The Free-Lance Pallbearers (3 page)

Also aboard the elevator was a Nazarene apprentice and two children. The children were involved in a scuffle.

“Gimmie my cap. Gimmie back my cap,” said one to the other. One child drew back his fist and was about to strike his companion when the Nazarene apprentice put down his clipboard and intervened.

“Now children, you mustn't fight. HARRY SAM won't hold you in his lap when he comes out of the comfort station.”

The children looked at one another curiously before examining the priest.

“How would HARRY SAM like this?” one of the children said, before hauling off and kicking the priest in the shins.

The other child delivered a quick karate chop whose impact caused the priest to slump to the floor in a coo-coo daze. I nudged the man standing next to me.

“Don't you think that we ought to put an end to this?”

“Aw dem jess chirren playing,” was his reply.

I was about to pull the children from the helpless Nazarene apprentice when the elevator opened and they scooted out between the legs of the black Screw who was walking down the hallway. The cowbell was jarred. Ting ting. Half of the Screw's face was white. The Screw unbound the Nazarene apprentice and removed the gag from his mouth as the man reading the book and I walked toward our respective apartments.

“No tellin' what dese kids gone be doin' next,” the Screw philosophized.

“Thanks,” said the Nazarene apprentice, assembling his scattered notes and the copy of the magazine
Studies on the Flank
.

“Here, let me hep you up suh.”

“Don't bother, Screw. What on earth happened to the other side of your face, Screw?”

“I don't know, suh. I was sitting out de doors yestiddy and some fire rain come out da sky and scalded my face.”

“Fire rain. Isn't that interesting? One of those many bizarre happenings in the ghettos, I presume. O, this is so thrilling! I even enjoyed the roughing up those kids gave me. You see, I'm working on a paper on the mores of segregated housing projects for the University of Chicago. I might even write this incident up in a magazine I edit called
Studies on the Flank
. It enabled me to observe culturally deprived children at first hand.”

“Kulchur prived chirren? What's dat Yo Excellency?”

“O that means they can't go to Lincoln Center and devour Lilly Ponds.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, suh. Hold on. Now, I'm jess a poor Screw who is a traitor and abomination of my peoples but even I know dat Lilly Ponds ain't gone hep dese kids. Dey needs somethin' stantial in dey stomicks, like roast pork or steak. Lilly Ponds! Why dat's food fishes eat, ain't it?”

The flies which constantly swirled about the black Screw's head suddenly buzzed into the face of the Nazarene apprentice before he could reply. The elevator door closed as the Screw repeatedly slapped the apprentice so as to relieve him from his latest misfortune. The apprentice cooed in ecstasy.

In the hall the neighbor spoke to me. “You must be the couple that moved in here a few weeks ago.”

“That's right. My name is Bukka Doopeyduk. What's yours?”

“My mother lost my name in a lottery, Mr. Doopeyduk. Why don't you jess call me the neighbor, and so's you kin 'stinguish between me and my wife, refer to me as M/Neighbor and my wife as F/Neighbor.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “I have a hard time remembering names anyway.”

“Why don't you and your wife come over and get 'quainted tonight? Dere's plenty of rukus juice and chittlins, Bukka Doopeyduk. You lak chittlins?”

“Yes, indeed, I do,” I said. “The ancient Etruscans ate them, you know.”

“I don't know nothin' 'bout no truscans, but I know dey is good.”

It was apparent that the intellectual diet I had become accustomed to at the Harry Sam College was remiss in the projects. But I had become bored with my Mahler records and had studied the Nazarene manual so often that the pages were dog-eared. Besides, Fannie Mae was getting restless. Maybe getting together with the neighbors might do her some good. No matter how dull they were.

“Fine. I accept your generous invitation.”

“Good, Doopeyduk. You and your wife come over about seven. Okay?”

“Seven it is,” I said, opening the door to my apartment.

Fannie Mae was curled up on the sofa watching the Art Linkletter show where a life supply of pigeons had been awarded to four cripples and some parents of children with harelip.

“How was it at the hospital today?”

“Nothing unusual. They bumped off a couple of old geezers whose insurance had run out, dear.”

