Marie grunted. “Haven’t you lost your mind over some hunk and made a total fool of yourself?”
“Actually I haven’t,” Cinnamon said. Why bother with love? Who’d ever want her?
“Wait. You’ll see.” Marie was so certain.
Sekou laughed. Jaded Marie — the voice of experience.
“Solid jade, that’s me.” Sekou’s scorn rolled right off Marie.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Klaus said.
“Survive,” Marie said.
TURN HIS ASS IN — Cinnamon wanted to yell this. If she’d turned Sekou in maybe he wouldn’t be haunting them. Maybe he’d still be alive.
“Vati almost, you know, we found him three times. Three! Like Sekou.”
Naw. Sekou’s thunderbird spit out a dead whale that dissolved into sparkling dust. I wasn’t playing around like your Vati. I went the whole way out.
The fluorescent light in the mirror turned the corner behind them and disappeared. Fast, like a blackout, the ghost light show was over.
“Sekou’s gone.” Klaus looked out the back.
Marie touched her ears. “When he’s here, it’s like a buzzing, a rustling. That stopped.”
“You’re right.” Cinnamon said. She never won an argument with her brother, even when he was dead, dead wrong.
“He’ll be back.” Marie was psyched by this prospect.
“We’re a secret posse riding the Geisterbahn, spirit railway.” Klaus tried for a smile. He and Marie gripped hands in Cinnamon’s lap.
“On the ghost train. Questing, we’re questing.” Marie sang these words in a melancholic harmony to Smokey Robinson:
But ain’t too much sadder than the tears of a clown.
Cinnamon quashed a wave of jealousy. She wasn’t crushed on Klaus or Marie, right? Hopelessly crushed on two people would be stupid. She didn’t believe in lust at first sight, except… Ariel had materialized in the Playhouse lobby and made her warm inside. Cinnamon could lose her mind over Ariel easy. Wild eyes, feline grace, thunderbird moves, Ariel believed in her and her whole posse. Ariel was probably too cute and too old, still Lexy went for jailbait Sekou. But nobody ever fell in lust with Cinnamon at first sight — too dark, too big, too smart… What about lust after contact improv? The center of gravity is an erotic power zone.
Her mouth went dry, and her cheeks burned. Hanging with Klaus and Marie was a contact improv intensive. Defying gravity, spinning through the air was tricky. If you don’t trust each other, everybody will fall flat on their asses. Star Deer was always saying obvious shit like that. Hear it once, forget it never meant a lot of noise in Cinnamon’s head. Star had promised to teach Cinnamon to walk a tightrope. Bodies in motion, in flight, always a beautiful thing. Trust that.
Streetlight bounced off snow and turned the road garish pink. Marie’s teeth chattered; Klaus was dripping sweat. They looked ghoulish, cute in a horror movie way. Cinnamon let her hand drop on top of theirs, and they laced their fingers through hers. Electricity shot up and down Cinnamon. No denying it — she was crushed on three people. Damn. She finally got a hint of what all the fuss was about. The Four Tops were standing in the shadows of love, getting ready for the heartache to come.
“I’m sorry.” Klaus acted as solemn as a funeral director. “For flipping out on Sekou, on you guys too. Did I drive him away? Talking about OD’ing?”
“When did you flip out? I missed it,” Marie said.
Cinnamon smiled. “Hey, Marie, I think you are right where you should be.”
“Really?” Marie’s face broke on a sneer she couldn’t commit to.
“Yeah, Cinnamon’s right,” Klaus said.
The three leaned together, bumped foreheads, then swished hair into a tangle on account of Cinnamon’s heavy beads. Unbraiding themselves, they giggled.
“You hanging on back there?” Mrs. Williams shouted. Wild eyes darted from the windshield to the mirror. “Hmm?” She turned down the music.
Mrs. Beckenbauer spewed loud German including several Vatis. She ended with Verdammt! Klaus answered in louder German. They argued. He threw in Geisterbahn.
“I have to go slow. Sorry.” Mrs. Williams yelled. “We’re a bad accident waiting to happen.”
“Tomorrow this will all be funny.” Cinnamon sounded like death working the Hallmark Card shift.
“This is one of my favorites.” Mrs. Williams ratcheted the volume up on an unfamiliar tune.
