Arcadio (3 page)

IT
COULD
BE
SAID
that I have run away from the Show. The word excaped was used by some, I'm sure. Oh they looked for me. That Tarrance Shanks surely shined his light in the bushes. One night right after I departed—which is a smart word for somebody crawling like a snake one minute then changin into a bat outta Hell the next—I saw fires in the darkness. They was ahuntin me in the bottomlands. Twas that Tarrance Shanks, my boss and head of the Show, leading a ridiculous posse. Composed of the Mescan Dwarft Eddy Gonzales my friend, powerful as a bulldog,
fuerte
, but with qualities of beautiful friendship, Josie Ella, the xylophone player, sweet but who had such a temper bent the keys of the xylophone with her little hammer, would beat with such fury sometimes, and my friend; but God help you if she came after you with her little felt-tipped hammer, would sting your brains out,
compadre
, felt tip had the sting of a wasp, Josie Ella said twas only shammy skin, I said twas made of thorns, give you an idea of what
Jesucristo
felt. And the dog Junipero Perro, a sweet white Mescan jumping dog that loved me always slept beside my side. We spoke Mescan together—course he didn't speak but when he barked to me so pertly he was speaking Mescan, for sure,
compadre
. They hunted me with affection—even that Shanks, for whom I was a valuable asset. Yet I bet they'd have killed me if they'd have had to, to keep me from excaping the Show, from leaving them. We used to speak about the world outside with vows to stick together forever. They hunted me with love and murder in their hearts. They come so close. Once Junipero Perro, silver in the dark, put his sweet nose to my brow where I crouched under a palmetto and I muttered
Te amo, Junipero, pero vate perro, go! vate perrito, dame la vida! A Dios!
A narrow excape! For a moment he gave me his warm tongue. But Junipero Perro did not rat on me, though I know his heart was confused and broken. A broken dog's heart! I suppose there's little worse than the broken heart of a dog, don you? I credit a sweet little white Mescan jumping dog for my successful excape to freedom—God's helper. That was a long time ago, that little dog is dust. Yet I miss the Show. I may go back, I don know. I don even know which town it's in. For the time being I am
at large
.

A recurring impulse to seek
noticias de mi madre
, some notice of her, recently recurred again and I am on the road ahuntin. I run out with that hunger and begun to look for her again. I had been living in a burnt-out kiln of an old sawmill, vines had grown all over it and had made of it a cool dark place. A couple of goats lived with me, billy and nanny, and twas peaceful. In the early mornings I heard the meadowlarks asinging. I guess folks knew I lived out there, outside of town where once twas a thriving sawmill, but nobody bothered me. When I went into the town and asked for anything to eat they give me some. Nobody was afraid and give me some. Once again I had that craving for
noticias de mi madre
. I will soon to tell you why,
oyente
, listener.

I had had a feeling that my mother Chupa met an early death. People like my mother Chupa run down fast like a flashing firework you see abursting on the ground at Fourth of July Fiesta: something crazy shoots it here, there, then it's out. But I don know,
compadre
, I thought as I went hunting for my mother Chupa that if I found her don know what I'd do, some days felt like I might choke her throat, what she done to me.

A WOMAN OF WORN
beauty had kept comin to the Show. Her beauty was wearing out on her—and so was the dress she wore, a green dress of thinning fringe, diamond-tipped, a tiny shining drip hung from the strings of fringe. I first noticed her on a Saturday night, a crowded night and a rainy night. My God the rain comin down on the Show. Mud on the shoes of my gazers and the smell of wet sawdust, the smell of the wet tent. There she was. Winkin green fringe, bruised green shoes with spangled buckles, tinsel combs in black long hair. Twas in Memphis, Tennessee. Come away, she whispered. Come with your mother,
su
madre. Hijo hijito!
my little son! she whispered. I flared as though she had struck me like a match. Who are you, woman? I gnashed through my teeth. Did you get enough of wherever you've been? Are you through with whoever you've been away with? And now coming back to me?
Madre? Mamá?

I saw her fall to her knees. Through a split in the crimson curtain of velvet that half circled me I saw her pray before me sitting in my gilded chair. I saw the pore glitter in her hair. I held still in my stillness of the Show, sitting in my gilded chair, looking straight ahead. But when one of my eyes fell again upon her I saw her mouth red as a plum murmuring, Midnight. Train depot. I had had other such offers. I held my stillness of the Show.

At midnight, as a Cowboy,
un Charro
under a wide sombrero and with a red sweat handkerchief around my throat like the Mescans working on the railroad wear, my ancestors, I was at the train depot, in the darkness of under the water tower. Paying no attention to my
Charro
, I could have been a Priest just as well, or God knows a redheaded woman, Chupa opened her ruby mouth to start talking and I said, I don wan hear it. She pouted and flounced her sparkled fringe and burred out a hot Mescan word. Let's get outa town, I said.

