.”

  “Huh,” said Bobby Felix, staring at my pop’s outstretched hand. “Davey Boy’s sorry now.” Then I saw a little something harden in Bobby Felix’s face, a last flint-spark of meanness glimmering in his left eye. “Well you know what, Davey Boy? I ain’t sorry for what I done, not one bit,” he said, and whipped a pistol out from his pants pocket. It was a cowardly little thing, as all pistols are, a one-shot popper no bigger than my fist. When it went off I didn’t even have time to scream. Pop staggered backward, his hand over his face, blood streaming down his cheek.

  “You little jerk,” screamed Pop. “You shot me right in the cheek.”

  “You okay, Pop?” I said.

  “It was a weeny little pistol,” he said. “Hardly broke the skin on me.”

  Pop moved his hand from his face, and there it was, the lead ball sticking right out of his cheek like a weird metal tick.

  “Does it hurt?” I said.

  “Like the dickens,” he said.

  “Stupid toy,” hollered Bobby Felix. “It should have blown your whole durn face off.”

  He turned tail and sprinted out the front door, but something stopped him in his tracks.

  On Marina’s dock there stood Sinclair, the Creepy himself, gray and skeletal and skin-blistered, rising up out of the water like the spirit of the swamp itself.

  “I come for you, Bobby,” he said. “I’ve come to take you under.”