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 decided I wanted some baklava. Right over there where the man with eyes was sucking me up. Imagine that, disappearing into a stranger’s eyes in Paris. How would they find me? Who would know to look? I don’t leave any tracks, am quick to burn bridges. My friends, well my friends, the real ones, wouldn’t think twice. Liliane, she’s having dessert. They’d smile, unless no drawings arrived in say a month or two. That is my signature, after all, an image. I forget what I was wearing that night. Probably the floor-length azure crepe with lace triangles up to my hips and no back at all. I like that dress, but I’m going to dye it grise: ma robe grise. Oh, Jean-René slid his eyes into my mouth and asked me if I had plans for the evening. “Mais non, monsieur, j’ai pensé que tu voudrais faire des arrangements.” I told him my name several hours later. By then he could barely speak.
Jean-René with the black nipples that grew. Each tongue flick drawing black licorice sticks tiptoeing over my teeth and tongue. Third World delicacies. Cascades of caviar round my neck. Noire et blanche. He played the piano, when he wasn’t near me. Actually he was a concert pianist. He played Bach and Stravinsky, when he wasn’t near me. He sometimes played scales, but anybody can do that.
Coming down the Champs-Élysées all the record stores blasted Stevie Wonder’s newest release, Songs in the Key of Life. “Isn’t She Lovely” chased me from corner to corner. I didn’t know if I should hide near the grated windows or fly through the night like some paradisiacal bird of color: many colors. Any color, everything matches: spirit; free spirits; about to be in love a lot. Stevie Wonder pushing us closer together. Eventually, I stopped running. I walked fast. Waited by the curb. At some point he put his arm over my bare shoulder. His fingers grasped my skin so there were five imprints. A woman with three sets of fingerprints. That would drive Interpol crazy. I was already grazing the edges. I didn’t leave his side til we got to where we began. Remember, the hillside outside Meknes? You won’t believe me, but I heard Charlie Palmieri in Paris on our way to heaven. Those fingers again. I’ll have to draw it for you, okay?