“How can you stand workin' round dem crazy people? Why don't you go out to da Harry Sam Ear Muffle Factory? Georgia Nosetrouble asked me why you hadn't. She said dat she had lost sleep tryin' to figure out why you hadn't gone out to da Harry Sam Ear Muffle Factory to see if you couldn't get a job, tossing ear muffles into a box like all da res of da mens round here. She said dat she wondered what you thought made you so special. Dey make some good change too, for dat little pipsqueak, skinny-assed check you bring home don't pay for the fun I likes to have. Da blond wigs I ordered from Mlle. Pandy Matzabald haven't been paid for yet.”

“You just don't understand me, dear. I'm not the type that could withstand the steady demoralization that a routine job like that would cause. You see, as a Nazarene apprentice, I'm interested in finding out what makes people tick.”

“Dey don't wash demselves. Dat's why dey tick.”

“You're always poking fun at my job. Why did you consent to marry me if you didn't respect my work?”

“I wanted to get away from dat crazy woman who's my daddy's mother. She was gettin' ready to shove me into da oven allatime in preparation for her sorcery exams. Da cinders were ruining my dresses. You were da first mark to come along who wanted to remove me from dat situation. So you're boss in my book. Anyway, I like da way you talk. It's cute.”

“Gee, Fannie Mae, for a moment there, you had me worried. I didn't think there was mutual warmth and respect between us. The Nazarene manual demands that of young couples.”

“See, dat's what I mean. You're sweet. You talk different.”

“Guess what the doctor said today, Fannie Mae, dearest?”

“What he say?”

“Said that he thought I'd be working in the shock room soon. Said he'd never seen me shirk my responsibility so that if I didn't shuck anybody soon, I'd be in the shock room.”

“He say shuck?”

“Sure, Fannie Mae. He's a real hippy. Reads
Evergreen Review
and eats cheese blintzes at
Max's Kansas City
, a place where all the artists hang out downtown. Mixes with us orderlies and is crazy about Duke Ellington. Anyway the shock room is a place we wheel people into and boom the living daylights out of their brains so that they can return to normal life and behave themselves like the rest of us 'mericans. I'll be in charge of the tongue blades. You really have to be on top of yourself to hold down a job like that.”

“It better be on top of yourself and not on top of none of dem fast women dat work up dere. If I ever hear dat you are servin' as prop for some women's tongues, I'll slash your clothes.”

“Aw cut it out, Fannie Mae. I put the blade on the patient's tongue. This requires considerable expertise and it also means a five-dollar raise.”

“Well, I hope it hurries up and happens. I sho don't feel like sittin' round here all day when Georgia Nosetrouble and me can be in the movies watchin' some fine lookin' man like Gregory Peck and Troy Donahue. And speakin' of good-lookin' mens, why don't you get yo hair konkalined? Yo hair looks nappy. Why don't you slick it down with some lye?”

“What's the use?” I said, walking up to my ankles in the slush on the kitchen floor. When I opened the frig,
something grabbed at me
. I shut it quickly.

“Damn Fannie Mael Why don't you clean the place out sometimes? These blobs in the frig are about to invade the kitchen.”

“MOTHAFUKAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. What do you think I am, some kind of bowlegged pack animal who's gone empty your slops dat you can keek and give orders to? If you want somebody to clean dis place, why don't you get somebody to come in and do daywork.” She waved her hands and screeched like the real scourge of a scrounge she was.

“Ok doky,” I said meekly, as she went to the phone to dial the Screws.

“Now next time you raise your voice at me, I'm gone get da MAN downtown on you.”

“I was just kiddin' honey, little mommy and sweet poppy-stick.”

She returned to the television where SAM was making an announcement from the low-down nasty room.

“Slurp, slurp. Dis is the boss, folks. SAM. Slurp. Now I'm not gonna get all flowery like the fella what preceded me, quotin' all them fellas what wore laurels and nightgowns. I'm gonna give you people the straight dope. Now dere's rumors goin' round here that the Chinamens 'bout to run away wit all our fine suburban women. I know that all who loves SAM HIMSELF and ME all in one realize that your man would never tolerate no little yellow dwarfs wit pocketknives slashing our women's discothèque pants, hip boots, miniskirts or none of them otha fashions that me and Mlle. Pandy Matzabald thunk up for um to wear. Slurp, slurp.

“So that you folks won't get all alarmed, I'm gonna send ABOREAL HAIRYMAN out there to Westchester to check this stuff out. You all know A.B., a nice gent who uses big words like quibbicale, that I drug out of the Seventeen Nation Disarmament Conference gin mill and made a roving ambazzador. Now when A.B. comes back, I'll clue you in on what's happening.

