FLESH AND THE DEVIL by Kola Boof

by Kola Boof

  Dr. Yoo thought (to himself) that if he were a black person and was having such hallucinations as hers, then he might be driven to suicide, too.

  “I didn’t know how else to help them...so I walked into the ocean. I tried to die, because I don’t know how else to find them.”

  Find my prayer. Open it with your hands.

  “Mrs. Childress?”

  RooAmber could see the door up ahead. The door on Kofi Hoodi’s slave island. From the door--you could see a bright sun over the sea and you could see the mainland of Ajowa. And this door...some Africans, the ones that had been racist against the whites in Ajowa, thought it was a crucifix cut into the stone walls (the white men’s cross that they liked to use in those days for fucking their white women)...but many other Africans thought it was a tree cut in the stone walls (a tree, in African cultures, representing the black man and the dark earth from which a tree grows representing the black woman). But on Kofi Hoodi’s island, there was no dirt, the stone wall grew out of a stone floor, and because of that, it looked like a crucifix to RooAmber and not a tree, and just as the hot sun blazed through the stone cross like an omen...she had...

  “Mrs. Childress?”

  “He loves me.”

  “What?”

  “He...he comes from me, that’s why he lives for me.”

  “Mrs. Childress, what language is that you’re speaking in?”

  RooAmber blanked out. Then she blanked in.

  With a tremble and a chill, she gasped and blinked her eyes rapidly, her voice asking him, “What...what did you say?”

  “I said--what language was that? The one you were just speaking?”

  RooAmber didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “It must of been English, because that’s the only language I know.”

  And then, casually, she lifted the cup of water off the desk in front of her and began to take a sip. She looked over in Dr. Yoo’s mirror...she saw herself in the mirror drinking from the cup...she bolted!, jumped screaming out of her chair! She screamed as though she’d seen some hideous creature.

  But then, suddenly, she remembered...that is me. I do have light skin and green eyes and long, long auburn hair. Yes. That is me. I don’t know why I thought I was so very black. Why look at me, I’m not charcoal colored.

  That’s me in the mirror. I’m an American.

  RooAmber then asked Dr. Yoo, “Who in the fuck are you!?”

  ••

  Dr. Yoo took the black stamper from its ink blotter and stamped one word across the court papers: DERANGED.

  He spoke into his tape recorder: “Patient truly believes that she is two different reincarnations--an African princess and a former slave. She believes that her abused slave children, who were sold away from her, have been coming back to haunt her. She feels very strongly that she must commit suicide. She has dreamt of only one thing during her stay at the hospital--getting a gun and blowing her own brains out. She says there’s no other way.” Click.

  “I recommend the court take legal custody of Mrs. RooAmber Sojourner Childress. I’m assigning her to the mental ward at Women’s Cathedral Hospital in Princess George’s County, Maryland. She is not to be considered for release until she has completed at least one year of psychiatric and medicinal therapy. Patient is a magnitude twelve. A danger to herself and possibly others.”

  Dr. Yoo clicked off his tape recorder and sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his jet black hair.

  A year later--Scotch Childress thought his wife looked like a little girl.

  RooAmber broke into an uncontrollable smile when she saw him standing at the gate where loved ones waited to pick up mental patient releases--and as Scotch stared at her, smiling back, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen her look so innocent and free.

  The hair weave had been taken out, her natural medium length dark brown hair going back in neat cornrows, and both her hands held the suitcase in front of her, her legs rushing to get to Scotch and to get free.

  “There’s my princess”, he said as she reached the gate.

  RooAmber dropped her suitcase when the security guard unlocked the gate. She ran straight into Scotch’s open arms and screamed, “I missed you so much!”

  “Not as much as I missed you”, he laughed twirling her.

  The tree-lined highway.

  They stopped on the side of the road and had sex, because they simply couldn’t stand waiting another moment.

  Toni Braxton’s song “Breathe Again” poured from the radio like molasses and pure hope undistilled. The steamy windows ran tears.