“Why don’t we read some more?” Cinnamon whispered.
“I’ll read this time.” Marie snatched The Chronicles from Klaus’s lap.
CHRONICLES 16: Atlantic Ocean, 1893 —
Dragon Slayer
Fallen stars, dead to the world, sank below the water’s surface. Kehinde and I danced to our private rhythm on the rolling deck. Screw propellers and stately pistons added throbbing counter rhythms. Despite a bewildering cascade of electrical surges along my nerves, I didn’t falter. My hand traced pleasure from the small of her back to between her thighs. Our limbs twisted and tangled until we made a braid of our bodies. Everywhere was delicious, but my tongue lingered on salty, smoky spots that made her sing.
“Take care,” Kehinde said. “I don’t know how to love.”
“You do well with love,” I said, savoring our connection.
“No, I have done terrible things,” Kehinde whispered. “You make me remember.”
“What are we without memories? Tell me your story.” She hesitated. I kissed the scar on her throat and drew my tongue down along the bones between her breasts, nibbling at her navel. “Tell me, please. Your stories fill my empty spaces.”
She stroked the nape of my neck. “Yao brought in a defiant woman. I liked her immediately. She had refused marriage to a rich man who beat his wives bloody. Yao thought she’d make a good assassin/spy. But she didn’t want a warrior life and told me her escape plan. The next day, I betrayed her to Abla — to gain Abla’s trust. I thought punishment would be a beating, no food, watchful eyes, but Abla made her part of the gate opening force — warriors who lead an attack, the first to die.” Kehinde blinked rapidly. “I can’t recall her name or even her face.”
“You share hard stories. Isn’t that love?”
Two sailors beginning their late shift walked from the shadow of a yawl boat. One carried a lantern. He held the flame up for a better view. Kehinde pulled away from me and drew a knife.
“What difference do their eyes make?” I said.
“This you say, when you won’t practice warrior moves in front of greedy eyes.”
“It’s Bob.” I waved at Bob and another man from the night watch, a pale, brawny fellow with colorful tattoos on sunburnt arms. “You met Bob, when you challenged me to fight on deck. He disapproves of our show. Bob is a friend of sleepless nights.”
Bob stepped back from Kehinde’s wrath and raised his hands in submission.
Kehinde eyed him. “Only what you fight for will last.”
“Are you jealous?” I enjoyed this spicy emotion rolling off of her.
“Should I be?”
After a rapid exchange of unintelligible English with Bob, the other sailor came toward us, curious, unafraid. Bob lowered his hands slowly. “Liam and I aren’t armed.”
Kehinde approached the tattooed man. “Englishman,” she said, appreciating his brave spirit, “what can you say for the moon tonight?”
Liam barely glanced at the sky. The moon was overhead and smaller now. The orange hue had been abandoned at the horizon. “I’m Irish, milady,” he said. “And the moon’s a dim beauty compared to —”
Kehinde waved the knife at his neck and sauntered around the kitchen smokestack.
“You’re lucky. Knives are messy work.” I gestured at the Irishman’s head. “Kehinde is in good spirits.” So was I.
He clutched his neck and chuckled. “Yeah.”
“Liam likes to play with fire,” Bob said.
“That I do.” Liam circled me.
“Liam? Thomas�
�s brother?” Thomas whose heart I’d stopped from beating.
“Yes, Liam who never fears getting burnt.” Bob’s voice was a djembe drum of pleasure. “Why, Liam O’Rourke is so brave, he’d fly into the sun.”
“Not a creature of the dark like you.” I motioned at the lantern. “Liam O’Rourke carries fire with him.”
“Kehinde is a volcano of a woman.” Liam was in love.
Many sailors appreciated Somso’s heavy breasts, moon face, and round buttocks. They turned to babes again, longing for the milk that flooded down the sack dress. These same men avoided Kehinde or noted her muscles and scars with discomfort. They ignored me. Captain Luigi forbade the crew from bothering royal performers. We were precious cargo, like the caged beasts, and not to be teased. No such sanction restrained us from engaging the sailors.
“Finish your praise song to the moon,” I said. “I’ll tell Kehinde your words.”
Liam circled closer and leaned over the railing to watch the mist roll in. I stepped close to Liam and touched one of his tattoos. He flinched, but tolerated the curiosity in my fingers.
