Elvissey

by Jack Womack

  "You used to hear the blues sung as well?"

  "Back in Tupelo there usedta be some old boys around when I was a kid I'd go listen to. First year we come to Memphis they hadn't torn out Beale Street yet and I'd sneak out and go down to their clubs. Crawl up in the attics to get in, or sneak in backstage. Listen to 'em singin' and playin' all night. Mamma never liked me goin' down there. Said they'd come for me too one a these days."

  "Could you sing a blues song for me?" I asked, hoping that as he sang he would distract enough that I could make a grab. My own stress was whelming over; I worried if John was recovering, I feared E's rages, I wanted to go home. Again, I found myself desiring the risk I readied myself to take, uncaring of outcome so long as I could break the situation's stasis, intoxicated with the rush of deathchanc- ing. It occured to me that John must have always felt this way. "You're not instrumented-"

  "Don't need no guitar to sing," he said. "What'cha wanta hear?"

  "Your preference."

  "Mamma'd never let me sing the ones I liked best in the house."

  "Sing one of those, then," I said. E smiled, and cleared his throat. He patted his foot on the ground slowsteady while he acapellaed, shutting his eyes and bobbing his head as if he were blind when he began to sing.

  His pitch tracked unerringly by the first verse's end; in his tone and phrasing I heard a precise match of the Master's voice as we'd listened to it, replaying timeover in our ears. E's youth notwithstanding, he'd already developed his tricks fullbore: the unexpected swoops from aching tenor to rumbling baritone, the sudden elisions as if the notes had been greased. E's songstyle shifted from primitive to mannerist and back again, containing the pluses and minuses of each extreme, and all else inbetween.

  To watch E singing astonished me as I'd never been, seeing the vids of his double. Though I tried to believe it no more than a light-trick, he nonetheless countenanced what could only be called a religious glow; all the while he shaded his lyrics with secular threat, undertoned with a vengeance so subtle that its scalpel couldn't help but seduce as it sliced.

  Against my will, I was fascinated; he knew he had me tranced and he rose, still singing as he approached me, fixing me where I stood with naught but voice and glare. Dryco would snare an unimaginable bargain if we were enabled to return with him; so long as he did nothing more than sing, the laity of the C of E would surely follow him wherever he led, and rush to do whatever he commanded. He fancied love in his eyes at me as he stared, appearing mayhap as Romeo eyed Juliet; as Jack the Ripper must have studied his first whore before closing in.

  As he finished, I snapped awake, recovering at once, thinking I heard a noise in the meadow; a slowrolling crunch, as if the remaining graves were being crushed flat by something heavy. I glanced behind me, looking through the woods to ascertain the noise's source; E suddenly embraced me, pressing himself against me, rubbing his tongue over my teeth as if to brush them. "Kiss me quick or a snake's gonna bite you," he said.

  "Off," I said, breaking his hold. "Don't touch me-"

  "You're sweatin', sissie," he said, bunching my dressfront in his hand so swiftly I hadn't seen him move. "Put out that candle. You must be gettin' hot in that dress." Ripping downward, he rended my shift to my waist. "Hell, yes," he said, brighteyed and gawking. "You know you want to. Let's rock."

  "Don't!"

  "I'm not askin', Isabel, I'm takin'-"

  Caution essentialled while using a lightrod; maxed, its length heated to sixty degrees centigrade. Sans hesitation I ironed mine across E's face, pressing his cheek; he stepped back, his pain muting him, and I fisted him square in his soft stomach. As he fell I booted him, trying to leverage my kick enough to send his jewels up his throat. With one hand I gripped my lightrod's cool end; with the other I drew his gun from his pants and unsafetied it as I rammed its tip against his ear. I'd instincted as John believed I would; as I feared I would. As my soul returned to me from its brief but necessary absence I saw E wailing as if he'd been orphaned.

  "I'm untouchable, hereout," I told him, forcing the gunbarrel into his ear as if to plant it there, stilling my desire to trigger and blow. "Understood?"

