“Yeah. Yeah, but you can meet me . . . let me see . . . oh, I’m so happy! Why, in two weeks we’ll be in Orangeburg, South Carolina.”

“What?”

“I’m dancing with this group called Soil & Soul . . . they go all over to raise money and morale . . . bail, legal fees, stuff like that for the Civil Rights Movement.”

“But Cypress, the crackers are raising hell out there. You gotta wait for me, ’fore you get yourself killed.”

“No Leroy, it’s not like that. We travel with the same kinda protection that Rap Brown gets, and the Panther Party, even Ralph Featherstone is on the same circuit . . . don’t you understand?”

“Cypress, will you listen to me? What you’re talking about is politics; that’s not what you’re trained to do, is it? Do you know anything about guns, Cypress? Do you know about white folks and bombs? Do you?”

“I know we haveta do something. We promised the shit had to stop here, didn’t we? Didn’t we say that somebody had to pay?”

“Yes, darling . . .”

“Don’t ‘yes, darling’ me. You’re sitting somewhere in France. L’Ouverture’s bones should be rattling in your ears, but all you can hear is Europeans being amazed you can read music.”

“Cypress, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Living here is unreasonable, or don’t you remember?”

“When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

“No, you don’t haveta come home. I just wanted to tell you what . . . well. I was so proud of myself. Now you made me scream at you . . .”

“Cypress, I’m coming home so I can marry you.”

“Oh, Leroy, that’s perfect.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘yes’? What do you mean ‘Oh, that’s perfect’?”

“The first gig is in a church. A church in Valdosta, Georgia.”

“That may be where the first gig is, but we’re getting married in your mama’s house.”

“Leroy, are you serious? You want to marry me?”

“I will, if you say yes & stop talking ’bout going to get yourself killed.”

“Dancing never killt nobody.”

“Dancing in a church in Valdosta might get you blown to bits. Wasn’t that the church was bombed a few months ago?”

“Yes, but that’s why we have ta keep going back.”

Leroy wanted to shake her to her senses, to come cross the waters and kiss her with tides, salt, and the music he heard as she spoke. Pigeons criss-crossed the Tuileries, le Pont Royal, the Louvre; flicks of sunlight waltzed past his windows. Paris was a formidable temptation, but this woman on the other end of the phone was his treasure.

“Listen, Cypress, can Soil & Soul get along without you for a few days?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be very professional of me . . .”

“But can they?”

“I guess so . . .”

“Can I get along without you?”

“You been over there for god knows how long . . .”

“Do you want me to get along without you?”