The Almanac of the Dead: A Novel (76 page)

Gede-Brav can swallow the hottest drink.

Gede-Brav has a ravenous appetite.

Gede-Brav always shows up at the wrong moment.

Gede-Brav shows up where he is not welcome.

Gede-Brav cross-dresses.

Old bent man, Cinq-Jour Malheureux, is Gede-the-dying-sun-soon-to-be-reborn; Cinq-Jour Malheureux represents unnamed, empty, and unlucky days at the end of the Native American calendar.

In Africa, Ogoun, spirit of the warrior, statesman, and metallurgist, reigned over the villages and towns of Dahomey and Guinea; but in the Americas, Legba-Gede, Lord of the Dead Spirits, Keeper of the Crossroads of Life and Death, became more powerful because the Europeans had killed so many people in the New World, dead souls far outnumbered the living. In Africa, Ogoun did not have to share his power; in Africa, Ogoun had great armies with the best weaponry. But in the Americas, Ogoun Ge Rouge must share his power with Legba-Gede, and right here you know this military spirit hates this “political maneuver,” this “compromise” in which he must share power with the Lord of the Dead.

The rage of Ogoun is terrible. Even in Africa, Ogoun’s anger had accidentally killed his people, and in despair he had thrown himself on his sword. But in the New World, where Ogoun faces far greater outrages, his fury has no limit. Thus it is that Ogoun Ge Rouge and his followers have many times outnumbered and double-crossed Legba-Gede and the people after they’ve won their independence. Ogoun Ge Rouge Jaco is the fast-talking, crooked politician who appears from the smoke and ruin after the revolution. Jaco tells lies and spreads rumors. Jaco works to create misunderstanding and suspicion among the people. Jaco and his cronies work fast; before the
people realize, Jaco and the others are long gone with all the people’s money in the national treasury.

Ogoun Ge Rouge Feraille is the spirit of a great national hero who outlasts and finally defeats the spirit and followers of Jaco. Trouble is, politicians all call themselves “followers of Ogoun Feraille” and only later reveal themselves as followers of the crooked politician Ogoun Jaco. So far, Ogoun Jaco and his followers had been busy all over the world, not just in Haiti. Others had seen their revolutions eroded and betrayed, otherwise a Chinese poet could not have written: “Before the revolution we were slaves, now we are the slaves of former slaves.”

Clinton didn’t care if his radio broadcasts sounded like lectures from a black studies class. After the riots and Vietnam War, there had been no more university funding for black studies classes. That was no accident. The powers who controlled the United States didn’t want the people to know their history. If the people knew their history, they would realize they must rise up.

SONNY HAD BEEN EXPECTING a phone call from the Mexican, Menardo. Sonny hadn’t told Max anything about his contacts in Mexico. Sonny told Max he liked Mexican “beaches,” but “bitches” was more like it; Menardo’s wife, Alegría, was sensational in bed. She had been all over Sonny again and again.

Sonny was looking forward to doing business with the Mexican because Menardo’s prices were much better than what Mr. B. had offered. Sonny didn’t care if Max had worked with Mr. B. or the government; what Max did was up to Max. Sonny didn’t like B. He’d work for B. because Leah rented warehouses to him and because the job was so simple.

Sonny Blue had always thought Angelo was pathetic. Raised like an orphan by the fat uncle in a junkyard, Angelo had surprised Sonny Blue. Angelo had managed his racehorses and done his “accounting” for the family interests at both the horse and the dog tracks. Angelo had not been fooled by sob stories or excuses from the peons. Sonny liked to call white men in Tucson “peons.” Sonny used only
white
peons; he never used Mexicans when white men were plentiful and cheap.

Sonny Blue had been impressed when Angelo’s racehorses had won a race here and there. All the Tucson horses ran on California tracks. Angelo did not seem the type to work in the family business. Sonny Blue figured him for the type who would work for a while and then quit when he had the money he needed for legitimate business. The fat uncle who had raised Angelo had refused to take part in family business activities. Sonny Blue had heard the story of “Fatty,” and how he had never touched a penny of the family “dividends” and how he wanted
to keep his fat hands clean. For what? Angelo had had to live in a small trailer crowded together with the fat uncle. Sonny Blue thanked his lucky stars he had been born who he was.

Sonny Blue saw many similarities between Angelo and his brother, Bingo. Bingo had been slow and had struggled through school. Bingo was taking care of the El Paso operations for now, but already Sonny had been thinking about sending Angelo over to assist Bingo. They needed a border toehold, and they needed someone in El Paso who would be ready to act when their “new friends” began making deliveries to them. Sonny Blue could not trust Bingo. Bingo stuffed too much coke up his snout. But the family politics were sticky; Sonny could not let Max or Leah find out how much cocaine they both used because heads would roll then. Max was old-fashioned. Cocaine was a drug the white man sold to niggers.

