by Franchot Lewis
December
31st is settlement day. Debts are settled for the year. Bills are paid
or apologies sent. Promises get drafted, or resolutions formed. Covenants
come up for renewal, or contracts for foreclosure.
On the night of December 31, a minute before the new year the Muluck comes
with the ledger books tucked under one arm and carrying a long sharp blade
under the other. Muluck isn't his real name. It is the false name the old
people gave him. He is one of the ancient gods of the dark forest from
the old country across river. His proper name is not pronounceable in modern
tongues.
I took the Muluck to be another creation of old people, another bogeyman
they invented to scare kids, to make kids behave. The old people told us
when we were kids, "Hey, you had better watch out, or the Muluck is going
to tear your heart out." I know now that the Muluck is not just another
bogeyman. The Muluck is real and he comes anytime the family elders summon
him to destroy a family's foe.
When my father was a child, there were these evil people, a wicked man
and his son, who had cheated my grandfather out of his money. My grandfather
and grandmother, their children, my own father, my uncle and my aunts,
were starving. They had no food and were about to be thrown out of their
house --into the cold of winter, and the snow. My grandmother summoned
the Muluck. Her own grandmother had shown her how. The Muluck, unlike a
Christian saint, does not work for free, and when he is summoned there
is a price to pay. According to my Dad, my grandparents had to, and their
descendants must still, give to the Muluck each year payment for the Muluck
having dispensed with the family's old foes.
Dad said, "The family has paid endless tribute in human toil to the Muluck."
"Dad," I said. I tried to interrupt.
"We're slaves to him," Dad said. "He comes once a year, and he makes us
pay in keeping with the worth of the ones he destroyed for us. They were
among the most useless of the lot of swindlers. He comes and tries to snatch
our sanity away at the last minute of the year before the new year strikes."
"Dad," I said.
"Listen," he said. "The Muluck kept your grandfather's pressure high and
led to the cause of his early death . . ."
"No, you, listen, Dad." I took his hand and spoke to him quietly.
"Grandfather died from natural causes. Don't look for supernatural ones.
He had high blood pressure and a stroke. He lived a long life."
"It was what the Muluck did to him --"
"Dad . . ."
"-- and does to his family."
"Dad, let me get you something? Wine? A Beer?" I was in my father's house
offering him his own wine, his own beer. "If you don't want a drink, I
think I'll pour myself one. Self, one tall red one coming up." I filled
the glass to the brim with wine and drank it. I never came to his house
without taking a drink. I almost poured another one.
I felt I would need it.
"Your Aunt Helen's nervous condition, your Aunt Paula's quietness-- How
do you think your Uncle Bob lost his right ear?"
"A mugger."
"That's what he told the police. He had to tell people something. But,
it was the Muluck. The Muluck cut his ear."
"Dad, I'm not listening to any of this. Let me call you a doctor? Won't
you lay down on the couch? Stretch out there."
"Why do you think neither of your aunts nor uncle married?"
"We are a hard family to know, " I replied.
He shook his head, said, "The Muluck."
"Now, Dad."
"Now, it's your turn to join us on New Year's Eve."
"Dad ..."
"It'll be your grandmother, me, your aunts --"
"Dad?"
"-- and your uncle and you. Your mother always got angry, fought like crazy,
wondering why she was never invited to the family's new year's gatherings.
I told her it was one of my father's eccentricities that only his blood
kin attend, and that we protected his feelings. I told her that I didn't
approve, but it was my family's thing. Every year, we fought. She said,
she didn't know me, that I had a wife and a child, and being together on
New Year's Eve was something that a man and his wife did together for life."
"Still blaming yourself for mom . . ?"
"I am to blame for her . . ."
"She had a heart attack."
"She was twenty four."
"It's not unusual for people even in their twenties to have heart attacks.
My other grandmother told me that mom had a weak heart."
"Your grandmother," he mumbled and looked away.
"Mom's mom, my other grandmother."
"You never knew your mom. You were a baby, a toddler. I didn't get you
another mom --"
"Your mom raised me."
"Yeah, I was afraid to re-marry."
"Dad, I'm happy. I've got a girl and I'm going to be married."
"Married? You?"
"You've got to stop blaming yourself for losing mom, and start dating."
"No, not me. Never."
"It's not too late."
"You're not listening to a thing I say," he said, tensed, staring hard.
"Your mama followed me. She thought I had a woman on the side or something.
She thought my family was spooky, never accepted her and didn't want her
to get too close or something. I don't know which it was. Probably, it
was both. She showed up where the gathering was, -- at your Aunt Helen's
small apartment. She burst through the door and saw the Muluck. She saw
his ugly face: his green teeth and yellow eyes. She screamed and choked
on her tongue, her heart stopped, and she died."
