Billiards Southerly

And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den.

Behind the eight-ball, heh, n’er thought that’d be a literal thing to say, but here I is, hidin’ from the Devil, lookin’ fer God.
   What’s the Devil look like, you’re askin’? That’s a good question. When I’s first met the man t’was around Thanksgivin’, when all my kin’s around with no money ‘n less to do. Billy Joe Bob, well, he’uh came up with this brilliant idea ya see--at least it seemed brilliant at the time, said we should go down to the city and uh, you know, hustle us up some wafers--tha’s what he called ‘em: wafers--don’t ask.
   First time me ‘n Billy’s played pool, well, he hustled me good, so I was thinkin’ maybe it weren’t such a bad idea. What with his talk of certain glory and the city lights bendin’ o’er me as we motored up 10th street, I was feelin’ well nigh invincible, though it could’a had somethin’ to do with the twelver of Natty Light we split afore settin’ out. Billy had a particular place in mind, one I n’er heard of, called the Southerly Gentleman, which left me to guessin’ till we set foot in the swelter. To my greater disappointment there was not one stripper present, unless you count the strange homeless looking man with his bare, distended belly on the bar, singin’ ‘long with the country juke.
   He we avoided through the provisioning of draft beer and a pocket billiards rack, eventually coming to occupy an empty gray felt table within close proximity to the bar, where various suckers and wafers in kind suffered along privately. Not a one of ‘em looked monied but we figured there’d be time an’ beer enough, since the night lay still young. We cobbled out a couple games to create the illusion we n’er played afore, an’ must’a done a good job of it as several propositions came thereafter to go for money. These we initially refused on account of affecting authenticity, but it didn’t take long for us to start a real money game--with the Devil of all things, of course we didn’t know that then.
   So, to that first question, wha’s the Devil look like, there’s actually two respectable answers if you’d believe it. That night the Devil looked jus’ like you ‘n me, but movie star rich, dressed in suit ‘n tie fit to perfection, jet black hair freshly saloned and close cropped, mustachioed ‘n goateed. My impressions of him were congenial ‘n atavistic; even if we was to win, his money wouldn’t’a been enough; I could understand why’s so many crowded in to watch ‘im play.
   Stripes. The way he said the word, with that half grin through his mustache, sent me for an instant down ancient hallways adorned with the blood‘a innocents’; each brief syllable knocking like a siege engine ‘pon my psyche. I could see it got to Billy as well, a split second’s recognition he was goin’ to lose, but a quickness to anger smoldered up an’ a flame was in his eyes. I guess I’s solids then, said Billy.
   Now, second thing: the Devil don’t jus’ introduce hisself as such. If he had, well, Billy might still have his soul, an’ I wouldn’t be beggin’ out loud to keep mine--but I’s gettin’ ahead’a myself. Mr. Dithersby McClean Esquire III at your service, is what he says, leavin’ me ‘n Billy stumped for reply. Why, we thought, here’s a mark sent from heaven above.
   Billy ran the table to the eight-ball in his first inning, but then so did Dithersby, leaving a safety frozen ‘gainst the farthest rail, which Billy wasn’t able to do much with. The Devil won that game, including the forty dollars we had down. You boys done met your match in me, he said, shall we have another go?
   To that I could only answer in the affirmative, having not yet tested myself against the man; my pride burnin’ hole in heart ‘n anxious to get that money back. Dithersby broke again, and again he started stripes. These is real ivory balls, you boys realize? Cut from the finest beasty tusk, last of a kind, can’t get ivory easy no more. You know what ivory is right? You gots it in yer mouths right now! It’s teeth!
   Well, mister, that is quite an interesting fact. Don’ believe I e’r played with ivory balls afore, a real treat. No I did not realize tha’s what ivory was, grim though it is to consider.
   If he was tryin’ to throw me with this banter it must’a worked as I sunk only three’a my solids afore he won the game, and the last of our money.

For behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you which will not be charmed, and they shall bite you, saith the Lord.

That night I couldn’t sleep, McClean’s parting words ricocheting through my mind. You boys should attend a lil’ shindig I’m puttin’ on at my place tomorrow night; I’ll give ya a chance to win yer money back.
   You shot stripes on purpose, said Billy.
   Tha’s right, do forgive my lack’a pity fer fellow hustlers.
   I suppose it’s only what we deserved, didn’t expect a fella o’ yer caliber, McClean. But you can expect a call from us tomorrow. I aim to get my money back, and then some’a yours.
   You’re certainly welcome to try.
   Mind if I ask a personal question?
   Shoot.
   Why stripes?
   That’s very astute of you to ask, Billy, very astute. I think pretty much everyone would agree that stripes is more interestin’ than solids--we should ask ourselves why. Consider, my boys, that stripes have, since the dawn of man, confounded his eye and evoked in his mind an irrational fear. Look back in time and you will see the stripe avoided in both architecture and dress, however it was saved for marks’a doom.
   Like prisoner getups.
   Very sharp, Billy, tha’s precisely right. Prisoners, prostitutes, lepers, hangmen--stripes is what they wore.

