Three Days Before the Shooting ... (175 page)

Watching Cliofus silently grasping the arms of his chair, Hickman stiffened, thinking,
What’s going on in here? Then
, seeing Cliofus lean forward with a jerk of the head, he realized that the bright eyes were staring straight at him and thought,
He’s recognized me! Which means that Janey told him that I’m in town and now both he and Buster know why I’m here…
.

Then seeing Cliofus gazing down at customers near the stage he waited to see what effect his presence might have on whatever was offered the crowd. And now, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of water, Cliofus began:

“When this fellow turned up those words started coming out of me so fast that I thought I was being hit by one of my worst talking spells—”

“… Now wait,” Buster’s voice said over the loudspeaker system, “hold it right there! And before you go a step farther give the folks some
background—
yeah, and some
characters!
Tell them where you were and who—”

“I was sitting on the porch drinking lemonade….”

“Good! And who else was there with you?”

“A stranger—or at least someone I didn’t recognize….”

“Fine! So now we’re getting somewhere! What did he look like?”

[WORDS]

“H
E WAS TALL AND
white with a sunburned skin, wearing a panama hat, a gray summer suit, white shirt, blue tie, and black-and-white shoes. He had a ring on his finger and a watch on his wrist, and white silk socks with thin black arrows for clocks….”

“What
is
this, Cliofus,” Buster called, “a magazine ad? Cut the stalling and get on to what happens when the man hits the scene.”

“What happens, ladies and gentlemen,” Cliofus said, “is that my visitor gets grabbed by
words!
He gets grabbed by those confounding words!”

“Thanks, Cli,” a man called from the bar, “but since we know about you and your words what did they do this time that’s so different?”

“Tell him, Cliofus,” Buster called, “and since there might be folks present who’re unfamiliar with your condition, fill them in.”

“Hey, Buster,” Cliofus called over his shoulder, “are you going to let me do this
my
way or not?”

“That’s up to you, Cliofus. All I’m asking is that you tell the folks what happened to your visitor, and
why
. Do that and I’m keeping quiet. So let’s have it….”

With a quick look in Hickman’s direction, Cliofus threw up his hands and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, and any
strangers
who might be among us, please understand that I have an unusual problem with words. But on top of all that,
Buster back there is always trying to tell me how to handle it! Which is like a blind man trying to tell an acrobat how to swing through the air on a flying trapeze….

“Anyway, the second my visitor steps on the porch I begin to feel a boiling inside which comes whenever my words start to bug me. So while I’m wondering who this man is, those words go at him like he’s a long-lost friend and I’m sitting there trying to catch up with what’s happening. And while he’s smiling and listening
I’m
struggling to catch up. Which happens so often that Buster calls me the reckless word man. So before any strangers among you decide that I’m some kind of nut, let me say this:

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard it said that people misuse words, and I agree. But due to my condition, I’m forced to look a little deeper and recognize the fact that very often it’s
words
which misuse
people
. Because frequently when you think you’re saying something which you intend to say, what comes out is what the words stored inside your head
force
you to say. And a good example of that is what happened to a piano player who claims that when he’s in his liquor he doesn’t worry about how his music sounds because he leaves it up to his educated fingers, and that when his fingers take off he just sits back and goes along to wherever they take him.

“Which I believe, because once upon a time after he staggered into the biggest white folks’ church in town they took off and got him thrown in jail for knocking out the Jelly Roll Blues on the God-box!”

“Hey, Cliofus,” a man shouted through the roar of laughter, “I remember that! You’re talking about ole Derby Brown, the piano player—but what’s a
God-box?”

“A God-box? Why, that’s the great Fats Waller’s name for
a pipe
organ.”

“Now I remember,” the man called from the bar. “It was in all the newspapers!”

“That’s right! And that’s another reason the judge threw the book at ole Derby. He told the judge he really started out playing ‘Nearer, My God to Thee,’ but his fingers got to swinging and he couldn’t stop ‘em. Made the judge so mad he gave him thirty days for breaking and entering, fined him fifty dollars cold cash for being drunk and disorderly, and hit him with another fifty for contaminating a holy instrument with barrel-house music!

“Which is a good example of how words can cause confusion. And in Derby’s case it goes to show that even the words on a church organ’s stops—such as
Vox Excelsis
or
Vox Angelica
, can get you into trouble. Especially if your fingers start messing around like Derby’s did. And it doesn’t matter that the organ stops are labeled with the Latin words for the voice of angels and the voice of heaven.

“So like I say, words can be tricky! But in
my
special case they can take off like I’m some kind of walking talking machine which was put on earth for their special convenience. And when they have their habits on it doesn’t matter what I intend to say, be it ever so humble, because they just thumb their noses at me and
come up with whatever they like. That’s right! And although most folks won’t admit it, it also happens to them.

“Words are so unreliable that when you really want to
communicate
, signs and gestures are about the only things you can depend on. That’s because no matter what it is you try to say words can only
signify
and hint at your meaning.”

Suddenly staring in Hickman’s direction, Cliofus made the sign of the cross, then with a rapid play of his fingers followed with a mixture of the signs and gestures used by deaf-mutes and Indians.

“Better go slow with that sign language, Cliofus,” Buster’s voice warned, “or you’ll make a mistake and insult somebody….”

“I’ll take my chances,” Cliofus called over his shoulder. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is because I’ve learned that signs and gestures are safer than words.

“For instance, when you wave your hand at somebody, they’ll know right away that it means good-bye. Throw a kiss, or hold out your arms like this, and even a
baby
will get the message. Yeah, but if you say it in
words
, watch out! Because right away you’ll resurrect the Tower of Babel and have the grapes of wrath pouring down on your head! Don’t laugh, because
most
words tend to be ambiguous, and damn near all spoken words end up as
double-talk!

