Ishmael Reed - Mumbo Jumbo

THE FINAL RUN COMPLETED, he stops the trolley car. A funny sweet odor comes from that ship. Lavender lights beam from her portholes. Still on the trolley, huh? Well she would have to get off now.

Lady, you haffta get off. This is the last stop.

Earline rose from her seat and walks, swinging her hips, down the aisle of the trolley car. She gives him a look the nature of which would force a man to divorce his wife, sell his home, hang around the blood bank, offer his skin for grafting, donate his eyes to an alligator, hit the banker on the head to give her what she wanted.

That…feeling swept over his abdomen and then worked its way up. She didn’t come on like a whore. He had served in the last war, you know. He couldn’t figure out. What she was up to?

Would your husband mind you having a drink with me? Man, he didn’t mean for it to come out like that. He was getting rusty…

All Black men are my husbands, she answered seductively.

The music came from the blind pig, heavy, thick, gummy like a quagmire; mud, the rich ancient soil of the Black-belt South with its climate, swamps, swarming with birds, snakes, bugs, wildflowers. Egypt of America, someone said. When they open the door, her arm in his, the funk hits them so hard it almost knocked them out. The air is surfeit with smoke: yellow, billowy; couples dancing as if in trances doing the Slow Drag, Grind and other intimate dances. On the wall is a torn ancient poster of a Jack Johnson fight. The guitar player with the band looks as if he was asleep but his guitar sounds like a tiny evil venomous snake would sound if it could sing. His hair is parted down the middle and is wavy from vigorous applications of Tuxedo. They stand at the bar.

Would you like a drink, miss?

You can call me Earline, and she eases closer to him and through her skirt he could feel her body. He gets hard as a rock and he isn’t even embarrassed.

YOU KILLED HIM. YOU didn’t give him a chance, Thor yells as Biff Musclewhite got back into the car. It wasn’t necessary to shoot him like that. Like…like an animal.

O, so you didn’t like the way we handled your friend, huh? We’ll see that yours will be quiet and traditional. And then Musclewhite laughs, all weird and sick-like. Early Richard Widmark; Kiss of Death (1947). 1st the opening, his nervous mouth baring a few front teeth and then a little more teeth until he is grinning widely; all the way to the station his eyes are fixed.

The detectives on each side of Thor exchange puzzled glances. Thor sobs holding his head in his hand.

EARLINE AWAKES THE NEXT morning; her head is bad. She supports herself, raised in the bed. Lying next to her is the nude trolley car man sound asleep. Snoring. A smile on his face that people must bear when they witness the Christian’s Glory.

She gets up, the expression on her face a mischievous smile, frowning. She goes into the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee. When it begins to boil, she pours herself a cup of coffee and reaches for the newspaper.

Major Biff Musclewhite is about to phone Charlotte to tell her that he has survived the “excruciating ordeal” at the hands of the Mu’tafikah and perhaps ask her to dine with him. A sort of celebration. He had told her that he would deal with these rapscallions and by golly giminy he had.

He is dialing the number GR 3-4822 when an assistant comes in and places some items on his desk. The phone rings once.

Chief, here are some objects belonging to that black Mu’tafikah Berbelang: his billfold, razor and dice…

The phone rings a 2nd time.

Musclewhite moves the things lying on the desk.

…Cards, a strange-looking tangled root.

The phone rings a 3rd time.

Hello?

Yes my dear, this is Biff, I was able to extricate my person from the Mu’tafikah.

Say it again, I just awoke. The last thing I remember was going on the stage of the Plantation House…I don’t remember how I got home…

O that’s all right. He comes upon the picture of the Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral group: there is Earline, Berbelang, PaPa LaBas and… and…

I was going through the last routine with my Pick and then I must have fainted. I don’t know how I got here…

It must be something in the air, Biff Musclewhite says. You know, this Jes Grew thing has reached Dunkirk New York. Maybe I will come over and see you, Musclewhite says, brows furrowing. Half hour?

Yes, do come over.

CHARLOTTE WALKS TO THE window. She removes some rose petals that had been placed in saucers resting on the sill. Much of the soft water has evaporated and a film is floating on the top. She removes the film and pours it into little vials. It would sit there for a few days until all of the water evaporated, leaving behind the aromatic essence of the rose.

Charlotte picks up the newspaper which is lying on a table. She sits on the sofa. It is the maid’s night off, so she goes to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of milk. Then she walks into the living room and picks up the newspaper. And she screams and drops the newspaper to the floor. BERBELANG SHOT BY BIFF MUSCLEWHITE!!

MUSCLEWHITE BAGS COON

War Hero Slays Art-Napper

Depraved Black Mu’tafikah Dead

More Arrests Predicted

Manhattan, the 1920s — Today Biff Muscle-white, fearless curator of the Center of Art Detention and consultant to Yorktown Police, shot and killed Berbelang the bad, cute Black bandit, and leader of a gang of dope-sniffing self-styled Mu’tafikah.

The shooting occurred shortly after he freed himself from a hideout where he was being held for ransom in the gang’s wild scheme to exchange the well-known city father for the ugly sausage-lipped big-headed Olmec head.

Musclewhite escaped by subduing Thor Wintergreen, misguided tycoon’s son who had joined the band of freaks and their scantily clad flappers.

Trapped inside his headquarters the demented coon chose to shoot it out with the World War 1 combat veteran and hero who once told Nature where to go. “Come in and get me, coppers,” the spade shouted, followed by his wild, bizarre laughter.

The doorbell rings. Charlotte opens it upon Biff Musclewhite…

You…you killed Berbelang.

Buff Musclewhite forces himself into the room.

O you seem concerned. I didn’t know that you knew the man, Biff Musclewhite says, removing the cord from his pocket. You were always irresponsible. Fickle. Never loyal and always looking askance at them as they picked cotton fanned you in the mosques, fetched your horses and scratched your alabaster back. You can’t be trusted.

What are you going to do? Charlotte says, alarmed, walking backwards.

She reaches a table and knocks the gas lamp to the floor.

Biff Musclewhite brings the cord about her neck and puts all of his strength behind it, squeezing it, until Charlotte drops lifeless to the floor.

WHEN THE ROOKIE COP arrives, Musclewhite is calmly sitting and drinking some bootleg whiskey.

The rookie comes into the room and finds Charlotte on the floor, dead. What happened here?

I had to bust her for possession, see this booze? Musclewhite points to the liquors on the table. Found it in her cabinet. Not bad either. Well when she saw that her number was up she offered resistance and I had to, er…well, you know, she was resisting.

But you know no 1 is being arrested for that any more; besides, she looks as if she’s been strangled.