The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(16)

He stood flipping through his notebook. Whadda we got? Punch and Judy? Ferretleggers? Animal acts of a suggestive nature? Well, what the fuck. Bring it on.

Excuse me, she said.

What is it now?

Who are you?

The Kid raised his eyebrows and looked at the others. You get that, people? Pretty rich. All right, listen up. This is pretty much the sort of thing you can expect so if you’re standing around waiting for anything like a little gratitude you might as well make yourselves comfortable. Okay? Okay. Whadda we got. Yeah, this is good. We know this guy. Let’s do it.

A small man in a shrunken suit and a stained white shirt with a green tie twisted around his neck shuffled from the closet and began to recite in a dull monotone: You got your classical clockworks to tote up. The timelets in your seanet. Let everything drain. You may have to hang the hydrocephalics from the rafters overhead but that’s okay. Dont worry about the floor. Everything will dry. The thing we’re really talking about is the situation of the soul.

Saturation, said the Kid.

Saturation of the soul. The wood is old and a bit dry and there may be some creaking. A light drift of wood-dust is normal. Dont become noxious.

Anxious.

Dont become anxious. Try not to get worked up. A word to the wise. Bird in hand.

Bird in hand?

A stitch in time. We’re not out of the woods.

What the fuck. Where’s it say that?

Penny wise and pound foolish. Honesty is the best policy.

Jesus. Enough already. Where’s he getting this shit? Will someone get his dippy ass out of here? Where’s the hook?

Excuse me.

He looked at the girl in the bed. She was actually holding up her hand. What, for God’s sake?

I want to know what you’re doing here.

The Kid rolled his eyes upward. He looked at the other entities and shook his head. He turned to the girl. Look, Presh. At bottom it’s pretty much about structure. Something not all that thick on the ground around here, I think even you might agree. But you cant do anything until you lift the mood. Get everybody together. A little comity. Okay? We’re trying for a baseline. Otherwise it all starts to unravel. You got to use your best judgment. Work with the materials at hand. There’s a number of ugly scenarios here. Like what? Chalk outline? That’s easy. Nothing to be done. But you been peekin under the door, Doris, and we dont have much of a file on that. So if you get the impression from time to time that we’re sort of winging it here so be it. The first thing is to locate the narrative line. It doesnt have to hold up in court. Start splicing in your episodics. Your anecdotals. You’ll figure it out. Just remember that where there’s no linear there’s no delineation. Try and stay focused. Nobody’s asking you to sign anything, okay? And anyway it’s not like you got a lot of fallback positions.

He turned to the others and gestured at her over his shoulder with one flipper. Birdtits here imagines she’s got friends out there to fend away the inclemencies but she’ll get over that soon enough. All right. Let’s take a look. See what we got.

He went over and sat in the chair again. We’re ready, he called. They waited. Anytime, said the Kid. Jesus. What do we need here? A fucking megaphone? Places.

Two blackface minstrels in overalls and straw hats came flapping out in enormous yellow shoes. They carried stools and a banjo. The stools were painted in red white and blue stripes with gold stars. The minstrels doffed their hats and put the stools down at either side of the room and sat. The interlocutor appeared behind them. His top hat and tails dusty from the road. He flicked his cane and smiled and bowed. The Kid leaned back in his chair and looked about with satisfaction. All right, he said. This is more like it.

Mister Bones, called the interlocutor. What do we have on the program for this evening?

Wellsuh Mistah Interlocutor we goin to do the menstrual dance for Miss Ann heah. We fixin to do the drylongso shuffle and we goin to dance the weevily wheat till the housecats take to the barn. And we got tapdancin on the menu so dont nobody leave early. You all fixin to see some genuine close to the floor work. Then we goin to have some repartee that Miss Ann can play the whole thing back on her stereo and while away the lonely evenins. Aint that right Miss Ann?

The Kid leaned back in his chair and put one flipper to the side of his mouth. Say that’s right, he whispered hoarsely.

My name’s not Ann.

Mistah Bones you ready to pick that thing?

Yassuh yassuh, called Bones. He sprang up and began to play the banjo. His eyes were blue and his strawcolored hair showed from under the brim of his hat. The two of them fell into step and danced sideways across the room and back.

Mister Bones, called the interlocutor.

Yassuh Mistah Interlocutor.

Papa mole comes along tunneling under the garden and he sniffs and he says: I smell rutabagas. And Mama mole comes along behind him and she sniffs and she says: I smell turnips. And Baby mole comes along and sniffs and what does Baby mole say he smells?

He say he dont smell nothin but molasses.

They fell over themselves hooting and guffawing. The entities chortled and the Kid grinned and took out his notebook and wrote in it and put it away again.

Mister Bones.

Yassuh Mistah Interlocutor.

What did Rastus say to Miss Liza when the tailboard fell off her wagon?

Say: Miss Liza, you want yo tailboard?

And what did Miss Liza say?