“Sometimes even the words you hear in church are spoken by preachers who’re unable to speak the Word truly and clearly. That’s why when the words are giving me a fit I often think of a mysterious line I read in a poem which goes,

The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
.

Then I wonder about my problem with words and remember stories about a little boy who was said to be a master of words and who preached in this town….”

Feeling sweat erupt from his brow, Hickman moved closer with the thought,
That was Bliss! But what on earth is he getting at?

“Like I say,” Cliofus said, “my words cause me all kinds of trouble, but signs are different. But in everyday life if you bow your head and smile, even folks who don’t speak your language will get the idea and smile back—providing it’s not a thug or a redneck. And ladies and gentlemen, I don’t have to remind you that all you have to do is
whisper
‘peace’ and that right away you’ll have somebody claiming you’ve declared war and be out to
kill
you. And I mean with the first thing that’s handy!”

Yes
, Hickman thought as the room echoed with shouts of amusement,
but while he’s praising signs at the expense of words he’s also double-talking his audience by sending me one kind of message and them another—
and was interrupted by a shout of “Yeah!” and saw a tall, heavyset man struggle to his feet from a table near the stage and stand scowling at the audience. And as he strained to see what was
happening the man turned, shaking with emotion as he bellowed, “Cliofus is right, and I’m here as his witness!”

“Aw, man, why the hell don’t you take Bert Williams’s good advice and go way,
waaaay
back and sit
DOWN
!”

It was a customer at the bar who swayed from side to side as he waved a hand in annoyance.

“That’s right,” a woman called from the other side of the room. “We didn’t come here and spend our money to hear about your mammy-made problems!”

“Okay fellow,” the big man called to his critic at the bar, “you just gimme a second, and when I’m through I’m coming back there and streamline your ignorant butt—you hear me?”

“Oh, I’m listening,” the critic snapped back, “but all I’m hearing is a nowhere stud trying to get him some easy publicity!”

“Oh I’ll have plenty of that after I’m done with you,” the angry man called as he reeled and recovered, “but just now I want to tell Cliofus and the rest of these
un-
ignorant folks about something which proves what he’s saying—

“Which is this, ladies and gentlemen: I’ve worked for this man I’m about to tell you about for over fifteen butt-busting years. And even if I do say it myself I’m damn good at my job! Anyway, just the other day my boss’s wife was operated on for cancer. You understand me? It was for
cancer
. So on hearing about it all of us in the crew—black, white, Mexicano, and whatever—we felt sorry for the man. And naturally I felt even sorrier for his wife. Because …”

Pausing to take a quick drink, the man glared toward the bar. “Because while I’d never
met
the lady, I’ve been told that she has a cast iron—no, that ain’t it. Forgive me. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been told that she has a nice disposition—
very
nice—and a heart of gold. So putting myself in her husband’s position, I felt real sorry for him and the lady. Yeah, but when I tried to show how I felt by asking him how she was doing, you won’t
believe
what happened….”

“All right,” the critic called from the bar, “so what happened?”

“The cat jumps
salty
! That’s right! Then after looking me up and down like he wants to jump me he changes his mind and threatens
to fire me!”

“I
knew
it,” a woman screamed with a glass rattling bang on her table. “Them folks know less about good manners than a rattlesnake!”

“But wait,” Cliofus called, “wait! Let’s get this straight—he did
what?”

Swaying slightly, the man bowed his head, shouting, “You heard me, Cli! He threatened to
fire
me! And you want to know why?”

“Hell,” the drunk called from the bar, “anybody looking at a stud like you would know the answer to that….”

“Hey, you back there,” Cliofus called, “let him finish! So now, my friend, why did he do it?”

“Because,” the big man said with a throb, “he claimed I was talking … up under … his woman’s
… CLOTHES
!”

And now as the room exploded with silence Hickman heard the musical gurgling of liquid being poured from a shaker, then someone broke the spell with a snicker which ignited a roar of laughter through which a masculine voice shouted, “I never met his woman, but I been told she—Lawd, Lawd,
LAWD
!” and the laughter roared even louder.

“Man,
man,”
the hoarse voice called, “either you’re lying like a lawyer, or that boss of yours is some kind of
mind
reader!”

“Listen, fool,” the big man shouted, “this ain’t nothing to joke about! He wanted to
fire
me—and still might do it—when all I was doing was being
friendly
!”

And now, muttering a curse, the big man took an unsteady step toward the bar, then, changing his mind with a wave of disgust, sat down.

And with a sigh of relief and a quick look at Hickman, Cliofus threw up his palms and said, “So there, quod erat demonstrandum, ladies and gentlemen, you have an example of what I was saying! The woman’s husband couldn’t hear
what
our friend here was saying simply because his
words
took over and put a label on
who
was saying it! All our friend meant to do was express his sympathy, but once
his
words landed inside his boss’s head they hit the poor man with some simple-minded static and
colored
up his intention and his meaning! It happens
all
the time! So with words confusing human relations with that kind of crap it’s no wonder that what folks call social communication is as rude, crude, and snafued as the words historians write down and call history. Words are the root of it all!”

Watching Cliofus sigh and take a sip from his glass, Hickman listened to the discussions set off by the big man’s experience and thought,
I have doubts about his theory of words but he certainly has this crowd under control. And if I’m not mistaken he seems to inspire some of them with a freewheeling urge to make public confessions…
.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cliofus said, “I know what our friend is talking about, because for a man in my condition it can be even worse. That’s why whenever I find myself in a tough situation I say to hell with words and fall back on gestures. But since I’m not always able to control my body even my
gestures
can make me look like a fool. Nowadays it’s not so bad, but when I was a kid going to school it could be
terrible
.