Chapters (31)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Room in the Dark I
- Fawns of the Diaspora Court Liliane in Paris, While Tabou Combo Whispers “Coq Qualité” in Her Ears
- Room in the Dark II
- “I Usedta Drink, Smoke and Do the Hoochie-Koo,” or What’s a Girl to Do When Her Mother Looks Like Ruth Brown
- Room in the Dark III
- “El Bochinche” es que only Fe Cortijo Knows or All the LeBron Brothers Know If Victor-Jésus María Sang Lili to Her Freedom
- Room in the Dark IV
- And Where Is Garnett Mimms?
- Room in the Dark V
- I Know Where Kansas City Is, But Did Wilbert Harrison Ever Get There?
- Room in the Dark VI
- Zoom Went the Strings of Liliane’s Heart, But Arsenio Rodriguez Could Have Told Her the Music Sounds Just as Sweet When We’re Blind and Still We See
- Room in the Dark VII
- I Know Where the E Train Stops But I’m “Sendin’ Out an S.O.S.” and I’m Not Edwin Starr Either
- Room in the Dark VIII
- “Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby” or Wouldn’t It Be Great If the Lead Singer of The Crests Wasn’t a White Boy and I Could Be My Mother?
- Room in the Dark IX
- Every Time My Lil World Seems Blue, I Just Haveta Look at You and Learn Eye-Hand Coordination
- Room in the Dark X
- “That’s Why I Love Her So and Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, I Want to Know” or Why Jackie Wilson Died in Silence
- Room in the Dark XI
- There’s No Use Cryin’ “Forever” or Hyacinthe Returns from a Very Blue Holiday for Real B(l)ack at Ya
- Room in the Dark XII
- Lollie Struts Her Stuff Thru “The Sea of Love” or the Brides of Frankenstein Catch the Bouquet
- By Ntozake Shange
- Acknowledgments
- Copyright
Oh, she’d jump up and call me every lowdown exploitative muthafuckah in the world. It was “chingathis” and “chingathat.” “I’ll be damned if it ain’t some sick-assed voyeuristic photographer thinks his art is nurtured by a woman’s tears.” “Suck it, niggah,” she’d scream, or sometimes she said, “Suck it, spic,” if she was really mad. Then she’d turn around, tryin’ to dress herself in this state. Something was always on backward or she put on mismatched shoes, threw my hat on her head steada hers. She’d go stormin’ out saying, “My art is not dependent on fuckin’ you or hurtin’ you. Niggah, my art ain’t gotta damn thing to do with your Puerto Rican behind. Besides you can’t take pictures, anyway. Go study with Adal Maldonado, you black muthafuckah.”
That’s when I could watch her go down the avenue, wet and smellin’ exactly how I left her. Then I watched all the other muthafuckahs just feel how she walked, talkin’ under her breath in that butchered Spanish she talks when she’s mad at me. I watch them watchin’ her, and I know if I strolled down the street within the next hour I might as well be who I said I was in the beginning: Pete “El Conde” Rodriguez que toca la música. Only the instrument I played is named Liliane.
Musta worked her too hard. She don’t come round anymore. Well, not for a while. Canta, mi cancion, cariña, canta, canta. “Speak my tongue, negra, it’s good for ya. Liliane, I know I was good to you. Good to you. Hasn’t Victor-Jésus María always bathed you in kisses, com besos lideres? Didn’t I, negra, didn’t I….”
Room in the Dark IV
——— So what do you want to do today?
——— We do what we usually do. You say what’s on your mind; we go from there.
——— I don’t want to talk about anything. I want to go home. That’s what I want to do.
——— Okay. Let’s go home, then.
——— That’s clever. That’s very clever. You know and I know that we’re not going anywhere. This is a room with shadow light, a couch, a large soft chair, and a closed window.
——— Yes, that’s true.
——— Well, then all this talk about going home is crazy. We’re stuck in this room.
———
——— I mean, I know I came here voluntarily. I wanted to come cause I’m coming out of my body. This is really odd. Parts of me, my feelings are streaming out of my hands and my thighs. I sense when I am walking that my thoughts are dripping down my calves from behind my knees. I am leaving puddles of myself underneath me and I can’t pick myself back up, put myself back together.
——— Is that why you want to go home?