V: Save the Last Dance for Me
1.
On Monday morning, Hampton woke up on Hiram’s couch. He was startled to find Hiram sitting in an armchair, apparently waiting for his eyes to open. For as soon as they did so, Hiram said, “I got some bad news, my brother.”
“What is it?”
“Camellia, she dead.”
“What? How?”
“She ODed on fentanyl.”
Hampton was quiet for some time. He finally got up off the couch and said, “This is on me. I treated the poor girl real rough.” He began putting on his clothes. “I gotta go down there today.”
Hiram stood up, holding up his hands to say stop. “Don’t do that. You know Claude gonna have you killed if he finds out he ain’t already had you killed.”
“So what you think I should do?”
“They’s havin’ the funeral on Wednesday. Then everybody gettin’ together at Elsie’s afterwards. I think you just stick to yo’ plan: confront Claude in front of plenty of witnesses. Except you just do it at Elsie’s instead of at the fellowship dinner.”
Hampton stared at the floor for a while. Then he said, “OK, that make sense. But I think I need to go for a walk right now.”
“OK, I got philosophy class in a little while. Why you don’t take the spare key, so you can let yourself in if you get back before I do?”
Hampton did as Hiram recommended. He drifted into the head shop on the corner, the business with the Bob Marley mural on its outside wall. He wandered the store looking vacantly at the African drums, tie-dye T-shirts, hookahs, and bongs. A young white lady with dreadlocks and multiple piercings, wearing a bandana and a “From the river to the sea” T-shirt sat behind the cash register fiddling with her smart phone. After a few minutes, she stood up and asked him “Is there something you’re looking for?”
Hampton had hardly noticed that she was there, and was startled that she had spoken to him. “Yes, I’m looking for someone I could never find.”
The girl chuckled, but uneasily. “If you know you can’t find them, why would you look for them?”
“Why would I look for her if I could find her? Then she would turn out to be a whore, just like my mama.”
The girl looked at Hampton with distaste. “We try not to be so judgmental here, you know. But if I can help you find something, just say so.” She sat back down, and resumed scrolling around on her phone.
Hampton left the shop and went across the street and into “All Good Books.” He picked up a few books with titles that struck him as interesting: The Dispossessed. Chain Gang All Stars. None of This Is True. Why would anyone want to read a book of all lies?
After a few minutes he left the store and walked up Devine Street. When he reached Queen Street he turned left, and wandered aimlessly through blocks of antebellum houses until he was exhausted enough to dull the edge of his grief.
When he arrived back in Five Points, the neighborhood had come alive with some strange happening: by a large fountain, a five-piece band was playing what he thought of as hippie music. A crowd was gathered around the musicians, some of the audience merely watching and listening, but many others writhing around in some weird dance that involved wiggling their arms a good bit. Many of those dancing, and many of those not, wore tie-dye T-shirts, and often there were images of skulls and skeletons on those shirts.
Hampton approached an older man who was among those just listening. He asked, “Excuse me sir, what happenin’ here?”
“It’s the Jerry festival.”
“What’s a Jerry festival?”
“You know, Jerry Garcia, from the Grateful Dead?”
“Grateful dead? Why they grateful about bein’ dead?”
“It was a band. You’ve never heard of them?”
“Nope. Sounds like a dumb name to me: I don’t see why anyone be grateful about bein’ dead.”
Hampton listened to the band for a few minutes. The music wasn’t bad, but he found the crowd a little disconcerting, and so he headed back to Hiram’s apartment.
When he let himself in with his borrowed key, Hiram had already returned, and was talking to someone on his phone. “Yeah, we go ahead on Wednesday like we planned.” Hiram looked up at Hampton, and then said to that someone, “Look, I gotta go now.”
Hiram put away his phone in his pocket, and asked Hampton, “How you doing?”
“Bout as well as could be expected. Who was you talkin’ to?”
“Oh, just one of my classmates: we doin’ a presentation this week.”
Hampton nodded. “You done with class for the day?”
“Yup.”
“What you say we go out and get a few drinks?”
“Yes my brother, I can imagine you could need a few.”
