Derek McCormack
Jimmie’s
flat on the floor. Carrie crouches, comforts him, coos to him, his head in
her lap.
“Hush,”
she says.
“The
vampire’s gone,” she says.
“Here
comes the Carter Family,” she says.
Jimmie
Rodgers.
Carrie
Rodgers. Mother Maybelle Carter.
Sara
Carter. A.P. Carter. Jimmie Rodgers.
Carrie
Rodgers. Mother Maybelle Carter. Sara Carter. A.P. Carter. Jimmie Rodgers.
Carrie Rodgers. Mother Maybelle Carter. Sara Carter. A.P. Carter.
Jimmie
Rodgers and Carrie Rodgers and Mother Maybelle and Sara and A.P. – the
Carter Family – in a Mirror Maze.
“Fangs?”
Maybelle says.
“Fancy
clothes?” she says.
“Fancy
haircuts?” she says.
“Yes,
yes, yes,” Carrie says. “How did you know?”
“We’re
the Carter Family,” Maybelle says. “Downhome singers by day – vampire
killers by night!” She cocks her arm like a choir conductor. Carters start
to sing. A signature song – Keep on
the Sunny Side.
“Vampires
love clothes,” Maybelle says. “Vampires love carnivals. Folks dolled up,
parading down the midway, flirting in the Funhouse, fornicating on the
Ferris wheel – pardon my French!
“Vampires
smell vanity!” she says. “Vampires smell sin!” The Carter Family is not
camera-friendly. Sara’s squat. A.P.’s a tent pole. Maybelle’s built like
Marie Dressler. She’s grey beyond her years. The reverse of vampires. And
movie stars. “We sing our hymns in the opry.” ‘Rag opry’ is carny slang for
a tent show. “We sing, then we – ”
“Stake!”
A.P. says. “I see a vampire, I stab him in the heart!”
“You see
a vampire, you poop your pants,” Maybelle says.
Sara’s
silent. “That’s true,” she says.
“This is
your fault, Jimmie!” Mother Maybelle says. “You stand in here, preening and
primping – it’s not natural! It’s not right!”
“Amen!”
Sara says.
“I don’t
always poop my pants,” A.P. says.
“Stop
sulking!” Maybelle swats him.
“You’re
not being fair, Maybelle,” Carrie says. “Jimmie never asked for any of this.
Look at him, he’s – ”
“You’re
just as bad, Miss Carrie! French clothes and French jewelry and French
perfume.” Maybelle’s dress is homemade. Worn out by washboards. Sara’s in
hand-me-down hose. Runs darned, darned, and darned again. They bulge like
varicose veins. A.P.’s suit is second-hand. It shows. “You’ve got Jimmie
dressed up like some kewpie doll,” Maybelle says, “smelling like a whore!
There’s no place for fashion in country music!”
Jimmie:
Coughs. Coughs. Coughs. Coughs. Coughs. Barfs blood. Blood doesn’t come out
of clothes.
An
excerpt from “The Show That Smells” by Derek McCormack, published in Canada
by ECW Press, and in the United States by Akashic Books/Little House on the
Bowery.
