Soul of a Whore and Purvis (3 page)

MASHA
: Joe Byrd?

CLERK
:                    The man with the electric chair.

BILL JENKS
: The executioner for fifty years

Or something like that.

CLERK
:                                  Captain Joseph Byrd—

The guy they named the cemetery after,

The resting place for prisoners, I mean.

He executed seven hundred men.

BILL JENKS
: Well—not quite seven hundred.

CLERK
:                                                          It was plenty—

You want facts and figures, read a book.

She walks among the graves up there all night.

Yeah. She's a cheerful, harmless thing in daylight.

Always dickering on the price to Dallas.

Never has the price. Just comes to talk

And settle down and sleep all afternoon.

Nights you'll spy her drooling on his grave,

Wailing for the Resurrection, weeping.

But ain't she sweet and harmless in the daylight?

BILL JENKS
: Do you know what? If something moved you to,

If curiosity prompted you, or pity,

You could take three hundred steps from that

Gray bench in those pretty blue shoes and stand

Exactly in the holy chamber where

Tonight they'll execute a human being.

MASHA
: I read about it. Hey. If guys like you

Weren't punished, where'd we be? All you

Deranged and violent mulattos and

Your numerous other friends. If you

Were just forgiven, where would we be then?

BILL JENKS
: In Heaven. Watching Masha shake her thang…

Look. In the joint the cereal don't go

Snap crackle pop. It pewls and moans.

The dogs don't go bow-wow. They say, Achtung!

They say, Jawohl! Sieg Heil! et cetera.

The whistle doesn't blow. It reams your brains.

MASHA
: They have a whistle?

CLERK
:                                    Lady, they sure do.

BILL JENKS
: Every morning, middle of your dreams.

You maybe did a little stretch?

CLERK
:                                               Why, no…

MASHA
: I never got your name.

BILL JENKS
:                                Name's Bill. Bill Jenks.

MASHA
: You realize your initials are “BJ.”

BILL JENKS
: It hadn't escaped my attention entirely, no.

MASHA
:…So you're a preacher. Or you used to be.

BILL JENKS
: So I don't look familiar? Not at all?

Really?

MASHA
:          I very seldom cruise the links.

BILL JENKS
: Don't you watch the TV?

MASHA
:                                             I'm the show.

BILL JENKS
: It happens I was poorly represented.

MASHA
: Legally or journalistically?

BILL JENKS
: Both ways. And up and down and back and forth.

When schism racks a flock, some sheep are torn.

The shepherd too sometimes. That's showbiz, folks.

MASHA
: Shepherd or showman?

BILL JENKS
:                                Shaman,

Shaman of the Children of Jehovah.

My scheme went wrong. My streetcar hopped the track.

A woman was the ripple in the rail.

MASHA
: Were you a preacher or an engine driver?

BILL JENKS
: I was a shaman, babe, a shaman with a scheme.

MASHA
: Shepherd, shaman, engine driver—hey,

All I know—you just got outa prison.

BILL JENKS
:…
Crimes
…No…
Love
…
Love
…Let me

make my case…

MASHA
: O, Jesus Christ!
Love!
That's a crazy word—

Ain't no bigger than a postage stamp,

But go to pry the corner up, you're peeking

Upon a continent.

BILL JENKS
:                    OK, OK,

I rest my case.

MASHA
:                     What case?

BILL JENKS
:                                  Hell,
I
don't know.

If I had courtroom skills, I'd be a judge.

I wouldn't be no puppy-blind parolee

Strolling around in pegged and checkered pants.

At least they fit.

MASHA
:                       At least you think they do.

BILL JENKS
: Come on now, Masha, honey, have a heart.

MASHA
: Look, I've got a heart, and I've got feeling

For the luckless, and I've even got two cousins

Locked up—or one; they let the other loose.

But I've got troubles too, that's all. OK?

BILL JENKS
: You think I didn't know that? It's the Greyhound.

This train don't carry no senators' sons.

…God. Is it possible…on this day of days?

…OK. It is. I'm sitting here…I'm drowning.

To think the dropdown blues could ambush you

The day they pour you from a prison cell,

First day in years you own your own footsteps,

First day the breezes carry a whiff of choice—

Fifty bucks, your hair growing back,

Your feet up, waiting for the two p.m.

To Dallas, and drowning. A guy should be ashamed,

You know? Humanity should be ashamed.

MASHA
: Because you didn't want to leave them there.

BJ
purchases a Coke and sadly raises a toast:

BILL JENKS
: Negroes, Meskins, Crackers, and Mulattos—

“Wardens, jailers, presidents and kings—

All must bow to calendars and clocks.”

I raise to you one ice-cold Coca-Cola…

Shoot, I drank this stuff inside. Somebody

Bring me something civilized!—a pale

Green olive sharing a freezing bath

Of Gordon's with a solitary molecule

Of sweet vermouth. I mean I like 'em dry.

Can I get a “Hell yes”?

