South of the Pumphouse

by Les Claypool

  “You just wait,” said Earl.

  “What the fuck’s the point if you can’t keep ’em?” huffed Donny.

  “I been waitin’ all my life to fight one of them hogs. Just let me get him to the boat. Get him close enough for a picture.”

  “Screw a picture, I’d keep that fucker,” snorted Donny as he hurled his pole forward, casting his tackle into the water.

  “Shee-it, game warden would bust yer ass.”

  “Shee-it. With all them fuckin’ boat people runnin’ gill nets everywhere, what the hell’s the difference?” Donny set his pole down and took his seat.

  “You got gill nets around here?” asked Ed.

  “Not supposed to. I got this guy comes into the shop that’s a game warden for Contra Costa County, and he says he busts these Orientals with ’em all the time. Says there’s not enough manpower to keep up with ’em. They set these nets around, then sneak out there at night and pull ’em. Catch all kinds of shit. Mostly bass. Says it’s gotten pretty bad. He says they used to bust these guys and pull their nets, and there’d be a hundred or so stripers in ’em. Now, he says, they pull a net and there’s maybe like ten.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yep. He says there’s only a couple of wardens for this whole territory because of cutbacks and such.”

  “Fucking Republicans,” muttered Ed.

  “Shee-it. Republicans only thing keepin’ this country alive,” insisted Donny.

  “You a Republican, Don?” Ed chuckled. “Boy, that’s sure a surprise.”

  “Hell yes, bud,” Donny asserted with confidence. “That Slick Willie, I don’t know how the hell that sonsabitch ever got in the White House. He ain’t worth dog shit.” He stared directly at Ed, hoping he’d hit a nerve.

  “I’m not even gonna start talking politics with you. I can only imagine some of the uniquely warped perspectives you’ve got in that department.”

  “Pussy,” Don replied, leaning back in his chair. “What the hell’s that dipshit done for us since he’s been in there? Nothin, except maybe wave his crooked pecker at that ugly Paula Jones bitch.”

  “Well, what did Bush do for you?”

  “Kicked the shit out of them Iranian fuckers in ’92.”

  “It was Iraq,” countered Ed.

  “Same difference,” said Donny, taking another swig of beer.

  “Yeah, so now every other country thinks of us as a bunch of fucking war mongers.”

  “Hell yeah, bud. US is number one!”

  “Whatever, dude,”

  “Yeah, whatever, dude,” mocked Donny, rising from his seat. “Time for a piss, boys.”

  He turned, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate over the side of the boat. Ed could hear the bubbling sound of the piss hitting the water.

  “Damn, this water’s cold,” cackled Donny with a grin as he looked over his shoulder at the other two men. “Deep too.”

  Ed looked at his brother and shook his head. Earl shrugged and returned his attention to the poles.

  Still pissing, Donny spoke out toward the open water. “You know, Ed, you may not believe this, but in that last election, I was prayin’ them Democrats would nominate ol’ Jesse Jackson as their guy.”

  Whether he liked it or not, Ed realized that the political conversation was going to continue. He didn’t want to interact with Donny any more than he had to, especially on topics that were sure to result in conflict. He just wanted to get back to his mushroom trip. He hated being high and having someone turn heavy on him. Tripping had become more difficult for him these last few years. After some reflection, Ed had come to the realization that hallucinogens had been much easier to take prior to his marriage and subsequent birth of his son. With family came responsibility and all the stress and worry associated with being a parent. The combination of psychedelics with stress and worry almost always resulted in a bad trip. The last thing Ed wanted at this point was to get into a heated debate with Donny over his warped perspective on the political climate.

  Ed responded to his statement about Jesse Jackson, albeit halfheartedly, realizing that one of Donny’s ludicrous punch lines would surely follow. “I bet you were,” he sighed.

  Bladder emptied, Donny zipped up his pants and turned back toward the other men. “You know why, Ed? I was prayin’ for ol’ Jesse! Know why?”

  “I have no idea, Don.”

  “I’ll tell ya why. I wanted them Democrats to nominate Jesse Jackson,” explained Donny, a sadistic smile wrapping around his face. “Cuz there ain’t no way America’s gonna elect some fuckin’ nigger for president.” Donny burst into laughter.