“Now one more ting before I get back to the low-down nasty room where Mlle. Pandy Matzabald can go downtown on me. To the creeps on the steps of Sprool Hall at Berkeley. KEEP IT UP YOU FREE-LOADEN COMMUNISTS TAFFYPANTS SISSIES. I GOT MY EYES ON YOU AND YOUR MINISTRATORS HAVE PASSED ON YOUR NAMES TO ME. JUST KEEP IT UP AND MY SCREWS WILL CLAMP DOWN ON YOU SO HARD PUNKS DAT YOU'LL WISH THAT YOU WAS DEAD. DON'T FORGET NOTHIN' ESCAPES MY EYES SINCE I GOT THESE HERE BINOCULARS WITH THE FORTY BOOKS OF GREEN STAMPS.

“And also to the jerk who said back there a week ago that I wasn't given you 'mericans the smart money odds on the way tings was going down in ME. Yeah wise guy. I read what you had to say about my foreign matters and you know what I tink about it. It's shit. That's what it is. Shit. So get lost buddy and shaddup. What my cutie pies don't know, won't hurtum.

“Excuse me for gettin' all steamed up, little pink pussies. But when these clowns say I'm not lookin' out for ya, IT MAKES ME MADI UNNERSTAND? Because you know that I'm nuts about ya. Gotta go now, all you little pimple-pie poopsies.

“This was Daddy. Take it easy, toots. Don't take no wooden nickels and if you do, name um after me. Har, har, har, har. Good night, good night, good night. I hate to say good night. When the moon comes over the mountain and wherever you are Mrs. Kalabash. …”

(Dictators have always fumbled their exits.)

 

“Kee, kee, kee. Dat man tickles me.”

“Fannie Mae,” I said. “You're not supposed to put down our leader like that. Why … why … I loves the man.” I fell to my knees and repeated the oaths I'd learned at the Harry Sam College: “Harry Sam does not love us. If he did, he'd come out of the John and hold us in his lap. We must walk down the street with them signs in our hands. We must throw back our heads and loosen our collars. We must bawl until he comes out of there and holds us like it was before the boogeyman came on the scene and everybody went to church and we gave each other pickle jars each day and nobody had acne nor bad breath and cancer was just the name of a sign.”

“Aw fool, get up off da damn flo. You look ridiculous.”

“Fannie Mae, you're not supposed to interrupt me when I'm repeating my vows.”

“I'm not going to argue with you. I have to go downtown to Mlle. Pandy Matzabald's head shop and pick up my wig.”

“Well, when you come back, the neighbors want us to come over and have supper with them.”

“Good, den I can leave da green chickens till tomorrow.”

“You'd need the Seventh Fleet to get into our frig anyway, it's so full of arrogant bacteria.”

“What you say?”

“Nothin' dear. Hurry back.”

 

The neighbor's wife greeted us. She wore a hairdo called the porcupine quill. Her feet were chalked and her dress was covered with sunflower prints.

“Come on in, yawl, and res you self. My husband told me dat you was gone stop over tonight. We is all home folks so don't be shamefacedy. M/Neighbor is 'n da baffroom but he be out directly. De rukus juice is on da livin'-room table and da chittlins is stirring and da hog jile and egg pone is jes comin' long swell. Dere's some oldie but goodie records on da victrola so yawl jes go on in while I makes da res of da suppa.” In the living room two pictures hung side by side on the wall. One of J/Christ and the other of Jacqueline Kennedy's riding boots.

M/Neighbor came from the bathroom. “Why looka heah, if it ain't Mister and Missus Doopeyduk. Glad you could come by. Here, let me pour you some rukus juice,” he said, filling our glasses with Thunderbird wine. We took a drink and were further accosted by the neighbor's solicitations. Suddenly, rapid and spirited discussion came from a room in the rear of the apartment.

“Do other people live here?” I asked.

“Dat's my teen-ager,” the neighbor replied. “He's in da back room with a friend who visits him. Little white boy named Joel O. Dey got maps of SAM in dere on da wall.”

“Maps of SAM? Why that's absurd,” I said. “SAM's nothing but a o-bop-she-bang-a-klang-a-lang-a-ding-dong an out-of-sight not-to-be-believed …”