The Gutbucket Quest Page 17

  “He try to shoot you, him,” Belizaire said, almost spitting the words. “He miss. I don’t.”

  “Thanks,” Slim said. He wanted to say more, would have said more, but the pull he felt from Nadine was too strong, turning him around, urging him forward. The machine power made it seem as if he were moving forward in a tunnel that led only to Nadine. His attention was narrowed down to a tight line, leading him, making him all but unaware of the surroundings. Dimly, he heard Progress begin to sing, and the sense of oppression they all felt began to slightly lessen.

  He walked into what fell like a wall, and was stopped dead by it. Without thinking, caught up by the power, he tried to walk through it and couldn’t, pressed so hard against it that it hurt. He could see nothing at all, but he reached out his hands and felt a solidity, a presence. It prevented him from going to Nadine and, as he looked through it, it blurred his vision. He thought he could sense shapes beyond the wall. And he knew Nadine was on the other side.

  Progress and Stavin’ Chain walked up beside him. Progress reached out and touched the wall. Stavin’ Chain sniffed at it, then scratched at it with one forepaw. Belizaire walked up to it and kicked it.

  “Dis be a trick,” he said.

  “What do you mean, a trick?” Slim asked.

  “Just that,” Progress said. “It’s a trick. It ain’t real. Not like you and me thinks of real. It’s electricity.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” Belizaire said. “No matter what maybe, dere she is, yes? But, me, I got somet’ing might could fix it.” So saying, he pulled out another of the seemingly endless supply of gris-gris pouches he carried, making Slim wonder if he traveled loaded up with them all the time. Opening it, he poured a small pile of black and gray and silver powder onto the palm of his hand, then threw it hard against the barrier. Abruptly there was light, where before there had been only nothingness. They saw a thin wall, or shield of constantly moving light flashes, like a maelstrom of slow, spiraling lightning. It fought to break free of the power that held it, but it remained within the limits that had been set for it, swirling and circling and creating a barrier that, except for the gris-gris, had been unseen. But now, even though they could see it, they could find no way through it as it circled around the area they wanted to enter. Stavin’ Chain sniffed at it, then flopped down on the floor and looked up at Progress.

  “Let’s all think about this,” Progress said. “See can’t we figger out a way to bust through. Son?” he said to Slim. “You think real hard. You gots you a better chance, what with your connection to Nadine and all.”

  Think? Sometimes it seemed like that was all anyone ever wanted him to do, all he ever did. He couldn’t even begin to count the nights he had lain awake thinking, agonizing. Mostly about women, always about things that hurt or worried him. The times his heart had been broken, wondering why. The times he’d had to leave a home he loved, move, find work, start all over again, and again, and again.

  There was a woman he’d met briefly in New Mexico, his world. He had no idea why thoughts of her were in his mind now, but he wasn’t entirely in control of his thoughts, and it might be a clue or an idea so he let it run its course. She’d approached him shyly after a gig, asking questions about music and about how she could get into the business. She’d been short and he’d gotten the impressions that she’d been cute. She was dressed like a hippie, which always attracted him. She was quiet and sad and he’d talked with her a couple of minutes and then excused himself to walk away to the girl he’d been with at that time. Later, he felt more intensely guilty than at any other time in his life. He’d realized she’d been very sincere in her questioning, and he knew he should have taken the time to try to help her. But, at the same time, there’d been a chemistry, an attraction, both physical and emotional, that had somehow scared him, even though he’d known, at the time, that the feeling was mutual. And he’d known, later, that he should have been able to get past that attraction and given the woman the help and advice she’d needed, regardless of whether anything had developed. And the funny thing was, he’d been unable to get that woman, those two or three minutes in his life, out of his mind. It was another burden to add to the many he already thought about.

  And now, there was Nadine. Caught and trapped and depending on him. He couldn’t let her down as he’d let down so many of the other women he’d loved. But how could he think? What could he do? His mind was scattered, the power of the machines pressing down on him, tearing at him with sparked claws, confusing his mind. If there was something to fight, he would fight it. But he had to get to it first.

  “Son,” Progress said. “You look about as happy as a dead hog in the sun.”

  “I’ve been better,” Slim replied. Then, another thought, another burden struck him. “Progress,” he said. “How are you gonna do in this? You don’t even have a weapon.”

  “Well, son,” Progress said, his smile shining. “I’m gettin’ too old to fight, but I ain’t gonna run away. That’s stupid, at my age, maybe. But stupidity don’t kill you, it just makes you sweat. Don’t you fret none, I gots a few tricks left in me still. Ain’t nothin’ ever went over my back that didn’t come back under my belly. I guess I musta picked up some of my ole lady’s attitude. She was always sayin’ that if a man got handed a long life, why, chances are he’ll die before it’s over. Way I look at it, today’s as good a day to die as any.”

  “Papa,” Belizaire said. “You crazy man.”

  Slim laughed. “Where have I heard that before,” he said. Abruptly, he was intensely aware of the noise of the generators and the sudden idea it gave him. He looked at the machines, seeing a large switch on each one.

  “Progress,” he said. “Let’s shut off the generators, cut the power and see what happens.”

