by Claude McKay
“Although you’re pure-blooded, I’m more Negro in feeling than you.”
“And acting not?”
“Well, I have no plumes in my head and rings in my nose.”
“But you have chains on your hands and feet. ‘Workers of the World, break—.’”
St. Dominique laughed heartily. He was going to the office of his white friend and they were walking along the same avenue where he had first met Lafala.
“Tell me, Dominique,” said Falope, “let us be serious now and tell me something. The other day we had an argument in the office about black and mulatto and the white fellows maintained that the mulatto is naturally discontented and divided against himself, that he is half-white and half-black and that the best part of him wants to be white. Do you ever feel that way?”
“I don’t believe the best part of the mulatto wants to be white, but we’re all divided, all have a dual personality, black, brown, yellow, white.”
“But do you feel half of you European and half African?”
“Not as much as you. You’re pure-blooded and much more European-minded in a way than I.”
“Oh, I’m serious, Dominique, tell me what you think about it.”
“Well, seriously, it’s all a fallacy. It’s a matter of economic determinism—.”3
“Oh, can that proletarian tripe! This is not an economic problem. It’s psychological.”
“I’m trying to be serious and you won’t let me,” said St. Dominique. “To us the psychological outlook is determined by the economic environment. . . . When the white man says the mulatto wants to be white he is right in a way. You yourself told me that in West Africa you have special schools for the children of white and black that neither pure black nor pure white children attend.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Falope.
“It was the same in the West Indies. The mulatto child is raised in a divided way between white and black. Father belonging to one race, mother to another, both of them of different social standing. But you have the identical thing between Jew and Christian and whites of different nations and classes.”
“But color makes the biggest difference with us, you see.”
“Yes, but it’s because white things are the mightiest things, the richest and biggest material things in the world. The whites don’t want to share these things with colored people and so they throw it up to us in a nasty way that we want to be white, as if we want to change our natural skins. When your flattering white friends talk to you that way about mulattoes, you tell them that blacks want to be white too by getting some of the better white things of life.”
“But you don’t believe that divided allegiance might be psychic? You never had that experience?”
“Mess! I was mixed up in all sorts of feelings before I found myself in this work. Now it’s all simple.”
“Too simple for me,” said Falope. “Why do the whites have all this economic power that you and your comrades worship? Don’t you think it was special superiority? Or was it just chance?”
“Economic chance, maybe. But I can’t answer your question. You must go and read the histories of the peoples of the world and then think it out for yourself. . . . You’ve got lessons all around you to learn by if you want to learn. Take this Lafala case, for example. There is little race to it besides his color. It’s a stinking proletarian case, from Marseille across the ocean to New York and back.”4
They were now at the building where St. Dominique’s functionary friend worked, and they said goodbye, making a rendezvous for the evening if there were any news of Lafala.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day St. Dominique returned to the prison and saw Lafala. His detention had developed in him a mistrust of everybody. Uncertain of the real cause of it, which had not been revealed to him, he had become suspicious of St. Dominique, of the shipping company, the officers of the boat and even his lawyer in New York. Then Babel joined him in jail and he had no doubt of the cause.
His arrest and short confinement had broken his spirit and he was very fretful. “Why do they keep me here? What do they want of me now?”
“Just to make you suffer a little more,” said St. Dominique.
“Suffer some more? Haven’t I suffered enough with my legs sawed off and all those months helpless in hospital?”
“But my lad, you caused the company a lot of trouble and expense getting your legs chopped off. They think you’re a troublemaker and so they’re ‘getting even’ as you say in English or American. But I think they’ll soon let you out.”
“Oh, Lord, I wish they would. After all those months in hospital, I just can’t bear it anymore. I’ll go crazy.”
“Oh no,” said St. Dominique, “you won’t.”
“Yes, I will too among all these bloody lot of hard-hided men. I’m tired of being confined with men and I’m sick with dirt. Three of us in one cubbyhole and the stinking slops. Oh, it’s an awful odor! Don’t you smell it?”
St. Dominique admitted the unpleasant odor. It had affected him the day before and he would have been pleased to avoid a second visit. The aspect of the prison was quite clean. There were flower beds and the paths were shaded with trees. But rising above the sweet flowers was a savage, stomach-turning smell as if many wild animals were brought in from the woods and locked indiscriminately together in one cage out of which escaped their rank mingled odor.
“You didn’t expect the authorities to confine you with women? Did you?” asked St. Dominique. “When you are in prison you must do as prisoners do. Find a way out or make one.”
“Finding a way is one thing and making it another,” said Lafala. “We’re all here like a set of old nuts lost off the screws.”
“Because the prison bolts are rusty,” said St. Dominique. “Prison is no good, lad. Always try and keep out of it.”
“It is hell. The food makes me vomit for I can’t enjoy it because of the awful smell. Why is a jail so abominable?”
“Because it’s a place of punishment. You didn’t expect it to be like the Tout-va-Bien?”
“Have you been there? Did you see Aslima?”
“That’s what is eating you, eh? I sure did see her and she wanted to tear me to pieces with the gang down there all because of you.”
