Hokum

by Paul Beatty

  Before I left, I got that jar on the ground and filled it full of the dirtiest water on top, rot-wood and all. Then I stuck the jar in my back pocket and caught up with them niggers pushin ole Grease long. He kept up a natural plea with us, but we ain't listen to him. We act like we ain't even know him anymore.

  "What we gonna do with this nigger, Tate?" Fish asked me.

  "Make him eat a half sack of salt."

  "What you say, Blue?"

  "I tell you guys. That was the stinkiest water I evah tasted. I think we oughta let this nigger go back and drink a whole bucket full. If he let one drop fall, we tie his ass to the well and let that peckerwood find 'im there."

  "That's too good," said Fish. "Les tie his mouth up. This nigger talks too much. Then les pour creek water over his head."

  "Naw," I said. "Les lift him up by his big foot to the first low tree we come to and let that sissy-dog lick 'im till he slimes up from dog spit, and his mouth and eyelids stick shut."

  All the time Grease was whinin. But we pulled and pushed him along. We got over a mile down the road. We was all sweatin with that squiggy nigger by now, and gettin tired of the game. We figured we was too far now for him to turn around and go back. So we turned him loose and soon as we did, that nigger broke out laughin at us again. He said that while we was tusslin with him he had picked our pockets, and had all that good money. He waved some bills in his hand. Damn, if that didn't get to us.

  "Grease, you the lyinest nigger I evah met up with," said Fish, after drawin out his money and lookin at it. We did too, and was about to grab him again when we heard the sound of a truck comin up that dirt road.

  We all got serious and pulled together. Round the corner came this beat-up truck with a skinny ole red-necked hillbilly bent over the wheel and a wide-eyed freckled faced gal sittin side him. The truck was goin so goddamn slow that I coulda read a whole chapter of God's Holy Bible by the time it passed us. But it didn't pass.

  That peckerwood stopped it and called us over.

  Fish stood where he was, but me, Blue and Grease come off the side of the ditch.

  "You boys lookin for somethin?"

  "Naw, sir," said Grease real fast. "We goin home."

  "What you lookin fer around here?"

  "We done two days work other side of Rock Hill," said Grease. "We work for a white man named Mr. Nesbit. He paid us and said, 'That's it, boys,' so we goin back to Bainesville . . ."

  "You niggers lyin?"

  "Naw, sir," said Blue. He looked back at Fish who was gettin mad, if he wasn't already. We coulda all beat that old man's ass, but if we did we'd have to leave the state. Even a poor white man like him could mess over niggers and niggers couldn't do a damn thing about it. Right then I wished Grease's tale hada been true.

  "They puttin a cutoff out on the Memphis Highway," I said. "They know bout it in Rock Hill."

  "How come you niggers ain't go round through Rock Hill like you ought to? I got a good mind to make yall go back the way you come. We don't allow no niggers over here."

  We all just stood there. That young gal was steady twitchin and twitchin. We ain't look at her, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye, twitchin round in that seat like she sittin on a pile of rocks.

  All of a sudden that old man hauled off and slapped her.

  "Now keep still," he said.

  Then he got up a shotgun.

  "You niggers come long this road a far piece?"

  Fish stood straight now and came towards us. I thought he was gonna say somethin, but Grease beat him to it.

  "Naw, sir, we just come off that hill." He pointed. "We tryin to get to the creek, but I tole 'em we passed the creek and best keep on, since . . . "

  "How come yall comin this away?"

  "We thought we knowed the way cross these hills, but I reckon we got lost."

  "How long yall come along this road?"

  "We just got on it bout the time we hear a truck comin round the bend, and then it was you," said Grease.

  "If I find you niggers lyin, and been in my house, I'm gonna come back here and make buzzard meat outa your asses."

  "Naw, sir, we ain't seen no house since we left the highway."

  He raced the engine coupla times, then he turned and looked at me.

  "Nigger, what's that you got in your back pocket? Let me see."

  I jerked my hand back there. I done forgot. Fish come over, but Grease beat him to the words. "That's mine," said Grease. I took out the jar of water.

  "That's niggerwater for my feet," said Grease. "I got bad feet, and suffer with short wind."

