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Back Liliane
Chapters (31)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Room in the Dark I
  6. Fawns of the Diaspora Court Liliane in Paris, While Tabou Combo Whispers “Coq Qualité” in Her Ears
  7. Room in the Dark II
  8. “I Usedta Drink, Smoke and Do the Hoochie-Koo,” or What’s a Girl to Do When Her Mother Looks Like Ruth Brown
  9. Room in the Dark III
  10. “El Bochinche” es que only Fe Cortijo Knows or All the LeBron Brothers Know If Victor-Jésus María Sang Lili to Her Freedom
  11. Room in the Dark IV
  12. And Where Is Garnett Mimms?
  13. Room in the Dark V
  14. I Know Where Kansas City Is, But Did Wilbert Harrison Ever Get There?
  15. Room in the Dark VI
  16. 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
  17. Room in the Dark VII
  18. I Know Where the E Train Stops But I’m “Sendin’ Out an S.O.S.” and I’m Not Edwin Starr Either
  19. Room in the Dark VIII
  20. “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?
  21. Room in the Dark IX
  22. Every Time My Lil World Seems Blue, I Just Haveta Look at You and Learn Eye-Hand Coordination
  23. Room in the Dark X
  24. “That’s Why I Love Her So and Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, I Want to Know” or Why Jackie Wilson Died in Silence
  25. Room in the Dark XI
  26. There’s No Use Cryin’ “Forever” or Hyacinthe Returns from a Very Blue Holiday for Real B(l)ack at Ya
  27. Room in the Dark XII
  28. Lollie Struts Her Stuff Thru “The Sea of Love” or the Brides of Frankenstein Catch the Bouquet
  29. By Ntozake Shange
  30. Acknowledgments
  31. Copyright

I was grooving as the remains of a black Cherokee dressed as a buffalo soldier when this white boy who reminded me of flicks I’ve seen of General Custer, this white boy jumps off this Harley, leather jacket and all, to pay homage to the spirits of the New World. Now I only hear Lili’s laughter and brisk deliberate steps, a “man’s man” walking, when suddenly I am covered with sheet music, pages and pages of blank sheet music. Then, I hear Lili chanting some Yoruba elegy to a very out of tune Charlie Parker solo, circa 1948. Qué pasa? You know as well as I. The New White Man has put himself inside our piece, carved or seduced by an educated sleight-of-hand a role for himself. My Lili doesn’t even move these papers off my face so I can get another glimpse at this interloper. She’s laughing. A pale “April in Paris” stumbles from an archaic soprano sax in the hands of this Anglo, hair lying like black wings. From this position as a dead buffalo soldier, blank sheet music fluttering, a pair of old Doc Marten’s by my graveside and a doomed melody sitting on the wind, I think to myself: This is too close to real life to be art.

And I was right, tu sabe, because Lili rode off on that bike with that white boy and what had been territory as yet undiscovered by European “explorers” was swept away on the wheels of a 750 Harley-Davidson. Now, I am not quick to anger, yo say que yo tengo razón, but I felt absolutely out of step, time, and my usual prowess this particular evening. After all I’m clad in nineteenth-century garb of a guy who terrorized Native Americans for a living on a hillside by the Pacific in the company of the son of Quetzal played by Winnie with blond dreads, Sequoyah represented by Itami Kawakiya with orange braids, and Oya, the courtesan of Shango, in the person of Rosa when she is not a priest. Virtually beatified, we looked at one another in disbelief. Then Rosa became a priest again, said a blessing, and dismissed us to our real-life selves.

You have to admit what commitment I showed that day. Not leaving the site of the performance as this stranger rode off with mi corazón. I trust her. That’s muy facil, sí. Oh, but even though I had warned Lili continually of the infinite paths to cultural compromise, I obviously had been duped.