The two old friends left the apartment, and drank at the Salty Nut Café for several hours before staggering back to Hiram’s apartment.
2.
Tuesday night, jittery with the anticipation of his confrontation in Denmark the following day, to get to sleep Hampton took a couple of Unisom tablets, along with a couple of shots of Hiram’s whiskey. As was often the case, sleeping under that sort of influence made his dreams especially vivid and strange.
Hampton is sitting in a row of seats in an almost completely dark room. Suddenly a spotlight kicks on, and he sees that Hiram is standing on the edge of a stage, a few rows in front of him. Hiram declaims, as if an old-timey actor, “Tonight we are presenting Hampton’s life, parts one, two, and three. Just try not to be a dick, ’cause your errors ain’t funny.”
He waves his arms as if casting a spell, and Hampton finds himself standing in the middle of Magnolia Avenue. Looking up through a light purple rain, he sees Camellia on the roof of Elsie’s, singing down to him:
Do you remember that hot summer’s day?
Go-in’ to Finley Park, almost a date.
We took a ride in Ole Sikes’ truck of hay,
Bouncin’ all around like we was mere freight.
We was all tired so we did a few lines,
Blow we picked up from that old man Flynn;
Rockin’ to the music, beneath the pines,
If we’s havin’ some fun, that mean we sin?
I’m not carin’ if I don’t make the grade
I’m not your thing, but you don’t listen,
Ignore me, fine, but I ain’t throwin’ shade,
You can spit in the wind, just don’t try pissin’.
Long as I can breathe and my eyes can see,
I love you still but Imma stay free.
As she finishes her song, three older women, in black, hooded capes, appear alongside her. Camellia shouts down to Hampton “I’m being attacked by Revenge, Rape, and Murder.” They drag Camellia back from the edge of the roof, and Hampton hears her cry for help as she disappears. He rushes through the door of the bar, aiming to get up on the roof to save her.
Instead of the bar, Hampton find himself inside a circus tent. Claude is in the center ring, dressed as a lion tamer and holding a whip and a chair. But the animal he is trying to tame is not a lion but a small rodent. When Hampton looks closer, he sees the creature has Gertie’s face. But rather than becoming tamer, the rodent grows in size and then dances around the cage, first singing “My Sharona,” then, “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”
The Gertie-rodent flaps her front paws as she prances about the ring. The paws gradually fan out, and violin rivers of gold dust trail behind them. They are the translucent, iridescent wings of a moth, and the moth lifts up in flight, pulling Hampton up with it. Up through a hole where the rain rushes in through the center of the calliope circus tent. Into splintered sunlight they rise. Angelic choir in the distance sings:
O man, you sure done it now
Alastair Macquistador! You gonna be scraped outta
Gray pigstye for this. That cat, that holds
his Regex spinning on a letterbox, will be piped
through poppycock. In the ninth inning. A Macquistador,
but afraid to speak? Run away in shame, Alastair!
Hampton gradually found himself gently drifting down through myriad branches of snow-laden fir trees. Shimmering diamond flakes laid transient spider web paintings as though X-rays of the skeletons of the trees
Far off in the distance, he saw a wild cat on the prowl. As he began to trudge through the snow, he found Hiram by his side, whispering in his ear “You’re being a dick for the second time.”
Hampton felt like an ass. What was he doing in this snowy forest anyway? He had to make like a hockey player and get the puck out of here! He turned to Hiram to tell him as much, but his friend was vanishing, at last leaving only his smile behind.
There slowly emerged through the lacy filigree on the branches of the firs some sad, old men.
“We run this town,” they told him in unison.
“What town are you talking about? We’re out in the middle of the woods.”
“Is that what you think? Take a look around you.”
Hampton did so and saw that what a moment ago had been fir trees were now the pillars holding up the roof of a courtroom. The jury box held an assortment of lively creatures: a frog, a dormouse, a rat, a ferret, a hedgehog, a chicken, a mole, a duck, a squirrel, and a storkling.
A white rabbit called him to stand up before the judge. Hampton was surprised to find that the judge was Claude. He was wearing a white wig like he was a judge in England or something, and he called Hampton to approach the bench more closely.