  “Don’t be too sure, Einstein,” countered Ed.

  “C’mon, Ed, you know damn well ol’ George Bush would still be in there, kicking ass,” Donny insisted. “Right, Earl?” He turned and slapped Earl on the chest.

  “I don’t know,” replied Earl, startled by the jolt.

  “Earl, c’mon. Would you have voted for a nigger?”

  “Leave me out of this.”

  “Boy, you’re kind of a pussy with your brother around.”

  “Don’t start fuckin’ with me, Donny.”

  Donny stared at him. “Pussy,” he muttered.

  “Ya know, Don, I’m a pretty mellow guy,” Ed interjected calmly. “And you’re my brother’s friend.” He paused for emphasis. “But I really don’t appreciate your ignorant, dumb-assed, racist remarks.”

  For a moment, the boat was silent. Ed had once again taken an offensive stance, and this time, even he was surprised by his behavior. He had always prided himself on his ability to control his wandering mind while under the influence of this type of substance, and throughout the fishing trip, he had done his best to let his thoughts drift away from the conversation. But Donny’s new topic cut through Ed like a rusty blade.

  Suddenly, Donny burst out laughing. “Oh, look at Pee Wee. Defender of the faggots and the niggers.” He roared with laughter, falling forward in his chair. “What’s in it for you, man?”

  Ed turned toward Earl, who was still sitting in the same place and staring out the back of the boat at the rod tips. Earl looked very uncomfortable.

  Ed stiffened and then addressed Donny in a stern voice, deliberately enunciating each word. “Look, shithead, my wife happens to be black.” He paused, just long enough to let his words sink in. “And if I hear one more derogatory comment about African-Americans, I’m going to shove that piece-of-shit fishing pole of yours right up your fat ass!”

  Donny stared at Ed in disbelief, then began laughing even harder. “You’re shittin’ me?! You married a nigger?” He turned and spoke to Earl: “Shit, no wonder you didn’t tell me he was married.”

  “I think you’d better let it rest, Donny,” Earl stated firmly.

  “All right,” Donny cackled. “I’m cool. Damn. That’s some crazy shit there. Good thing your pops ain’t around for this: Man, he’d shit a tomato.”

  “You’d better check your bait,” Earl suggested to Donny, trying to move past the subject.

  “Gaw’damn, Earl, I just checked my damn bait.”

  “Well, grab a beer or somethin’ then.”

  “Calm down, Earl, Jeezz-us.” Donny sat for a moment looking out the back of the boat and then asked, “How long you been married, Ed?”

  “About four years,” Ed sighed, realizing that the discussion was still alive.

  “Isn’t it hard to go places—I mean, together?”

  “No,” Ed replied calmly. “You’d be surprised how few dipshits like you are still around.”

  “Shee-it. You’d be surprised how many dipshits like me are still around,” Donny said with a grin. “You don’t hang around El Sob much, do you?”

  “Not anymore. It’s that kind of shit that made me get the fuck out.”

  “I don’t know, Ed,” chimed Earl, “you’d be surprised how much it’s changed.”

  “That’s true. We got all kinds of colors livin’ round town since they built all them town hou
ses,” agreed Donny. “Shee-it. We got so many Filipinos livin’ in my neighborhood now, I’m afraid to let my cat out.”

  “It’s changed a lot,” repeated Earl.

  Ed leaned back in his seat. “Not enough,” he mumbled.

  “There’s still some good ol’ boys around; don’t you worry,” said Donny.

  Ed looked straight at Donny and muttered, “Yee-haw.”

  Donny wasn’t quite sure if he had been insulted. He watched as Ed turned his head away from him to gaze out the back of the boat.

  “I don’t know, Ed,” Donny continued. “Shit, you know I’ve fucked a black chick before, and it was all right. In fact, I liked it. And there’s this lady works down at the shop. Secretary. She’s as nice as can be. Always bringing the guys cookies and shit. She’s one of them good niggers.”

  “You know,” Ed asked matter of factly, “why’s it gotta be nigger? You’re such a fucking dipshit. Even when you’re trying to say something nice about someone, you just have to say something offensive.”