We left town together, a
Charro
and a
Puta
, my God, and went out a ways on the road towards the moon that seemed like was a white flake something was eating out a piece of, something was eating the moon. I wanted to choke my mother and wanted to lie on her breast. In the green light of the eaten moon I saw the figure of this woman smartin along on high heels, poppin up silver shiners, dartin white eyes, sparklings in her black hair, silver flurries all over, quiverin and poppin in flurries and little burstings; and I thought, what will douse her, what will flash out all this light from her, all this restless blink of her why won't she go out, what'll quench her? Mean but waiting for me to make one move of welcome, one reach of tenderness, pitiful, too, recently beautiful, young face, as if only this morning it had creased there around the mouth and only last night that skin there under her chin had slipped a little. She's beautiful, I thought, in her dancin starry fringe and her plump breasts under the dancin fringe and that black hair over her shoulders; and more alone than anybody in this world, gay and sparkling prancin though she was, cut away from everybody by her own hands, cut adrift
solitaria
by her own hands, just won't be tied to anybody or anything, think they have you then you leave em holding strings in their hand, a sparkle, you're gone, woman; cut away even from her own flesh and blood. So now you're back, intrudin onto me, what for? How long will you be here madam
Madrecita?
Looking good, anything I can do for you? Would you like a drink? Some coffee; gin? Are you hungry,
Tempestá”?
When did you eat; need a little money? So the law is after you again? How long can you stay, Sweetheart, whore?
Corazón
.

When can we talk, she asked me. I wouldn't answer. When we could talk, arriving at an empty place in the woods by the river, we did not talk. We slept, tired to death, in each other's arms. Once I come a little awake, aswayin as if in a soft boat and twas my
madre
rockin me in her arms very softly in her sleep; I was in the nest of her, hair and feather strands; and smelt the smell of my mother; and once I come straight awake and in the white moonlight saw that face, saw it as familiar a feature as my own hand, saw a look before me that was ancient, old as my own eyes, the first image I ever in my life seen when my new eyes could gather vision and see—an ancient image of tenderness and craving, fear and awe and murder: my mother, the woman who bore me; and wanted right then to kill her, at the throat, with my hands; or lie upon her breast to go for her with my mouth, to suck her, my being was in my mouth, like in a fish; she drew me by my mouth, as in the very beginning. Lyin on her breast I felt
entero
. I was
total
, one. She had not known my division. Should I reveal myself to her? Reveal! The old word for the Show. Arcadio will not consent to reveal his final mystery to anyone. He has chosen to keep it a secret. Would she, like so many others, then flee me? Not my mother. She would see that I carried on my body herself and her man's self, my father's. That I was the walking replica of the two of them. A combination. I not only understood the nature of them both, I
was
them both. They had no secrets from me. This time my mother would not leave and she would not ever leave me again. When I chose to “reveal.” Ladies and gentlemen Arcadio will now consent to reveal his final mystery. To his own mother! It was my trump card, my secret weapon, my instrument of vengeance.

But I heard a dog and I heard footbeats crushing through the vines. I crawled off fast and got into a big tight bush wound like a ball of baling wire and curled up in the very center. This is where I have told you the sweet Junipero Perro come to touch me farewell with his warm tongue. I don know where Chupa went or how she hid herself; but don worry they didn't find her. She could vanish under a flat rock, slide like a snake. A supreme disappearing act was my mother, the gypsy, the tramp, the runaway bitch left me behind long ago, just couldn't stay with anybody or anything, not even her own, always had to leave something, even a piece of her own body, an artist of magical vanishment, now you saw her now you didn't, not for half your lifetime you didn't, not for half your lifetime. What were you afraid of, bitch mother, Chupa,
mi madre, Madrequerida?
I cried out to myself God deliver me of this rage on my mother!
Oh I miss the Show and I may go back. I don know
.

In a little while it was all quiet again, my hunters had gone, my darling Perrito had not ratted on me, and I emerged from the ball of weed my hiding place. No trace of
mi madre
. Gone again, I said. But in a moment more my eyes saw a dark figure and twas the woman herself. It was pitch midnight; no moonlight sparkled her. I swear to God she'd know how to turn off the moon if she had to, if moon shone on her and led somebody to find and catch her. She come to me. Lay down again, she said. My son. On your mother's breast and sleep. Tell me what you've done, I sternly said. I wan no more sleep till I hear what you've done. They was looking for you, not your mother, she answered. Because I excaped. For you, I snarled. Tell me your story of what you did, where you've been, I demanded quietly. Or I'll never lay on your breast again. What happened?
Madre mia, mi madre
.