  "Understood-"

  "You're stupid, Elvis," I said. He grunted, continuing to clutch himself, but responded with nothing resembling anger. My power over him heartened enough that I found myself readying to finger and fire away; but before I could, I stood up, heaving the gun into the woods so far as I could throw it. I seized him by the throat with an adrenaline charged grip, bringing up my light-rod as if intending to sear away his eyes. "Astonishingly stupid," I said, barely recognizing my own voice's snarl. "I'm untying John. We're leaving. You, too-"

  All at once we were absorbed within a near-nuclear whiteness, as if without benefit of the Alekhine we were transferring back. As I eyeshut against the glare, blinded by green afterimages swimming beneath my lids, I heard a voice that wasn't my husband's calling out to us.

  "Put your hands over your head and walk out here into the light," the man said. "Don't try anything."

  By fixing my stare at trees I was able to eclipse the glare's source as I helped E stand up and walk out. We moved slowpaced but steady, arms up as if to snatch heaven, until we came to the field's border. Two of our four visitors rushed from their car and grabhanded us; they wore gray uniforms with sleeve insignia that IDed them as Mississippi State Patrolmen. The other two men stood farther away, lurking near their vehicle; the searchlamps mounted atop the hoods of their cars attracted and sizzled uncountable moths.

  "Looks like we got ourselves couple lovebirds here," said the patrolman who restrained me, bending my arms behind my back as if attempting to dislocate them. "Didn't have a chance to get all the way unbuttoned yet. Hate to break 'em up, they looked mighty cozy."

  "He was lyin' down and she was leanin' over 'im," said the one who'd seized E; he was considerably fatter, and rested a long-barreled pistol along E's back, aiming it at the back of his head. "Hate to interrupt the matin' season, folks-"

  "They armed?" said one of the other two, walking toward us. His accent was placeless; sewn onto his black uniform's sleeves were American flag patches.

  "Not now," said the fat patrolman, grinning as he tightened his grip on E.

  "Search 'em anyway."

  "You know this is private property, people?" the fourth man said; he was also in black, and evidenced as the senior authority. "You're trespassing."

  "Didn't see no signs," said E.

  "Could you a read 'em if there'd been signs, boy?" the fat patrolman asked, driving the end of his barrel into the base of E's neck. The four were well-armed; each carried a pistol, and the black-clad policemen shouldered rifles. The senior officer eyed our car, leaning slightly away from me; white letters stenciled upon his back's black field initialed F H P. "Who's that in the Hudson?" he asked.

  "My husband," I said. "It's explainable, officers."

  "Try," said the patrolman behind me, grinding his midsection against my hips while he jerked back my arms. One of my breasts emerged from my torn dress's folds.

  "I'd call those a pair a 45s," the fat one handling E said, laughing as he ogled me, throwing E against the hood of his car sans warning. "What'd you been doin' to that girl? You gonna answer me or you gonna play deaf and dumb?"

  The men in black stared at my chest. The patrolman behind me pulled my elbows together, keeping me from covering myself. "Do some explaining, then. Why's your husband tied up?" asked the senior officer, raising his rifle as he stepped closer to me.

  "We were kidnapped," I said. "Please let me go."

  "You're both under arrest." I saw that their jackets' initials were spelled out in white letters on the doors of the black car: Federal Highway Police. "Charges, trespassing, public lewdness, indecent exposure, resisting arrest-"

  "Let me go-" I shouted, trying to twist free. The senior officer thrust out his rifle as he approached, resting the end of its barrel against my breast, inserting my nipple into its muzzle.
As I felt its chill shiver me I silenced, thinking how much safer I'd been with E.

  "You stop at the Green Frog Restaurant on Highway 51 couple hours ago?" he asked, smiling; a stone set in one of his incisors sparkled. "Did you?"

  "We did," I said.

  "Charge murder, three counts," he said. "Sergeant, pat her down."

  "Three counts?" I said. "There were two in the restaurant-"

  "And one in your car," said the other Fed.

  "He's not dead," I said. The senior officer lowered his rifle, and pushed me against the hood of their car as the patrolman held me; then, clutching my hair, slammed my head against the metal. I fought to keep from going coma; slipped in and out of awareness for several moments, thinking the pain would asunder my skull. Wetness warmed my forehead; my nose bled as freely.

  "Ma'am," the senior officer said, "we want to keep you pretty if we can. Do what we tell you to do."

  "Come on," the patrolman holding me said as he reached down and shoved my legs apart. "Spread."

