Introducing Field Marshal And President for Life Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, and Commander-In-Chief of the Ugandan Armed Forces

Trout's Tale Continues To Confound Its Friends And Neighbors

Chapter 7

Wayne kept his potatoes in the crisper (“Keeps their eyes from growing,” someone had told him). He shaved twice a day and used a styptic pencil. He wore seersucker suits in the summer, wool suits in the winter, and a plastic cover pulled over his London Fog canvas hat when it rained. He carried a briefcase, and tucked under his arm was a newspaper rolled up in such a way all you could see was “Treet Jo.” Wrapped inside the paper on occasion was a Penthouse or Playboy or Gallery magazine, although no one knew it except Stephen At The Newsstand, Wayne’s roommate, and Wayne himself.

***

One day while Wayne Trout slumped at the bar not talking to anyone, Wanda came in, pulled the paper from under Wayne’s arms and began working the crossword. “Are you through with the paper?” she asked.

“Hi,” said Wayne, looking up groggily, “Anybody sitting here?”

Rapid Ray came over and asked Wanda if she’d heard the latest about Idi Amin.

“Who hasn’t?” Wanda replied.

“No, really,” said Rapid Ray, “this is the absolute latest. Fast Eddie saw him over Miles & Crenshaw’s at lunch, serving the vegetable soup.”

“Funny, Ray,” Wanda smirked. She drew a blank on “Capsize”, 33 across, so she read her horoscope. “Nothing new,” it said, “A dull day.” She looked at Gil Thorp where Huey Baugh had finally managed to win the approval of Gil who — although he himself admitted in private to the boy’s guidance counselor that he was a bit put off by Huey’s obnoxious aggressiveness (“If he just didn’t need to hog so much attention to himself all the time…”) — was suitably impressed with the lad’s effectiveness on the playing field: “He may not look like much, but when those Central backs see him coming, they fall down and give him the ball.”

Fast Ed the Bartender came over and wiped down the bar. “Hey Wanda. What’s happening?”

“Shit,” Wanda said, sliding her empty mug and a quarter toward Ed for a refill.

Fast Eddie took the mug and punched up ten ounces on the metered tap. The cash drawer popped open, and he flipped the quarter into the proper bin.

“Stumped, huh?” asked Ed, setting down the mug and flipping his rag on the cooler.

“Fast Eddie,” said Wanda Japan, “When have you ever seen me stumped by a crossword?”

“Well,” Fast Ed answered, “You usually have it finished by now.”

“I am not in the proper frame of mind, Edward. To solve today’s crossword,” Wanda said, “one need only forget words once stood for actual objects and ideas and turn one’s mind to mush.”

“Mind if I sit here?” Wayne mumbled.

“Wayne,” Wanda snapped, turning to his plump drowsing form, “How can you be so goddamn mindless?”

“You going to school now?” Wayne yawned and slipped back into his darkness.

“Jesus Christ,” Wanda fumed as she spun back to her puzzle, snapping the point off her pencil as she did so. “Goddamn shit almighty,” she murmured, looking up into the grin on Fast Ed’s face. Ed had his elbow on the bar, absently scratching the right side of his neck with the back of his fingernails. “Amazing,” he said.

“Not funny, Ed,” Wanda said, pointing her broken pencil in his face. The bartender straightened up and stood on his toes, waving his open palms at shoulder height in mock surrender. “You know where I’ve been all morning? I’ve been at the goddamned courthouse. Where were you, asshole?”

“Oh Christ,” Fast Ed said, lowering his hands and his gaze, for no one could look directly in Wanda’s eyes with guilt in his heart. Wanda Japan. Earth will be worth visiting and life worth living as long as there is magic and Wanda Japan.

“Sure, sure, ‘Oh Christ’,” said Wanda, and it now becomes clear the discussion which was about to occur holds little import, since it dealt with local preglacial politics and, specifically, with several small ecological disasters involving the discharge of toxic chemicals, carcinogens, and nuclear waste into the drinking supply of Clemson and numerous other insignificant towns and municipalities which once thrived along the banks of Lake Hartwell, especially considering the temerity of the current ice age.

Just then Wayne keeled over and wriggled on the sticky floor like an electrified mouse.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Wanda asked no one in particular, as she filled in the blanks to 33 across with “KEELOVER.” The rest of the puzzle went like a breeze.

***

Later that night after Wanda and Fast Ed had carried Wayne to a booth and the bar filled up and emptied and filled up and emptied again, during one of the filled up periods, Sean Locke sauntered in and bellowed: “Well, well. We see tonight a very fine smorgasbord. Very good. This makes us happy.”

He wore the light blue uniform of an air marshal, his chest covered with medals, a pistol strapped to his waist.

“Well, well, our good American friends,” he said, “Allow us to represent ourselves. We require no introduction, surely. Our Excellency, Field Marshal and President for Life Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, and Commander-In-Chief of the Cosmic Armed Forces.” The bar gave Big Daddy Dada its ragged version of a standing ovation, and Idi responded with: “Thank you, our American friends. Very much.”

