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Back The Human Zoo
Chapters (37)
  1. THE HUMAN ZOO
  2. Also by Sabina Murray
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Part I
  8. I
  9. II
  10. III
  11. IV
  12. V
  13. VI
  14. VII
  15. VIII
  16. IX
  17. X
  18. XI
  19. XII
  20. XIII
  21. XIV
  22. XV
  23. XVI
  24. XVII
  25. XVIII
  26. Part II
  27. I
  28. II
  29. III
  30. IV
  31. V
  32. VI
  33. VII
  34. VIII
  35. IX
  36. Acknowledgments
  37. Back Cover

Kent J. Baxter, I remembered as his picture slowly materialized, was the writer of erudite and surprisingly best-selling histories. He had won a Pulitzer Prize for his study of the banana industry, Mister Tally Man, which exposed the exploitation of banana workers in the early part of the twentieth century. When this book appeared in the early nineties I had been plotting my own career. I remembered thinking that if one looked at the plight of workers at any time in history and had something appealing, like bananas, to focus the research, one would likely expose some horrific exploitation in an interesting way and that this might be a good model for a future book. Apparently a photograph from the late seventies had been unearthed of some frat party at the University of Virginia. Senator Norlund Boom of Alabama had been the first suspect for the person in blackface, but he had protested—truthfully—that he was not the man who had chosen to costume himself as Harry Belafonte (an identity suggested by the Hawaiian shirt) but was actually the man in the gorilla suit. It was Kent J. Baxter who was in blackface, and his newest book, The Sad Menagerie, already out in advance review copies, was being withdrawn from publication. It was Kent J. Baxter’s book that had been seen as the competition for mine. Baxter had made a sincere-sounding apology, saying that his admiration for Belafonte had inspired the costume, that Belafonte’s song “Banana Boat” had led him on his quest to tell the stories of the banana workers, but the damage was done. Baxter had been knocked out of the game after generating a significant amount of interest in the plight of the human zoo participants.

I inhaled and groaned and considered, then texted back:

First draft close.

My response sounded so confident that I almost believed it.

III

III

Mannie and I reached my aunt’s house shortly before ten. The lights were all still on, although Tita Rosa usually had only the vestibule and library lit at this hour. I thanked Mannie and gave him some extra money for his help. He tried to refuse, and we went back and forth a few times, pantomiming politeness, because we both knew that he deserved it and would eventually take it.

Tita Rosa and Tito Iñigo were waiting for me, the former with her hair unpinned in preparation for sleep, the latter dancing at my return.

“Tita,” I said. “You shouldn’t wait for me if you’re tired.”

“I’m not tired. I’m old. Beng is heating food for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Not hungry?”

“I’m not hungry. I’m old.”

“Don’t play games with me, Ting.” She shook her head but then smiled. “Okay, I am tired. I just want to be with my children, my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren, and if I can’t be with them, I want to be with God!”