  "What you talkin about?" The old man looked like he mighta laughed then, but he didn't. He cocked his head.

  "I fell out. Tate, he carryin the water for me." Grease rolled his eyes.

  "I ain't never heard of a nigger fallin out," the old man said.

  "Naw, sir, it ain't like you think. I was totin a rock weigh three times my size. I come near bustin myself."

  The old man looked at each of us. We was all dressed dirty and sweat was pourin off us. He looked at the jar of water, then at Greasemouth, who was sho win off how sick he was.

  " . . . wide open." Grease kinda motioned with his whole self to where he mighta busted hisself, but because that gal was sittin there, Greasemouth didn't point or say no more.

  "All right, boy," said the old man. "Thas nough now." He turned to each of us.

  "This nigger tellin the truth?"

  We all said a loud "Yes Sir." Even Fish said it.

  "All right. Yall niggers done missed the creek. You way off, and you better get hell outa my hills. Don't stop till yall hit thet highway. Now git!"

  We moved off quickly. That old man still held that shotgun up in the air. He had braked the truck on the hill, but we never heard it no more, cause when we got round that bend we broke into the woods off the road, runnin fan-wise, cussin, movin down that road like we were four boats in a downriver. We didn't stop till Fish slowed and leaned up ginst a tree, puffin. . . .

  "What the hell we runnin for?"

  "Gimme my water," puffed Grease.

  "What you talkin bout, your water?"

  "All right, I'm goin back and tell that peckerwood yall busted into his house, stole his water and pissed and shit in his well."

  "Yeah? And that white man shoot the first nigger he see, you first," I said.

  Greasemouth must've been really thirsty then, because he was chokin. He was gaspin for breath.

  I took out that jar of water and almost put my own mouth to it, but Grease was on it like a rat on cheese.

  We all watched. We wanted some of that water so damn bad.

  Then old Grease do somethin we ain't expect him to do. He saved back nough for each of us to have one swallow, and then he twisted up his mouth. "I ought not to give you lyin niggers nothin."

  "Go head, boy, and drink your water," said Fish, but he didn't mean it.

  Me and Blue took one swallow each.

  Grease took that jar and gave it to Fish. "I knowed a Christian was livin in that devil heart of yours," he said, and he finished it.

  We went on, pullin together, and not laughin anymore.

  "You just watch," said Blue. "You just watch that nigger Greasy when he gits back. He gonna tell everybody how he did this here and did dat dere. You watch. He be done run a white man down, took his gun off him, whopped the white man's ass and then climbed upon the white man's well and shit in it just for devilment."

  We were puffin a bit still, and every time Blue took a step he puffed and dragged his words.

  That fool old man wasn't comin after us. We knew that. We slowed down and Blue kept on teasin Greasy.

  Fish was movin longside me now.

  We laughed and kidded about what Blue was sayin.

  Grease wasn't payin no mind to none of us. He kept movin long, puffin as much as any of us. Then he hauled off and stopped, scratched his head like a mosquito had struck him one.

  "Listen up, you ni
ggers," Grease said. "I know the truth now. God­dammit, I know it."

  We ain't paid too much attention to him, but we did slow down.

  "I got it all right here." He touched his heart. "You see how that peckerwood jump at me when I tell him the truth. That was God Almighty truth what I told him. But that sucker, he ain't hear me, uh?" He grunted like Rev. Weams do when he windin himself up.

  "The truth is the thing. May a dead dog draw red maggots as sure as you niggers hear me. I swear fore livin God, may cowshit stand up and walk, I swear. You niggers listenin? I swear, I ain't foolin round no more. No more lies for me. The truth for me!"

  "Aw, you a damn lie," said Fish. "You a lie and don't know why. Shet up and come on."

  "Yeaah," said Blue. "Double Niggaahh!!"

  ISHMAEL REED

  from yellow back radio broke-down

  1969

  The saddle stiffs from the Purple Bar-B were congregated in Big Lizzy's Rabid Black Cougar drinking Rot-Gut and Two-Bits-PerThrow. Some of the cowpokes were seated at tables playing poker or being entertained by the hurdy gurdy girls.

  Skinny McCullough the foreman was at the bar conversing with Sam the bartender.