  "My husband's not dead," I told them. "I'm unweaponed. Don't, please-" The fat one was cuffing E's hands behind his back, preparing to search. My guardian patted me updown as the Feds stared on, kneading my thighs beneath my dress, pawing and poking as if uncertain of what was sought. "He's not dead. Please untie him. You'll see."

  "He doesn't respond," said the senior officer. "Bob reached in, shook his leg."

  "He's stiff as a board," said Bob, the other officer in black. "When'd you kill him? This morning?"

  "He's epileptic," I said, feeling the patrolman bruise me as he grasped my hips. Blood dripped into my eyes. "Fits, every day. He conniptions."

  "What?"

  "He's just blacked out. Untie him, and he'll tell what's up „

  "All right. Go back there and drag him out, Bob," said the senior officer. "Raise the dead."

  "You say so," Bob said, sighing; he walked off toward our car, disappearing from sight within the white glare.

  "Stop hurting me," I said; the patrolman searched places he'd searched twice before, seeming unwilling to stop, having started. I eyed leftward; saw the fat one bodypunching E, giggling after each slap.

  "We're just searchin' you, ma'am," said the patrolman. "We never hurt anybody doesn't bring it on themselves."

  "Hell of a mess you left back there at the restaurant, lady," said the senior officer. "You know who found the bodies?" He held my chin in his hand as if it were an egg as he lifted up my head; after a moment's stare he slapped me so hard that I blinked one of my lenses out. "You want to know?"

  "Who-?"

  "Their wives found them," he said, pinching my mouth open; trying to spit on him, I only wet my lips. "They brought their children by after Sunday school to see their daddies at work. You know what they saw?"

  "Stop-"

  I thought I felt my teeth loosen as he tensed his grip; nerveache ripped through my cheeks, and I shook free of his hold long enough to keep from fainting. "Weren't both your eyes blue a minute ago?" he asked.

  "What-?" asked the patrolman pinning me.

  "I'll be damned," said the senior officer. "Her eyes. One's brown and one's blue. Look at this."

  The patrolman turned me around and perched me hoodways. "Something's funny here," he said, putting his face close to mine. "Look at her features."

  "What are you talking about?"

  The patrolman touched his thumb against the tip of my nose, tapping it; pressing against it, spilled more of my blood. "Feels like split cartilage," he said. "She coulda dyed her hair. Looks like it's been straightened, you ask me-"

  "You people see darkies under every bed-" said the senior officer.

  "That's our job. Looks like we got ourselves an albino here tryin' to pass-"

  "Bob, " said the senior officer. "What the hell you doing back there?"

  "Blood'11 tell-" said the patrolman. His face hung over me, washed pinkish gray in the searchlight; in the next second it reddened, and was gone. Shutting my eyes against the spray, I heard the blast; as I reopened them I saw the man slumping, tumbling groundways. I leapt off the hood; saw the fat one staring into the glare, stumbling sidelong toward me. "Valentine Almighty-" I heard him say; when I circled to see where he looked, I saw the senior officer firing his rifle, blasting my husband at midchest as he emerged from the light; he lifted airways, his flight reversed, and glided back to earth with a skid and a roll.

  "Sonofabitch, " the senior officer said, running to where my husband lay waiting. He acted before I had time to worry; as my torturer neared John's legs my husband slapped his thigh, releasing a spring he'd once demonstrated for me. His limb shot up, impaling the officer's groin, flinging him forward. John reached up and seized the man's shoulders as he sailed over; slammed him headfirst into the ground.

  "Isabel," John said as he stood, nodding toward the fat patrolman. "Take him."

  I knelt down to seize his late companion's unused truncheon; as at the restaurant, I viewed what ensued as if from above. The fat one brought up his pistol, readying to shoot my husband; I swung twohanded, catching his nose. He dropped, and I hit him again; once he'd grounded I flailed away, letting my mind go, responding as I'd learned to do years before when I roamed Washington Heights with Judy, exing our tormentors before they might hurt us again. When at last I quieted I stared at the remnants of the fat patrolman's head, realizant I'd known deeper pain the night I'd killed the mouse in our apartment. When I felt my husband's heartpound as he embraced me and allowed the truncheon to slip from my hand, I was awared unto endtime that as my own chosen regooding had utterly failed, there was no reason to mourn that John's, enforced by others and not by himself, should not have been any more longlasting.

