Ishmael Reed - Mumbo Jumbo

Charlotte, I have been all kinds of Picks to you. I’ve been your Sore Pick your Happy Pick your Vicious Pick. I have made stage love to you as well as made denigrating remarks regarding your morals and your anatomy in the presence of bankers with diamond stickpins on their chests, Rotarians, and visiting knights. Why, we leave them in the aisles, Charlotte. But Charlotte, I think that we ought to turn the act around. Stand it on its head. Upside-down the Plantation.

How’s that, Peter?

Why don’t you conjure me and go through the motions of putting me down. The Angel will pass and he will be of no assistance. The demon will also pass and he too will be of no help. Then you whisper into my ear, I read the words and then you disappear. And for those who missed the first act we can have a summary of the preceding show done in the beginning, as they do on the serials…

You certainly keep up, Peter. Why, I think that’s a wonderful idea.

You mean you like it?

Of course Peter, we will begin tonight.

O thank you Charlotte…

And wait here. Charlotte goes into the bedroom and returns with a tattered little blue-covered book.

This is PaPa LaBas’ Blue Back: A Speller, required reading at Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral. Perhaps there’s something that you can use when sending me back to make it appear more convincing.

O thank you Charlotte! You know I always wanted to be a choreographer but with Jes Grew about no one would heed my labanotations. Maybe Stagecraft will be a new career for me. Perhaps it is easier to switch the conflicts about than educate the masses to a new melody.

Peter, you do have a gift.

Let’s drink to our new act, Charlotte.

Upon Charlotte’s call the maid enters the room.

O there you are, Suzie Mae. Would you please serve Doctor Peter Pick another drink.

The Irish maid, who ain’t been in the country long enough to learn good English, replies in her semiliterate manner. Why natural, Miss Charlotte. Natural.

S.R.: UPON HEARING ETHEL WATERS SING “THAT DA-DA-STRAIN” AND A JAZZ BAND PLAY “PAPA DE-DA-DA” EUROPEAN PAINTERS TAKE JES GREW ABROAD. IT HAS BECOME WHAT THE WALLFLOWER ORDER FEARED: PANDEMIC. AT HOME, YOUNG PEOPLE CHEER THE BAYERDOFFER DEVILS WHO’VE CHALLENGED GRAND OPERA TO A DUEL AT THE METROPOLITAN THEATER IN LOS ANGELES… THOUSANDS BOO VERDI’S TRIUMPH AS A HOMETOWN DECISION… THE LOOTING CONTINUES UNTIL DAWN… WORLD-WIDE MU’TAFIKAH GIVE JES GREW ENCOURAGEMENT BY PUTTING IT UP TAKING IT IN AND HIDING IT OUT… ON WALL STREET SAXOPHONES MAKE A STRONG RALLY WHILE VIOLINS ARE DOWN. THE BALLET LINGERS ON DEATH ROW AND… THIS JUST IN! OUTBREAKS OF JES GREW 60 MILES FROM NEW YORK CITY. 30,00 °CASES REPORTED INCLUDING COWS, CHICKENS, SHEEP AND HORSES, DISPROVING SPECULATIONS THAT ITS EFFECTS ARE CONFINED TO THE HUMAN SPECIES. EVEN THE SAP IN THE MAPLE TREES MOVES NASTY. LOCAL CHURCHES SCHEDULE LAST-MINUTE MIDNIGHT SERVICES TO INDULGE IN PRAYERFUL ANTIDOTES AGAINST THE PLAGUE. Mary Lou Williams composed a “Roman Catholic Jazz Mass” while outside in the rain, on the night of the performance, J.G.C.s chanted, “Mary Lou, Mary Lou, what’s wrong with you?”—I.R.)

THERE IS A KNOCK at the Mu’tafìkah basement door. A husky Black man of about 45 with folds in a hanging jaw accompanied by 2 others of similar physical mold enters the basement headquarters. He wears a camelhair overcoat; black kid gloves and light-colored snap brim hat with a creased top and narrow black pointed-toe shoes covered with arabesque pattern.

His eyes wander about the ceiling. He then stares straight ahead at the people working at the tables. Packing masks, wood sculpture and other amulets.

The trucks you can have for a few days. Then there are some barrels of booze to go to Chicago and we will need them. The costumes havta be back tomorrow night, he says to Berbelang.

Other men wheel wardrobe closets into the basement. They contain boxes of shoes, formal dresses, jewelry, stockings, tuxedos, black silk top hats, white silk scarves.

The other stuff has to be back at the theater tomorrow for the opening of that musical he’s backing. The Studebakers tomorrow morning. He’s got 18 funerals scheduled by his various Harlem undertaking establishments. And listen pal, he says jabbing a black gloved finger into Berbelang’s chest, be sure to get them back…

The man, 1 hand still in a huge pocket, readmits a cigar to his mouth and begins to walk out of the basement. He turns around and as if this was a signal the men follow his motions.

O the most important thing I forgot to tell you. The boats are down at the harbor. The ships are waiting out at sea. And good luck he told me to tell you, he said you’d understand. He said the only reason he’s giving you these things is he’s a Race Man.

The man approaches Berbelang and gives him a strange handshake. Berbelang looks puzzled.

O, I thought you was 1 of us and that was why he was givin’ you some code. Well so long. The man turns and he and his partners begin to leave.

As he prepares to turn the knob Berbelang stops him.

Hey! Listen! How did Buddy Jackson get the ships and boats?

He said some fellow named Black Eagle, a monoplane flyer, has international connections.

The man left the basement.

The men and women put on their costumes. They pile into the Studebakers parked against the curb. You can still see the influence of the carriage upon this automobile’s design, this Studebaker which was characterized by its vendors as “Knight Motored.”

HARD-BOILED BIFF MUSCLEWHITE, “THE man who tamed the wilderness” and much decorated combat officer of World War 1, now curator of the New York Center of Art Detention and part-time consultant to the Yorktown police. He is relaxing his head upon Charlotte’s lap as she sits upon the sofa. Charlotte strokes his grey hair. 1 leg dangles over 1 of the sofa’s arms. His sword touches the floor and his hand embraces a glass of fizz water which rests next to a champagne bottle on the table. 1 boot on, the other on the floor near the sofa, he continues to speak, his blouse unbuttoned in 2 places.

…And then my dear, I single-handedly led this charge into German lines before we encircled their men…and it was then that I realized that the fate of my men was in my hands.

Major Biff Musclewhite has finally convinced Charlotte to allow him to see her. He has brought some roses which the maid Suzie Mae has placed in vases. Charlotte, bored, stares at the ceiling as she listens to him talk on and on about World War 1.

…I like the décor in this apartment, it shows that distinctive taste. You certainly are selective, my dear, in lesser hands the style would be gaudy almost Africanesque…I should like you to permit me to contribute to the maintenance of the apartment. As a combat veteran I am accustomed to doing my bit. Kiss me, my dear.

The Major springs from his lying position and suddenly grips Charlotte’s long arms at the same time pinning her against the sofa’s back and kissing her violently.

Just then, the door bell rings.

Patting her hair and smoothing her dress, she is released from the Major’s vice-like hold. As the Major waits in the other room, buttoning his shirt, Charlotte rises to open the door.

A minute goes by before Major Biff Musclewhite inquires about what is happening in the other room.

Do you have company, my dear?

Berbelang, Thor, Yellow Jack and Fuentes enter the room; they wear Chesterfield coats over their tuxedos and black top hats which they wear cavalierly.

Why…why what is the meaning of this? Charlotte, who are these men?

They said they were friends of yours and forced themselves in, Charlotte replies.