Read Online Dancing in the Dark by Caryl Phillips - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caryl Phillips
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got to be careful.”
Bert smiled and shook his head, and then he took another mouthful of his whiskey. “First time I ever went with a girl I guess I wasn’t careful.”
George tucked his shirt into his pants then leaned back and began to roar with laughter.
“Man, bad luck sure knows where to find you. The first time?”
His friend nodded and took another gulp of his whiskey. Then he turned and looked George full in the face.
“These womenfolks are a strange breed. But I guess you already got that figured out.”
George was halfway out the window when the man finally broke down the door and burst into the bedroom. George had one foot on the complex iron labyrinth of the fire escape and one foot marooned in the bedroom when, for some reason, he looked again at the man’s wife, who pulled the sheet up to her neck with melodramatic haste. For a moment it occurred to George that his blond conquest might actually be enjoying this drama, and then she screamed and George saw that the irate man had whipped out a pistol from some part of his person and he was pointing it directly at him. He heard the noise of the pistol before he felt the hot pain in his arm, and again the man’s wife screamed. George discovered himself on the sidewalk running, and although the husband didn’t fire again he knew that the humiliated man was standing above him and watching. It was only when he reached their lodgings, and began to pound vigorously on the door to Bert’s room, that George realized that he was light-headed and he was unable to prevent himself from slumping heavily to the ground. He peeled back his jacket and saw that his shirt was covered in blood, but he already understood that there would be no time to call for a doctor. His partner opened the door and peered down at a prostrate George who was trying to smile, but the pain was clearly cutting him like a knife.
“We got to leave Cleveland tonight, Bert.”
Bert helped his friend to his unsteady feet and into the room, and he pushed the door shut behind him.
“What happened, George? We got to find you a good colored doctor. Looks like you already lost a lot of blood.”
George collapsed onto a chair and shook his head. “Gonna lose a whole heap more if we don’t get the hell out of Cleveland.”Bert handed his friend a damp cloth with which to stanch the wound.
“We have to find you a colored doctor on the way out of town. You hear me?” George nodded, his face now knotted in pain. “That white woman’s husband catch up with you?”
George looked up at his partner, but Bert already knew the answer to the question.
Detroit, 1896: And the first time he looked at himself in the mirror he thought of the embarrassment and distress that this would cause his father and his heart sank. Down through his body like a stone, down toward those long, oversized boots that announced him as a clown. How could a West Indian do such a thing to himself? The first time he looked in the mirror he was ashamed, but he understood that his job was to make people laugh so they did not have time to ridicule or hurt him. And so he made the people of Detroit laugh. No longer Egbert Austin Williams. He kept telling himself, I am no longer Egbert Austin Williams. As I apply the burnt cork to my face, as I smear the black into my already sable skin, as I put on my lips, I am leaving behind Egbert Austin Williams. However, I can, at any time, reclaim this man with soap and water and the rugged application of a coarse towel. I can reclaim him, but only later, after the laughter. As he looked at himself in the mirror he knew that he had disappeared, and he understood that every night he would have to rediscover himself before he left the theater. The first time he looked at himself in the mirror the predicament was clear, but just who was this new man and what was his name? Was this actually a man, with his soon-to-be-shuffling feet, and his slurred half speech, and his childish gestures, and
Bert smiled and shook his head, and then he took another mouthful of his whiskey. “First time I ever went with a girl I guess I wasn’t careful.”
George tucked his shirt into his pants then leaned back and began to roar with laughter.
“Man, bad luck sure knows where to find you. The first time?”
His friend nodded and took another gulp of his whiskey. Then he turned and looked George full in the face.
“These womenfolks are a strange breed. But I guess you already got that figured out.”
George was halfway out the window when the man finally broke down the door and burst into the bedroom. George had one foot on the complex iron labyrinth of the fire escape and one foot marooned in the bedroom when, for some reason, he looked again at the man’s wife, who pulled the sheet up to her neck with melodramatic haste. For a moment it occurred to George that his blond conquest might actually be enjoying this drama, and then she screamed and George saw that the irate man had whipped out a pistol from some part of his person and he was pointing it directly at him. He heard the noise of the pistol before he felt the hot pain in his arm, and again the man’s wife screamed. George discovered himself on the sidewalk running, and although the husband didn’t fire again he knew that the humiliated man was standing above him and watching. It was only when he reached their lodgings, and began to pound vigorously on the door to Bert’s room, that George realized that he was light-headed and he was unable to prevent himself from slumping heavily to the ground. He peeled back his jacket and saw that his shirt was covered in blood, but he already understood that there would be no time to call for a doctor. His partner opened the door and peered down at a prostrate George who was trying to smile, but the pain was clearly cutting him like a knife.
“We got to leave Cleveland tonight, Bert.”
Bert helped his friend to his unsteady feet and into the room, and he pushed the door shut behind him.
“What happened, George? We got to find you a good colored doctor. Looks like you already lost a lot of blood.”
George collapsed onto a chair and shook his head. “Gonna lose a whole heap more if we don’t get the hell out of Cleveland.”Bert handed his friend a damp cloth with which to stanch the wound.
“We have to find you a colored doctor on the way out of town. You hear me?” George nodded, his face now knotted in pain. “That white woman’s husband catch up with you?”
George looked up at his partner, but Bert already knew the answer to the question.
Detroit, 1896: And the first time he looked at himself in the mirror he thought of the embarrassment and distress that this would cause his father and his heart sank. Down through his body like a stone, down toward those long, oversized boots that announced him as a clown. How could a West Indian do such a thing to himself? The first time he looked in the mirror he was ashamed, but he understood that his job was to make people laugh so they did not have time to ridicule or hurt him. And so he made the people of Detroit laugh. No longer Egbert Austin Williams. He kept telling himself, I am no longer Egbert Austin Williams. As I apply the burnt cork to my face, as I smear the black into my already sable skin, as I put on my lips, I am leaving behind Egbert Austin Williams. However, I can, at any time, reclaim this man with soap and water and the rugged application of a coarse towel. I can reclaim him, but only later, after the laughter. As he looked at himself in the mirror he knew that he had disappeared, and he understood that every night he would have to rediscover himself before he left the theater. The first time he looked at himself in the mirror the predicament was clear, but just who was this new man and what was his name? Was this actually a man, with his soon-to-be-shuffling feet, and his slurred half speech, and his childish gestures, and
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