He then proceeded to lead the patrons and employees alike in a rendition of the Ugandan National Anthem, “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic,” which was sung in English by all.

***

Although he never smoked marijuana, Wayne got busted at the Easley Cinema while watching Woodstock. Someone at the bar had asked: “Hey man, you seen Woodstock yet?”

“Woodstock?” asked Wayne, “Isn’t that the name of the bird Snoopy lives with?”

Wayne went to Woodstock fully expecting to see a heartwarming story about a dog’s friendship with a small bird, primarily because Harriet Tupperells had gone into such a laughing fit following Wayne’s remark that the bar had to be evacuated and no one had the chance to tell Wayne what Woodstock was really about.

***

As he groped down the darkened aisle, The Who were jumping up and down on the screen, and Wayne thought: “Why would anyone pay money to watch such crap?” Wayne had concluded he was early, although the paper said the feature began at two o’clock and his watch was never wrong. “You can’t trust the help these days,” Wayne thought and resigned himself to sitting through the coming attractions. Wayne only went to animated films, a classification which to him excluded anything beyond Walt Disney and Jacques Cousteau. As Wayne took a seat at the end of a row midway into the theatre, he said: “Hi. Anybody sitting here?”

“It’s cool man,” said a grizzled gnome dressed in battle fatigues, thrusting a joint into Wayne’s flabby hand, “Take a hit of this. Cambodian.”

That’s when Wayne felt the firm grip of Officer Lester S. Moore of the Pickens County Sheriff’s Department on his right shoulder. “Okay buddy,” the officer said, “Don’t try any funny business. You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re under arrest.”

***

“Listen Idi,” said Rapid Ray, “I got this friend who’s been thinking of going to Africa. What’s it like over there?”

“Well, well,” laughed Field Marshal Dada, “That is one very good question. You Americans are so sharp. So incisive. We can’t pretend to know all of Africa, such a big continent. There are very many tribes even in our own country, which is tiny, but we have much power. In our country, we do things our way, palatably. Whenever trouble comes, we try to eat them before they eat us, yes?”

“Hi,” said Wayne, taking a seat, “Anybody sitting here?”

“Well, well, and see what we have here,” said Idi Amin, pinching Wayne’s cheek, “Oh, we could fix him up nicely. We love Americans. Many of our personal cooks are Americans, very efficient, very tasteful. This one they could prepare to feed the whole general staff, the State Research Bureau maybe. Ho, ho, ho.”

“Really?” asked Wayne.

***

When Wayne needed a roommate, he ran an ad in The Wall Street Journal. “Lonely, middle-aged Independent Insurance Agent with house and guaranteed income in Cateechee, South Carolina,” the ad read in part, “seeks thirtyish housemate who does not mind city planning or cats,” although Wayne had only one cat, Black Jackrack, who entered Wayne’s life the night Neal Downer died.

***

Once Harriet had determined Neal Downer could no longer appreciate her concern — she had taken a mirror from her purse and held it for several minutes in front of Neal’s breathless mouth and nostrils the way she’d seen done on Adam-12 — she turned her attention to the black cat, who had finally finished his bath but remained sitting on the double yellow line in the street. “Oh, how sad,” said Harriet Tupperells as she cripple-frog-walked toward the cat, holding her right hand out before her as if it contained a morsel of food, “Poor little kitty. Come to Mama.”

Jack watched Harriet carefully until she got five or six feet away. Then he stood up, and Harriet froze as Jack yawned and stretched.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Harriet Tupperells.

“Wacka wacka,” said Jack E. Black, and turned, and trotted off down Sloan Street.

It was at this moment Wayne — who was finally returning home to Cateechee, having made his rounds of all the bars and newsstands in Clemson — rounded the corner, just as Black Jack managed to get his tail tangled in the spokes of Gottlieb Goforth’s bicycle behind Fort Hill Federal, spilling both Gottlieb and Cindy Gnomoure in the path of Wayne’s Alfa Romeo. No one was injured, except the cat, whose tail was crushed in several places and was kept in a cast for two months.

***

Only one person answered Wayne Trout’s ad in The Wall Street Journal. Wayne had just finished brushing his teeth and was headed into the kitchen where the cream of wheat thickened on the stove when he heard a knock at his door for the third morning in a row, in place of the usual wacka wacka. Wayne cut the burner, shifted his bubbling cream of wheat from the stove to the water heater and went to answer the knock, thinking: “Who could that be at this hour?” checking to see his fly was zipped.

As he walked through the dining room, he straightened his tie and brushed a few wrinkles out of his shirt. Entering the living room, he paused before the mirror to check his neatly combed hair. Licking his index finger, he daubed a bead of blood from the corner of his right nostril and reminded himself to buy a styptic pencil the next time he passed Lynch’s Drugs. Taking out his handkerchief to buff the tips of his cordovan shoes, Wayne thought: “I hope this doesn’t take long.” He still had some cramming to do in preparation for his evening quiz in Famous Floorplans 681.

When Wayne finally opened the door, he found himself face to face with a figure no more than four feet tall, wearing dark glasses, battle fatigues, and an Arab head dress. There was a camouflaged Land Rover parked behind Wayne’s Alfa. As the short Semite offered his right hand in greeting, Wayne brushed past him and leaned against a wrought iron post on the front porch, saying: “Hi. Anybody sitting here?”