Max had given Sonny the vending machines and pinball games: the family organization had exclusive distributorships in Tucson and El Paso. Bingo was a poor manager, and the family organization was losing money in El Paso. Sonny Blue and Bingo had strict warnings: stay away from dope. Dope was the territory of the Mexicans. Max Blue had reminded them about the law of diminishing returns: they could start a war with the Mexican and Indian smugglers, but when the dust cleared, what would they have gained? The family had had some good lessons taught them over the years by Mexican and Indian smugglers.

Max Blue had gone on and on, preaching to Bingo and Sonny about their vending and game machine distributorships—
exclusive
distributorships. Distributorships such as these did not grow on trees. What more did they want? Sonny Blue had always known to be careful what he said to Max. Sonny had always felt a little uneasy, and secretly, he was afraid of his father. But it had been difficult for Sonny to hold his temper when Max had asked “what
more”
Sonny wanted. “Money!” Sonny wanted to scream. He wanted his share. He wanted a chance to show he was
somebody
besides Max Blue’s son. What did the vending and pinball machines bring in a year—$275,000 or $300,000? Exclusive distributorship? Well, Sonny had to watch constantly for “squatters” and independents who tried to go around Sonny with video games and hot-sandwich machines. The games division’s profits were shrinking because of all the home videos; but the instant-food dispensers were offsetting the games’ losses.

Sonny hated even to think about it. The stale smell of greasy lunch meats and rotting lettuce permeated Sonny’s office at the main warehouse.
Sonny was sick of the pig slop. He was sick of the way things had been going for him and Bingo. He did not understand why his old man had rolled over so easy for the Mexicans, who thought they ran the town.

Sonny Blue had lived in Tucson all his adult life. In Tucson, the big thieves hanged the little thieves. It was that simple. In Tucson money talked louder than bullets. In Tucson a man might dare you to shoot him; but no man in Tucson ever refused a hundred-dollar bill. For five hundred dollars “trash” in Tucson would shoot their own brothers.

“Legitimate business”? That was the joke of the century in Tucson. Even the new Federal Building sagged dangerously because so much steel and concrete had been “diverted” by subcontractors during construction. Tucson had families of thieves going back three generations; they had been stealing from the U.S. government since the Apache Wars, so what were a few hundred thousand yards of concrete or a few dozen steel beams?

Sonny didn’t know which ones he hated worse: the white-trash “gringos,” the pigtailed biker gangs, or the filthy Mexicans. Human sewage all of them. What a relief there were only a few blacks; Sonny had counted this as Tucson’s
one
selling point. Sonny had not wanted El Paso. Tucson was bad, but El Paso was only more of the same two-bit players. Bingo had hated Tucson too. Bingo had been the smart one to jump on the El Paso deal. What difference did it make where the stinking food-vending machines were leased? Sonny had stayed in Tucson deliberately. Sonny wanted to prove a point.

Sonny Blue did not trust Mr. B. because he was a retired major. “Military” meant “police” as far as Sonny was concerned. Telephone call from the senator or no, Sonny Blue was not impressed by Leah’s half-million-dollar lease. The entire economy was shaky; the military would face huge budget cuts. Sonny Blue laughed at the expression on Leah’s face. “Snip! Snip! Off go their fat budgets!” But Leah Blue had had the last laugh. She wasn’t a bit worried about the money. The major had paid cash up front: out of his blue Samsonite suitcase. Leah pretended to fan herself with a bundle of hundreds. The warehouses that the major had rented had been vacant since their completion. Leah had used cheap government loans and development grants to finance the construction. Friends of the family had been generous in approving interest-free loans from certain banks the senator controlled in Phoenix.

Sonny Blue did not call her “Mother.” Sometimes he could more easily imagine Max was his father than he could imagine Leah as his
mother. Sonny had been watching Leah with her men from the beginning when she had taken Sonny and Bingo in the car with her to show real estate. Sonny had sensed right away something was going on when she had bought them candy and pop and left them in the big Chrysler with the engine running and the air-conditioning on. Sonny had wanted to sneak into the house and spy on them. Bingo had been afraid of getting caught. Bingo had started to cry and would not shut up until Sonny had kicked and punched him.

“You can be with me or you can be with them,” Sonny had said to his brother, and even as he spoke, he could see fear in Bingo’s eyes. Without Sonny, Bingo had no one but the housekeepers or gardeners, who did not last more than a year or two. Sonny had taught Bingo to call her Leah and not Mama or Mother. Whiney babies called for their mommies.

Sonny Blue could not wait to see the expression of shock, the stunned look, of Max when he found out Sonny had got his own business rolling with the Mexicans. Sonny didn’t need any major as a go-between. Sonny wasn’t worried; his “business partner,” Menardo, owned something called Universal Insurance. As Menardo had explained it, the company was far more than a mere insurance company. For your money, you not only got insurance from tidal waves, fires, earthquakes, and hurricanes; Menardo had waved a thick contract in front of Sonny’s face. At Universal Insurance, for only a few thousand dollars or a few million pesos more, a businessman such as Sonny Blue could be protected against uprisings, riots, unrest, and even mutiny by government forces. Universal Insurance maintained its own highly trained, well-armed security forces for land, sea, and air. As governments went bankrupt and no longer paid police or armies, the services of private police and private army units became more important.