Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down (10 page)

 

O isn't that sweet of you, you fine sugar-pappa with the candy between your lucious red thighs. I'll be your little old buffalo calf anytime you want.

 

Thanks Field Marshal and I'm here to tell you that you and Pete have nothing to fear. Theda something uncanny is happening on the ranch these days. At this very moment some nigger wampus is giving them a run for their money indeed. Cattle are wasting away emitting pitiful moomoos of mayhem, the fish die on shores and appear in bedrooms in strange flapping monster dances. The darkie even ran the Marshal out of town after a tremendous display of bullwhacking—popped the man with fiery whiplashes and played songs all over the Marshal's butt so good with his lash that a moose galloped towards a lake and almost drowned, the poor animal was laughing so. And if that wasn't enough the nigger put a hex on John Wesley Hardin and left John Wesley Hardin demented, only fit for tending the hogs.

 

You mean da famous gunslinger I've read about in da lurid sensational yellow kivered books?

 

That's the one Pete, the man do nots play—do nots stand for no chump issues. See, he got ringy cause Drag Gibson the cattleman ordered his waddies to burn down a circus troupe the Loop Garoo Kid was hooked up to.

 

Fact is, gentlemen, Drag is sick now—I don't think he's going to pull through. The local jack-leg squaw on the talk show who gives out the produce market reports and dabbles in astrology shut down her scene. The Kid put some cross on her, had some kind of gris gris dolls placed in her transmitter and the Woman had to sign off and get out of town.

 

Drag even went and got a mail order bride and it wasn't a week before the Loop Garoo Kid had her running through the mountains in the nude, had done offed with her mind and she was screaming foul nasty things like “make that mojo trigger my snatch one mo time” and mumbling some bad nigger words—you know how they move up and down the line like hard magic beads out riffing all the language in the syntax.

 

O Red man!! O Red man!! Talk that talk, the Field Marshal said twisting on a crate thrilled to his socks, what jive talking dada you bring us.

 

Think nothing of it Field Marshal, just hate to see some good cats get a wrong deal. When you going to give me the three colonies?

 

Soon Showcase soon, if you bring me some more good news like this I'll be polishing my sword and preparing my Army. Sounds like the West is really vulnerable at this point. By the way Injun, from now on call me Theda, Blackwell said, doll circles of pink appearing on the yellow of his jaundiced face.

 

It's a deal Field Marshal, said the injun rising from the floor and pulling his cashmere blanket about his shoulders, taking a few puffs from his diamond hookah with a beaver rimmed mouth piece. Tipping over to the Field Marshal the savage gave Theda a few taps on the thin layer of skin covering his coccyx.

 

By da way Injun if Drag hired John Wesley Hardin da great Western ghost chaser to get rid of da Kid and Hardin failed how did Drag have da compassion to keep him on? I thought Drag had da heart of Two-Pawed Bitch Wolf of da Plains.

 

O Drag is still his old name Pete, Showcase responded, his hand on the door knob and looking over his shoulder. Got a sign above John Wesley Hardin's pigpen chores—sez for two bits see John Wesley Hardin pay heavy dues.

 

O I see, Pete the Peek said as the door was closing behind Chief Showcase.

 

One more thing O noble Red man. How will we know when to move our forces on Yellow Back Radio?

 

I'll wire you Theda.

 

Well be sure to wire collect, Pete the Peek said.

 

No matter Gentlemen I'll pay for it, anything to help out. In fact Theda here's some money, why don't you go out and get some new duds? Don't want you to come to your new Palatinate looking like a bum. Show the cowpokes you got class.

 

O no I can't take your Indian Bureau check Chief Showcase.

 

Never you mind, Theda, you deserve it, the abuse that a great military mind like yours has to take.

 

Well if you insist Chief. When Peter and I take over that territory you'll be set for life. Why you can have your little happy hunting ground right now here on earth.

 

I know you'll keep your word you fine white gentlemen, the Indian said as he walked out of the Field Marshal's office.

 

Field Marshal I don't want to dispute what da redman said, but don't you tink we ought to get a clean white man in here to give us da facts from da point of view of Science?

 

O what were you saying Peter? a blushing Theda Blackwell asked.

 

O drat it Theda can't you keep your mind on da affairs of State? With him lost in agrarian reveries and with my problems (catching flies!), one of us has to keep our heads.

 

Your problems Peter?

 

I've become a very complex freak, Theda baby, Peter said pulling his pockets inside out. Why I can grope grok frink—you name it. On da way over here I even learned to geek. So now I can geek as well as peek.

 

O Peter with such a crisis mounting don't fun me now please be serious.

 

Peter threw up his hands.

 

Well I guess I have to show you—you asked for it.

 

Peter went to the control and pressed a button. The page walked in, a clothespin fastened to his nose. He carried a chicken by the neck. A real live chicken.

 

The Page threw the chicken at Pete the Peek who expertly plucked the chicken's feathers and then devoured the fowl—feathers, coxcomb, gristle, feet disappearing into his mouth.