  "Love," my husband said, wrapping around me with inordinate, if desired, force, evincing sans words a belief that were we to impress together close enough we might at length meld our physicalities, if never more our emotions after this moment. "Love you, Iz. I love you. I worried-"

  "Godness, no-" My eyes flooded, and the flow was such I thought I'd never stop crying again. Tears washed away the blood; staring at my husband's face, ashine in the policelights as if it threw heat, I saw I'd reddened him with my new lipstick. Drawing away for a moment, taking deeper breaths, I more closely eyed the ragged hole blown through his clothes; his wound was large enough that I could see myself reflected in the crumpled Krylar beneath his skin.

  "You see, Iz," John said, cradling me. "We unisoned. Simulcast action, simulcast thought." He shook bodywide, as if with malaria. "Oh Iz, we're renewed. I love you-"

  "I'm no killer," I said. "I'm not-"

  "You are," he said, kissing me with youth's passion, reading his own exuberance into me. "When I saw you act I knew our world as ours again. I love you," he whispered. "Let's love our life. We're renewed, Iz. We've successed."

  "Are we?" I asked, thinking of E. "He's been bloodied. Let's retrieve."

  "He's moving." E lay fetuscurled alongside the Mississippi patrolmen's car, chanting a murmur underbreath, lowvoicing his mutterances until it was unguessable whether he actually phrased words. Shock's opiates dulled me; I loosed myself from my husband's grip, so that we could recover our charge.

  "He's traumaed," I said. "Let's take him and go."

  "They hurt you, Iz?"

  "Yes," I said, staring at the bodies we'd left. "You're hurt, too."

  "Fleshwound." John stared at me as I attempted to pull my dress's torn fabric across my breasts. "Who ripped your clothes?"

  I hesitated before answering, weighting us everafter with that instant's thoughtless pause. John compressed his smile, hiding his lips, and stared at E with a look such as he'd never allowed me to see on his face before.

  "What was done?"

  "We were in the woods," I said. "That's where I disarmed-"

  "He assaulted-?"

  "No, John-" I said, but his reflexes had already tripped. "Wait!" Before I could move to forestall him he'd reached E, lifting him from the grass on
e-handed and throwing him, still cuffed, onto the hood of the car. E catatonicked, allaying all movement and word, allowing my husband to prop him upright and do as desired. "Stop!"

  "You raped her!" John screamed as he beat E, landing jab after jab. E's face convexed on one side, concaved on the other; his eyes were blackened, and closed so tightly as clamshells. My husband continued hitting E, pacing himself at one blow per second. "Detail sins. Detail!"

  "You're killing him!" I shouted, slappingJohn's back with my own fists, trying sans success to disrupt his rhythm.

  "Known." John noosed E with his hands, throttling him before smashing him through the windshield. "Why'd you rape her?" he said, pounding E's face into the glass. "Why? Why? Why-?"

  ` John!" E's blood drained, matting his hair, reddening his face and clothing. His jaw had was so swollen I couldn't tell how badly it had been shattered. He no longer appeared human.

  "Why?" Again, I let slip my own controls; still beset by anger earlier felt toward E and the policemen, bilefull with rage long abuilding toward my husband, I swung as if to hurt all who'd ever hurt me, fisting John's cheekbone, hurting my hand, knocking him back from the car. He let go of E as he footed his balance, trying not to fall; my action effected so well as a torrent of cold water. As he calmed he reimpressed as my preferred husband again.

  "Iz," he said, gasping. "You hit me."

  "Your attack's unwarranted," I said. "He didn't rape. He attempted and failed. I prevented attack."

  "He tried-"

  "And I prevented. We've suffered all this world throws at us to bring him back and as we're set to depart you'd leave him lifeless. What's purposed in that?"

  "What was tried?" John asked, watching E writhe atop the spattered car. "Tell me-!"

  My anger flared at the tone of my husband's demand, rage all the more intensed for being infused with my guilt rising for being attracted to E as he sang. "A kiss he wanted. A childgame. I tossed and unweaponed, and as I readied to haul him out the police showed. They hurt me, as you see. He despoiled my dress, no more."