The Two-Bear Mambo

pretzel crumbs. I guess watching Gilligan gives you the munchies.

Leonard was up half the night, going to the bathroom, the kitchen, looking out windows, feeling blue over Raul. I lay there and watched him pad around, and thought about Grovetown. I'd heard about it being stuck in time before Charlie told me. Grovetown was like Vidor, Texas, another, and larger, and more infamous Klan stronghold. Vidor didn't even have a black in its town to hang. It was all white and proud of it. Leonard knew about Grovetown. Had some idea what he was getting into, but if he was overly concerned, neither his words or actions showed it.

I closed my eyes and remembered Florida. I could smell her hair. Feel her thigh on my finger tips. The first time we made love was in this house. In Leonard's bedroom. My God, it hadn't really been that long ago. I knew that hot summer night, when we lay in bed together, even before we made love, that I adored her. And just as surely, I knew she would break my heart. And she had.

She couldn't cope with my being white. Not having a career. Having little to no ambition. A man adrift. She said: 'I like someone who gets up in the morning and has a purpose. A real purpose. I have one. I want whoever I love to have one.'

And she was right. What I was about was day-to-day survival, and that was it. When I was young, I could look around corners. Now, I did well to see six inches beyond my nose.

Jesus Christ, how in hell, why in hell, do all my romances go wrong?

Next morning, not long after the sun came up and coffee had boiled, Leonard called a couple fellas he knew and asked if they could stay over at his place for a while, watch it to make sure his former neighbors didn't drop by to return the favor to his house.

An hour later, the fellas dropped in with two paper sacks full of clothes and accessories. I hadn't met these guys before. They lived in the neighborhood. They were both black and huge and appeared to be in their mid- thirties. Their heads looked as if they had been boiled and all the hair scraped off. You could have put your fingers in their eye sockets and used their noggins to bowl a few sets.

Their faces were as warm and friendly as a switchblade knife. One of them had an eye with scuz all around it, like the crusty lips of an active volcano. They looked as if on their days off they liked to sit around and wring the necks of puppies, maybe stick coat hangers up cats' asses and toast them over a fire.

I was put in the position of entertaining the fellas while Leonard filled a suitcase. They didn't strike up a discussion with me concerning Melville's flawed masterpiece Moby Dick, nor did they have anything to say about Billy Budd.

We mostly sat in silence, said a few things about the weather. The one with the scuzzy eye finally hit a note of interest. He said, 'You know, ants come out this time of year if they want to. Our house is full of the little fuckers. Goddamn Christmas ants.'

'No shit?” I said. 'Christmas ants?'

'Yeah, there's ants in my underwear drawer,' said the other one.

'It's 'cause Clinton's underwear ain't clean,' said Scum Eye.

'Yeah, well what you been doing in my underwear drawer?” said Clinton. 'Sniffin?'

I looked around for Leonard. Still in the back room. Probably sitting on the bed having a laugh at my expense.

'I'll tell you though,' said Clinton. 'Them ants are busy little shits. They ate my banana. I left it on the table, and next morning they was all over it. “He smiled. 'I stuck it in the sink and drowned them. An ant can't swim for shit.'

'Leonard,' I said. 'Man, we got to go.'

Leonard came out with his suitcase, and on our way out the door he paused and gave one of the big guys some money, said, 'Here's for food. But there's stuff in the pantry. I get back when I get back, if that's okay with you two.'

'We ain't doin' nothin' anyway,' said Clinton. 'Peckerwood we used to work for had a stroke. He can't do nothin' now but sit around and look wall-eyed, drip spit on his chin. His wife fired us and everyone else over at the aluminum chair plant. They say it may go out of business 'cause his family don't want nothing to do with runnin' it. They're gonna sell it and whoever buys it will bring in a whole new crew of niggers. That's if anyone wants it.'

'It wasn't any kind of job anyway,' said Scum Eye. 'We worked there ten years or better and didn't never get a raise. That peckerwood was so tight when he blinked his asshole turned inside out. I hope all he gets to do rest of his life is sit around in one of them lawn chairs we made, crap his pants and nest in it. '

'They are not only without jobs,' I said to Leonard, 'but they have an ant problem at their house.'

'Christmas ants, we call them,' Clinton said. 'I mean, they don't just come Christmas, but we call them that.'

'Well, guys,' Leonard said. 'You're gonna like it here. No ant problem. Christmas or otherwise. Watch TV, hang out, whatever, but make sure those chumps lived next door don't drop by.'

'You don't want us to kill 'em, do you?” This from Scum Eye.

'No, Leon,' Leonard said, 'but I want you to discourage them. You got to kill 'em, drag 'em in the house. Law likes it that way better. Looks like breaking and entering. More clear-cut as self-defense. Frankly, I don't think they'll come around. My house got burned down, they'd know I knew who did it. And they wouldn't want me to know.'

'I hear that,' said Clinton.

'You guys like Gilligan’s Island?” Leonard asked.

'Uh huh,' said Leon, better known to me as Scum Eye. 'That's a pretty funny show. I'd like to fuck that Ginger. I bet she don't fuck black guys, though.'

'It's you she wouldn't fuck,' Leonard said.

Leon and Clinton grinned. Leon said, 'Yeah, uh huh. I get it.'