  Progress’ golden smile beamed, even in the dark light. He nodded his head in agreement; then all three of them ran madly around the building, switching the monster machines off, one by one. As each grew still and silent, the chained lightning of the wall grew fractionally dimmer, weaker, slower. There was no way to shut off all the generators in the building, but after quite a few were silenced, the three met back at the wall where Stavin’ Chain had waited.

  There was only a weak, flickering glow left. Vision through the wall was nearly clear. Slim saw Nadine tied to a chair, looking straight at him, smiling and winking. She was surrounded by three men in black. Slim looked closely at them and noticed a strange thing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite make out their faces beyond a fuzzily detailed blur. They were just men in black, and there were only three of them. That made Slim more uneasy than if there had been a dozen. It was too few men, too easy.

  He reached out to touch the wall, feeling an oily tingling as his fingers passed through. He turned to Belizaire.

  “Can you shoot those men?” he asked, enraged by seeing Nadine in bondage.

  “Naw,” Belizaire said, shaking his head. “I can shoot, me, only if dey shoot first. I won’t kill dem unless dey try to kill us.”

  Slim nodded in reluctant agreement. It wasn’t what his emotions wanted, demanded, but he knew that it was right, had to be right. He’d never thought of rules applying to situations like this one. His teacher always taught him that if he was in fight, fight to kill because he wouldn’t get into a fight until it had gone to that extreme. But now, he realized that there had to be rules or you’d just turn into the thing you were fighting, and there would be no honor in the victory. Was that why, he wondered, the good guys so often lost in the real world?

  “I guess it’s hand to hand, then,” he said.

  They backed off a little, and then all three passed through the wall together, running. The passage tingled and skewed their sense of direction but, otherwise, it did them no harm and had no effect. Once through, they ran straight for Nadine and the men in black.

  Slim’s study of the marital arts in his youth had taken him to proficiency. As he had
gained weight and lost emotional strength, he had quit practicing but, even now, he could feel his body responding with retained knowledge and eagerness. So that when he ran up to the man he chose to fight, instead of fighting with his hands, as the man obviously expected, he lashed out with his foot, thrusting it solidly against the man’s solar plexus, pushing him back.

  Slim was enough out of practice and off balance that the force of the kick nearly knocked him over. When the man came back after him, he was still fighting to retain his balance. The man in black swung at him, and there was a glint in the man’s hand. Slim stumbled backward as the knife snagged and cut the loose shirt over his belly.

  Too close, he thought, stepping back a bit more. He looked quickly out the sides of his eyes. Belizaire and Progress were struggling with the other men in black. Nadine was squirming and fighting against the ropes that held her. Then his full attention had to return to the approaching man and the knife he held.

  He knew he would likely have only one good chance against the knife. The man in black obviously knew how to use it, at least a lot better than Slim would have known. He tried to remember what his Sensei had taught him about weapons.

  Study the weapon, how the opponent uses it, his motions.

  Slim watched. The man swung his arm away from his body, extended it too far to be well in balance or to carry the optimum force that it could. Slim and the man in black circled one another, Slim keeping his distance, the man in black swinging the knife and blurrily smiling. He pushed his shoulder out and learned forward with each swing.

  Most weapons, his Sensei had told him, require some distance to be effective. A knife, a club, a sword, the way they are commonly used, need distance. So, to combat these weapons, you must get inside their range and attack the arm that holds them.

  That was the scary part for most people, moving right into the weapon, rather than away from it. Take time, Sensei had said. Think, and when you are ready to fight, do not concentrate on the weapon. Watch your opponent’s eyes and shoulders. They will tell you where he will strike next.

  Slim looked in the man’s eyes. They were dark blobs, as black as the suit, but he thought he could see movement in them. He let the man move closer to him, a step at a time. The man’s eyes flicked sideward and down and his shoulder pushed out as he swung the knife. Slim skipped easily out of distance, still studying. Then he stood in a good, solid stance. Not one of the traditional stances, which were mostly for learning, but his own stance, one which he’d found he could move smoothly and quickly from. He held his arms relaxed, slightly cocked, as the man moved closer to attack again.

  Slim stood still, waiting. The black eyes twitched and he exploded into movement. His hands rose to the side of his head, then slashed downward. He hit the man’s wrist hard, then held on. He pulled the man closer to him and took advantage of his motion to ram an elbow into the man’s face. He pushed down on the man’s arm and brought his knee up hard. He heard the man’s bones break as he bent the arm over his rising knee. The knife fell to the floor.

  Slim twisted on the single foot, stepped down, lowered his hands, then struck upward with his opened right hand. The fleshy base of his palm struck the point of the man’s chin. He grunted and fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Slim’s heart was beating raggedly and his breath came hard. He was trembling. Not a violent man, he’d rarely been in fights. He picked up the knife and started toward Nadine, then stopped cold as he saw what was happening. Progress was lying flat on the ground. The other man in black was crouched over his body, knife raised high and ready to kill. Belizaire had finished off his own man and, even as Slim watched, the big man slammed the butt of the long rifle into the face of the man over Progress. Belizaire kicked the man in black’s unconscious body off of Progress, but Progress just lay still.