"Dad?"
"Your uncle tried to fight the beast and lost his ear."
"Dad, please ..."
"I was so scared. The beast was laughing at your mother on the floor. I
was scared for you. I knew, in 18 years you would be twenty and old enough
to join the gathering, and you might have a wife who would follow you there
and die."
"Dad, get a hold of yourself."
I worried about his health. I tried to hug and comfort him. He pulled away.
"Listen to me, boy!"
"I am not a boy, Dad," I spoke evenly. "Look at me: I am a grown man."
"I am your dad!"
"Yes, and no matter how old I am when you speak I am suppose to jump through
a hoop, right?"
"I don't have time for this. Why can't you listen? It's only four hours
before New Year's. I must prepare you for the gathering."
"Dad, it is New Year's Eve. I have a date. I am going out." I sighed.
"Well, I supposed I can't leave you like this in your state, I'm taking
you along. But, please, no more spooky stories. This is not Halloween.
I don't want you spooking my date. You've met my girl Cheryl?"
*
I awoke. I was tied tight in a chair, ropes around my waist, my hands bound
behind my back. Not thinking, I panicked, struggled. Pain rushed through
my arms and legs. My lungs pumped, air rushed out my chest, hard and harsh
-- loud breaths. I tried to yank free, even to wiggle free. The ropes would
not yield. They seemed to tighten more.
Fear brought me nearly to the point where my bowels threatened to soil
my pants. Then, I heard the door open behind me. I heard footfalls I didn't
recognize straight away. Then, I smelled a scent I knew well: grandmother's
perfume. "What was this?" I wondered aloud. "Grandmom? No, can't be." I
heard her clear her throat, something she did whenever she began to say
something she considered important for me to listened to and act upon.
Then, she walked around and put her face forward toward mine. I became
speechless at the shock of seeing her. She looked so much older, than she
looked only a few days ago. Her head had more gray hairs. I wondered what
had happened to her? And how many days had I been unconscious in the chair?
"Baby," she said. "And now you."
She took a chair and sat and put her head down. I knew then that she was
apart of the reason why I was bound. I found my voice, I almost screamed
at her: "What are you and daddy doing?"
"I see, you'll be ready for the gathering," she said.
"Grandmom?"
"Hush, and don't struggle, baby. Your Uncle Bob tied those ropes tight.
Don't want to let them hurt you, baby. They'll cut off your circulation
if you don't keep still."
"Grandmom?"
"You're like your daddy. Your grandfather had to tie him, and keep him
tied. Your daddy put welts and bruises on his arm, those rope burns hurt
for days."
"Grandmom, untie me."
"The girls didn't fuss much, it was worse on Bob."
"Grandmom, listen --"
Tears were forming in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "My fault, my fault."
"Untie me, Grandmom."
"Yes, when it's over."
"Untie me, now. I won't tell anyone that my grandmother and my father have
flipped."
"Hush, baby. You should have drank more of the wine. I made it so it would
make you mellow."
"You drugged me?"
"We love you, baby."
The door opened again. I heard people approach. I knew who they were before
they came around and stood in front of the chair. My grandmother asked,
"Is it time, family?"
"Almost," Uncle Bob replied. "It's two minutes before mid-night."
"That's not a lot of time, " my grandmother said. "Everybody pull up a
chair, don't leave one for him, he brings his own."
"Are y'all crazy?" I yelled at them.
"Hush," my grandmother said.
"You'd better stop mouthing off and start listening, boy, if you know what's
good for you," my father said.
"Won't you lighten up on him?" Uncle Bob said.
"Shut up!" I shouted.
"We're talking real stuff here, boy," my father continued. "No legend,
no made up stuff, you've heard of root magic?"
"Kiss my ass, " I told him.
"Baby . . ." Grandmom sobbed softly.
"Everybody's heard of root magic, boy," my
father continued on until my Aunt
Paula asked him, "When will you stop?"
My Aunt Helen shook her head. My father leaned back in his chair, placed
his hand in lap and waited.
The wait was a long minute. My father and my grandmother, my uncle and
my aunts sat still for that minute. Not one word passed their lips. No
prayer and no response to my pleas to be untied. The wait was long but
not long enough for the Muluck came.