  “It’s the way I was brought up, man. I can’t help it.

  I’ll always be that way.” Donny took a big drag from his cigarette.

  “Well, I was brought up that way too, man, and I’ve learned that it’s fucked up. That shit is way wrong. Every time you use that word, you show your ignorance.”

  “That’s just your opinion,” Donny replied indignantly. He took a swig of beer and then asked, “All right, Ed, what the hell are you gonna do when you have a kid?”

  “We have a son.”

  “Yer shittin’ me?” Donny asked in disbelief. “What’s he gonna do when he goes to school? That kid’s gonna get fucked with every day of his life.”

  “You’re outta your mind!” Ed barked. He could feel the blood rush to his face. “You are so far out of touch! My son is well adjusted socially and will have the benefit of drawing from two very different cultures. And you can bet your ass I’m going to keep him away from shitheads like you!”

  Ed could see that his sudden outburst was making Earl uncomfortable, but Donny seemed to be unfazed.

  “Actually, I take that back,” he continued. “I want him to meet you. I think that even at three years old, he’ll be able to see what a fucking shit-for-brains idiot you are and learn to steer well clear of your type.”

  “My type? What is my type?” Donny retorted. He looked back and forth between Ed and Earl, as if trying to organize his thoughts. “Yeah, I guess I’m just poor ol’ white trash, huh, Ed. Well remember, boy, you ain’t too far away yourself.”

  “Far enough, bud,” Ed answered without missing a beat. “Far enough.”

  A long silence followed, making Earl uneasy. He was never one for conflict, and being caught between the values of his younger brother and his longtime friend wasn’t his idea of a good fishing situation. He remembered as a child when his parents would fight. Though conflicts between the two were fairly rare, he did remember one incident in which his father physically threw his mother to the ground when she tried to leave the house in a rage. His father had stood above his mother as she cried hysterically. Earl, who was no more than three at the time, rammed his head into his father’s leg and punched his thigh, announcing that he was Underdog, his favorite Saturday-morning superhero. Earl never witnessed another fight between his parents of that magnitude. To his knowledge, it was the only time that his father ever acted violently with their mother.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Donny, leaning over to speak low into his ear.

  “Hey, Earl, I guess that pretty much makes you a monkey’s uncle!” Donny quipped, bursting into hysterical laughter.

  Ed lurched toward him. “Fuck you, man!!”

  Earl held his brother back. “Knock that shit off, Don!” he barked, still holding Ed in his grip.

  Donny continued laughing.

  “Donny, that ain’t funny,” cautioned Earl.

  “Sorry, Earl,” Donny apologized between chuckles, his laughter finally beginning to wind down. He wiped his eyes and then turned back toward Ed. “Sorry, Ed. I had to say it.”

  “How can you fucking just let it go like that?” Ed asked Earl after his brother finally released his grip.

  “He’s just fuckin’ around.”

  “You think because it’s a joke, it’s okay?! You think that just because he makes you laugh once in a while, he’s not an ignorant, bigot, racist cocksucker?!”

  “Now wait a minute. I ain’t never sucked no cocks. Those are your friends, Ed.”

  Ed looked at Donny with disgust. “You fucking greasy asshole.”

  “Donny,” snapped Earl, “shut the fuck up!”

  “All right. All right,” said Donny, realizing that he had taken things as far as he could. “I don’t want to be a dick or anything.” He grinned as he said the words.

  “Check your bait,” ordered Earl.

  “I just checked my damn bait.”

  “Well, grab another beer then, damnit!”

  “Awl-right, calm down,” said Donny, leaning back in his seat and taking a drag from his cigarette. After a brief moment of silence, Donny started again: “Hey, Ed, what’s the difference between a fag and a refrigerator?”

  Ed reached his hand over his brother and stuck his middle finger in Donny’s face. “Fuck you.”

  Donny flipped up the bill on his hat to look at Ed’s finger in his face, then laughed. Ed stared at him, watching his face turn a bright glowing red. Donny’s mouth distorted into a huge, slobbering, wide-toothed gash, his long, floppy ears jutting out of the sides of his head. Steam and liquid blasted from his nostrils, and his shoulders became immense as he arched his back. He blew fire from his mouth, filling Ed’s vision with orange-red flame. The orange turned to charcoal black as Ed clamped his eyes shut. He could hear Donny’s laughter echoing through his ears, morphing into the sound of a baying mule.