  “Get me loose” Nadine yelled. She’d worked her gag off, and was now struggling mightily against her bonds. Slim rushed to cut the ropes. As soon as she was loose, she ran to Progress and started examining him. He was cut in two or three places, one deeply, if the amount of blood was any indication. And there was a quickly swelling cut and bruise on the side of his head, extending to his left eye.

  “Nadine,” Slim said, touching her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll take him to the hospital.”

  “No,” she replied harshly. “We can’t take him to the hospital.” She looked up, a pleading look in her eyes. “Belizaire?”

  The gris-gris man bent down and picked Progress up as if his limp body weighed nothing. “Yes. Bon,” he said. “We take papa to my home.

  My woman and me, we take good care of him. But Slim is right, yes? Let’s get out dis place. We cannot fight no more, us.”

  Belizaire carried Progress to the front of the building. Slim and Nadine followed tiredly. Nadine pulled Slim’s arm around her shoulders and leaned against him as they walked.

  It was nearly dark outside when they got to the pickup. Belizaire sat Progress gently in the middle of the seat. He got in and started the truck up. Slim got in the other side and, after helping Stavin’ Chain get in the back, Nadine sat on Slim’s lap. There was no pleasure in the contact, though he was happy that they had been able to get Nadine back. He was only afraid that the price might be the life of the old man he had come to love and admire.

  “Papa be okay,” Belizaire said as he drove. “He’s not hurt so bad, him. I take care of him. But dis business, she’s not finish, yes? You two must take care of it without papa.”

  “Yes,” Nadine said. “We’ll take care of our end. You just take care of Daddy. Slim and I’ll do the rest.”

  We will? Slim thought, wondering how. He wondered all the way out to Progress’ to get the van, and he wondered all the way back into town until they pulled up in front of Nadine’s apartment building.

  “Is this right, Nadine?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Belizaire’s the best there is. If he says Daddy’s going to be okay, he will be.” She looked at him and love almost overcame the tiredness in her eyes. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “I need to take a shower, bad. And it seems to me, you and I had some plans that were interrupted.”

  16

  A correct, complete and detailed explanation of music—that is, a full restatement, in terms of concepts, of what music expresses . . . would also be a sufficient restatement of the world in terms of concepts, or completely in harmony with such a restatement and explanation, and hence the true philosophy.

  —Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea

  Wake Up Mama (E)

  Wake up mama, come and dust my broom,

  Say wake up pretty mama, come and dust my broom,

  Spread out baby, give your daddy some lovin’ room.

  Wake up mama, get that jellyroll hot,

  Said wake up sweet mama, get your jellyroll hot,

  Your daddy wants, all the cookin’you got.

  Wake up mama, white snake is at the door,

  Said wake up mama, that ole snake is at the door,

  Take all you got, and still come back for more.

  I got the early mornin’, moanin’ blues again,

  Yes I got the early mornin’, moanin’blues again,

  You know I can’t do right, until I slip it in.

  Wake up mama, hear that mornin’ bell,

  Say wake up mama, do you hear that mornin’ bell,

  You can trust your daddy, I will never fail.

  Wake up mama, you cat scratchin’ on me,

  Said wake up mama, you cat scratchin’ on me,

  When that ole cat scratch, I just can’t let it be.

  Their night began in outrage and grew steadily more outrageous from there. Slim felt both more youthful and older than he was as he tried to keep up with Nadine’s need for him. When she had finally exhausted herself enough to fall into a restless sleep in his arms, Slim was still awake and thinking.

  She hadn’t talked about what had happened. Refused to talk would be m
ore accurate, and Slim wondered if it was more than just having been kidnapped. He didn’t think she’d been raped. He’d had a couple of women friends who’d been raped and, almost invariably, they hadn’t been able to stand being touched by a man for a long time, sometimes a very long time. Nadine had seemed to need him more, to need the sex almost desperately. But what, he wondered, would cause that kind of reaction?

  As he thought about it, there was a tug on his power, on the place in his gut he had come to think of as the center of his burgeoning power. But he couldn’t figure why thinking about it would cause the power to become active, even if only a little. He was puzzled, but he didn’t yet know enough about anything to try to figure it out.

  He passed it over and began wondering if he did, or would, miss his own world. He tried to think of all the things in his world that he thought were good: the animals; his cats; especially some of the scenery, though much of that was becoming overrun by people and destroyed by pollution; much of the music and the movies. He loved the movies a lot. He did have a certain reputation, a not inconsiderable fame and a place in history in his world, being one of the men who were said to have invented heavy metal. But he’d never been sure having a punk musician venerate his memory was exactly the kind of fame he wanted or appreciated. Still, he’d have to start over, here in Tejas. But he did have Progress to teach him, and if they managed to get out of this Gutbucket quest alive, he supposed a certain reputation would come from that. And this was a culture that had respect and opportunity as far as the blues were concerned. His damned reputation hadn’t done him any good in his world, it hadn’t gotten him any gigs once he was outside his area. Here, he could play the living blues, and have his reputation built on ability and talent.