Baloney Again (642 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.75 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (View user info) at 2006-04-11 16:46:12 EDT
It was probably a good thing that they wound up stopping so far from even the dream of a hotel, since a room for the night was far above their meager budget. Instead, they slept in the most inclusive hotel in the world, nestled amongst the roots and branches of the great tree with the softly shining leaves cast broad shadows over their bare feet. The scent of the enormous white flowers drifted down as a balm on their tired frames, and the youngest held one of the blossoms in two hands, staring into it like a crystal ball. Tom had scrambled up into the branches, slinging his long arms around the trunk and hauling himself up until he sat amongst the glowing white petals, and now he lay as spanish moss from the limb, the flower cradled in long fingers beneath his draping lashes.
"How long to Watts," someone asked in a tone that tolled deep with the miles passed under the battered station wagon. The map had burned up long ago, catching fire in Johnny's lap while he slept in the afternoon sun. The sun had been focused through the bent side mirror, and after a few minutes of slowly blackening the edges of the paper, it decided it would be more exciting to send Johnny flying from the car, rolling in dust until the frantic plume sailed high into the blue sky. No more vibrant response was available but for an aching shrug, enormous effort against the weight of the calming night air. "We get there when we get there." The young man hanging in the tree pushed air lightly from behind his teeth, an audible sense of the tires' exhaustion. On the far side of the tree, George's voice rolled out across the grass, calling to whatever small creature cared to listen. The sound had a solid core of brutal strength, and great round edges, roiling at the surface and tripping over the shards of the missing guitar. At the last registration drive, the hulking car had been tipped over onto its side, scarring the wooden paneling and smashing the guitar into a thousand pieces. It has been one hundred and fifty three days since then, and through every single one of them, George had told himself he didn't need it.
"We don't eat in no white restaurant; we're eating in the car...baloney again. Baloney again. We don't sleep in no white hotel bed; we're sleepin' in the car...baloney again. You don't strut around in these country towns, you best stay in the car...look on ahead, don't stare around; you best stay where you are. You're a long way from home, boy; don't push your luck too far...baloney again."
Now money was low, and they could only hope for some magic on the road to get them through to Watts, where once again they would try to convince people with no reason to care to cast ballots that would bring them nothing but trouble. In 1931, they had been able to ply the destitute - black and white, hungry all - with food and rooves free of leaks, but those resources had dried up, and the men feared the bitterness that could await them now, three years later. After all, their appearance meant food and shelter to these huddled masses - when they discovered that the travellers needed it as much as they did, what would they say? Johnny, Tom and George knew, of course, that they would have to show the people the reasons to vote and to fight...the long, ragged scars on George's back, the missing toe on Tom's foot, the blinding whiteness of Johnny. They were selling potential liberty against the completion of a journey through boggy, dangerous ground. They sold it not knowing if their shipment would ever come in. But for now, for the night, they slept curled in the blossoms of the magnolia tree, and it told them there would be peace.
In the morning, they woke up wet with dew, as always. They could sleep anywhere now, on asphalt or dirt or in a car or under a table. After so many years on the road, the hardest place to sleep was in a bed. The softness of sheets and the cushion of a mattress seemed like an effort to lull them into a false sense of security. They had slept in beds the night that their four had become three, and Aram had been dragged out to the place where wind blew viciously through the poplar trees. As they ran through the underbrush, clutching what little they could of their belongings, they heard screaming behind them, and finally a cold, hard laugh. Johnny had stumbled over rocks, muttering that the sounds were "just a rabbit, just a rabbit, just a rabbit," and when the laugh had oozed over the bushes towards them, he'd stopped stock still, the color draining from his body, and wet himself lavishly in the ragged grasses. Since then, Johnny glared at white people on the street, confounding them to see someone who was pale like them scowling so forcefully as the two dark black men - their idea of human menace - walked silently by without a second look.