  Chapter 23

  THE BIG ONE

  Ed had no idea how long his eyes remained closed. The backs of his eyelids were like a pair of monitor screens, flashing a never-ending array of patterns and colors. The continuously shifting visual field within his head was Ed’s favorite part about hallucinogens. He could marvel contentedly for what seemed like hours with his eyes closed. Donny had ceased talking long enough for Ed’s mind to let go a bit and lead him through some interesting mindscapes.

  The sound of voices interrupted his contentment and caused him to lift his eyelids once again. He stared blankly at his two fishing comrades as his eyes adjusted to the light. Earl was sitting, arms crossed, watching the pole tips like a diligent sentinel. Donny had reclined back in his chair, holding a beer on the top of his belly.

  Ed scanned the horizon. The sky was vivid with an orange tint. He watched the other boats off in the distance and could hear the sound of the water gently lapping against the side of the boat. Though he was impressed again by the vastness of this part of the bay and intrigued by the smooth mirror-like appearance of the water, Ed still preferred the psychedelic light show his brain was hosting in his head. Just as he began to shut his eyes, he heard the voices again, this time calling out in unison.

  Ed, oh Ed, the voices called.

  Ed’s eyes shot open, and he looked around the boat for the sound’s origin.

  Ed. Hey, Eddie boy, the voices called again.

  The sound was clear but high in pitch. He followed it, scanning the floorboards around his feet.

  Ed. Hey, Ed, they called. In here, Ed.

  The sound seemed to be coming from the bait bucket. Bewildered, Ed peered in.

  Hey, Eddie! There ya go. Yeah, down here.

  Ed smiled curiously at the sight of the shrimp calling up to him from the bottom of the bait bucket.

  What’s up, buddy boy! yelled out a shrimp.

  Yeah, Eddie, what’s going on?! piped in another, followed by a chorus of greetings from the lot.

  Howdy. Hey, hey! Ahoy there!

  A grin beamed across Ed’s face. He thought to himself, W
hat the hell is going on here?

  Not much, the shrimp responded in garbled unison.

  You can hear my thoughts? Ed wondered.

  Of course, Ed, replied one of the shrimp.

  What are you doing, Ed? asked another.

  Just hanging out.

  No, Ed, what are you doing?

  I’m drinking a beer. Kicking back. Spending some time with my bro.

  No, Ed, he means WHAT are you DOING out here?

  Ed pondered the question before responding.

  We’re trying to catch a fish.

  Precisely, they answered in a staggered chorus.

  You’re here for him aren’t you? asked one of the shrimp.

  Him? replied Ed, a bit perplexed.

  Yes, him, insisted another one of the shrimp, followed by yet another explaining ominously: The big one.

  We’re always after the big one, Ed chuckled.

  But he’s the biggest. Yes, of all of them, HE is the biggest.

  And HE is here, proclaimed one more.

  Ed laughed.

  You laugh?

  Ed stifled his laughter and tried his best to be serious. Sorry.

  He is here, another voice rang out from the bucket.

  How do you know?

  Know what?

  Know he’s here? That he’s the biggest? posed Ed.

  The shrimp responded, I feel him. We feel him. He is here. He is the biggest.

  The biggest! the entire bucket announced in unison.

  Ed smiled. Wow.

  Yes, wow. He is the one your father always dreamed of, said one shrimp.

  He’s the one your brother would kill for, echoed another.

  And he is here, proclaimed yet another.

  He is here. He is here. He is here. He is here, chanted all the small shrimp voices in unison.

  Suddenly there was a loud shrill. It jolted Ed and he looked around frantically for the source of this wretched noise. “What the fuck?!” he asked out loud.

  “Turn off your watch, dipshit,” Donny demanded, as he and Earl gazed at each other in amused confusion.

  Looking to his watch, Ed muttered, “Oh, wow.”

  “Goddamn, boy. What the hell did you smoke?” asked Donny with a chuckle.

  “Must’ve been spacing out,” said Ed, reaching down to turn off his watch.