BUT
BEFORE
I
TELL
you my mother Chupa's story as she told it to me, I want to interrupt, or interfere, is that the word, something wonderful that come to me. I come upon a wondrous book with wondrous stories I keep tellin ever since I read them. Twas a little Mescan Bible fresh white when twas handed long ago to me as I sat in the gazing Show. A hand reached out to me and handed it to me. I could not see the face whose was that face that give the wondrous book to me—who was it oh who was it? In my glass jewel wagon I read the wondrous stories, of course tis yellowed now with the years and with handlin and from bein in the inside of my pocket where it rests to this day against my flesh when I'm not readin it, the little white Mescan Bible, I do not know the person who handed me the White Bible written in Mescan and never saw the face, who was it oh who was it; but the hand that reached out the white book to me handed me out my feelings of life, and my salvation, and many words, just the most wonderful stories in the whole world, though I had not read any other book ever in my life I know that this is so. But to tell the truth I never read a word until the hand handed me
La Biblia Blanca
, oh I could tell some
palabras
words that the women taught me in the
China Boy
but I never had much time to read even if I could, unless twas written on the flesh of a body. And I wrote
ARCADIO
my name. But to tell the truth I never read a word that twas not with the help of Eddy Gonzales the atheist Mescan Dwarft that did not believe in God. The nights in the chow tent and the nights in the glass wagon with the Dwarft areading me the stories was the starting of my life. I have not time to tell all the stories to you. I can tell you them almost as they was written down. Eddy was amazed that I could read em out almost exactly like they was written down and look up to the next page right on time, Dwarft said he was astounded. Guess I become a storyteller more than a reader.

I learned
también
from the tales outrageous that whores told, back in the
China Boy
. While other kids sat in school. A special one was a grand queen whore from Newark—said she was part Greek—and that her
madre
had been the principal of a school. Edna Pappas loved words more than anything. When she wasn't on her back she was reading a book—and even while she was, sometimes; she would crook around her head and study her ceiling, even though it jumped sometimes when her customer john was abouncing. When she said to him easy mister it was because he was interfering with her reading. The johns didn't know that she wrote on the ceiling over her bed the words that she was learning for that week, printed in
grande
letters. Every week she printed out a new list, her big ass up on a ladder while I held it. Oh we had fun. If a john shifted positions and looked up, what he might see if he held his eyes open would be a big word, like
AD-MIR-ABLE
or
PRO-CRAS-TI-NATE
. These are only a few of Edna Pappases words and some which I learned, among many others. Edna Pappas was improving herself for when she would one day get out of the
China Boy
. I wanted to do the same: the telling of tales
fantásticos
was what I wanted and the using of
grande
words,
palabras
. But for a long time I got off on the wrong track into a Show where I could not use my words but have to sit like a dumb ox, as you know,
Oyente
, but still—what I learned from Edna Pappas—I put my secret study words on a big boxtop down in front of me and nobody ever knew that I was learning them, I didn't even move my lips when I practiced them; sometimes if I did mouth a word the gazers thought I was apraying or talking to myself like a crazy person, when all I was doing was saying a divided-up word like Edna Pappas showed me to,
sílabas
, syllables. In this way I was getting myself ready for the world, to tell tales,
la grandeza
is what I wanted,
la extrañeza, la belleza
, you wan hear? My teachers I will always thank, one taught me from the ceiling of a whorehouse, one from a Bible, and one to tell tales
fantásticos
with tongue of tin or silver. Once I excaped, as you well know,
Oyente
, I used what was taught to me, the telling of tales and the using of words. I have talked off my head—which is a peculiar espression, if you wan think about it, to talk off a head. Edna Pappases brother Silvestro Pappas came almost every day to have a beautiful poet's conversation with his sister when she wasn't on her back, Silvestro Pappas was a poet, full of some bullshit but his tongue was a silver
angel's
tongue and a liar's tin one, too, and a bitter one, and
suave
and mean—
demonio
—but he told tales
fantásticos
. I listened and I learned
un poco
how to speak like Silvestro Pappas and to get the rough
Mejicano
sound of my ancestors out of my mouth, I wanted to speak big
habla
, to be
suave
in my speaking like Silvestro Pappas and to have the words like his sister Edna. I will tell, he said, you cocksuckers, about the five trees in a hidden canyon of Montana which remain undisturbed summer and winter and whose leaves do not fall. Whoever sees them will not experience death. I, Arcadio, have memorized this, do you hear how good is my
habla, Oyente
, do you hear how good is my
grande
speaking, just as I have learned by my heart the stories to read in
La Biblia Blanca
. Edna Pappas said him you will take me there to those trees when I have one thousand dollars in my sock. Unless, said Silvestro to his sister, you will have grown so old. That's why, answered Edna Pappas, I have to work very hard and with only rich johns. But Edna Pappas never got out of the
China Boy
to go to Montana to the hidden five trees, you wan hear? She waited too long. I used to tell her you better go now Edna Pappas and not
PRO-CRAS-TI-NATE
, but she kept waiting. I need one thousand dollars in my sock before I go, she said. But in a fight with her own brother she was stabbed by him under her tongue in her throat. Shut up! Silvestro yelled. Stop your goddamned words! Edna Pappases words was not stopped, though, but stayed on the ceiling because no one ever knew they was there but me. She was in the M's at the time of her stabbing. This was the immortality of Edna Pappas—
palabras grandiosas
on the ceiling of the
China Boy
, in a house of whores on a whore wharf.