Southern Nights

by Barry Gifford

  Parshal Lee had given Hypolite’s note to Consuelo Yesso, who rolled the paper into a tiny ball, dipped it into a powder made of flywings and lizard tongues, and told Parshal to swallow it, which he had. By ingesting Hypolite’s note, garnished with these purposeful ingredients, Miss Yesso explained, Parshal would cause his beloved to dream of him and force Hypolite to reconsider her situation. Miss Yesso had handed him the monkey’s skull wrapped with aluminum foil and promised to continue her efforts toward accomplishing Hypolite and Parshal’s reconciliation. Parshal paid the bruja what she asked, and tried to put a hopeful spin on his thoughts, but he knew that it would take more than Miss Yesso’s powers to bring back Hypolite Cortez.

  ‘Hey, Parshal! Parshal Lee!’

  Parshal broke out of his trance and saw Avenue Al, a neighbor, standing on the sidewalk. Al was wearing a dyed-purple mohair suit, which he called his ‘goat coat,’ and was propped up on crutches, necessitated by his having taken a hard fall and broken both knees while leaving Teresa’s Tite Spot Lounge in the Bywater two months before. Avenue Al, a sixty-year-old former professional wrestler whose claim to fame was that he had bitten off one of Dick the Bruiser’s earlobes, was suing Teresa for damages. His plan, he told everyone, was to take the money and retire in Cebu City, the Philippines, where he had once wrestled an ape. ‘Fell in love a dozen times in six days,’ he claimed, ‘and never even got the clap.’

  ‘Come on, Parshal,’ Avenue Al shouted, ‘let’s go! Trumpet Shorty havin’ a funeral for his pit bull, Louis Armstrong, jus’ passed. Be the firs’ dog have a second-line since dat rabid Airedale, Dagoo, hads to be put down in ’71.’

  GREAT EXPECTATIONS

  ‘nobody cares what you do in New Orleans, but everyone wants to know what it is.’

  ‘I like for folks to know what I’m up to, so they know what to expec’.’

  Parshal Lee sat at the bar in Teresa’s Tite Spot, nursing a Bombay on the rocks, half-listening to Beverly Waverly and Caspiana Pleasant, two café-au-lait transvestites, converse. Mostly, he contemplated his unhappy circumstance.

  ‘Parshal. Parshal, baby,’ said Caspiana. ‘Why you so morose?’

  ‘What’s morose?’ asked Beverly.

  ‘Unnormally quiet and broodish,’ Caspiana answered. ‘What’s up, Parshal? You might can tell us girls.’

  ‘Hypolite left me.’

  ‘Aw, honey,’ said Beverly, putting a meaty, hairy forearm around Parshal’s neck, ‘ain’t that a bitch. Some women just don’t got good sense. No man she could get better’n you.’

  ‘Didn’t leave me for a man. Took up with an exotic dancer over in Algiers. Woman name Irma Soon.’

  Caspiana gasped. ‘You mean the China girl porks her ownself with a snake? Used to she work at Tickfaw Fouquet’s Crawl Inn?’

  ‘Half Chinese. Half from Panama.’

  ‘Shit, baby,’ said Caspiana, ‘that’s rough. You need it, me an’ Beverly, we zoom ya.’

  ‘Ain’ be pussy, ’xactly,’ said Beverly, ‘but it defi’tely da nex’ bes’ thing.’

  ‘’Preciate your concern, ladies, but I’m workin’ on this in my own way.’

  ‘Okay, baby,’ said Caspiana, ‘but we here for ya.’

  ‘I hoid such a terr’ble thing, today,’ Beverly said. ‘Was on the TV news.’

  ‘What dat?’

  ‘Russian man was sentence to death for killin’ more’n fifty people. Men, boys, women, an’ girls. Ate parts their bodies, mostly tips of their tongues and genitalia.’

  ‘Saint Rose of Lima!’ cried Caspiana, crossing herself.

  ‘Man was fifty-six years old, and impotent. Only way he could complete a sexual act was by torturin’ an’ killin’ someone. Russian papers called him the “Forest Strip Killer,” after the place where he dump mos’ the bodies.’

  ‘Lord have mercy. He jus’ cut folks apart, huh?’

  ‘What da news say.’

  ‘An’ some people thinkin’ we weird!’

