El Dupree, Selected Works, Volume 9 Alf the Poet, Editor John Morton, from El Dupree at Festival Time: The seven Garcia brothers surround stuporous body of El Dupree, sprawled on the floor, the heavy thuds of their footsteps unheard in his reverie of dancing Fajitas Festival maidens in the Mejave Mai twilight. The eldest brother pokes the grotesque body with his lead-weighted custom special 'Louisville Slugger', jarring El Dupree's dulled senses into awareness. The thought of a whimsically-proffered matrimonial proposal passes through his head as he reaches for the nearest headsack. Alas, too late, as the foot of the youngest brother comes down on El Dupree's sweaty, twisting hand. Just as the brothers raise their clubs to begin their "feast of pure reason" with El Dupree, a shattering cry is heard and a wild whirling presence catapults into the room through the window overlooking the street. It is Ching Hai! With a shout she declares, "If we stop all violent acts, the world will become a paradise!" The eldest Garcia brother moves his right foot slightly to get a better angle for his swing at the strange presence. "What we do not want others to do to ourselves, we do not do to others," quips Ching Hai as she adroitly moves her agile spring-like body to avoid the furious swing of the club. "Killing is never good. God said revenge belongs to Him," she adds, executing a perfect karate chop on the eldest brother's neck, rendering him senseless, but alive, on the dusty floor. The other brothers simultaneously rush at the petite spinning woman, as El Dupree deftly squirms into a corner of the room, so as not to interfere. The largest of the brothers grabs for Ching Hai. "Go through the ceiling!" she cries, executing a thumb-lock leading to a jujitsu maneuver that smashes her attacker through the flimsy roof of the dilapidated bar. Her other attackers pause, uncertain, after their brother's fate. "As you sow, so shall you reap," she intones, her fingers curling into the classic "dragon's paw" formation. "So the answer is enlightenment and nonviolent life, live and let live! It is karma." The baffled brothers slowly back out of the room, facing their strange conqueror. When the only sound left is the quiet, senseless moans of the eldest brother on the floor, El Dupree scampers out of the corner, gathering up his headsacks. "Not bad, for a woman!" he says, checking his bandolera for ammunition, "you should meet my sister, Tortilla; she talks like you." The two casually stroll out of the room down the ricketty wooden stairs of the bar. "You must not interfere with other people's karma, because by doing this, you will lose your spiritual force and will remain in the physical side," Ching Hai says knowingly. El Dupree flashes his best dimpled smile. "Whose karma did you throw through the roof?" he asks. "To be enlightened doesn't mean that we can create suffering for others," she answers, "because we have a choice." Just then a large turd comes careening out of the sky, crashing to the earth a few feet from Ching Hai's saffron sandels, as a jetliner, far above, floats gently to the west, its contrails making pale scratches in the evening sky. El Dupree draws his revolver and fires three shots at the departing plane, shouting, "El Stupido! I will come up there and blow your stinking asses off!" Ching Hai merely answers, "If you can do it, it is fine, but it is almost impossible. Up to now no one has succeeded, maybe up to a certain level but not higher. " They are on the outskirts of town. Ching Hai gently fondles the petals of the rare sonda flamado, "We can't talk too casually about someone else," she says, "There is too much work, too much travelling." El Dupree empties his revolver into the night sky, where the plane is now no more than a speck of memory. "I'll kill them all!" he says, continuing to pull the trigger on the spent cylinders. The clicking harmonizes with the crickets and the buzzing of the cicadas. "All of the them! Every one of them! Everything!" he shouts. Ching Hai laughs, "It is good if everything was to disappear, because I would have no more work to do, and I would disappear also." El Dupree scratches his ample girth, letting out a small belch. "So where do we go from here?" he asks. Ching Hai answers, "If you cannot find the exit, you must return in order to find it." Bill Keyes, from El Dupree and the Ferret: El Dupree, odiferous sage of the western plains, staggered down the street of downtown suburbia in a daze. The people of this small corner of civilization, well-dressed, successful, smart, but obviously unaware of the master's wisdom and quiet power, recoiled >from him in horror. His sombrero was black, capping his greasy head like a dark halo, or desert thunderhead threatening torrents of cold stinging rain. His shirt, wet with the sweat of the anxiety that a stranger in a strange place feels, barely managed to cover his impressive gut. His breath was like a wind over the unending desert of the south -- hot, dry, and filled with tiny particles that made one's eyes sting. Yes, El Dupree was in a strange land, foreign and hostile. He did not want to spend the night in jail, but he suspected that was how he would end up. How even did he arrive in this place? Perhaps this was a trick, an illusion brought on by too much sun, or too much bad guacamole. Damn Maria and her tequilla! he thought. Just then, a glass door opened beside him, spilling an old woman into his path. El Dupree felt a blast of cool, scented air touch his greasy face. He smiled beatifically--Salvation!--as the woman backed rapidly away from his awful aura, nose wrinkling in distaste. Inside, cool air and soft music coming from nowhere. Huge tanks of tiny colored fish sat in the back of the little shop, filled with colorful sand and tiny plastic sunken ships. A large yellow bird with a beak that reminded him of his own huge red nose squawked loudly. Rows on rows of dogs and cats in tiny cages stood trapped behind a soundproof glass wall. No, this was not the salvation that El Dupree wanted. He licked his lips dryly and began to back out, slowly. "Can I help you?" Not a question, but almost a demand, startled the fat one. A pale faced young man came into view, just behind the master, blocking his escape. El Dupree reached into his bag and felt the reassuring cold iron of the corzappa. Just then, he noticed what was in the young salesclerk's arms. It was a tiny, squirming animal, the likes of which El Dupree, in all his travels, had never seen. It was as small as the kittens that little Pepito used to play with, but long and thin, like a rattlesnake under a rock. Its fur was brown and coarse (just like Maria's, he thought wistfully), and its face was marked with a white mask. El Dupree stared at it. The clerk stared at El Dupree. The creature looked at nothing in particular. There was a long silence, broken finally by El Dupree's bad English. "Hchwat ees eet?" he asked, reaching greedily toward the creature. "It's a ferret," the clerk answered, ignoring the master's unwashed scent. "They make great pets." "Then I weel take heem," the master smiled, showing his yellow, uneven teeth. The clerk took a defensive step backwards. "Sir, these are very expensive animals," he explained. "Some states even require that you have a wild animal permit before you can purchase one..." El Dupree looked crestfallen. He had no money, not a single peso. He put his beefy hand into his bag to feel for loose change. By chance, his fist closed around a #32 vinyl headsack. Once again, the drifter smiled. Quick as a flash, the master of CamChata had the sack over the clerk's head and was out the door of the little pet shop, cradling his furry prize as gently as he was able in his clammy, calloussed palms. He ran--oh how he ran!--his gut bouncing like an untended red dodgeball on a school playground, until the cursed suburb was far behind him. The fat one collapsed heavily against a tree, his barrel chest heaving, his heart fit to burst from the strain. He still held the tiny, furry, snake-like creature in his hands. He held it up and looked at it curiously. What a strange creature! It regarded him with tiny, black, emotionless eyes. "I theenk I weel call you..." he thought for a moment, then stated grandly, poking it's head with one meaty finger, "Burrito, seence you are long and skeeny." The ferret blinked twice, then sunk it's tiny, razor-sharp needle like teeth deep into the tip of the master's finger. "Yi yi yi yi!!!" El Dupree howled, stuffing his finger into his mouth. For safe keeping, he put the ferret down his pants. Later, as Maria bandaged up his legs, he reflected on his error. The ferret, already enlightened, was merely bemused.