“Did you paint these adventures on your skin?” I said. “Is this part of your story?”
Liam held the lantern over arms and chest to illuminate his splendor. A blue demon slithered around his upper arm and spit fire at his neck. The demon had a scaly hide, craggy black belly, and long green tongue. People and animals raced away from the demon’s gouts of fire into a forest that covered his chest and stomach. On the other arm, a similar demon coiled around a pale woman whose yellow hair framed full breasts. Her thick tresses were about to catch fire, but she was laughing. Blood or fire stained the yellow beard of a pale man who brandished a silver sword over the demon’s head.
“Are you the brave slayer of demons?” I asked.
“Do I look like a dragon slayer to you?” He spoke to Bob.
“Who is this woman laughing in the face of death?” I asked. “Did you save her? Or did she have a secret weapon and that’s why she laughs? Tell me.”
Liam grinned. “You want to hear my story?” Did everything amuse him? “I’m nobody, your highness.” Perhaps he made fun of me, but it seemed good-natured. “Nobody worth storying about, that’s for sure.” Bob had said something similar.
“In English, I have only read A Tale of Two Cities, Frankenstein, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court,” I said, forgetting Sense and Sensibility. “Why don’t you tell me Nobody’s story?”
Liam raised bushy eyebrows. “Bob told me you were an earnest one.” He inspected me, as if he wanted to peel away clothes and skin to explore muscles, bones, and organs. “He didn’t say you read books.”
“For a story, I prefer a voice. I like seeing the body of a story or smelling sweat and electricity in the air. That is superior to dry words on thin paper.”
“Just different,” Bob murmured. “Reading gives you the keys to the kingdom.”
“The biggest gun, the longest bayonet — these are the keys to the kingdoms that I have seen.” Silence settled around us, bitter and cold as the mist. I sang a sea beast trill. Bob and Liam were delighted by my faithful imitation. The mood thus sweetened, I tried human language again. “Bob tells me nothing, Liam. He hoards his story. Please, tell me yours.”
“It’s Liam, is it, and not Mr. O’Rourke?”
I poked Liam’s demon. “You tell me which it is.” I’ve met few people who can resist an audience eager for their story, and those people, I don’t remember well. Liam spoke too fast of things and places I couldn’t imagine, but impressed himself in my memory. He had the strong smell of a young man, but wind and starlight had cut lines in his face. Hard labor had taxed his joints. Ship’s food and rum had ruined his organs. The stories he told had marked him too. He had farmed unforgiving land only to eat dirt; he labored in coal mines to breathe poison dust; he worked shipyards to be beaten and robbed. The women he loved cheated him blind. He was not Fortune’s friend. Kehinde hid in the shadow of the kitchen smokestack, listening to Liam’s stories too. She understood and enjoyed what escaped me.
Liam slowed for his last few lines. “The dragons push back the invaders who have stolen the land from the rightful king, that bearded fellow on my right arm. The woman warrior is a witch, and she loves the dragons who fight for her and her king. I’m no dragon slayer, milady, but the dumb ass usually trampled in these high and mighty wars.” He laughed at my wide eyes. “So I took to sea. I wanted to see the whole world, meet all the peoples, stand in the wild places with savages, warrior women, and wild beasties. I had to see the maamajomboo for myself. I have done this.”
I was enchanted. “You are a Wanderer. We are alike.”
This startled him. “Are you man or woman?” Liam reached for me.
Bob foiled his clumsy attempt to grope my crotch. “What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s an honest question.” Saliva sprayed from Liam’s mouth. “Afraid to answer?” In the flickering lantern light he had the savage look of a warrior or beast about to pounce.
“What difference does it make to you?” At that moment, standing close to Bob, I was more man than woman, but standing with Kehinde I’d been more woman. This was a poor answer. What would Liam understand? Bob glanced at me shamefaced. He’d groped me too when first we met. Was this the custom of Northern men?
“Eshu rides the Wanderer.” Kehinde was at my side. She made the knife gesture above my head. “Eshu is the first and last born, old soul and newborn. Eshu opens the gates of possibilities. Much Ashe — the power to make things be or not be.”
“What about you, Madame? Who rides you?” Liam dropped the lantern and moved to challenge Kehinde also — to show her breasts, perhaps.