CLERK
:                                  
Hell
yes!

MASHA
:                                              
Hell
…

BILL JENKS
:                                                     Good…Low-erd…

Meanwhile,
JOHN CASSANDRA
enters: large, rounded, slouching; somewhat the biker, but shaved and shorn and wearing prison-issue whites and work shoes.

He totes a wooden cross taller than himself, his shoulder in the crotch of the crossbeam. This burden rolls along on casters fixed to its base.

MASHA
: What—a—blowjob!

JOHN
makes his way slowly toward the ticket counter.

BILL JENKS
: I think my order has been misconveyed.

I asked for liquor. Not the crucifixion.

I seek libation. Not religion. Well,

Howdoo, Christian?—Or do I assume too much?

MASHA
takes a seat and stares in shiny-eyed silence at John.

JOHN
[
to
CLERK
]: This here's a Dallas voucher, from the

Walls.

BILL JENKS
: You bought that thing!

JOHN
:                                          Bought it or stole it, one.

…Keep your sights!

In the heights!

Keep your eyes!

On the prize!

BILL JENKS
:…I saw that gizmo leaning in a houseyard.

I didn't inquire was it available—

Not to imply I'd have availed myself.

JOHN
: The sign said “For Sale.” The man named his price. I paid it.

BILL JENKS
: You blew your fifty bucks on Jesus.

JOHN
:                                                                Yep.

BILL JENKS
: On Jesus Christ, the famous savior guy.

JOHN
: I didn't blow it on checkered pants and cancer.

BILL JENKS
: Now, here's a man resists the cigarettes,

A man with strength to stand against such things

As checkered pants and, he'd have us assume,

The random crimson Ban-Lon shirt. But, now:

While golfing, aren't you known to make a wager?

JOHN
: I don't gamble, no. But I'd play golf

If someone ever thought to ask me to.

They'd have to show me how it works—you know—

They'd have to point me down the fairlane.

BILL JENKS
: O Holy One: You ever take a drink?

JOHN
: Not the alcoholic kind.

BILL JENKS
:                            OK.

JOHN
: Or not no more, at least.

BILL JENKS
:                              Uh-oh.

That Not No More can get to be Right Now

Right quick the day they let you out of jail.

JOHN
: I know. I gotta keep my eyes on Heaven.

Keep your sights!

On the heights!

Keep your eyes!

On the prize!—

BILL JENKS
:—Hey. Martin Luther. What about tattoos?

What kind you got? Describe us your tattoos.

JOHN
: There's not a one. I wouldn't mark my body.

BILL JENKS
: Come on. You've gotta have one swastika.

One Born to Raise Hell. And at least one silly

Very Dixie-sounding woman's name

In a vague and fading heart—like Sally,

Sally June. Or Junie May. Come on,

What's the name inside your heart?

JOHN
:                                                       It's Jesus.

Jesus Christ.

BILL JENKS
:              
O
-K.—You want a Coke

Before your bus? Before we nail you up?

JOHN
: No, thanks.

MASHA
:               No, thanks, “BJ.”—Now, there's

A nickname you don't want to take to prison.

CLERK
hands
JOHN
a ticket.

CLERK
: One to Dallas. Be about an hour.

BILL JENKS
: Give or take.

JOHN
:                             I see your radio.

Your radio?

CLERK
:                     Well, I'm not hiding it.

JOHN
: I was gonna ask to have it on.

CLERK
: No sir. Nope. Got
way
way too much static

Cluttering up the air in here already.

I'm gonna have to make it policy.

JOHN
: Just at the hour? Just to catch the news?

You could listen—look, I hate to ask—

And you could tell me what the news is saying.

They're ruling on my mom today…My mother.

Today's her last appeal. She's on Death Row.

I hate to ask.

CLERK
:                     Also I hate to say:

We execute great swarms of people here.

No—we don't fool around down here in Huntsville.

Try 'em and fry 'em.

BILL JENKS
:                         Boys, don't mess with Texas.

CLERK
: This is an appeal?

JOHN
:                               Appeal, that's right.

CLERK
: She's already on Death Row.

JOHN
:                                               Correct. She is.

CLERK
: So she'd be—well, you've got two females

Waiting on the reaper up in Gatesville,

And Alice Allenberry's way too young

To be your mom—so she'd be Bess Cassandra.

JOHN
: Correct. That's her.

BILL JENKS
:                     Cassandra!
There's
a name.

CLERK
: The one who killed Jane Doe. Known as

“The Jane Doe Killer.”

JOHN
:                                   Now you're
not
correct.

You're absolutely
wrong
. That's
false
.

She's innocent.

CLERK
:                       Like you. Like mom, like son.

JOHN
: In one quick life I couldn't do the time

For even half my sins, for just a small-

Size portion of the ones that I forget.

But I've been baptized and, you know—new-minted,

Thanks to prison preaching. Not my mom.

My mom's not baptized. She's just innocent.

Her hands are clean. She didn't kill that girl.

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