 

Theda looked around for a lavender sink. He was sleepy, see, and thought he was still at home. He ran to the window and released his insides on passing tourists.

 

Hey what's going on up dere, buddy, and, you a wise guy? and other choice Americana expletives rose from the sidewalk below.

 

Pete approached Theda with a wishbone.

 

So you see Theda my problems are very serious and thought out.

 

Theda looked around and pulled the larger half of the bone.

 

To da conspiracy Theda!!

 

To the conspiracy Peter!!

 

A noise was heard at the window. Pete hurriedly put the wishbone into his coat pocket. Harold Rateater, Government Scientist, opened the window and stepped into the room. In one hand he carried a jar filled with smoke and dying insects. He was dressed in a plaid tight-fitting suit and wore a loud bowtie, his hair pasted with staycomb and parted down the middle. He did a mummy-walks-again stride across the room until he stood before Pete and Theda.

 

My goodness will you please knock next time Harry?

 

Don't have to Pete, I'm such a smart operator dat I defy da laws of nature. I walk in and out of windows instead of doors. Besides, understand you want to peep through my long glass at dat Loop Garoo Thingamubob unidentified flying phenomenon what's been zooming around.

 

Please sir! the Field Marshal said, please break it down so that the laity might understand.

 

In otha words dis is some bad noos for Yellow Back Radio—the Prez ought to be informed at onct—but I got da long glass so what's in it for me? he said gripping the telescope.

 

Pete was furious. What do you mean what's in it for you? We just appropriated a whole row of iron men so's Dr. Coult could study a rifle dat wouldn't leak gas and get jammed chambers. What more do you guys want?

 

Theda removed a mallet from his satchel and hit Pete on the head with it. A large lump rose and its peak was immediately occupied by a grey sparrow that flew in through the window.

 

Ouch! Field Marshal Theda whattaya have to go glunk me on da bean like dat for? the statesman complained.

 

Forgive Peter, Harold Rateater Government Scientist, he doesn't know any better. Having come up through the ranks he hasn't developed the respect for SCIENCE that a military man like myself has.

 

Dat's more like it chum, Harold Rateater said, counting the wad of green backs the Field Marshal forked over. Well who wants to look first?

 

Theda walked over, bent down and looked through the telescope which stuck out of the window.

 

Field Marshal Theda Blackwell could see into the Cattle Baron's bedroom. He saw the straws in cups of orange juice, the pills, the heavy breathing of Drag Gibson, and his Doctor friend listlessly staring through the window.

 

O this is too much, Theda said rubbing his frail thin hands together.

 

Come let me look too dere Theda, I'm da professional voyeur who's suppose to advise and consent like in da constitootion.

 

Pete the Peek gazed through and it was cookies. Plain cookies.

 

Yellow Back Radio was indeed falling apart, its batteries were going on the bum, and soon the whole kit and kaboodle would blow a fuse.

 

Meanwhile back at the ranch Chief Showcase entered Drag's sick room. The old fat and ignorant cattlerancher lay in bed, his chest rapidly rising and falling. The Dr. was seated next to the window, his head in his hands as he did vigil for his old friend. Whispering, he saluted the Indian.

 

O Chief Showcase how loyal of you to come see Drag. Why just a few minutes ago we found some horrible material stuffed in his pillow. It was made up of putrid matter I analyzed to be: a one-eyed toad, wings of a bat, cat's eyes and some strange powder. Things look grave indeed.

 

Chief Showcase gently sat on Drag's bed and put a hand on the Cattleman's forehead. Drag's eyebrows fluttered. The room was spinning as his eyes opened.

 

O Chief Showcase, he said weakly, good of you to come and visit me before I ride off into the eternal sunset.

 

Think nothing of it Drag, I was on my way back from Paris and I stopped off at that makeshift acreage they call the Capitol.

 

Even in his dying spasms Drag laughed as did the Doc, who beamed at the Indian for bringing a little humor into the room.

 

I overheard them talking about you Drag and it surprised me seeing as how any fool could tell that you are in charge, the top dog and the one who is really number 1.

 

O thanks sweet Redman, Drag said clasping the Indian's hand, but looks like Drag is about to enter the Great Corral in the Sky.

 

That's what they were saying Drag. They said they might raise a cavalry and investigate those mysterious wife deaths. They said you might fill up boot hill quicker than you think. They said you called them corny dudes and all but at least back East they either kills niggers or prizes them to death. Here sign this autograph.

 

Drag obliged, scratching a feeble signature on a scrap of paper provided by the Indian.

 

Well they ain't no threat, even in my dying breath I know that Unification it'll never happen. Why I understand that the largest bank in the country is out in this territory now.

 

The door opened. A messenger ran into the room and handed Drag a note. Drag's eyes popped. He sat up in bed and slapped his hand against his forehead.

 

Now I get it. Of course. Too much. That's it. Me getting sick and the cattle dying like that. Yeah of course. Now it makes sense. Hot diggity joe joe—won't be long now—The Indian and the Doctor were amazed at this rapid recovery by one who only a few moments before had taken out a passport for the beyond. Whatever the contents of this note—it provided a powerful curative.