  “From now on, this is our song”, RooAmber moaned. “I’m going to make it up to you, Scotch. You’ll see. I’m going to be the perfect wife.”

  Scotch moaned as his semen filled up inside her. He told her, “All I want is your love, RooAmber. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re my princess.”

  RooAmber laughed and said, “It comes in handy.”

  “What does?”

  “You being twenty years older than me. It comes in handy. I think I needed that. Thank you for being in my life, Scotch. Thank you for making me one of the few black women I know who isn’t alone.”

  Scotch took a deep breath, looked at her sweet smelling cornrows and said, “I love it that you’re black.”

  Immediately, RooAmber thought about Scotch and his sister Rum. They had both married black people. Rum’s husband was a black firefighter and they lived in Seattle with their two perfect children, Dick and Jane. They were so happy and so secure in their identity as people. It was beautiful, RooAmber thought, the way they all were so lucky to come out of the ugly history of America and to have each other--as human beings. Not as colors, but as people.

  “What are you thinking about?”, Scotch asked.

  “Your sister Rum. How happy she and Darnell are and how right they are for each other. It’s beautiful. Black and white together.”

  Softly, Scotch Childress kissed her mouth. He told her, “Any love is beautiful and every love is beautiful, as long as it’s love. All love comes from God and that’s what people should remember.”

  Snap! Everything went black. Blank.

  When he said the words “God” and “Remember”--everything became a dark, dark tunnel. Underwater.

  RooAmber could feel the sea against her naked flesh. She was swimming, her coarse black body flitting and bending to keep up with the pace of the dolphins.

  And then she looked back at her legs and saw that she...was a dolphin.

  ••

  Sula opened the door. Her pretty face, dark as wet wood, nervous and excited. Her manner overly careful. She hugged RooAmber close, and then standing behind her was Dinari. Tall and handsome and talking about, “Welcome home, Roo-Boo.”

  Scotch laughed and tried to pretend that he felt welcome at the home of Soraya Jones. Of course his wife’s family would be cordial to him, he knew that, but he also knew that they had all been vehemently opposed to his marriage to RooAmber, and it wasn’t his age or him being a professor. Soraya Jones had told him straight out, “I don’t like you white monkey motherfuckas! ‘N I did not raise my chile to bring no nasty ass cracka up in here, so don’t come talk’n that mom shit to me, white bastid. I’m not your goddamn nigga bitch.”

  And that had been the horrible time when Soraya had thrown a pot up against his head and told RooAmber, “You take your white massa kang and get the fuck out my house and DON’T come back, sellout bitch!”

  Not only had Soraya’s milk-yellow skin turned red as a beet that day, but she had broken out in hives and shook so uncontrollably that she lost her breath and had to be rushed to the hospital.

  “Mama’s taking this hard”, Sula had said back then. “And I don’t blame her, Roo. How you gonna let that white man touch you? Don’t you know how many black men would give their right arm to have a black woman who looks like you?”

  “And how do I look, Sula? Like a white woman?”

  “Roo...”


  “Sula, save it. You don’t have to pretend that you like me being with Scotch. I know you inside out and you hate it. Black men reject your dark skin and African hair every day of the week, they leave you on the right side of the street to chase and cherish the white and yellow girls on the left side of it, and yet you still refuse to have a man unless he’s black. Why are you like that?”

  “Because I’m not weak”, Sula had said, “and if I can’t have my own reflection then I don’t want nobody else’s. I’m a Queen, RooAmber. Even if nobody knows it but dark nappyheaded me, I’m still a Queen. I don’t need a white man or a black man to validate who I am. I don’t need yellow girls with green eyes to validate me. I don’t need white women, who think it’s their inner being that black men are attracted to, to validate me. I look to my African ancestors and that’s who I look like. And there’s nothing prettier than Africa in my eyes. I can do without niggas, trust me.”

