“I’m getting married this afternoon and as a Nazarene apprentice, it behooves me to start at the bottom and work my way up the ladder. Temperance, frugality, thrift — that kind of thing.”
“Why Mr. Doopeyduk,” the priest exclaimed, removing his glasses. “I find that to be commendable! I didn’t know that there were members of the faith among your people.”
“There are millions, simply millions who wear the great commode buttons and believe in the teachings of Nancy Spellman, Chief Nazarene Bishop. Why, I wanted to become the first bacteriological warfare expert of the race. That was when my level of performance was lower than my level of aspiration. Now I’m just content to settle here on the home front. Wheel some of our senior citizens around, clean out the ear trumpets and empty the colostomy bags.”
“The more I hear about you, the more impressed I am. You must come out and address my Kiwanis Club sometime, Doopeyduk. If there were more Negroes like you with tenacity, steadfastness, and stick-to-itiveness, there would be less of those tremors like the ones last summer, shaking SAM as if he had the palsy.”
He gave me the keys to my apartment in the Harry Sam Projects and brought down the stamp of approval on my application.
That afternoon we sat in the front row of the Church of the Holy Mouth, a big Byzantine monstrosity that stood smack in the middle of Soulsville. Fannie Mae quietly chatted with her friend Georgia Nosetrouble. The two were inseparable so it seemed only natural that Georgia would be recruited as a witness.
We were waiting for Elijah Raven, a friend of mine who had consented to be best man, and of course Rev. Eclair Porkchop whose star was rising fast in SAM. Elijah was the first to arrive. He wore a dark conservative pin-striped suit and colorful beaded hat. He was bearded.
“Flim Flam Alakazam! Brothers and sisters.”
Wrinkling their noses at each other, Fannie Mae and Georgia smirked.
“Flim Flam what?” I asked Elijah.
“O, of course, you wouldn’t know, would you? I mean — being the brainwashed Negro you are who believes in everything that SAM runs down. Your mind is probably in the attic with all the other dummies and hand-me-downs.”
“But Elijah!” I persisted. “It was only a few weeks ago that you were saying familiar things like ‘Hello’ or “Hya doin” or ‘What’s happening, my man.’ Sometimes even slapping the palm of your hand into mine.”
“That was last week. I have rejuvenated myself by joining the Jackal-headed Front. We are going to expose SAM, remove some of these blond wigs from off our women’s heads, and bring back rukus juice and chittlins. You’d better get on the right side, brother, because when the deal goes down, all the backsliding Uncle Toms are going to be mowed down. You hear? Every freakin’, punkish Remus will get it in the neck, Doopeyduk.”
Elijah scowled, moving his finger across his neck to stress the point and revealing cuff links the size of Brazil nuts on which were engraved: “To Elijah from Sargent Shriver.” But before he could expound his separatist views, the door in the back of the church opened with a slow, labored creak. I felt a chill on my shoulders and the others indicated that they too were cold.
“Ain’t dey got no kindlin’ in dis place?” inquired Georgia Nosetrouble.
We fixed our attention upon the door. An outline hesitated in its well. A man wearing a cape and tall hat. Removing his gloves, he seemed to float down the aisle. Soon Rev. Eclair Porkchop stood before us, resplendent in tuxedo and walking cane. Clicking his heels together, he kissed Georgia and Fannie Mae’s hands.
“Good eve-a-ning. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Eclair Porkchop, head of the Church of the Holy Mouth. I am sorry to detain you but I had to do some work downtown for SAM.”
“I bet that ain’t all you did, you faggot and enemy of the people. When the shit hits the fan, your life ain’t gone be worth two cents.”
Eclair Porkchop sneered at Elijah Raven. “O, if it isn’t that silly little separatist! I thought you’d be wearing a bone through your nose by now. All of that talk about going back to Africa. What happened? They dispossess your stepladder and five-dollar public-speaking permit?”
“Now see here, cocksucker,” Elijah said, moving closer to the preacher.
“Break it up. Break it up. Are Fannie Mae and I going to get married or are you two going to debate?”
I looked around for Fannie Mae and Georgia who had been seated in the pews. They were nowhere to be seen. Voices came from the direction of the outer hall.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get Fannie Mae and her friend so that we can begin.”
Fannie Mae and Georgia were embracing in the shadows outside the door. Georgia was sobbing. “Oh baby, what will I do without you,” she panted as she massaged Fannie Mae’s thighs. Seeing me, Fannie Mae removed herself from Georgia’s clutch.
“What you doin’, spying on us or somethin’! Can’t people be by demselves sometime without you snoopin’ around!!!”
“O forgive me, dearest. I didn’t mean to interrupt your departure from a lifelong friend and companion,” I apologized sheepishly. “But Eclair Porkchop said he had to attend a meeting over there in the motel and I thought we’d better get on with the ceremony.”
“Well, yawl jess have to wait a minute.”
“Of course, dear. Certainly. No rush.”
The wedding ceremony was performed in the pastor’s study. Afterward I bade Elijah good-bye and accepted his and Eclair Porkchop’s congratulations. Georgia sadly straggled off to her home.
“Why were you and Georgia giggling at Eclair Porkchop and Elijah Raven?” I asked my new bride as we walked down the steps of the Church of the Holy Mouth.
“Both da niggahs crazy,” came her reply.
“Why do you say that, dearest poppy-stick and honey-pie sugar-bunch?”
“Well, to tell it like t-i-s, Porkchop got bubble gum in his brain. Wads and wads of it hunchin’ all up ginst his skull walls. I’member when he was runnin’ da numbers and selling reefers to people. Now he goin’ round heah talkin’ all proper, tellin’ folks he been called. Hee, hee, hee. Fool sound lak Count Dracula or some spook lak dat. And dat otha niggah talkin’ ’bout he don’t eat pork no mo. Shoot! Me and Georgia saw him back of da Soulfood Restaurant last night. And da niggah was wearing shades so nobody’d recognize him. Next thing we know he was rolling all ’round da floor with a big hog maw ’bout to choke him to death. Dey had to call da ambulance to get some oxygen, for da fool who by then was turnin’ green and callin’ on da lawd, his mama and ’bout six or seven prophets to save him. Well, when dey revived him, dey removed his shades and everybody recognized him as Elijah. ‘I thought you didn’t eat pork, Elijah,’ somebody asked. You know what da niggah answered? What? Said dat he was doin’ research on some beast name megamorphesis. And, if you ask me, da only beast in da place was dat hog maw which almost carried da fool on way from heah.”
As I walked arm in arm toward our new home with my bride, an amazing thing occurred to me. Fannie Mae knew the inside dope on everybody in Soulsville. My sweet, innocent bride, who was fond of saying, “I loves to party and I know where I can find a party,” was really together.
Fannie Mae and I stood near the amusement truck outside the Harry Sam Projects. The rides consisted of plastic and stainless steel drolls, giraffes and horses. The children were chitterwhimpering and higgledy-piggledy playing pickaback. A statue of HARRY SAM reigned over all, this time standing with his hands draped over two marvelous Victorian urinals. A black Screw sat at the entrance to the high-rise building that contained our apartment. (Screws are men armed with turkey muskets who patrol HARRY SAM.) At his feet was a victrola which played the jug music of a hot Memphis band. He wore a cracked cowbell around his neck marked Carnegie. (Elijah Raven and his gang had placed it there telling him that it was an award in recognition of his valor for preventing homicide by mediating a dispute over highjacked piecrust which involved several tenants. The bell provided an early warning system for the Jackal-headed Front busily involved in some sinister pranks in the Harry Sam Projects.)