Claude leaned forward and whispered to him, “My lack of mercy ain’t strained by the thought of you gettin’ the chair. Imma rain violence down on you two ways: one, right on yo’ ass, and two, on anyone who take yo’ side. Now you git on back to your seat.”
Upon returning to the defense table, Hampton found that Hiram was apparently his defense attorney. Hiram leaned over in his turn and said confidentially to Hampton, “This trial is a whole lotta fuss about nothin’.”
“You sure ’bout that?”
Hiram nodded and continued:
“Look, you ain’t no hero. You look like a lion but you roar like a lamb. You wearin’ that badge of bitterness like you think it a badge of honor. You a hollow man, and you change friends like you change hats.”
Hiram begins to laugh while repeatedly tilting his head back. But each time he does so, his laugh sounds more and more like a cackle, and his beak grows long and pointed. His dark skin becomes black feathers. He is a crow sitting on a tree in a graveyard. In the mist below the tree, a dog is barking up at the crow.
A shrouded figure moves through the tombstones, fleetingly illuminated when the full moon peeks out from behind the dark clouds. When the figure comes closer, Hampton realizes that it is his father.
“I need you to see something, my son.”
He takes off the cap he was wearing. Hampton sees that it was covering a pair of horns. His father lowers his head and charges at Hampton, horns first.
Just as he is about to be gored, Hampton spins away, right back into the courtroom, where the jury is delivering its verdict. Instead of the foreman reading out the entire result, each juror stands and declares their own verdict. To Hampton’s surprise, Hiram is no longer next to him as his attorney, but instead is standing in the jury box. When the judge asked for Hiram’s verdict, he replies, “Guilty!”
Hampton looked at his friend with disbelief. “You too?”
Claude bangs his gavel to bring order but then it is Maxwell’s silver hammer, and it comes down upon Hampton’s head. Hampton passes out for a spell. When he comes to, he is in an ancient jail cell. A Shriner Clown stands just beyond the bars, looking in at him.
Hampton: This cell is very dark.
Clown: Whachoo sayin’? We in a church, and the Lord’s light be pour-in’ through the stained glass windows.
Hampton: I am not mad. This cell is damned dark.
Clown: If you think it be dark, maybe the dark is from your eyes?
Hampton: Man, you jes playin’ me for ignorant. Ain’t nobody never been abused like me.
Clown: What is the opinion of Beyoncé concerning ducks?
Hampton: That the soul of my grandma might be a bird on the wing.
Clown: You think she right?
Hampton: My grandma ain’t no duck.
Clown: Okay, you have it your way. You ain’t got the sense God gave a duck or a goose, so you just stay in yo’ dark cell.
[The clown walks away, but in walks Norbert from the gospel group. ]
Hampton: Norbert, whachoo you doin’ here?
Norbert: I come to help you find your own voice, and bring the Word to the people.
Hampton reaches out to shake Norbert’s hand, but Norbert slowly fades away.
A wagon follows behind, loaded with clay.
And the seeds that were silent are burst into concernancy.
Concerned that Hampton finds himself in the back seat of a ’56 Chevy, speeding north along I26. Alastair and Thaddeus are in the front, discussing the weather.
Alastair said, “Man, it is one hot, cold, sultry day!”
Thaddeus added, “And clear and stormy!”
They take the turn off for Arden, just a few miles south of Asheville. They pull up along the forested shores of Lake Julian, and stop the car. Simultaneously they turn to Hampton. “We gotta go piss,” they say in unison.
As the pair stand on the bank, peeing into the lake, Alastair says, “Man, this water cold.”
Thaddeus replies, “Yeah, and it deep too!”
As they chuckle over their joke, two giant alligators lunge forward out of the mist-covered lake, grab the two men, and drag them beneath the coal black waters. Hampton assures himself that he could have done nothing to save them. But now their bodies will be left in the lake to rot and rot.