The address he gave us placed his abode amidst mid-recession desolation, nearly every house on the street had a red-lettered foreclosure sign, each eerily unlit and moldering in the damp. Our destination sat high upon a pine strewn hill, McMansion silhouetted ‘gainst ruddy sunset; Billy’s ol’ Chevy Van groaned out its ascent, wheezing up an electric ghost once the engine was let to rest. Following McClean’s somewhat unsettlin’ discourse on stripes we’d avoided any further talk of attire, figuring what we had on was good enough and that he’d have said otherwise were it important.

My friends, welcome, says McClean as we’s steppin’ through the front door, noticin’ immediately that his was no ordinary residence. From outside it looked to have two stories, but from within one saw only a large ball room, white painted walls festooned with all manner of dark shaded draperies. McClean had built hisself a royal pool hall of sorts; where the man actually lived we guessed at in whispers as he guided us across the lacquered wood floorin’, stopping at intervals to arc his hands through the air, or to facilitate introductions with one of his many guests. Among these we met a Martha Mayflower and a Tommy Lefkowitz, a Sarah Diamandis and a Daniel Blair, alls lookin’ quite majestic yet rendered otherwise immemorable by a vague similitude. I got the feelin’ somethin’ were amiss when McClean ceremoniously brought us to the center of the room where a large, circular billiards table sat on fine walnut haunches, attended by a pair’a loathsome, child-sized men in bowling caps an’ red stripey shirts, presentin’ themselves with a pair’a equally loathsome titles: Earworm an’ Azazel.
   A prized possession of mine, McClean was sayin’, this here table come down from the Air Flight Academy in Colorado Springs. They’s used to train a recruit’s motor skills on these until the 80’s, got it on surplus, course I had to make a few minor alterations.
   That is a sight, Dithersby, said Billy, quite a one, such things a man n’er imagined. I suppose tha’s a rack’a ivories set forth upon it as well.
   A very special rack’a ivories, Billy, my most prized.
   What are these alterations yer speakin' of?
   So glad you asked, said McClean, step forward here 'n I'll show you boys. See there? See the shiny blue lines there?
   We looked down onto the felt 'n saw what he was pointin' at: lines drawn or taped onto the table, reflectin' the amber light from above, formin' a demoniacal geometric symbol; then the lines seemed to crawl o'er the bumpers 'n onto the floor. I felt weightless--frozen in space while the whole wide room metamorphosed into a giant pool table, with a proportionally gigantic rack'a prized ivories.
   The Devil's voice emanated as if from the ceiling which had become lost in a swirlin' sea'a blackness. Now, my boys, said he, time to win that money back.
   I's peerin' o'er at Billy at this time; n'er in my life did I expect to see him scared, but he looked as if shot in the gut and havin' the hand'a death on 'im for the first time.
   Mc-Cleeeeean! Billy screamed. Di-thers-beeeeee! What is this? What you done to us?
   Billy boy, the Devil said, you should see yerself now. Don' piss on my damn table now, boy.
   We's sorry! Billy was screamin'. Look, heh, we'll jus' leave, you know, n'er you see us again. Jus' ... jus' show us the door 'n we'll be on our way.
   No doors no more, Billy! The Devil was laughin' an' his voice seemed to change, risin' in pitch till it sounded like a wild bird squawkin'.
   Tha's when a whoop an' holler rose up from behind the ivories an' that Earworm came runnin' toward us, in one hand holdin' what looked like some pliers, an' in the other--one o' them ol' stripey shirts!
   Let's get out'a here! Billy says, an' he starts haulin' toward where we came in at.
   Last thing I sees’a my cousin is his yella’ hide divin' into the side pocket where the door should'a been, 'n that man-beast in miniature followin' along in ululation, feet first.
   Things sit silent for a moment, an’ then I sees out the corner’a my eye what must be the Devil’s true form, like an ostrich but with a damn--lizard head on its shoulders; its long birdy legs undulatin’ ‘pon the felt, buildin’ up a head’a steam an’ rammin’ into that rack’a ivories, givin’ it the break--and wouldn’t you know what sinks first.