  Man, that boss is really getting timid in the noggin, Skinny said.

  Can you blame him? Monstrous births, weird parties, his nag stolen, herd wiped out by mysterious animals, toes, fingers and hindlegs rotting away, I mean how can you blame the guy? But I don't care if he turns into black straw so long as he coughs up the deeds he promised us.

  He brings us up there every Sun, and he reads those awful words from the good book. Sometimes I feel so skerry I go back to my bunk and have dreams in which blank-eyed and stupid demons do handsprings on my chest. I think as soon as this season comes to an end I'm going to take my roll and go over to join the Lincoln County forces against that anarchist bandit Billy the Kid. It's nice and peaceful on the front.

  Did you see his latest symptoms? the bartender said. Sits up there on the hill. Got all the servants building a monument he designed for himself. Said he might kick off any day now. Case he feels it coming and wants to get it over with quick. And to add to that each night the coyote howls outside his house and he raises himself and sez: Who's that! Who's that howling about my door?

  Good evening Marshal.

  Good evening Sam, Skinny. Damn, what time of day is it? Looks half and half, like a land assessor's coffee break. Let's have something special today. Hows about some of that imported Lacrymose Christi?

  Marshal, Skinny said, I was just telling the bartender that Drag is getting spookier than a son of a bitch. He's a mere whisper of his former self. Each morning we find those effigies on the doorstep. Before you know it he'll be making an appearance before the Riders ofJudgement. He thinks the Loop Garoo Kid has put some kind of so-called magical spell on him or something. While he's out there building his tomb that new mail order bride of his plays with them funny cards.

  Poker?

  No, some kind of weird cards, one of em had death on it, with a scythe cutting across the grim reaper's foot.

  You don't believe in that malarkey do you boys? the Marshal asked.

  No I'm a Fanny Wrightite, Skinny said.

  And I'm a Baptist, the bartender offered, that pagan nonsense cuts nothing with me.

  Just then Royal Flush Gooseman, Furtrapper and sometimes bald-headed Cowthief, and Mighty Dike entered the room:

  O.K. all you brush poppers, ranahans, limb skinners, and saddle warmers, this is Royal Flush Gooseman all the way from St. Louis!!!!!!!!

  All the cowpokes rose from their tables with gosh, golly stares on their faces. The Marshal and bartender and the foreman were a little more nonchalant, each having been as far as the Mississippi Pdver a few times apiece.

  What you need, cowpokes? Rectifyers to heal them bruises, blankets, boots, firearms, bottle of rum all the way from Boston? Come outside and inspect my mule train. You got the money I got the time.

  Little hand of poker while you're at it. I even got posters of that greenhorn President of the East case you want to mount them on your bunk walls and spit tobaccy at em.

  All the buckaroos laughed and followed Royal Flush outside to examine his mule train of goods. Some of them were already reaching into their jeans for silver with which to make purchases.

  The Marshal, foreman and bartender continued their conversation.

  Man, pass me another whiskey. This place is really getting eerie, never seed no town like this; all the planks holding up the buildings seem to lean, like tilt over, and there's a disproportionate amount of shadows in reference to the sun we get—it's like a pen and ink drawing by Edward Munch or one of them Expressionist fellows.

  Huh?

  See, got me talking out of my noodle. What's your theory Marshal? Skinny McCullough asked.

  Well you know me, boys, why if I hadda been at that party the other night instead of at the Law Enforcement Convention up the creek there, it would have been me and the Kid. Hell, me and the Earp brothers use to ambush people and shoot em in the back like they wuz dogs. He'd better not show his snake in Yellow Back Radio. Big Lizzy the owner of the Rabid Black Cougar entered. A giant square-jawed woman with a tomboy haircut, her flabby breasts hung around her roped in waist. She wore an apron over a drab calico dress, with leggings and boots, and her hands were covered with hair. Below the nose bridge could be seen the faint print of a mustache.

  She spoke in a low husky voice that sounded like sand paper rubbing together. She carried a moose over her shoulder and under her arm a Winchester Rifle.

  Evening Big Lizzy, what's that you got with you? Well I'll be, the Marshal said scratching his head, it's a moose!