“Babel told me about it,” said Lafala. “I got a little note here I want you to give to her. Give it to her herself and don’t let anybody know.”
St. Dominique took the note rolled up into a little tube through the wire netting. “You never should have come back to Marseille. You should have gone straight back to Africa.”
“I had no choice. I was sent back here.”
“You should have asked your lawyer to get you sent straight back home. But then, they messed him up. Somehow it’s your fault.”
“To tell the truth I was crazy to see Marseille again.”
“I think it was more Aslima.”
* * *
• • •
That very afternoon Lafala and Babel were released. Lafala went to see his representative and learned that the suit had been won against his lawyer who had been suspended. The balance of his money had arrived. All his affairs were satisfactorily settled. He could now make his arrangements to leave for Africa as soon as he desired. . . . From the office he went to the Seamen’s Club. St. Dominique was not there and Lafala left a note asking if he and Falope could keep a rendezvous with him at the Tout-va-Bien after dinner. . . . Then he went to his hotel and bathed and dressed hoping to have an interval with Aslima that night.
That night there was a big reception for Lafala at the Tout-va-Bien. The Quaysiders turned out in a body to welcome him and the café was crowded and exciting. All the old habitués were there, the low-down gangs of old-and-hard youth, girls and men, white and brown and black, mingled colors and odors come together, drinking, gossiping, dancing and per
spiring to the sound of international jazz.
Besides the player piano the proprietor had installed a radio set and instead of having to wait a few weeks as formerly Quayside could now enjoy the masterpieces of Broadway, Piccadilly and Montmartre at the same time as the pleasure-lovers of those places.1
Titin went up to Lafala and gave him his hand, congratulated him on getting released and said he was sorry for his silly act and that he hoped there was no rancor between them. Lafala assured him that there was none on his part and asked for Aslima.
Aslima was not there. St. Dominique had not had time to give her Lafala’s note and tell her that he was expecting his early release.
Titin was jubilant over his approach to Lafala and the results. He slipped out of the café, ran all the way back to his room to tell Aslima that everything was well. . . . He wanted her to go right off to the café. But Aslima did not join in his enthusiasm. She was captious and indifferent. She said that although Lafala might appear genial on the surface, she felt certain that he was on his guard now and that she would not be able to do much with him again.
Titin begged Aslima to try again and use all her art for a success. Finally he promised to marry her if she succeeded. If she really wanted marriage he had no objection so long as she was successful over Lafala. Aslima smiled and appeared pleased at this new capitulation. Titin felt very generous and warm and he took hold of Aslima and kissed her a long kiss full of desire, taking her mouth in his. But Aslima spewed her spittle in his mouth. Titin drew away and spat it out and reproached her. She said it was nothing; it was an African symbol of love. He turned happy for he was very superstitious and believed in all sorts of lucky signs. . . . Afterwards they left together for the café.
St. Dominique and Falope had arrived and were with Babel, Diup and Rock having a reunion drink with Lafala. St. Dominique said the party lacked something with Big Blonde absent. The others agreed and Babel went in search of Big Blonde.
Aslima came in looking rather severe. Lafala beckoned to her to join the party. The evening’s business was so good the proprietor had two other assistants beside himself and his lady.
A Martiniquan soldier strolled in with his accordion and began playing beguine tunes. The craze of the Charleston and Black Bottom was about dead and buried. But the beguine was there, always living this heady Martinique dance, blood cousin to the other West Indian folk dances, the Aframerican shuffle and the African swaying.2
Everybody was close together in a thick juice melted by wine and music. There was little room for foot play. Just all together, two in one swaying to swaying, shuffling around, bumping and bumping up and down belly to belly and breast to breast.
Aslima sat all the time close to Lafala and showed no desire to dance. Some of the fellows shuffling by tried to pull her up but she resisted. La Fleur was dancing with Titin. He had also made up with her with a friendly word and she had replied, “Let’s dance and be happy. Everybody is happy.” La Fleur danced with Titin showing Aslima her brown shoulder. But when she noticed that Aslima was really unconcerned (and she had jazzed viciously with Titin just to get Aslima’s reaction) she felt convinced that there was some profound relation between her and Lafala.
Babel returned without Big Blonde. He had not been able to locate him. A Senegalese lad, one from one of the boats, entered at the same time with a tambourine and accompanied the accordion player. The beguine mounted louder and wilder. . . .
The music took St. Dominique by the skin and penetrated into his marrow and bone, tickling his joints. But he stiffened resistance, resolved not to dance in the mulatto’s café. To have a welcome drink with the rest for Lafala’s sake was as far as he cared to go. And since Big Blonde would not be there he suggested to Falope that they should go.
Aslima also felt the beguine for Lafala3 and was swaying and swaying her arm around his shoulder, both of them swaying warmly together. Lafala wanted to dance. He had never felt the desire so strongly since his accident. The beguine rhythm caught him by the middle, drop to drop. The music swelled up and down with a sweep and rushed him off his feet.
“I feel like dancing,” he said to Aslima.
“We can try,” she said.
And Lafala stood up leaning on Aslima and did the beguine. He started in timidly, then found it was not so difficult after all with Aslima carrying him along.