  ‘If everyone was so well adjusted as you two,’ said Parshal, ‘wouldn’t never be no more wars.’

  Caspiana smiled, leaned over, and kissed him on the left cheek.

  ‘Bless you, baby,’ she said. ‘But you jus’ seen us on our best behavior. We might can be some tacky bitches sometime.’

  ‘You want Hypolite back,’ said Beverly, ‘best you stay in her face. Let her know you there for her.’

  Caspiana shook her curly gold wig. ‘Don’t believe it, sugar. Liable push the lady further away. Besides, she an’ this snake charmer in the first flush of their love. No way to buck that. My advice, darlin’, wait it out. You a good man, after all. Hypolite come back aroun’. She don’t, somethin’ turn up.’

  Parshal finished off his Bombay, thanked Caspiana and Beverly for their commiseration, and walked outside. It was a hot night; the air was even heavier than ordinary in July. He went to his car, a two-year-old blue Thunderbird, unlocked the driver’s side door, and was about to get in, thinking to cruise over to Algiers, check out his rival Irma Soon’s terpsichorean snake act, when Parshal felt a cold, hard object enter the outer part of his left ear.

  ‘Y’all don’ min’,’ a high-pitched voice said, ‘my name is Carjack Jack an’ I gon’ be y’all’s designated driver tonight.’

  Out of the corner of his left eye, Parshal saw a skinny, balding white man in his mid-thirties, wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt decorated with yellow parrots and red flowers. A bright purple scar the width of a trouser zipper ran down the center of his nose from bridge to tip. Parshal started to turn toward him but as he did the man inserted the gun barrel deeper into Parshal’s ear, forcing his head away, then removed the weapon briefly before bringing the butt down hard on the soft spot at the back of Parshal’s head. Parshal collapsed against the car and the man opened the door, shoved Parshal’s limp shape into the backseat, took the keys from the door lock, climbed behind the steering wheel, and closed himself inside. He cranked the engine and grinned, exposing a row of rotten teeth.

  ‘Hellfire!’ Carjack Jack screeched, shifting the T-Bird into gear and tearing away from the curb. ‘We got us some miles to go before we sleep. Miles. Course, y’all’re already sleepin’, ain’t ya? Well, as them pussies out in California say, this here’s the first day of the rest of our lives, an’ a life is a terrible thing to waste. Or is that a mind is bad to waste? Hell, I don’t mind! Waste not, want not. Two peas in a pod. Damn the Defiant! Ain’t no business like show business. Fasten your seatbelt, buddy, this gon’ be a bumpy fuckin’ ride.’

  THE BIG BITE

  hypolite cortez sat at a ringside table in Big Nig’s Gauchos ’n’ Gals Club, sipping sparkling water through a straw. She was twenty-two years old, a smidge more than five foot two, had never weighed a hundred pounds in her life, had huge black eyes, severely arched Chinese eyebrows, and permitted her midnight black hair to fall slightly below her seventeen-inch waist. Above the nipple of her left breast was a three-quarter-inch in circumference dark blue, star-shaped mole that Hypolite referred to as ‘where the Arab bit me.’ This mole Hypolite had inherited from her maternal grandmother, Ephémère Plaire, who told Hypolite that her own paternal grandmother, Pilar Lala, had borne this identical mark. The first time Irma Soon saw it, she experienced a spontaneous orgasm.

  The lights dimmed, a drum rolled, and from offstage a husky female voice, that of Bruma ‘Big Nig’ Goma, the proprietress herself, announced: ‘Get ready, Eddie! Chase dat frown, Miz Brown! You ain’t seen poon ’til you seen Miz Soon! Here she be, di-rek from Mandinga, Panama, da soipent princess, doin’ an exclusive performance of “La Gran Mordedura”—a specialmost dance she create herself that been banned in most parts da Orient—Miz . . . Oima . . . Sooooonnn!’

  The lavender curtains parted, revealing a diminutive woman whose body was crisscrossed with several rivet-studded black leather belts. Miss Soon’s most intimate part was fully exposed, however, while stretched across her tiny breasts and relaxed around her neck was a reticulated creature
the color of Delaware River mud. The patrons of the half-filled Gauchos ’n’ Gals Club howled and applauded at this sight. A slow version of ‘Little Egypt’ emanated from the band pit, prompting the lithe Filipina to begin her routine, which consisted mostly of waving arms and undulating hips. This tepid dance continued for several minutes, during which time the reptile remained composed, placid, unstirred; until Irma Soon gently but firmly grasped its head with her right hand and placed it directly between her legs.