“I am Amin,” the bearded Arab said, his hand sinking back to his side, “You ran an ad in The Wall Street Journal? You are Wayne Trout?”

“My friends call me Bo,” Wayne answered.

“I have been trying to reach you for several days,” said Amin.

“Really?” asked Wayne Bo Trout.

“I do not lie, my friend,” Amin barked. “It was an ad for a housemate. I have it here,” the minute militant said, flipping up his sunglasses, and read the entire ad aloud. Since he had only written it only once, Wayne didn’t recognize a word of it. “Mind if I sit here?” he said.

“Why should I mind?” the commando answered, “This is your home.”

“You going to school now?”

“No,” said Amin, resting his automatic rifle on the concrete slab of Wayne’s front porch, “I seek a place to stay.”

“Married?”

“Of course not,” the Arab dwarf replied, “I am a soldier.”

“Got any roommates?”

“I am a soldier,” Amin repeated. “This is all I own,” he said, hefting his rifle and gesturing at the Land Rover.

“Not really?” asked Wayne.

“I speak the truth,” said Amin, “I am a freedom fighter.”

“You don’t say,” Wayne Trout said.

“Wacka wacka,” called Jack E. Black, emerging from the phlox alongside the road.

“Allah be praised,” said Amin, dropping his rifle and falling to his knees as the cat came prancing through the grass.

“Jacka,” cooed Wayne, “Come here, pretty kitty.” Smiling at the prostrate form on the porch beside him, Wayne said: “Aren’t cats wonderful?”

***

Big Daddy Dada sat next to Wanda Japan. “Well, well,” he said, “We like you very much, lovely lady. We must have you for dinner sometime. I would like that.”

“I thought you were in London,” she said.

“London?” Wayne asked, “Isn’t that where my hat comes from?”

***

“That’s barbaric,” said Harriet as Field Marshal and President for Life Idi Amin completed his description of how to prepare rognon d’homme a la bercy.

“That is Uganda,” said Amin Dada, “Here you are a person with an annoying laugh. In our country, you would be a delicacy.”

***

Amin the Arab had no other name, according to the Hall of Records, and was Wayne’s roommate from two days before the cast finally came off Blackjack’s tail until he launched a terrorist attack against the Michelin Tire Plant in Sandy Springs, four months prior to Wayne’s boggling and the end of New York. Amin was born in Libya and would still be from Libya if not for the capriciousness of the ice age. He is currently from the Palace, which is Materex’s way of acknowledging Amin has escaped from the Palace’s maximum security wing.

“Nice guns you have there, very nice,” Idi Amin remarked, and although Gottlieb Goforth bowed and said: “We duly note your Excellency’s attention,” it wasn’t clear whether Idi’s compliment was paid to Gottlieb’s shoulder-holstered twin magnum 44’s or Cindy Gnomoure’s.

*** 

“Much is as you say,” he told Gottlieb Goforth and Cindy Gnomoure, “Our people are cannibals. We have been this back to the time of Abraham when we were named. We eat each other, and you are all crazy. That is as it should be, for that is how it is. We make the Nile run green and fast or red and slow. We have planes and tanks and tractors to fertilize the fields with blood. And the God of Abraham put white men on Earth to give us these things. In a vision we have seen this, and what we say is the law. Anyone engaged in activities against Uganda is attempting suicide. Attempted suicide is a crime in Uganda, punishable by death.”

*** 

“Don’t you ever worry about being assassinated?” Harriet Tupperells asked.

“Of course not, ho, ho, ho,” Big Daddy answered, “We know the day we will die. We know the hour and the place. In a vision, we have seen this, and as we spoke, it became the law. Whoever attempts to do us harm before the appointed time or outside the appointed place will be acting against the laws of nature, and crimes against nature in Uganda are crimes against the state.

“You Americans,” he continued, “are so funny. You think the trees and beasts will listen to your laws. You tell the world to save energy, to save food, to keep the population down. In Uganda, we have our prisoners kill each other with sledgehammers. The dead ones become next week’s meals. It is very economical. Very efficient. And you are outraged! Does not progress mean everyone pushing in the same direction?”

***

“We have only one thing to say to all you people,” said Idi Amin, brandishing his pistol as Fast Ed and Rapid Ray and Pooh Bear prepared to close the bar and Wayne snored in the corner booth, “Our name has come down to this day even from the God of Abraham. Our God is a jealous God. If you are unhappy, kill us.”

—30—

Epilog In Media Res

It occurs to me that some straggler might want to read all of Trout’s Tale in its God-given order, assuming I live long enough to publish all of it. I guess I could start another stack and publish it in order there, but where’s the fun in that?

Instead, what I’ve currently decided to do is add this epilog as an index to previous posts in the order in which they were not written, but in the most recent order they have appeared in the Hall of Records. Links will become active as new URLs are generated.

Pataphysics is the science of imaginary solutions.

Trout’s Tale thus far…

Frontal Matter And Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33