They packed into the car, and swung out onto the road again to cover the last hundred miles to Watts, preparing for disappointment and hoping for
"Twenty-two years we've sung the word, since nineteen thirty-one...amen. I say amen. Now the young folk want to praise the Lord, with guitar, bass and drums, amen. Well I'll never get tired of Jesus, but it's been a heavy load; carrying His precious love down a long dirt road. We're a long way from home, just let's pay the man and go...baloney again."
Rounding the corner, the roaring deafened them. The thick smoke they had seen from the apex of the hill leading into town soared up from the very earth here, exploding through the frame of the church and pausing briefly to yank and tug on the cross topping the roof. Violent color leapt from every corner of the building, creeping, creeping, creeping along the inside, gnawing at the carving and paint as it went, then rushing through the windows. An eerie musical tinkling slunk beneath the howl of the fire as the solder holding the colored panes melted, and the brightly colored glass fell, twisted and destroyed, to the street to smash against unforgiving rocks below. As they watched, spellbound, the last particles of wood clinging to the massive hinges of the front doors gave way, and the force of the escaping air knocked the onlookers to the ground. As they struggled back to their feet, the roof fell in with an enormous moan, and this time people actually found themselves airborne, flying through the air with particles of brick and glass. A gentle breeze swept down the street towards them, and as it brushed against the fire, flaming pieces of ash and paper swirled up into the sky, and rained down upon the congregation, burning scars into flesh and blinding a small boy. The crowd around the burning church wailed and beat at their clothing, and the white men across the street smiled and puffed out their chests. Johnny turned to look at them and they nodded and waved, flashing the thumbs up and smiling proudly. He vomited in the street, bringing up little but bile. George turned to see what John had, and saw the men staring at his hand on his friend's back, easing his gorge back down. When he latched his gaze onto them, they gestured angrily in his direction but slunk away into the shadows.
The three men knelt down amongst the charred paper and rubble, and began to pray. One by one, the others sank and fell to their knees beside them.
"The lord is my shepherd, He leadeth me in pastures green...he gave us this day our daily bread and gasoline..."
They slept in the hollowed church, hands raw and blistered from handing buckets along the line to douse the flames. The sky went on forever, black as ink, and the stars pushed quietly towards the earth. John stayed to a far corner of the ruins, shaking the entire night through. George prowled the structure and watched for small flames that had reignited, dousing them with water before they could restore the glory of the blaze. Tom folded his frame into the great fireplace, back against the wall, jumping at small noises, of which there were many. When morning came, they sat on the stone steps and waited. A few quite white men came to them, signed their names, and crept away again, and a half dozen black faces materialized out of thin air, only to vanish as quickly as they had come. Smoke curled around the brick skeleton, and the sun chased the shadows away.
"Go under the willow, park her up beside the stream...shoulders for pillows, lay down your head and dream..."
In the afternoon, they got back into the car. The leather was hot, and the men wept at the heat. Seventeen signatures. Once, they had registered over a thousand. The dust swirled behind them, leaving the town just as it had been, and would always be. Maybe in a few years, Watts would be whole again, and people there would be able to fight for themselves.
George's voice rolled out through the window, down the hill and along the main street, where it echoed through the demolished church.
"Shoulders for pillows, lay down your head and dream."
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Lyrics - Mark Knopfler, "Baloney Again"
User Reviews
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2006-04-12 15:14:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2006-04-11 21:01:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
In other news, I'm not gay.
Submitted by creep_firebombing (user info) at 2006-04-11 20:35:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I *heart* Josie.
Submitted by Dead_0hi0_Sky (user info) at 2006-04-11 19:34:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by BadAssJulie (user info) at 2006-04-11 19:28:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-11 17:32:43 (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 cause it's not that noober shit.
Submitted by AlwaysAnEagle (user info) at 2006-04-11 18:15:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-11 17:32:43 (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 cause it's not that noober shit.
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Yeah...what's that all about, anyway?
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-11 17:32:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 cause it's not that noober shit.
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2006-04-11 17:10:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
go girl..
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-04-11 16:55:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
baloney??
I thought it was sushi?