Part One:

Across This Kali Yuga World!

Actual Biographical Events in the Under Life of Banjo

2020 Grand Junction Colorado

A cold April wind was blowing down off the Book Cliffs. Banjo had come by bus to play at the Goat and Clover Irish-themed pub, a place that did Irish much better than most of the phony American venues. They didn’t even want blue grass, but some picker in a corner strumming a melody for the nubile dancers in their plaid skirts. Well, he could handle that view for a couple hours he supposed. Part of him had looked forward to this. The booker had been so eager back in early March. Now, silence and a “mailbox is full” automated voice greeted his phone call.

Now, on April Fools day of all days, the world seemed to be progressively losing its mind over a cold. The Goat and Clover was “closed for Covid.”

A wounded person, a man by his gait, was limping up to his side.

“This is exactly why I left Denver!” he whispered to himself, for Banjo never raised his voice—never, not in the world.

The man was shorter, just below average height, with a deep nasal voice, “Why my broken ass left Portland.”

The man was already looking at Banjo like he was assessing him as a used human to be sold on a used car lot, determining what price was to be written in grease pen on the inside window.

‘That must be an art. How do they do it—if they write on the outside, the price might be tampered with. Used cars can’t be that high-trust a business.’

“You are a man of contemplation, for your young years, I see.”

The man extended his shaking hand, a large one for his size, an arthritic hand that was palsied a bit, but not too much.

“Stump.”

Banjo grinned, nodding to the banjo slung from his back, “Banjo… why Stump? You’re not that short.”

The old fellow raised his left hand do show two missing fingers, the small ones, “Left hook ain’t worth scratch with the ring finger missing, so coach called me Stump and it stuck.”

“Where from?”

“Ah, the Mid Atlantic Mud Mouth Dialect betrayed me. Baltimore—got too old to dodge spears so I tramp about cornerin’ at small gyms, until this shamdemic hit and the bitch world lost it’s bowl of Prosac.”

“We’re in a bit of the same spot then, Stump. You know where we could get a coffee?”

“Yezzir,” grinned the old man, not so old as he looked, despite the coffee stained teeth, “came over here from there loogin’ fo a soul to steal.”

A chill lit up his spine, igniting a quizzical twitch of his left eye. This was noted by Stump, who apologized, “Simply wanted to exchange my place on Fate’s night train with some fellow more able.”

The old comic cipher nodded for Banjo to follow, Grumbling over his shoulder, “ ‘sides, I couldn’ ‘ave took you when I was young. You have the easy gait of a wolf.”

Banjo smiled, “You were stalking me?”

“Just that dry watering hole, eye out for a man who did not belong, looking for coffee where its opposite spring wells up.”

Banjo caught up to speak side-to-side, for there was no one to step aside, the place a literal ghost town.

“Something is the matter with your hips, both of them.”

“Both?” the man winced with a pain of realization beyond that of his battered frame, “Thought the left one was healed—seemed my knee and back, not either hip.”

“I studied Chinese Medicine under a Joe West—lives in a cave, or did, near Hot Springs, Montana.”

The man looked up at him seriously, “You have a trustworthy bearing, ain’ enough deception in you for what’s commin’.”

Banjo grinned, “You believe me, a stranger, just like that?”

“You’re not a stranger—we shook hands. ‘sides, you walk wary, but not like a cat. My resolve is up, if you think I’m about to rattle apart.”

They had turned left off of Main past the hotels and were headed to the train station, off a block to the east.

“Resolve for what?”

“You have the same sense about me, don’t you, that I’m not workin’ you.”

“Yes. Resolve for what?”

“Already the parent in this crew, aye? Okay…”

Stump stopped, drew in some air, which seemed to hurt him somewhere, and obviously looked back at himself through time. “I was never a catch. But I was once a sawed off version of you. Women of a certain kind took to me. This one, a rich one, let me go, insisted I was being replaced by a great big hockey player and told me to take all the clothes she had bought, with me—she had dressed me up to meet her friends so they wouldn’t know that she recruited some white trash at Jake “The Snake’s” gym. I had my pride, so looked for a man my size, and gave him the clothes at a bus stop at Light and Pratt—a man in need, looking for a job with holes in his shoes. So, with Time herself giving me the heave ho, I came looking for you, not wanting to make a gift to some tweaker or junkie of what I have to give.”

“A gift?”

“A shift, let’s say. The devil done caught up with me on my way back to see my family, who have told me not to come, bringin’ the plague as they believe. I will not be able to use these train tickets to see my grand children one last time. So, was lookin’ for a good man to send to some place bad—which is the way I figure it ought to go.”

They were in sight of the Good Will Center. The many coffee pots could be seen lined up in the window. But only staff were within, the homeless and the needy in line for coffee in the lot. Away from the line was a pretty Asian girl in a white business suit standing with a large white roll-on suitcase next to an old tattered military rucksack. Her eyes lit up when she saw them.

“Stump interpreted as they crossed the street towards her, “I have Amtrak tickets and credits, which I want to transfer to you. I have names, men of the type who stay in business at such times as this, men who make good off of bad. All you have is that small pack and the banjo in the case?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then you can have my ruck as well—won’t be needing it. I wear, as you can see, pants and shirts three sizes too big, hand offs from six footers mostly. The clothes will fit—and there are things in there, legal things, no drugs or bombs or such: camping gear, that might serve you well.”

The woman was not yet thirty and on her tip toes like a returning hero was come to rescue her from a dragon’s den.

“Conditions?”

“None. You goin’ to that place that spat me out. That’s enough. You see here, this pretty thing terrified of this horseshit panic, has give me a reason to stay put.”

They came to the young lady who hugged the old fellow and, tears in her eyes, whispered, “Mingus.” Banjo could tell she was just off the boat, unlikely to have much English.

“So your given name is Mingus?” he raised his eye brows.

“Got her for three packs of Cigs in Oakland from some lowlife of her kind. He was plain terrified of the plague and convinced that cigarettes would keep off the death wind—can you believe that, kicking a girl to the curb like that?”

“People are being revealed for who they are,” opined Banjo.

The man winked over her tiny black haired head, “Tried to convince her I was Genghis Khan, thinking she was Mongolian. But she’s Han, was havin’ none of it.”

The woman was smiling and petting the beard of her apparent savior, “Mingus, me Mingus.”

“Stump, Mingus” whoever he was, patted the girl’s shoulder, nodded to the rucksack and hefted her things. Banjo, taking his lead, hefted the ruck, which had something heavy and metal in it, and they headed to the train station, three easy blocks away. Despite putting on the appearance of health, Banjo could tell that Stump was having a hard time, simply walking wheeling the carry on behind him with his left hand as she held his right, and walked happily between them.

“You be okay, Mingus Khan?”

“Truth is, I hope the heart gives out tonight. But if Him that cast it down is not done with this broken toy, we’ll see about a bus to Vegas, ged dis beauty married up, and then I try en wait out the legalities long enough for her to collect on whad I earned bending the knee ta this damned world.”

“From here, looks like you’re getting the best of the deal.”

Stump grinned, “What deal? I’m trickstering the only drifter in this town likely to be better for this discarded girl to take the train. This is my moment!”

“Thanks, Stump. I’ll need those contacts—never been to Baltimore and heard its a rough place.”

“You will have them and they will be glad to have you.”

‘She is as content as a cat prancing between two dogs could be.’

“I hope you last, Stump. Be careful with your hips.”

The old fellow grinned and ground his coffee-stained teeth with some trepidation creeping into his narrow, gray eyes.