William Vollmann - The Royal Family

The palm sapling in the middle of the sidewalk, figment of an oasis, appeared to be doing well. Soiled underpants and plastic bags lay scattered in the weeds.

I have been all over the U.S., the mayor said to Stanley. I have never seen white people get the respect we deserve. But we need a few blacks. Some blacks, they’re an extra set of eyes.

And I’m your eyes, huh? said Stanley, amused. Charles, you’re more full of shit than that shithouse next to Ellen’s place.

Stanley, you’re a goddamned black nigger.

That’s the best kind. Gimme a swig of that beer.

You disgust me, you fucking low-life nigger, said the mayor. Here. Take the whole can. You think I want to drink out of any can you’ve nigger-lipped?

Come the black revolution, Mr. Mayor, you know what we’re gonna do to you?

Spraypaint me black so I can keep being mayor. How’s that? Then I’m going to raise the rent on all my white people and give you your kickback, you fucking nigger. How’s that?

All right, said Stanley. Now you listen. From now on, every time you call me nigger, you got to give me a beer. Is that fair or is that square?

The mayor belched and rubbed his head.

Hey, said Stanley. I’m talking to you, Charles. I mean it. Are you my friend or not?

My head hurts, said the mayor.

What do you always got to be calling me nigger for? I don’t go out of my way to insult you. Most of the time I don’t pay you any mind, but today for some reason you’re getting to me, so would you lay off?

I’m sorry, Stan, said the mayor. Case closed. Now you lay off. I’ve got a bad headache.

They sat there for a while drinking and breathing in smog, and then the mayor said: Hey, Stan.

What?

Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a goddamned ugly stupid monkeybrained black black nigger?

Stanley stood up and tried to punch the mayor in the face but the mayor blocked it and shot a hard brawny punch into Stanley’s chest which knocked him down onto the concrete. Stanley lay there groaning.

Jesus, Stan, said the mayor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit so hard. You okay?

I hit my head, said Stanley. I’m gonna have a lump the size of a robin’s egg. What did you have to keep calling me names for?

Listen, Stanley, I’m sorry. I mean it. I was an asshole.

I’m not so young, you know, Stanley said.

All right, the mayor said. Please let me help you up.

Charles, I want you to know something, Stanley said. People been calling me nigger when I was still inside my Mama’s ass. I really don’t like it. I want you to listen to me, Charles. If you call me nigger one more time today, I’m not gonna say nothing, but when I get a chance I’m gonna hit you over the head or stab you. Tomorrow I don’t say nothing about. Tomorrow nobody can hold you to, you ornery old cracker fool.

You’re bleeding on the back of your head, the mayor told him. I’m going to bandage you up.

Did you hear what I said, Charles?

I heard, and I’ve already told you twice that I’m sorry, which I wouldn’t say to anybody else. You know I have a short fuse.

Oh, fuck it, said Stanley, getting to his feet. I’m the one with the bleeding head and he’s the one with the short fuse.

The mayor looked around to see if anybody was listening, but the place was empty except for one drunk who, attended by the friendly goggling faces of parking meters, snored in a lair of cardboard plates and newspaper sheets draped over ridges of garbage, with his shoes off and his stinking stockinged feet inside an old lampshade. The mayor wasn’t worried abut him. His other constituents were sleeping, screwing, shitting, whoring, scoring, snorting, shooting or most likely panhandling. The mayor himself never left camp. That was why he was the mayor. He ran security.

It must have been three o’clock now, because the blue truck with the white cross on it pulled up to the brown-skinned island.

Oh, shit, the mayor said, treasuring this distraction. — Our guys go out and they work all day and they’re tired, and then those Spics set up the loudspeaker in Spanish. Guys in the holy circle getting saved.

My head hurts worse than yours, said Stanley. Gimme another beer.

I only have but one more.

Give it to me, Charles.

The mayor turned red and clenched his teeth. Then he slammed the beer down on the arm of Stanley’s chair.

Why, thank you, Mr. Mayor. You’re gonna make a nice cocktail waitress someday. Beer could be colder, though.

The mayor rose and stalked away, swearing.

A dirty man whose beard was almost as long and ragged as his backpack came slowly ambling toward the white island. Stanley sat watching him regally, a beer in his hand. The man came closer. Now the man could see the shelters, some of wood, some of cardboard roofed with plastic. The mayor’s house was roofed with an American flag.

The mayor came hurrying back from the toilet. He looked the stranger up and down. He said: You a cop? You a cop?

Nope, said the stranger.

A woman stuck her head out of her cardboard box and perorated: Hey, the police’s attitude toward the homeless sucks. They catch your ID to check on warrants and they don’t return it. I’m monogamous, but I’m homeless so I must be a whore or a crack addict…

So sue me, said the stranger. I said I’m not a cop.

Nobody bothers anybody down here, the woman went on eagerly, because this is the white end. We used to live in the black end. We got robbed three times a day. Anything they think might be useful to trade or sell, they gotta take. And Charles over there, he’s the mayor. He’s the one that saved us from the blacks.

When the woman’s head first appeared, the mayor had wondered whether she might have heard his argument with Stanley, and he was afraid, but her comments appeased his scuttling eyes, so that he smiled.

You look familiar, the stranger said to her. You know Dan Smooth?

Oh, him? said the woman. He raped my daughter an’ only gimme forty bucks…

To no one in particular the stranger said: You mind if I set my bedroll here for a night or two?

Where are you from? said the mayor.

California.

If you want bare ground, that’s free, said the mayor. If you want a house, you’ll have to pay me rent.

How about a house with a yard and a white picket fence? said the stranger.

Are you trying to pull my chain? said the mayor. Stanley! Hey, Stanley! Security!

I’ll just take the yard, the stranger said. I’ll just spread out my roll right there. Any thieves in these parts?

Watch out for those niggers over there, said the mayor. But this guy’s all right. This guy’s my buddy. This is Stanley.

What’s your name, man? said Stanley.

Henry. Henry Tyler.

Not just any black can move in here, Henry, continued the mayor with relish. We had problems when we first went here, so we came out with baseball bats.

Pleased to meet you, Henry, said Stanley.

Tyler shook his hand.

These people in this little area are the only ones I asociate with, the mayor explained. And I advise you to do the same. As soon as you cross that street there, they’ll come after you. Just addicts over there, Henry. Anything they can do, they will do.

Okay, said Tyler. What are the rules here?

Now, everybody here, they’re all fixing to follow either Plan A or Plan B, said Stanley, looking Tyler up and down with shrewd eyes. Which one is it for you?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, said Tyler wearily.

Plan A or Plan B. You can either go to jail, turn your life around and get back to what you need, or you can stay here. What’s your goal, Hank? What’s your aspiration?

Plan P, said Tyler. I could use some pussy. You people have a problem with that?