  But times change...and Sula had a serious boyfriend now. And he was chocolate skinned just like Sula. Trent Olson. He walked up as RooAmber was being hugged by Sula and Dinari, saying, “Hey there, RooAmber, welcome home.”

  Soraya, who was intensely nervous about seeing her daughter outside the mental ward, was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on what she knew was RooAmber’s favorite meal--baked chicken wings, potato salad, collard greens, macaroni and cheese and a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid with lemon squeezed in the glasses.

  “Ma, she here”, Sula called out as her boyfriend Trent took Scotch’s coat and Dinari shook his hand. “Hey, Scotch, what’s up man?”

  “Not much. Glad to have the wife home.”

  Sula asked RooAmber, “How do you feel?”

  “I feel fine. Something smells good as shit in that kitchen.”

  Sula laughed at her sister’s casualness, but her lingering celestial-eyed stare made it obvious that she wanted to know more about her younger sister’s condition.

  “I always hate this”, said RooAmber.

  “Hate what?”

  “Being the oldest child and then having you and Dinari act like the older siblings. I really am sorry for not offering much leadership for you guys. You’re always taking care of me and holding me up as though I’m fragile.”

  “You’re not fragile”, intoned Dinari with his handsome Morris Chestnut mixed with Tyson Beckford and a splash of Mario Van Peebles-look’n self. “You’re just a deep feeling person, Roo-Boo. And that came from you being the oldest and mama being harder on you.”

  Sula went on and asked, “Are you really alright now? You’re not going to try to kill yourself anymore?”

  RooAmber laughed. “Yes! I assure you, Sula. I’m O.K. now. The medication they have me on is absolutely wonderful. I stopped seeing those images of slave children almost immediately and I learned to accept my color and my looks. I don’t feel dirty anymore when I stand next to you and Dinari. We just have different fathers, but we’re all the same children. I’m convinced now that I was suffering from some sort of postpartum depression related to the miscarriages.”

  “But what about this medication”, Sula pressed. “What’s going to happen when you stop taking it?”

  “I’m never going to stop taking it, Sula. I’m on it for life. When Dr. Yoo first put me on it, I was taking it four times a day. Six months after that, I was taking it twice a day. And now I only have to take it once a day. Eventually, I’ll only need it whenever I feel really stressed out, which could be once a week, but according to the doctors, I’ll need to be on it for life.”

  “Uhn”, smirked Sula. The look in her eyes said--”we’ll just see about that.”

  “But anyway, I feel good”, RooAmber said enthusiastically. “I mean, I feel really, really good. And I have Scotch. My King.”

  They kissed as he put his arm reassuringly around her waist. Sula forced herself not to flinch or turn around and walk out. She took a deep breath and told Scotch, “Please take good care of my big sister. She’s been through a lot all her life and she really deserves to be happy.”

  Just as Sula said it, Dinari thought about all the times he had seen his mother take a switch or a belt and whip RooAmber when they were kids. But for some reason, when he and Sula did something bad, they never got spankings or whippings. Soraya would just curse at them or tell them not to be bad kids, but with RooAmber--she would become violent. Her clenched mouth echoed now in his mind saying, “Didn’t...I...tell...your...snot colored...little yellow ass...not to take money off my dresser without my permission!!?”

  And the belt would strike RooAmber’s wiggling, twisting torso over and over as Soraya screamed, “Be still heffa! So I can whoop yo ass!”

  “Well, Sula”, replied Scotch Childress. “That is one promise that I can definitely keep. I will always take good care of RooAmber.”

  “And I will always take care of...”

  Soraya came into the living room, her chubby pear shaped body moving briskly, the huge hips shaking side to side as she wiped her hands with a kitchen towel. Soraya was one of those women that black men call a ‘redbone’--the kind whose noses, ears and eyes turned red when they became upset or emotional. She looked now as though she’d been cursing herself out all day long.

  Scotch tensed up and Sula got a lump in her throat.