  At this point the patrons, some of whom gasped audibly, froze in their seats. The dancer closed her eyes, thrust her pelvis forward, and bent backward incrementally, slowly, tortuously, or so it seemed to those in rapt attention, until her head touched the floor. To all appearances, the python’s head had disappeared inside Irma Soon. Hypolite Cortez shivered as she watched her lover manipulate the reptile. As easily as Miss Soon had accommodated it, she withdrew the lubricated cranium and with an agonizing absence of haste, sinuously resumed an upright position. Holding the python by her right hand just behind the head, Irma positioned it face-to-face and flicked her own pointy tongue toward it. The music reached a crescendo and Irma twirled with the snake, the two creatures’ tongues darting at one another until the dancer whirled them offstage.

  The audience whistled and clapped their hands, hardly believing what they had just witnessed. Hypolite smiled demurely and sat still, proud and deeply in love, thoroughly enchanted.

  ‘Dass it, gauchos ’n’ gals,’ boomed Bruma Goma. ‘Ain’t another performer like Irma Soon this side o’ Subic Bay! Let her know y’all appreciate her art! Open up fo’ dis Filipina baby!’

  The patrons continued to shout, whistle, and applaud until the curtains closed. It was not Irma Soon’s habit to take a parting bow. She had explained to Hypolite that once the connection with her audience had been made, she preferred to leave it unblemished, having no desire to break the spell or alter the feeling she had engendered. To her fans, Irma remained forever in character.

  The band segued into a waltz-like treatment of ‘The Fat Man’ and several couples, some of the same or similar sex, rose to dance. Hypolite dipped a hand between her gooey thighs and closed her eyes as she massaged herself holding in her mind the impossibly beautiful image of Irma Soon and the python locked in their forbidden embrace.

  TWO FOR THE ROAD

  ‘you gonna harm me?’

  Carjack Jack looked back over his right shoulder at Parshal, wrinkled his lips toward his zipper-nose, and laughed.

  ‘Hell, pardner,’ he said, returning his eyes to the road, ‘I ain’t no demon. Don’t do no brutalizin’ ’less it’s essential. Sorry I had to sock you back there, but a man has to know what he has to do when it has to be done. Mack Daddy of all Mack Daddies told me that ten years ago. City jail, Montgomery, Alabama. Copperhead Kane was his name. Famous man, famous. Had him a escort network from Alabama to Illinois. Copperhead Kane, yeah. The man invented phone sex. That’s a fact.’

  Parshal lay on the backseat, still woozy from the blow to his head. He noticed that neither his hands nor his feet had been bound. Carjack Jack sped the blue Bird along Chef Menteur Highway.

  ‘What’re you gonna do with me, then?’ Parshal asked him.

  ‘Ain’t quite decided. You want me to drop you someplace in particular? I’m thinkin’ on headin’ up north, myself. What’s your name, anyway?’

  ‘Lee. Parshal Lee.’

  ‘Just call me C.J. Best you don’t know my family name.’

  Parshal thought about Hypolite Cortez. He wondered whether the years she had worked as a teenage prostitute for the Hilda Brausen Charm School had unduly influenced her gender preference. He had to admit that despite his unselfish efforts of a sexual nature, Hypolite had never really responded to him as did other women. Something had been missing in their relationship. Parshal watched the blackness pass for a minute before he spoke.

  ‘You don’t mind, C.J., maybe I’ll just tag along with you. Need to put some space between me and a kind of unhealthy situation here, anyway.’

  ‘Guess I could do with some comp’ny, Parshal. Ten to one it’s a renegade female messed up your mind.’

  ‘How’d you guess?’

  C.J. laughed. ‘It’s a epidemic. Happenin’ all over the so-called civilized world. Copperhead Kane predicted it back when. The people ain’t starvin’ for food are starvin’ for answers. Things is got too complicated for words, or ain’t you been payin’ attention?’

  Not close enough, I guess.’

  ‘Take this show I seen on TV one night in the joint, called Down to Earth. You ever watched it?’

  ‘No,’ said Parshal. ‘What is it?’

