Ishmael Reed: Mumbo Jumbo

O pop, that’s ridiculous. Xenophobic. Why must you mix poetry with concrete events? This is a new day, pop. We need scientists and engineers, we need lawyers.

All that’s all right, what you speak of, but that ain’t all. There’s more. And I’ll bet that before this century is out men will turn once more to mystery, to wonderment; they will explore the vast reaches of space within instead of more measuring more “progress” more of this and more of that. More Increase, Growth Inflation, and they don’t know what to do when Jes Grew comes along like the Dow Jones snake and rises quicker than the G.N.P.; these scientists, there’s a lot they don’t know. And as for secret societies? The Communist party originated among some German workers in Paris. They called themselves the Workers Outlaw League. Marx came along and removed what was called the ritualistic paraphernalia so that the masses could participate instead of the few. Daughter, the man down on 125th St. and Lenox Ave. on the stand speaking might be mouthing ideas which arose at a cocktail party or from a transcontinental telephone call or—

Earline puts her head on the desk and begins to sob. PaPa LaBas comforts her.

O there I go, getting you upset…

She confesses to him. O it isn’t you, pop, it isn’t you, it’s…

Berbelang?

O pop, he thinks you’re a failure, he felt that you were limiting your techniques. He thought you should have added Inca, Taoism and other systems. He felt that you were becoming all wrapped up in Jes Grew and that it’s a passing fad. He isn’t the old Berbelang, pop; his eyes are red. He seems to have a missionary zeal about whatever he’s mixed up in. I get so lonely, I would like to go out; tonight for instance. I’m invited to a Chitterling Switch.

A Chitterling Switch? What’s that, Earline?

She shows him the card.

We’re attempting to raise money for anti-lynching legislation; James Weldon Johnson is supposed to speak… It’s like a Rent Party, you know?

You and T use so much slang these days I can hardly communicate with you, but your Chitterling Switch sounds interesting. Do you mind if an old man comes along?

O pop, 50 is not old these days.

You flatter me; just wait until I lock the office.

And I must change, pop. I’ll be right with you.

PaPa LaBas glances into another office toward the main room of Mumbo Jumbo Kathedral.

Where’s Charlotte?

Earline has entered the ladies room.

You know pop, she’s been acting strangely these days. She’s listless and cross. She had an argument with a client this morning and began to swear at him in French; isn’t that a sign?

He pauses for a moment.

I must speak to her. Perhaps she’s upset about Berbelang leaving as he did. You know, they were fond of each other. My activist side really charms the women; I suppose this is how he was able to woo such a beautiful thing as yourself.

O cut it out, pop!

Earline looks at her features in the mirror. Something has come over her. She finds it necessary to go through the most elaborate toilet ritual these days, using some very expensive imported soaps, embroidered towels, and she has taken a fancy to buying cakes even though she never before possessed a sweet tooth. She glances at the sign above the marble sink.

REMEMBER TO FEED THE LOAS

O, that reminds her. She hasn’t replenished the loa’s tray #21. On a long table in the Mango Room are 22 trays which were built as a tribute to the Haitian loas that LaBas claimed was an influence on his version of The Work. This was 1 of LaBas’ quirks. He still clung to some of the ways of the old school. Berbelang had laughed at him 1 night for feeding a loa. This had been 1 of the reasons for their break. Of course she didn’t comprehend their esoteric discussions. PaPa LaBas hadn’t required that the technicians learn The Work. The drummers, too, were clinical; their job was that of sidemen to PaPa LaBas’ majordomo. They didn’t know PaPa LaBas’ techniques and therapy. Didn’t have to know it. As long as they knew the score LaBas wasn’t interested in proselytizing. But feeding, she thought, was merely 1 of his minor precautions. It seemed such a small thing. She would attend to it tomorrow or the next day.

I’ll be with you in a moment, she shouts through the door to LaBas.

We have plenty of time, no rush, PaPa LaBas answers her. He is inspecting the trays. He stops at the 12th tray, then returns to join Earline who is ready to go.

The pair moves down the steps. Outside T Malice is talking to a young woman who has her hands clasped behind her back and is swaying coquettishly. When he sees PaPa and Earline he pulls down the brim of his chauffeur’s cap and looks straight ahead. They tease him and of course being a good sport he can take it.

* B. Fuller terms this phenomenon “ultra ultra high frequency electromagnetic wave propagation.”

EVERY TIME WOODROW WILSON Jefferson chases the dogs, chickens, hogs and sheep, the animals recoup and follow him. W.W. turns on his pursuers.

Go on now. Heah. Go on before I chucks you good with a stick. I told you to go on back to the farm before daddy comes back from the deacons’ council and finds you gone, Woodrow Wilson Jefferson threatens his 4-footed friends. His head resembles that of a crocodile wearing granny glasses.

Woodrow Wilson Jefferson has decided to quit the farm and hit the Big City. He is ready. His grandfather had accompanied his slavemaster to New York in the 1850s and had returned with articles and editorials written by 2 gentlemen: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. The old issues of the New-York Tribune edited by Horace Greeley had been in the attic all these years. He liked the style. Objective, scientific, the use of the collective We, Our. Therefore there were no illusions and unforeseen events like these country folks in Rē’-mōte Mississippi, believing in haints and things; and spirits and 2-headed men; mermaids and witches. He would abandon this darkness for the clearing. Make something out of himself. The local people had said that he would be a doctor or even a preacher, but what did they know, backward, lagging behind.

He feels some feathery object brush against his heel and turns again.

Now get out of here, damnit. Where’s my stick?

Jefferson goes over to a bush to make a switch. He commences to cut off a branch and whittles the stick so it would leave welts and draw blood. The animals get the message and begin to scamper toward the farmhouse, on the hill, in the background.

He continues on down the road apiece until he reaches the train depot. His bag is stuffed with the newspaper articles (487 to be exact. Wilson didn’t always understand the issues but he certainly appreciated the style). When he reaches the train depot, he comes upon 2 men sitting on the station’s porch, playing checkers. Behind them were ads for Doctor Pepper, hex signs, Chesterfield Cigarettes and Bull Durham tobacco.

Well if it ain’t Rev. Jefferson’s boy. Where you going with your hair all spruced down with butter? Where you on your way to?

Jefferson stands there at the Rē’-mōte train depot. He would ignore these men, lazy, shiftless, not ready. He would do something with his life. Not become just another hayseed whose only recreation is catching junebugs and chirping along with the crickets.

I’m gon on way from this damned town.

Well ex-cuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..s..e me! the man answers, mimicking. His companion spits some tobacco against the station house wall.

The train is in sight. The train that would take him to Jackson Mississippi. Then on to New York.