  RooAmber surprised everyone by running into her mother’s arms and hugging the woman so hard that Soraya burst into tears and yelled out--”Lawd Jesus, thank you! I didn’t mean to hurt my baby! Lawd you know I didn’t mean it!” And as Sula and Trent nodded, saying, “Praise God”...the mother and child stood there for what seemed the longest time, just hugging and crying and not letting go.

  ••

  Later that night, as RooAmber lay back on the satin sheets of her own bed for the first time in more than a year, and as Scotch Childress buried his white tongue-flickering face deep against the wetness of her hot, butter drenched lips--her green eyes drifted beyond the open patio doors of their lush bedroom. She saw the moon on high. Pearly and dazzling as twinkling silver. Its luminous glare beholding the night like some lost lonely lord.

  Part demon, part innocent child, part mystery lady.

  It would be hours before Scotch was done licking and kissing, and so she closed her eyes and put her head back...and winced as the moonlight hit her naked face, right against the width of her thick Ajowan nose, like wet sickle fire from an African funeral.

  13

  . •

  The Washingtonian Post

  •

  Indeed, the moon and its loneliness did carry on, the sweetness of life and life’s unfairness entwined like Siamese fighting fish, the swishing tail of it determined to dredge up any and everything that twinkled at the bottom of the sea--including dead love (which never dies) and ancient memories, both which appeared on RooAmber’s ovaries as a tumor.

  “I doubt you’ll have any children, Mr. and Mrs. Childress.”

  Naturally, she had the tumor removed, much the same way she’d taken mind-altering prescription drugs to cut out the little black as tar slave children from visiting her, but then one night, she looked up at the moon and found that her green eyes could not tolerate its glare. No matter how beautiful she thought it was or how casually she tried to behold it--its luminescence rebuked her, and that was the night that everything changed.

  A friend that RooAmber went to college with, Meredith Hoover, had gotten her a job as a copy editor in Brynn Duke’s office at the Washingtonian Post, and although destiny doesn’t always meet itself, and like fate can even have sick days, RooAmber Childress found herself getting off an elevator and walking down the hall to the newspaper’s cafeteria one afternoon, which was a first, because she had always brought her lunch to work, and just as fate would have it...Shane Roberts was coming out of the cafeteria with a group of colleagues at the very moment that RooAmber was approaching it.

  In mid-sentence, he stopped talking to his colleagues, his smile and animation completely evaporating as he caught sight of th
e beautiful woman with the pod-shaped head, or at least, for some odd reason, that’s the first thing he noticed--even with her flowing auburn hair.

  “Damn bro”, said the only black colleague, a sports reporter named Zorn Matthews. “It’s just a woman.”

  And then, suddenly, as though Shane were being caught throwing a brick through a window...RooAmber saw him, too. Power of God. She saw him!

  The most handsome honey bronzed brown eyed man she’d ever laid eyes on. Her body’s first impulse was, shockingly enough, to urinate, but luckily, she caught herself. And then...utter euphoria, utter confusion. The wetness.

  The Sea rising up a great tidal wave...the Sky throwing down the Moon.

  Staring at one another, Shane and RooAmber blinked in slow motion.

  A feeling of repulsion swept over her, because she loved her husband. She felt dirty, filthy, indecent, andyet her body was gliding towards the handsome stranger as though it were being pulled by the universe.

  Or children.

  Passing one another...they were like shy children, neither one could stop staring, and Shane’s colleagues were both impressed and envious, and mostly dumbfounded, as they watched the melodramatic tension that seemingly sprung out of nowhere between these soulfully beautiful yellow people as though they were two moons orbiting the sun.

  “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”, whispered one of the newspaper reporters.

  “I’ve seen her before”, said another one. “She’s the new girl in Brynn Duke’s office.”

  “This is disgusting”, said the black reporter, Zorn Matthews. “Shane, you are married to a beautiful woman who loves you, you have a son, you have...”

  ••

  Married or not, he left them standing there and went, as though in a trance, back into the cafeteria--he had to meet her!