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
I love her. I love her enough to tell you the truth no matter how much it hurts.
We know that notions come over women with the full moon or their periods or pregnancy. Women get cravings for good dick, or ice cream ’n pickles seems like in the natural course of the universe. But it never occurred to me, not ever, that Lili would getta yen for a biker. Now, don’t you think that I woulda gone and found a motorcycle if I’d known my Lili was about to straddle a Harley that came with its own all-knowing white boy. Of course, I woulda. You know that. But see, I didn’t get a chance. I didn’t even know what I was up against.
Here we are working on Lili’s new project: being the living tissue of lost ancestors in graves she digs along the Coast Highway where passing automobiles are flagged down to come to our funeral services which Lili officiates. We’ve got these feathers and cowries tied round our necks, faces painted, sometimes teeth, too. We are wrapped like mummies or simply in loincloths. Lili is sometimes naked with one flower over her navel. Anyway people get out of their cars and come to our funeral. Our spirits are nourished by their visits and the ghosts of the New World get up and dance with the gringo enthusiasts: That is until we reveal ourselves as the not-so-well-off folks of color from the Mission that we are. Tu m’entiende that dead Aztecs are so less threatening than a live cholo. Plus we gotta watch for the CHP, who don’t take kindly to us digging up public property for graves of live niggahs.
Mira, I remember feeling like I don’t want to die so young and handsome, plus, Lili had us singing Leadbelly’s chain gang blues songs, while somebody else, Rosa I believe, went around chanting the rosary as a Franciscan friar in drag. It was, to say the least, very dirty work, the digging, getting ready to get in the holes we dug and then waiting for the visitors from this world. But whenever the sun leapt over the treetops like a golden jaguar’s tongue licking fog off our skins and eyes and the cars would stop and follow Lili speaking Nauhlt directions, then I got off on the whole ceremony. Dead we ain’t. Due ceremony and reverence, we are. I could get to that. Estu bien, sus sueños de nuestra vida.