  Yeah, Lizzy answered, bagged him up in the hills while I wuz hunting. She swung the moose over her shoulder and onto the floor. Chinaboy go get me some beer mugs out of the latrine so's I can give the boys a drink and clean up that ear that wuz shot off a couple of weeks back, it's beginning to smell. I need a drink of Red-Eye after what I saw up there in the hills.

  Whaddya see Big Lizzy? Skinny asked.

  There was this woman cooking some smelly stuff in a cauldron. I came upon her about the third evening out. She was stirring with some long pole, when all of a sudden this black cowboy come riding out of the shadow and hitched up her skirts and whipped his pecker on her right on the spot. I had to put my hand on the dying moose's mouth so he wouldn't make no noise, cause then things really started to freak out.

  What happened then Big Lizzy? one of the steerbusters gambling at the table asked as the others put down their cards and gathered around the bar to listen closely to Big Lizzy's strange narrative.

  Well they were on the ground making out and she started to writhe and hiss like a serpent and say skerry things like: mash potatoes all over my motherfucking soul. Then after it was over he gathered her up and they rode off to the cemetery where tombs shone against the moon like white plates.

  How did the woman look? Skinny asked.

  She was wearing shades even in the night, a black velvet dress and a jade locket. Had long black hair and olive skin. A real beauty. Bilt like a brick shit house.

  Hey that sounds like the boss's old lady, one of the hands said. Let me go up to the ranch and tell him he'd better see about his old lady.

  The foreman grabbed the man by the collar:

  Hold on you idiot, wait until the season's over. The way he's wasting away like he might be in a vile mood. You see how he flogged us the other night, next thing you know he'll be asking us to milk the cows or something harebrained like that. Be cool till the eagle flies, that way we won't get in Dutch.

  The cowpokes who had gone outside with Royal Flush returned loaded down with goods. One went to the group at the bar.

  Geez you know he cleaned us out. Had a little stand set up in the street and had Royal Flushes in poker four times straight, never seed nothing like it!

  The Marshal, foreman, Big Lizzy and the bartender chuckled.

  Wh
at happened to the last wife? Big Lizzy inquired.

  She's up in the hills Big Lizzy, tomato, in the plural these days.

  O I see.

  Big Lizzy ever since we burnt down the circus strange things have been happening. There was this nigger bull-dogger guy who performed. He could bring down steer with his teeth and he used a whip like most men fire a pistol. Anyway he rode off and the townspeople haven't come down from those devil's pills them wicked kids gave them, them horrible urchins we knocked off.

  Town 50 miles from here the kids were found in caves smoking injun tobaccy and the herd Drag sent up the Chizzum was stampeded by Giant Sloths which is crazy as hell Big Lizzy, cause Giant Sloths haven't lazed around the Plains of North America for thousands of years. Sometimes I think the whole continent is accursed.

  The Preacher Rev. Boyd is going around like the town kook. Nobody goes to his Church any more and he's weaving some kind of allegorical prophecies.

  The Preacher Rev. Boyd entered the bar and through his three week old beard began to recite from a yellow pad attached to a cupboard. He reeled about the room.

  stomp me o lord!!

  i am the theoretical mother of all insects!!

  mash my 21 or so body segments!!

  tear the sutures which join my many abdomens!!

  make me a mass of stains of thy choice

  an ugly blotch under thy big funny clodhoppers!!

  The door swung open on the last line.

  The men seated dropped their poker cards and slowly moved away from their chairs. The moose got to its feet and clomped through the side of the building, sending splinters of wood flying.

  Hear you're looking for me, Marshal.

  Big Lizzy, Skinny McCullough and the bartender eased away from the bar. The other cowpokes froze.

  Now Kid, the Marshal said, what's a Western without tall tales and gaudy romance? Have a drink.

  Pretending to reach for his change the Marshal drew his shooting iron. Too bad. Too slow. Not fast enough.

  The lash whistled across the room and popped off the Marshal's holster, a second lash flicked the gun from his hand, a third lash cracked off the Marshal's hat, a fourth lash unbuckled his belt with its persuader, which caused the Marshal's pants to fall, and came within a thousandth of an inch of his shirt, unpinning the star, which dropped to the floor.