  ‘See, these couples go out on a date for the first time, and one of’em thinks it’s the greatest thing. Usually they had sex of some type on the date. So they bring on the one of ’em thinks the date was great, all that. Then the other one comes on and totally tears up the date, hated it, had bad sex, bad breath, bad manners, the guy’s hairpiece fell off while he was performin’ cunnilingus on her. They’ll say anything.’

  ‘Prob’ly it’s in the script They just sayin’ what was wrote for ’em to say and ain’t none of it happened.’

  ‘Wrong, Mr Lee. Nobody could make up this stuff. This guy had eyebrows took up half his face won with the best story.’

  ‘Wha’d he tell?’

  ‘You won’t believe it. Said he and this girl go out to a nice dinner. She has the lamb chops, eats the parsley, so he figures she’s both classy and healthy, yeah?’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. So, they go to a movie.’

  ‘What movie?’

  ‘A Spanish picture, somethin’ European, where all the women got long noses and by the end the men are wearin’ spike heels and lipstick and complainin’ how they don’t get enough sex.’

  ‘Ho!’

  ‘They go next to the girl’s apartment, where the guy says she’s all over him like an electric blanket. Get this, the guy actually says this: “I got my eel out and she’s doin’ the popsicle!” That’s what he says! The audience is dyin’!’

  ‘He got his eel out.’

  ‘His eel, yeah. Then it comes.’

  ‘His eel?’

  ‘No, no. The good part of his story.’

  ‘The good part.’

  ‘He grabs her crotch, and guess what?’

  ‘She’s a guy, too.’

  ‘Right! Right! Of course, she’s really a guy!’

  ‘Is the guy who was supposed to be a girl on the show?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. And guess what? He comes on after Eyebrows gives his version and denies everything! You believe that, Mr Lee? Completely and entirely says Eyebrows is out of his goddamn mind!’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Now, here’s the killer.’

  ‘Don’t tell me.’

  ‘Shit, Parshal, can you guess? Can you?’

  ‘She offers to prove she’s a woman.’

  ‘Correct! Yeah, yeah! Right on the air! She pulls up her skirt an’ shows her pelt! The audience is goin’ batshit. The host is lyin’ on the couch, chokin’ to death. This Nancy starts paradin’ up an’ down the stage, like on a runway, got his jewels tucked up so nothin’ shows. Man, you never, never seen nothin’ like this.’

  ‘What’s Eyebrows doin’?’

  ‘Okay, get this: Eyebrows attacks Nancy.’

  ‘Eyebrows attacks Nancy?!’

  ‘Tries to get at bis dick.’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘Nancy karate chops him in the back of the neck, and Eyebrows goes down hard on his nose, which bleeds.’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘The security guys come out an’ separate the two. Nancy is outtahermind handsdown havin’ the greatest time of her life! She’s smilin’, throwin’ kisses to the audience.’

  ‘You have to admit, C.J., it’s a special place would allow a program like that on the air.’

  Carjack Jack nodded his red crew-cut head several times and laughe
d.

  ‘Mr Lee,’ he said, ‘I got no doubt in my mind but that there ain’t never been and won’t never will be another country like this one in the history of planet earth.’

  baby cat-face

  Truth is not feasible, mankind

  doesn’t deserve it

  —Sigmund Freud

  The universe is queerer than

  we can suppose.

  —J. B. S. Haldane

  It’s all the same to me, I’m already

  in paradise.

  —Moro Dante Spada, a Corsican bandit,

  upon being condemned to death

  baby cat-face

  CONTENTS

  Baby and Jimbo

  The Dwarf of Prague and the Dreadfuls

  Rat Tango

  Only the Desperate Deserve God

  Birds of the Evening

  Untamed

  True Believers

  Tight Fit

  The Big Kiss

  Every Secret Thing

  No Bargain to Begin With

  Satan’s Spaceship

  La Punaise

  Too Wicked for Words

  The Shadow Egypt

  Live Bodies

  Purified

  BABY AND JIMBO

  ‘take here dis lady in Detroit bludgeon her husban’, chop up da body, den cook it. Talkin’ ’bout payback! Whoa!’

  ‘Baby, you oughtn’t be readin’ dem kinda lies is put inna newspaper. Ya know dat shit jus.’ invented, mannipilate y’all’s min’. Make peoples crazy, so’s dey buy stuff dey don’t have no need fo’. Stimmilate da ’conomy.’