The ceiling's joists began to creek. The floor boards creaked too. A blast
of frigid air burst forth from the midst of the room and swooshed around,
dropping the temperature. My family stayed silent. My breath, my chest
trembled. I almost whimpered. The room got suddenly much colder like a
door had opened. My ears stung from the cold draft. I felt certain that
my face changed color. My heart kept pumping, more and blood to keep my
body warm. I tried to shout, but was now unable to un-purse my lips to
speak, or to mumble. I could think, and I kept telling myself that I could,
and I tried to think of a way out, but my thoughts began to jumble. Doubt
nearly overwhelmed me, and I nearly became numbed. For a long moment I
was mute. I must have looked dumb like an unthinking animal. Then, I saw
him. He came from out of a light that formed in the circle of chairs in
which my family sat. He walked toward me and stopped, visibly paused, overtly
drawing attention to the pause, the pause gave me time to un-jumbled my
thoughts. I was able to move my lips.
"Are you, it?" I asked it.
He was in the form of a man. He smiled, spoke like a man.
"Not prepared for a gentleman? Expecting a beast? he asked. The Muluck's
warm smile and friendly rapport surprised me more than the room's sudden
cold had. The Muluck sounded like a native of North Carolina. "What did
they tell you of me?"
"You are the devil?" I said.
"Me?" the Muluck looked astonished. He glanced at my family, then asked
my grandmother, "Alice, is he going to be a problem?"
She answered, "No, he's a good boy."
"Why is he tied up?"
"It's for the best," my grandmother said.
"Oh," said the Muluck. "Shall we begin?" The Muluck flicked his finger
and a plain white chair appeared and he sat. He flicked another finger
and a book appeared. "This is the first of the volumes of rhetoric and
poetics published this year that were inspired by me, instead of the Muse.
To celebrate myself I shall read to you, word for word from these volumes,
and you shall return the worship of me appreciatively to the purpose."
"What?"
"Hush," my grandmother said.
The Muluck began to read from the book. The words sounded alien at first,
then, after listening to them for a few minutes, the gibberish began to
irritate my ears, and the irritation developed into pain, the pain grew
and grew into a terrible ear ache.
I yelled, "Stop!"
"Hush," my grandmother said.
The Muluck continued reading, intentionally ignoring me.
"Stop!" I began to struggle against the rope. I screamed, "I won't listen
to this!"
"Baby!" my grandmother sobbed, afraid for me.
"Boy!" my father hissed, angry with me.
"This is not right!" I yelled at them.
The Muluck stopped reading. "You must," he said.
"I won't listen to you. You are a demon. This is not right."
"It is right. I have a contract with your family. We have made a bargain.
You will perform your part of the contract or your soul will be destroyed."
"Please," begged my grandmother.
"He is a devil who talks like a lawyer. This isn't right, there is something
wrong here. A trick, grandmom?"
My grandmother shook her head cried loudly and asked the thing to forgive
me.
"No, the boy has lost his place here," the Muluck said.
Then the Muluck really showed its power. It blew from its mouth a wind
so terrible that it shook the house. I heard my father yelling to
the Muluck, "He's just a boy showing his ass! He's just a know-nothing
boy!"
The window panes rattled. Every piece of furniture, every object that was
not within the circle where my family sat was lifted aloft and tossed about.
My father quieted. My family stayed in their seats, wide-eyed, fearful
and obedient. It snowed in the room! Snow spewed out of the Muluck's mouth
and was blown by a wind in the room to the walls and ceilings. The Muluck's
face distorted. Its head changed from human-like to that of a snake. Its
put his head an inch from me, and glared with its red eyes. "You will die
now?" it hissed.
"He will join in the worship!" my grandmother plead.
"A thousand, thousand times, you will die," the thing told me.
I turned my head away.
"You will listen," the thing hissed.
And my head involuntarily turned back to to the Muluck. I was angry and
trying to be brave. I peed my pants. I knew I was helpless, bounded like
I was -- and my family, frightened as they were, they were hopeless --
I just knew that I would soon be dead. But by God in Heaven, I would have
my own soul!
I heard my grandmother sobbing. She had gotten out of her chair, was on
her knees, sobbing in front of this thing, begging. I was feeling numb
--from the ropes, my arms and legs were numb -- I was numb toward my grandmother
and toward my other relatives. I felt they were part and parcel of this
evil --they were the blame for this thing being there.
The thing hissed some more, threatened me with terrible torments. "I shall
slow time, and you will feel pain like it last for ages."
My grandmother asked it, "Why?"
"To pay me for his disrespect."
"He doesn't know," my grandmother said. "He doesn't know."
"You should have taught him."
"I shall pay. Take my soul for his," my grandmother sobbed.
"No." The beast said. My other relatives too spoke then, "No!"
But my grandmother insisted, she sobbed, "My boy's behavior is my fault."
The End
