Ishmael Reed - The Last Days of Louisiana Red

Since LaBas arrived, he has seen the sights. He traveled once to Santa Cruz, once called “The Switzerland of the West,” which reminded him of the village below Frankenstein’s castle; he went to San Jose’s “Little Egypt.” He went to Sacramento, whose newspaper the Sacramento Bee coined the word “hoodlum,” to describe the early quality of life you had here.

San Francisco led the world in two professions: prostitution and vigilantism, and Barbary Coast used to be the biggest red-light district in the country.

So as not to draw attention, LaBas moved into a modest little house below Grove Street in the “Flats.” He had rejected life in a tick tack with “a sweeping view of the gateway to the Pacific.” Wasn’t much to do in the town. It closed at 2:00 A.M. and mostly earlier. There were coffee shops on San Pablo Ave. which played string quartet music. The hills above the University were dominated by structures out of Buck Rogers. Richard Pryor lived there for a while. It was Edward Teller’s town, with a little artsy-crafsty thrown in to give it a semblance of elegance. The police ran it with an iron fist in collusion with some old-line businessmen.

Sometimes LaBas would go over to the Roxie Theater in Oakland. Walter Cotton dominated five frames in “Gordon’s War.” Remember that name. Walter Cotton.

On other occasions, LaBas would escort Ms. Better Weather to some of the restaurants: Pot Luck, Narsai’s, The Anchor, Le Petit Village, Casa de Eva, Kabul’s, Yangtze River. And, oh yeah, Oleg’s. Oleg’s had good manners.

Berkeleyans danced at Harry’s, Ruthie’s Inn, the New Orleans House and the Tenth Street Inn, a block of Mississippi on Gilman Street. They listened to music at Mandrake’s across the street from the Toulouse.

Minnie, Ed’s daughter, was still agitating about the Gumbo Works going public, even though Ed’s death had caused the near dissolution of the factory. She called them Elitists. Well, they were, kind of. Maxwell Kasavubu had given orders that things would have to speed up because there were no students in the summer and the Moochers had to work twice as hard. Behind their backs, the Berkeley Hills’ supporters referred to Moocher programs as “nigger physics”; a comment on their use of 19th-century physics metaphors to explain them.

The Gumbo Works was getting back on its feet. LaBas had stalled the creditors for more time. The Gumbo Workers had returned to their usual shifts and most of Ed’s old customers remained with the firm.

Ms. Better Weather, Ed’s assistant, had really shown LaBas the ropes and acquainted him with the U.C. Works processes. Often he would show her a thing or two about how it was done in the east. Occasionally they would stop in a restaurant after work.

(The Toulouse, a restaurant named after the French painter, was a popular hangout. Berkeley had always liked things French. In the 19th century a “Second Empire” fad swept through the campus area, whose building plans were designed by a French architect. The Mansard style.

(The Toulouse, a restaurant on University Avenue in West Berkeley. Elder, a medium-sized man wearing glasses and neatly groomed hair, is standing behind the bar. He has the appearance of being efficient and is cleanly attired. Above him, on a platform, is a television set. He is watching a football game. Next to the television is a poster of a handsome black woman, holding a spear. Her legs are spread apart. Across the aisle is a bulletin board announcing jazz and poetry events. The modest chairs have a tiger-skin decoration on the seats. Many types of people are seated about: chicanos, blacks, whites, yellows, browns — all races as well as all classes. People are playing chess and reading about revolution. Bill Jackson has just destroyed a hapless victim with two queens and a rook. During the day the “regulars” come in. On school nights it’s American Graffiti. George Kingfish Stevens and Andy Brown are talking loudly, much to the occasional annoyance of their fellow customers. Andy Brown is a large, heavy man. He is the consummate Brother Bear of Disney’s film version of Joel Chandler Harris’ Uncle Remus stories. He wears a process, derby, platform heels, fur cape. He is the kind of man who would refer to his automobile as a “hog.” George Kingfish Stevens is short, slight and wears “hippie pimp” attire; lots of leather. He wears a “cornrow” hairstyle.)

Kingfish Stevens: Did you see that ’38 Oldsmobile that just went by? Look like Hitler driving to the Russian front. Man, that Wolf Yellings is quite a fella, quite a fella.

Brown: Aw, Kingfish, that man is a square. Is a cube. He ain’t in the Moochers like you and I is. Minnie’s Moochers. Plus I hears the nigger is running some kind of bizness. Colored folks ain’t cut out for no bizness.

Kingfish: Very well put, Bro. Andy, very well put. A man like that is dangerous, prespicacous. MMMM. We is going to have to keep an eye on niggers like that.

Brown: Yeah. He and his sister is two different people.

Kingfish: Not to mention Street. Remember the time we use to go up on Telegraph Avenue and watch the bitches go in and out of Robbie’s? Every time the weekend roll around, people were wondering who Street gon cut.

Brown: Yeah, Kingfish, we use to go to Steppenwolf’s and dance all night. Now they plays dat old funny white music in there. I goes to sleep.

Kingfish: Buzzart?

Brown: What’s that, Kingfish?

Kingfish: Buzzart, that’s one of the men they be playing. Boy, that Buzzart be chopping and sawing away. Whew. (Pause)

Kingfish: Bro. Brown, let me borry some beer outta your pitcher. Share and share alike is what we Moochers say. (Pours himself a drink)

Brown: Help yo self, Kingfish, share and share alike as the Moochers say, but sometime I wonder, Kingfish; look like I’m doing all the sharin.

Kingfish: Don’t worry, Bro. Brown, I will buy the next round.

Brown: Why, Fish, you told me you didn’t have no money. Where’d you get the money?

(Kingfish beckons Brown to lean over; he whispers)

Kingfish: I collectivized d tip on the next table the people left for the bartender. How’s you like that for Mooching? Pretty clever, don’t you think?

Brown: Why, Kingfish, you is a genius. You and me is the only genius to emerge from the 1950s.

Kingfish: Excuse me, Brother Brown, let me go up here and get me a pitcher of beer. I seez they handin out some delectable supplications too. You want some weenies, Bro. Brown? (Midway to the bar he notices a girl walking by outside. She is wearing a terse skirt. You can see her Burger and he takes off through the door. A moment later he comes back inside.)

Kingfish: (excitedly) Bro. Brown, did you see that? That woman throw one of them ol legs round your waist and would asphyxiate your hips, I’ll betcha. (He asks the bartender, Elder, for a pitcher of beer. Elder draws a pitcher and puts it on top of the bar.)

Kingfish: (frowning, examines the pitcher) Where’s de foam?

Elder: For 99 cents you need all the beer you can get.

(People at the bar laugh. Kingfish sneers at Elder, returns to where Brown is sitting.)

Brown: What was that all about, Kingfish?

Kingfish: Aw, that nigger is trying to be cute. Bushwa. Why, over at de Trident in Sausalito, they got plenty of foam.

Brown: Well, you know what I always says, Kingfish.

Kingfish: What’s that, Brown?

Brown: Niggers can’t do nothing right; not a damn thing. (Pause)

Kingfish: Yeh, that Street was something. Over there in one of them African countries. Remember that night he killed that nigger?