Ishmael Reed: Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

What you might call Soul D Luxe, hey Loop? The Indian whistled cheerfully.

Loop finished his supper and leaned back. He thought malicious thoughts. He would woodshed. He would follow Zozo Labrique’s instructions to the T.

You know, Loop, we Crows are called the Beau Brummels of the Indians, so in order to show that my attributes are contagious I’m going to give you this credit card to one of the finest stores in Video Junction. Bet you’d look good in black buckskin with pink fringes.

O come on Chief you’ve done enough already.

No take it Loop, get yourself refreshed, and there’s an occult bookstore around the corner from the Hotel. It’s a bodega front and they sell John the Conquerer roots and rattlesnake vertebrae.

Well Chief if you insist, but if I ever sell this mind sauna to Hollywood I’ll give you all of Gene Autry’s bicycles.

How did you like that champagne Loop? It was made by a friend of mine in the mountains. California grapes no less. Get to that. I’ll bet they’ll be as in as this helicopter or French vintage a 100 years from now.

The Flying Brush Beeve tolled its way across the sky. Loop didn’t hear the Chief’s last one liner. He was musing. In his dreams Loop scribbled on a postcard a note to an old friend.

Dear Joy. This time the

Witches win. Love

Loop Garoo

Ahead the lines of Video Junction moved in.

The other cowhands, unable to save their comrades who had been mauled by the burning Bear, rode back to the Purple Bar-B to report to Drag Gibson. Drag sat on a black velvet couch, his belly peeking out over his waist as if to say hello through its tiny red mouth of a navel. His reading of Catherine was interrupted by the jingle of guthooks mounting the steps of the Purple Bar-B’s Big Black House.

Well boss we took care of them hard boppers who were camped outside the town. Only 4 casualties. One of the hands was eaten by a grizzly and some of the brains spattered our clothes, tasted something like veal. And there was this Juggler who shot so fast the stars abandoned their heavenly places to become his spectators but we plugged him too.

Good, Drag said sticking a pudgy pink hand into the pocket of his monogrammed silk robe recently ordered from St. Louis.

Gee Drag something stinks in here — phew. It’s worse than the smell out there in camp where the circus lies in smoking ruins. Like the smell of tallow my ma use to burn for soap — like death, Drag.

Drag tapped the table next to the sofa while his eyes innocently scanned the ceiling.

Wonder what it could be boys? Go over and get Preacher Boyd to walk around with his hazel wand so’s the women’ll be satisfied. You know how women folk are. They love rhythm and ritual. Shuts them up all the time. Few flowers and a handful of shiny minerals, those crosses we left on Normandy beaches all tidy and in a neat row a couple of horns doing taps. Hell, their whole bodies are drawn by the goddamn moon. It plays upon their hides as it does the tides. Can’t help themselves. Telegram from the War Department sung at the door, couple of guys folding flags they’ll forget all about them punks. Another generation they’ll be sending more out to get slaughtered. All you have to do is say Mother Country play upon their vanity.

Glad you got rid of them hooligans boys, they didn’t like to march and was lazy. Talked about love and such things which is mush, right boys?

Mush is right, Skinny answered as he and two cowhands, as if to emphasize Drag’s remarks, ran their hands across their lips and spat out repulsive and invisible kisses.

I don’t know if Preacher Rev. Boyd will work out this time Drag, last time we saw him it was when the forces of the old recaptured Big Lizzy’s Rabid Black Cougar Saloon. He started to have d.t.’s and said something about a gila monster who was God.

Those Protestants, so lazy with allegory.

What did you say boss?

Nothing boys, just a blue streak inflaming my mind, it’ll go away.

Anyway boss you’d better see after him now. Whenever he uses that stick only dogs of Yellow Back Radio gather about to watch. Others poke fun and prod.

Drag thought a minute then snapped his fingers making a flat blubbery thick.

When State Magic fails unofficial magicians become stronger Somebody say something? What was that? Did you say something foreman Skinny McCullough, one of you cowpokes say something?

No Drag, Skinny said shaking in his boots and spurs.

Drag looked around the ceiling again. He stared at the open window. Tiny black fingers were crawling over the sill. Drag drew his six shooter and fired into the night. The men climbed back from beneath the furniture where they had hid during the unexpected gunplay.

Boss, Skinny cried, what’s wrong with you?

Thought I saw some hands at the window.

Drag’s breathing became rapid. Sweat poured down his cheeks. He placed the smoking gun on the table.

Anyway boys, good work. Why don’t you go over to Big Lizzy’s Rabid Black Cougar and have one on me. Paint Yellow Back Radio red. You’ve done a good job. No more furious aggressive wiggles of them kids and the clown show closed down too. Can’t say we were humorless — let them go out with a carny. Har har.

Well not exactly boss, Skinny said, two of them kids escaped and the Loop Garoo Kid from the circus rode off towards the town fifty miles from here. He seemed to be savage mad.

He’ll never make it — across those cow skulls, cactus, rattlesnakes, stinging lizards, vinegarroon, cougars and whatever heathen lies out there now that we got rid of them injuns — speaking of injuns how did them Coult rifles work for you?

They’re good for us boss — we’re going to really get rid of the next heathen that raises his feather from behind the rock.

Too bad you let them escape though-sometimes I think I’m short of the genuine article around here boys.

Boss we tried to get em but never seed no hombre ride off like that — he was fastern a souped-up hare. Don’t worry boss if he shows his face in Yellow Back Radio, if indeed he manages to through some miracle escape — if lowly desert vermin don’t get him the Flying Brush Beeve will. As for the kids they’re done for before they started. They headed for this unexplored territory to the south. Some kind of heathen co-operative society down there too. They’ll be eaten or boiled in a caldron.

Now get, boys, so’s I can be alone with my thoughts which is a pretty spooky situation since Drag is not only nickname for the horseman who rides to the rear of the herd catching the dust, bringing up the stragglers and sick among the cattle but my name is also shorthand for something scaly, slimy and huge with dirt.

Gee Drag it’s great to have a smooth talking white man like you leading us you must get all that information from the book you’re always reading, Skinny McCullough said as he and the ebullient cowhands departed for Yellow Back Radio.

Just suppose that the Loop Garoo Kid managed to get through all the tests waiting for him between Yellow Back Radio and the town lying fifty miles from here. He’ll come after me. You know, the revenge motif. What the hell may as well make hay while the sun shines. Take my wife for an instant. Black cows donated their organs, orphans, widow women, squatters and sheep herders donated their teeth I stole eyeballs kidneys livers from road agents and injuns all stored down in the basement. What a mess. Still she’s getting worse. Anyway what did the old Woman on the talk show say, “I suggested the sits bath and herbs to make her last months comfortable Drag my darling listener. Truth is she will die off shortly like some great red hog who has swallowed tacks, she will end up on Forty-second Street a pale reminder of a government inspected hotdog.” Here I am, old, ugly, mean and ignorant. Fish fill my lakes as if they were spawnings paradise my barnyard overflows with the pecking order of erotic cocks. My fruit is so plentiful their orchards weigh down the valley. Black diamonds, black gold and other precious minerals lie in great untapped beds so huge they would dwarf even my ego. And about 3000 head started up the Chisholm to market yesterday. But what would happen if I popped off like the rest of the swells what’s pushing up daisies out in the bone orchard?