“It wasn’t so hard to dance again,” he said.
“No, you’re doing fine,” she said. And she stiffened her breast to bear him up.
Some of the crowd dropped out of the circle so that Aslima and Lafala should have more space and standing upon chairs and tables stacked with bottles and glasses applauded as they shuffled around.
When the music stopped Lafala called for rounds of drinks for the tables with whose occupants he was acquainted. With an exciting flourish the accordionist drew a few long bars of beguine and Aslima cried out that she would do a native dance. She mounted a table and started doing a short-stepping, flat-footed pattering with her right hand held in a straight-up thrust of triumph. Her primitive flamenco went naturally well with the music, showing kinship and revealing the African influence of both.4 The habitués clapped hands and acclaimed Aslima, drinking and waving glasses to her, and she finished with a wild whirling and snapping of fingers amid cries of “The Queen! The Queen!”5 and jumped down from the table.
La Fleur felt shrunken to nothing in herself with chagrin and envy. And Babel was glum and hard-looking like a bull. In prison Lafala had told him of his intention toward Aslima and he was stout against it. Lafala had imposed silence on him saying that if the news got around, he would be frustrated in his plans and Titin would certainly take Aslima’s life. It was a heavy load for Babel to carry. He wanted to share it with St. Dominique or Big Blonde, anybody who could help persuade Lafala against his folly.
When Babel first heard that Lafala had returned to Marseille a man of means he had not been aware that Lafala had suffered an accident and that his fortune was derived from that. Babel had thought that Lafala had had merely a temporary windfall and he desired to reach Marseille to have a good time with his pal until they were obliged to take to sea again.
But when he arrived at Marseille and learned the big facts, there was a revolution in his mind and all he wanted was to see Lafala cut and away from Quayside. Babel was awed by so much money and felt that Lafala should have a new standard of life according to his means. The vagabond life was all right for a man without property or position, but responsibility and vagabondage could not go together.
It seemed to Babel that if a terrible accident had blown Lafala higher up he ought to start in taking his responsibility in a serious manner. It seemed a crazy thing for Lafala to think of taking a whore out of Quayside to set her up as a lady back home. There were plenty of nice colored girls who would jump at Lafala now. . . . He remembered an ignorant black man in his native city who came into a great deal of money. He could not express himself in a refined way. But the people elected him to the dignified position of city councilor, and he married into a brilliant mulatto family and had two daughters whose velvety beauty was the talk of the town.
Lafala was in a better position than that man. He had a good-enough education. There was a new feeling in the world about and among Negroes. The circumstances were auspicious for Lafala to make a respectable showing. The thought of Lafala returning to his African home after many years’ absence with a woman like Aslima was as a bitter orange to Babel’s taste.
Although he was a hearty drinker, Babel drank little because of the brooding mood he had fallen into. He was unresponsive to Aslima’s performance and the antics of the crowd. It was all at Lafala’s expense and Babel believed that Lafala would have a back-breaking bill to pay before Aslima was finished with him. Lafala had offered him some money but he had refused it, saying that however much Lafala had, he would not accept any, because Lafala’s legs were amputate
d and all his funds were necessary to him.
La Fleur noticed that Babel was not in a jovial mood. She guessed it was because of Lafala and was curious to know what was wrong. Because she did not fancy big and aggressive men of Babel’s type, she had never taken to him and always repulsed his rough attentions. But now she maneuvered herself to his side and began teasing him to dance. He refused at first but yielded under persuasion. . . . Later he went off with her and La Fleur got what she wanted out of him, learning the exact relations existing between Lafala and Aslima.
Late that night when she was all alone La Fleur wrote three notes, disguising her large, round, heavy and awkward handwriting as much as she could.
The first was to Lafala and ran, “Look out, they’re trying to get you with your own plan. Take warning from INSIDER.”
The second was addressed to the office where Lafala was officially represented and read, “Lafala is menaced by a dangerous gang.”
The third was to Titin and sent by hand to a special café: “Attention! Aslima is deceiving you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
From the thought of having an irresponsible gay time in Quayside with Lafala, Babel turned to work. The loss of both legs to which Lafala was now quite reconciled was a fresh and terrible shock to Babel. On Babel’s mind was painted a picture of the day when he and Lafala stowed away on the same boat, both of them poor and ragged but robust and happy, sound of legs. He imagined himself painfully in Lafala’s place, his huge body without legs. He couldn’t imagine how comfortable Lafala felt with his thousand-dollar bonds. . . .
Early the next morning Babel went down to the docks and secured a job with a gang of Senegalese unloading copra. . . . In the evening he looked up Big Blonde. Big Blonde lived near the cathedral midway between Quayside and the breakwater. He was sprucing himself up in his best suit when Babel entered.
Big Blonde was mighty glad to see Babel out of prison and to hear that Lafala was also free. He was sorry he had missed last night’s party, but he had gone to bed early to be fit for a hard day’s work, for tonight he was going on a special private party himself. Babel said he was hoping Big Blonde could join them that night. Lafala wanted to treat him and St. Dominique and Falope to a little get-together between them only to celebrate their coming out of prison.