Bob blocked this imprudent effort. Abandoning me, Kehinde leapt around Bob and put her blade at Liam’s neck before either man could react. Liam was impressed by her speed and skill and foolishly attracted by her martial spirit. He licked his lips, confident that his brawn was a match for her skill. He wanted to wrestle her to the ground.
“Get out of here.” Bob eased Liam away from Kehinde’s blade. “Captain will have your hide on a stretcher.” He shoved Liam toward a door that led below.
Liam banged his hand through the rotten wood of a yawl boat’s hull — a poor rescue vehicle. He sucked splinters from his flesh. His jumbled emotions were impossible to decipher. Bob braced for a battle he’d rather avoid.
“Taiwo won’t fight you for fear of ending your story.” Kehinde’s knife glinted. “I’m not bound by this concern.” She gestured at Bob. “He throws his spear with us. You’re outnumbered, Irishman. Is this the day you taste death and greet your ancestors?”
“I meant no offense, milady.” Liam bowed, snatched up his light, and trotted off.
Kehinde continued in English for Bob’s sake. “Liam believes he’s a dragon master who has not gotten his due. He thinks we should bend to a common man’s will. Men in Ouidah looked at us the same way — men from everywhere. Is that what you all want?”
Bob shrugged. Kehinde looked to me for an answer as well. How would I know?
“My head belongs to me, not to king or husband.” Kehinde tucked her knife away. “I’ve sworn an oath to my brother and the Wanderer. There is no one else.” She stomped off.
I snatched Bob’s hand and stole a bit of heat. The cold sea breezes cut through me too easily. “Do you throw your spear with us, against your dear Liam as Kehinde claimed?”
“Liam’s not a bad sort.” Bob slipped away from me. He crammed the hole in the lifeboat’s belly with wood and canvass. He slathered foul smelling pitch on the wound. “Someone’s put him up to foolishness.”
“Kehinde is not fire he should play with.” I thought of Dr. Pierre. “She’ll take his head if he goes too far.”
“Liam’s never been good at reckoning distance.”
“Is he an old friend?”
“I met Liam in Chicago, where the Fair is.”
“But are you his
friend?”
“Liam is a street fighter. Chicago is a violent town. Don’t go trusting strangers there. Don’t go talking to strange men in the night like you do on this ship.”
“This is how I met you.”
“Chicago is the Wild West still. Everyone carries a gun. Hear what I say?”
“I threw my Lebel rifle away. I’m still very dangerous. Aje don’t need a gun.”
He talked over me. “Wild characters in Chicago — they won’t know what to make of bold ones, such as yourselves.”
“Are we bold?” I liked this word.
“I don’t know how to say this other than plain. You’re a knife in their heads.”
“Yes.” I made the Eshu gesture, a blade, a feather rising from my head. “A monster in the sea, a devil on land. I eat bullets and belch flame.”
“Don’t joke around. I’m serious. Men like Luigi, even Liam, they mock you and despise you and want to use you.”
“Are they so different from you?”
“Don’t you know anything? They smile for the profit you’ll bring them, but they mean you harm, and there’s no good end to that.” He wasn’t making sense.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“Why embrace fear?”
“Fear can lead to wisdom, caution. This isn’t your world anymore!”
“America will be a New World.”
“First there’s France.”
“Do you like France? Are the warrior women bold there? Do Frenchmen wish to wrestle them to the ground? Is it the Wild West?”
He shook his head at me. “French ladies are sweet. The men there make love with their faces so the ladies are happy to see one such as me come to shore.” He laughed, a hollow sound. “What am I going on about?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, thinking how I could make love with my face, wondering if Kehinde would like this. “Is it women you want in France? Or a man?”
Bob’s nostril’s flared, and many facial muscles went slack.
A beast roared from its smelly cell. Bob hauled me along his night watch. My question hung over our heads like a rusty cutlass until dawn. Bob wanted a man and a woman. This tormented him. Feeding his beloved pets, he was incautious. One hairy creature gripped his arm and wouldn’t let go. The animal mewed and blubbered, a sad story. Bob listened patiently, and when the animal gestured to the stars and pounded the deck, Bob slipped from its grasp. Dawn was upon us; time to part. He drew me into the dark before I burned my eyes gawking at the rising star.
Will Do Magic for Small Change Page 19