 

What's wrong Drag, what happened, they asked him eagerly.

 

A note from the Pope. It won't be long now. Everybody take off his hat. Imagine that—I am nothing but a lowly cattleman, ugly fat and ignorant, why I use to slop hogs and ride drag, that's why they call me Drag, because my first job was taking care of back tracking and sick cattle. But now—a royal visit!

 

Drag leaped out of bed and in his nightgown and cap ran past the Indian and into the hall. Below the men were making bets on his hour of departure. They scooped up their money when they saw the boss at the top of the stairs…

 

Men, things are really going to change now—tomorrow all the way from Rome the Pope is arriving to straighten out this inner sanctum mystery once and for all. Hang out some confetti, get the fiddler, round up all the hurdy gurdy girls from the Rabid Black Cougar—a big huzza huzza time.

 

Everybody made eager preparations for the visit. Banners were hung over the street, ikons strategically placed, the whole town was incensed. And everyone was engaged in furious preparations for the Pope's visit. Everyone, that is, but Chief Showcase, who was sneaking towards the Hotel to send off a telegram.

 

Woooooooo wee!! Um ma um ma um ma ha ha!! Su ha su ha su ha!! Soo-kee o soo-kee soo-kee. Lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala. My my my my goodness. O get it. Get it

GET IT GET IT OOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooo oooo

 

o o Mewwwwooooooooooow.

 

Your charm certainly works. Your strong black hands just seem to make my bones jump and shout for joy. Please ask the owner for my car keys. You can come to my apartment and take anything you want. Take my credit cards, take my status—it doesn't mean anything just do it to me more often, you know how you do things so fine and sweet. You the finest pipe fitter I've ever known, O I just wish I could do more to reward you for your thrilling expertise.

 

The Field Marshal nestled his head next to the black masseur's thighs as he lay in semi-consciousness on the table of an underground rub down Palace in the basement of the Army's headquarters.

 

Think nothing of it boss-man Theda, the masseur said, you know I'll do my bit to help relax you in these troubled times. The ship of state needs strong arms at its oars now don't it.

 

O you're so beautiful and understanding. Theda's eyes became moist as he closed in on the black man and started to purr like a kitten.

 

Mee-yow, mee-yow, he purred while the masseur softly stroked his back. O I think I'll just go out of my mind if you start sucking my toes like you did last week, Theda said.

 

The pink mist of the room was heavily perfumed and across the area on other tables, high ranking members of the Army were babbling softly out of their minds while big black masseurs in turbans and baggy pants were running their jazzy hands across their bodies.

 

You know, sweet and ample black man, I tried to get that provision in the Declaration of Independence, a forth-right resolution, but nothing happened. The Southern planters were dead set against it and we needed their support.

 

I know, Theda, I read the broadsides, I know you did all you could. Me and my wife have a picture of you on our wall. Each morning we light candles fo it and pray fo you and Mr. Thomas Jefferson. He's a good man too.

 

Tom's all right, Theda said, but he's such a rake, nothing but a dirt farmer and anarchist. Hangs out with Jacobins like that Paine fellow. I've even seen him out with women from time to time. And he doesn't know how to keep his britches on at all. Some man in Conn. is suing him for adultery right now and he reads French books and plays electric fiddle with some rock group called the Green Mountain Boys. O he's disgusting sometimes.

 

Well suh, the masseur said, his hands pressing against Theda's neck, causing him to wiggle, what about Benjamin Franklin?

 

O he's just as bad, he and that Westerner Henry Clay, they carry on—Franklin draws cartoons—he invented balloon speech you know. And that Clay always brawling. Me and the fellows tried to get Randolph of Virginia to head the Convention but he was overruled. Some delegate with a squirrel cap and a filthy backwoods buckskin jacket on spread the word that Randolph was second rate at what jackasses could do infinitely better—o democracy sometimes. Phew.

 

Big Woogie?

 

Yes Theda?

 

What about this Hoo…this religion the Hoo-Doo that your people practice?

 

Big Woogie stepped back. Some of the other black attendants started to roll their eyes and drop their towels. Confusion broke out as the members of the Army asked their attendants to continue massaging their tired bones. Snapping his fingers, Big Woogie gave them the signal to return to their work.

 

O it's nothing Theda, nothing to get upset about. Just some kind of superstition that our people brought from Africa. People believe in hants and such things, that's all.

 

O I see, the Field Marshal said.

 

The page, now wearing his Hoover's cap and knickerbockers, walked into the room.

 

Hey fuck-face Doompussy, whatever your name is.

 

Theda jumped from the table.

 

Well I never. Who gave you this address? I told them to never give out this phone number—why this is one of the few luxuries I have in this life…

 

Aw be quiet, the page said. I just came to give you this telegram that just arrived.

 

Theda went into one of the phone booths for privacy, his bathrobe still wrapped about him. He slapped his knees and gave a great hoot when he read the telegram's contents.