Read Online Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart by Alice Walker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alice Walker
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humans were now in the position of deer or antelope or buffalo or polar bears. There wasn’t any longer a safe place for any of them. And yet she hated being afraid because fear was so paralyzing. She knew that if human beings, on a global level, gave in to the fear of being wiped out, disposable, like all the other creatures, they would never be able to think and feel their way out of their dilemma.
And so she had sat in a car crossing a long silver bridge, holding a new friend’s hand. This was a woman who seemed to be exactly where she was. In a state of near catatonic panic. Let’s go ask the trees! this woman had said, the first time Kate looked her in the eye and said: Hi, what’s happening?
Had He Been Shot?
Had he been shot, strangled, or drowned? There was no way of telling, from looking at the body. Yolo sat close to it, just where the warm moist sand met the hotter dry sand, and where apparently the body had washed up. There was no blood. He saw no puncture wound. No rope burn around the young man’s neck. He wanted to touch him. Cautiously, looking all about, up and down the deserted beach, he leaned over and lifted gently a strand of brownish-black hair that blew across the peaceful face. He had a feeling of fatherhood. Maybe even grandfatherhood. The boy was so young. So incredibly good-looking, wearing only threadbare shorts, a string of blue beads around his neck, and a silver ring in his right ear. Whatever troubles he’d faced in life were forgotten now, as Yolo wished they might have been while he was still alive.
He felt very present, waiting there beside the body. Present and useful. Drawing his legs up he sat in the lotus position and began to meditate. After half an hour he stirred, stretched his legs, and began to wonder if he were being tricked. But no, looking behind him toward “da locals’ ” parking lot, which was unpaved and partly obscured by scraggly trees, he saw Jerry returning with what looked like a troop, all of them walking heavily, their heads down, as if resigned to receiving bad news.
Jerry introduced him with a nod and briefly explained why he was there. Yolo stepped back immediately, outside the circle of the men.
He did not leave, however. Later, he would wonder why he did not. He stood watching their expressions as each of the men looked at the body of the young man. On some faces there were tears. One of the men, an older version of the dead man, went swiftly to his knees and held the body in his arms. He was smoking a cigarette and Yolo thought how odd it was, how rarely seen, this scene: a living brother holding a dead one with cigarette smoke curling in the air behind them.
Working in silence two of the men wrapped the body in a tattered bedspread and hoisted it onto their shoulders. Yolo followed them to the parking lot and over to a battered pea-green van. After carefully laying the body inside, the men shut the door.
He stayed a long time in the parking lot, looking at the bare earth, the footprints, the occasional gum wrapper and beer can. Then he looked out to sea. Seeing the ocean reminded him of his vacation. He started back toward the hotel, back toward his lounge chair, his novel. But he doubted he could really return to any of it.
When Kate Had Visited
When Kate had visited a local shaman, an African-Amerindian woman who had studied with Armando years before, she had been charmed, before completely going under, by Armando’s voice as he sang icaros, healing songs that had come down to him through countless generations, which Anunu had on tape. Ya es el tiempo para abrir tu corazón. Now is the time to open your heart. This was the line that she always understood, no matter how distracted or apprehensive she was at the beginning of the journey. It never failed to make her feel the rightness of her decision to be where she was. Sitting in the dark, drinking a horrible-tasting mixture of an unseen, unknown tree and vine from another continent, and
And so she had sat in a car crossing a long silver bridge, holding a new friend’s hand. This was a woman who seemed to be exactly where she was. In a state of near catatonic panic. Let’s go ask the trees! this woman had said, the first time Kate looked her in the eye and said: Hi, what’s happening?
Had He Been Shot?
Had he been shot, strangled, or drowned? There was no way of telling, from looking at the body. Yolo sat close to it, just where the warm moist sand met the hotter dry sand, and where apparently the body had washed up. There was no blood. He saw no puncture wound. No rope burn around the young man’s neck. He wanted to touch him. Cautiously, looking all about, up and down the deserted beach, he leaned over and lifted gently a strand of brownish-black hair that blew across the peaceful face. He had a feeling of fatherhood. Maybe even grandfatherhood. The boy was so young. So incredibly good-looking, wearing only threadbare shorts, a string of blue beads around his neck, and a silver ring in his right ear. Whatever troubles he’d faced in life were forgotten now, as Yolo wished they might have been while he was still alive.
He felt very present, waiting there beside the body. Present and useful. Drawing his legs up he sat in the lotus position and began to meditate. After half an hour he stirred, stretched his legs, and began to wonder if he were being tricked. But no, looking behind him toward “da locals’ ” parking lot, which was unpaved and partly obscured by scraggly trees, he saw Jerry returning with what looked like a troop, all of them walking heavily, their heads down, as if resigned to receiving bad news.
Jerry introduced him with a nod and briefly explained why he was there. Yolo stepped back immediately, outside the circle of the men.
He did not leave, however. Later, he would wonder why he did not. He stood watching their expressions as each of the men looked at the body of the young man. On some faces there were tears. One of the men, an older version of the dead man, went swiftly to his knees and held the body in his arms. He was smoking a cigarette and Yolo thought how odd it was, how rarely seen, this scene: a living brother holding a dead one with cigarette smoke curling in the air behind them.
Working in silence two of the men wrapped the body in a tattered bedspread and hoisted it onto their shoulders. Yolo followed them to the parking lot and over to a battered pea-green van. After carefully laying the body inside, the men shut the door.
He stayed a long time in the parking lot, looking at the bare earth, the footprints, the occasional gum wrapper and beer can. Then he looked out to sea. Seeing the ocean reminded him of his vacation. He started back toward the hotel, back toward his lounge chair, his novel. But he doubted he could really return to any of it.
When Kate Had Visited
When Kate had visited a local shaman, an African-Amerindian woman who had studied with Armando years before, she had been charmed, before completely going under, by Armando’s voice as he sang icaros, healing songs that had come down to him through countless generations, which Anunu had on tape. Ya es el tiempo para abrir tu corazón. Now is the time to open your heart. This was the line that she always understood, no matter how distracted or apprehensive she was at the beginning of the journey. It never failed to make her feel the rightness of her decision to be where she was. Sitting in the dark, drinking a horrible-tasting mixture of an unseen, unknown tree and vine from another continent, and
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