Ishmael Reed - Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down

I agree Jeff, this town Yellow Back Radio is weird and that Loop seems to have some gripe against society — see how he wasted the poor ranchers in the last town, kidnapped their wives’ minds and strung out the kids, made some kind of cave into an underground discothèque called The Fiberglass Bat. He said that was just a mock-up of what’s going to happen here. He is sho silly. Don’t even comb his hair. Looks like buckwheat or alfalfa. Kee kee.

The men finally reached an opening in the cave. In the center of this area was a natural fire. Loop Garoo was dressed in a white smock. He wore glasses black skin-tight gloves and held a knife in his hand. On the floor lay a dead cock. Behind Loop stood an altar covered with cloth. It bore photographs of victims dead of strange whammies. Above this was a tapestry of a heart to each side of which were drawings of serpents.

Loop had just fed thirty pieces of silver to his personal Loa, Judas Iscariot, the hero who put the finger on the devil.

Did you get the item of clothing I requested? Loop asked of the men, removing his glasses and wiping them.

We did that brother Loop, Jeff said, handing him the scarf, whereupon Loop placed it near some cow tallow that had been made into candles. He started sprinkling some black powder on the scarf and repeating strange oaths.

Near some bottles set up on the altar was a small doll made of feathers, hair, snake skins and pieces of bone. It bore a resemblance to Drag.

The men sat in the corner, grinning, as Loop went through his motions.

The Loop Garoo Kid continued to sprinkle the black powder from his gloves.

This will give Drag Gibson the retroactive itch. It has fired his nerve endings already. This is just a test of what’s to come. Testing…1…2…3…testing, Loop said, until the powder covered the entire neckerchief.

The men looked at one another, placing their hands over their mouths to suppress their humor.

O forgive me fellas, Loop said, there’s some roast chicken, rice, green peas and turnip greens in bowls in the corner.

Thanks brother. We sure are hungry, Jeff said winking at Alcibiades.

In the corner of the cave, food and white wine lay on top of a red and black checkered table cloth.

This wangol will be so bad they will have to call in some of their top people, Loop murmured. It will be the strongest malice ever. Never again will they burn carnivals and murder children.

Loop Garoo began his tailor made micro-Hoo-Doo mass to end 2000 years of bad news in a Bag! he had built in the corner of the cave. He placed offerings to his Loa near jugs resting on several altars under a laced canopy embroidered with such emblems as skulls, crossbones, swords, serpents and hearts. The Loa’s food, sea shells, playing cards, cigars, rum, thirty pieces of silver and oddest of all a pair of Everlast boxing gloves were neatly placed on the calabashes.

Taking a pinch of maize flour from a plate Loop began to draw on the floor in front of the altars various symbols associated with the Loa he wanted to call.

Loop began to shake a rattle slowly.

I the Father which wert in heaven conjure and command thee

O Legba master of the crossroads to connect this cowboy’s circuit to Guinea and summon forth :

Cousin Zaka who will parch their fields and slaughter their livestock and make their herd winding up the Chisholm stumble into a Twilight Zone

O Gu rust their firearms and cause their horseshoes to slip off the animals’ hooves

O Judas Iscariot who ratted on the Ghoul give me the treachery to turn this town upside down and spill evil from all of its pockets

O Jack Johnson give me the power to rise for the bell until Yellow Back Radio is down for the count

O Doc John, Doc Yah Yah and Zozo Labrique Marie Laveau the Grand Improvisers if I am not performing these rites correctly send the Loa anyway and allow my imagination to fill the gaps

O Mack Hopson blood of my blood teach me the secret of the 12 rabbits and the cheesecake

O Baron-La-Croix grip Drag Gibson so that every other day last rites will be requested

O Johnny of the delicate feet

Red-Eyed Ezili

Marinette of the dry arm send the dead swiftly to make my vengeance so complete and artsy craftsy that I though an amateur will be admired by houngans the world over

O General Dig, bury Drag Gibson in the stomach of wines next to George Wallace

O Black Hawk American Indian houngan of Hoo-Doo please do open up some of these prissy orthodox minds so that they will no longer call Black People’s American experience “corrupt” “perverse” and “decadent.” Please show them that Booker T and the MG’s, Etta James, Johnny Ace and Bojangle tapdancing is just as beautiful as anything that happened anywhere else in the world. Teach them that anywhere people go they have experience and that all experience is art .

The leaves outside of the cave began to stir as in the black of night demons started to camp about the land.

The ceremony completed Loop led a Billy Goat from a heap of straw where the animal had been placed to the very center of the area.

After slaughtering the animal Loop drank some of its blood from a wooden bowl.

This will indeed be the super-hero hype to end them all, Loop thought.

The men Jeff and Alcibiades who had maintained silence throughout the ceremony laughed aloud, no longer able to muffle their mirth. Tears welled up in their eyes and they rolled about the cave holding their stomachs.

What’s wrong men? Loop asked.

Nothing, Alcibiades said, it’s just that we’re programmed by the Hedda Hopper people from a wooden planet of wide black hats and stickpins. With gossip columnists invading our skulls you should not be surprised that we would ridicule anything we can’t understand.

O I see, Loop said returning to the grave business at hand, that of putting the goofer dust from Drag’s projected plot into a little bottle.

He removed some shiny black boots which hung near a colony of bats. On each boot was painted the emblem of a yellow chicken. He tried on a black fedora. Hanging above the altar was a whip made of bull’s hide and python skin. It was tough and heavy and when it flew through the air it whistled.

In another section of the cave, green eyes began to purr. Loop looked at his watch. It was time to feed the black cats prowling about the cave.

The two men, finished with their meal, lay back and started to sleep off the food they had so eagerly pan-handled. Loop worked on into the morning, mixing potions, chanting poems, making dolls and burning candles. Now all he needed was a horse.

The Germans attacked the next day. There had always been skirmishes to the north between these dauntless, hearty warriors and the cattlemen who taxed them heavily, rode off with their women, rustled their cattle, stole their best grazing areas and burned their corn .

A warrior blew a signal through the bone-horn from the top of Blackfoot Mountain .

The Marshal was standing in front of Big Lizzy’s Rabid Black Cougar discussing his exploits against the Sioux when a battle ax grazed his right cheek and slammed throbbing with thin pieces of flesh into the wooden façade of the Saloon .

The next one cut him down and he staggered and fell into the mud below the horses’ post .

The Germans burned down Yellow Back Radio in a matter of seconds — about the amount of time it takes for a station break. Their appetites for destruction whetted, they traveled to Drag Gibson’s Purple Bar-B .

Skinny McCullough knelt in a pasture about three miles from the Big Black House. He was scouting for grazing areas for greenhorns who would make up next year’s drive up the Chisholm. He was pleased because he had discovered grama grass, known to make happy contented cows. He held the blades of rich green feast in his hands and was about to ride back to the Big Black House to tell Drag Gibson of this choice discovery, when he saw something shining above a bush outside the fence. It was a helmet reflecting the sun’s rays. On each side horns protruded .