Hampton climbs into the front seat of the car that the trio had arrived in, and turns the key in the ignition. The radio comes on as the car starts:
The more my brother looks like me
The less I understand
This silent war
That’s bloodied both our hands
As Hampton drives away from the lake, he passes, cavorting in the grassy verge:
- a spellbound Irish rat fleeing a bard,
- a management meeting of horses,
- a doe parading with her fawns
- a three-legged hog, munching on a corn husk.
The country road transforms into a major interstate. The sign says he is heading towards Augusta. He takes the exit for Windsor, and finds himself in the middle of a protest march. His progress is blocked, so he pulls over to the side of the road, parks, and gets out of his car.
He is curious what the protest is about. When he asks, he learns that the protesters are protesting against the leaders of the previous protest, which had been organized in opposition to the leaders of the previous, previous protest.
The protesters finally decide he is not a boomer, and they will let him pass. He gets back in his car.
“All’s well that ends well!” he tells himself.
But as he tries to put the car into drive, the stick shift and steering wheel have vanished. Instead, there is a table before him, and chairs to his sides. The chairs are occupied by Claude and Gertie, who are chatting, seemingly not aware that he is there.
“What’s that on your dress?” Claude asked.
“A spot of blood from when I cut my finger the other day. It just won’t come out.”
Behind the bar, Agnes and Donna are filling what appears to be a large jar of beer. Hampton walks over to the bar and asks them what they are up to.
Agnes answers, “It’s our winter’s ale. A special recipe I learned up in Prosperity, where I grew up.”
Hampton asked for a glass of the ale and then goes and sits at a table. He is surprised to see that Hiram was already sitting there without Hampton having noticed him.
Hiram is looking at him and shaking his head woefully. “Hampton, you a real dorkus.” He pauses, and looks directly into Hampton’s eyes. Sotto voce he says, “You know Claude was yo’ mama’s lover way before your daddy died. You his bastard son.”
Outside, it looks as though a thunderstorm is coming.
Hiram takes Hampton by the arm, and says, “Brother, let’s go for a walk.”
But when they step outside the bar, they are in Sumter Forest. Hiram tells Hampton, “Let me show you this beautiful lake.” But Hampton does not want to see it; the notion of going there feels just about like running a red light.
As he wishes that Hiram would leave him alone, a black bear charges out of the forest, straight at Hiram. Exit Hiram, pursued by a bear.
The storm has reached the forest: all the wind-whipped birds are winging home now. Hampton is spun around and around by a gust of wind, and when the spinning stops, he finds himself in a lecture hall at USC, listening to Professor Callaban discoursing on “The Impact of the Discovery of the New World on European Culture.”
The lecture is interrupted by a piebald dancer, twerking behind the professor, singing:
“I’m ’Enery the Eighth, I am,
’Enery the Eighth I am, I am!
I got married to the widow next door,
She’s been married seven times before
And every one was an ’Enery
She wouldn’t have a Willie nor a Sam
I’m her eighth old man named ’Enery
’Enery the Eighth, I am!”
And then Hampton sees that Hiram is in the lecture hall seat next to him. Hiram asks him, “Ain’t we just two noble kin?”
He begins to chuckle and chuckle. But his laughter grows increasingly unsettling, and his mouth opens wider and wider, as if he is about to swallow Hampton. The huge mouth becomes a tunnel, and Hampton feels himself free-falling down an immense darkness.
Hampton jolted awake, and realized that he was on Hiram’s couch. Hiram was sitting in an armchair a few feet away, staring at him.
“Brother, it’s yo’ big day. Time to wakey-wakey!”
3.
On Wednesday morning, Camellia’s funeral service was held at the Rome Baptist Church, with Reverend Hemingway presiding, and then she was buried at the Denmark Cemetery. There had been talk of burying her the same day as her father, but his body was still being held by the coroner.
The reception after the funeral was at Elsie’s, which was closed to the public for the day. Cliff’s Seafood and Grill, from nearby Bamberg, was catering the event, and Donna and Agnes were working the bar. The attendees had initially been in a somber mood, but as more and more drinks were served, their gloom gradually lifted, and the conversation level steadily rose.
But the noisy bar turned silent when, at around 3 o’clock, Hampton and Hiram walked through the entrance. Claude had raised a glass of whiskey in the air, about to propose a toast, but the drink froze in midair. Ambrose, who had been sitting by himself in the back of the bar, jumped up, and shouted “Claude, what the hell is this?”
Hampton said, “That’s right, Ambrose: Claude no doubt told you that I was dead by now.” Hampton turned and stared at his mother. “Mama, did you know your new ‘boyfriend’ ordered the killin’ of your son? And what’s more, he’s the one who killed your husband too.”
With that, Hampton pulled out a pistol, and pointed it at Claude’s head. “My best old Uncle Claude, why you don’t tell everyone here what you done?”
Claude seemed about to speak, but then he grabbed a hold of Gertie, pulled out a pistol himself, and pointed it at her head. “Hampton, unless you want to see your mama die before your eyes, you best put that gun away.”
While the drama unfolding at the front of the bar had captured everyone’s attention, Ambrose had quietly moved up close to Hampton, and now pulled out a gun of his own, and pointed it at Hampton. “Boy, you done killed my daddy, and you pretty much the one who killed my sis. So I think it about time for you to die yo’self.”
Just then, the door of the bar shattered inwards, and a dozen armed FBI agents rushed into the room. Their chief called out, “Everybody, drop your weapons right now!”
Hampton, Claude, and Ambrose each dropped his gun to the floor, and raised his hands above his head.
The leader of the raid then announced:
“Hampton Shepherd, I’m arresting you on the charges of the murder of Winthrop Branch, Thaddeus Stevens, and Alastair McIntyre.”
“Claude Shepherd, you’re under arrest on the charges of racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, and the distribution of schedule one narcotics.”
“Gertrude Shepherd, you’re under arrest on the charge of racketeering.”
“Ambrose Branch, you are under arrest on the charge of illegal possession of a handgun.”
The four prisoners were led away into four separate cars and driven off. The rest of the attendees at the reception gradually recovered from their shock, and wandered out of the bar a few at a time.
Soon, the only people left were a couple of serious drinkers seated in a corner, Agnes and Donna, who were cleaning up, and Hiram, who sat at the bar sipping a scotch. The door opened, and a tall, slim black man, elegantly dressed in gray trousers, a gray button-down shirt, and a black leather jacket, and wearing dark, mirrored glasses, stepped into the bar. He took off the glasses and blinked his eyes a couple of times, adjusting to the darkness within the building. When he could see again, he spotted Hiram at the bar, and said, “Hiram, what up?”
“Forrest, my man, how was the descent from Norway?”
Forrest had walked across the room, and the two men fist bumped. Forrest sat down in a stool next to Hiram, and said to Agnes, “Get me one of whatever he’s having.”
Then he asked Hiram, “Everything go according to plan?”
“You betcha. All of the Shepherds carted off, leavin’ no one in charge…”
“Except us!”
“Yup, except us.”
They finished their drinks, got up from the bar, and stepped out into the sunshine pouring down on Magnolia Avenue.
Forrest asked, “Hey, where’d you find that guy who looked so much like Hampton’s daddy?”
“I just ran into him one day over in Bamberg. When I saw him, I couldn’t believe how much he resembled ole Will. So I gave him a couple hundred dollars to wander around in the street on a night I knew Hampton would be around, and plant the idea in his head that Claude had killed his daddy.”
“Did Claude kill his daddy?”
“Hell if I know!”
They both laughed.
“But why you didn’t just turn the evidence you had against the Shepherds over to the FBI? Why this whole plot with Hampton?”
“We had to get him out of the way, and there wasn’t enough evidence of his involvement to be sure the FBI would arrest him. So I figured if I stirred things up a bit, he would do somethin’ stupid, ‘cause that’s his way. I didn’t know he would go off killin’ folks, but I knew it would be somethin’ dumb assed.”
“OK, but how did you get Claude to run out of that gospel program like that?”
“A coupla sodium phosphate tablets – them things they use to clear you out before a procedure – in his scotch did the trick!”
“You gave my man the shits!” As Forrest laughed the sun sparkled off of his gold teeth.
“And how you come up with the idea for all this?”
Now Hiram laughed. “You really can’t figure it out?”