Caryl Phillips - Dancing In The Dark

DR. STRAIGHT

After listening to great attempts at beautiful strains of melodious music and pyrotechnical display of humorous humorosities, quintessence of brevity rather than prolix verbosity will best accomplish the purpose for which I appear here this evening. Now that I’ve made everything so plain that even a child can understand, I’ll proceed with business. I hold in my hand a preparation made from roots, herbs, barks, leaf grasses, cereals, vegetables, fruits, and chemicals warranted, by myself, to do all that I claim, even

more. I’m not here to sell this article but simply to advertise the greatest boon that mankind has ever known. I will forfeit one thousand dollars to — hold up the money so that they can see it

(Attendants hold up a large sack marked $1000)

— or I will take the same amount from any dark-skin son or daughter of that

genius

Africanus that I cannot immediately transform into an Apollo or Cleopatra with a hirsute appendage worthy of a Greek goddess.

VOICE

(interrupting)

Look here, Mr. Medicine Man, if you ’specs to sell any of dem bottles of whatever you’ve got there to anybody in this crowd, you’d better bring your language down to the limitations of a universal understanding. I’ve been standin’ here ten minutes trying to figger out what you’re talkin’ about and I tell you as the old maxim says, “Patience ceases to be virtuous.”

DR. STRAIGHT

Your patience shall be rewarded. I’ll come to the point at once. This compound known as Straightaline is the greatest hair tonic on earth. What will Straightaline do? Why, it cures dandruff, tetter itch, and all scalp diseases at once and forever. It makes hair grow on baldheaded babies. It makes curly hair straight as a stick in from one to ten days. Straightaline straightens kinky hair in from ten to thirty days and most wonderful of all, Straightaline straightens knappy or knotty hair.

(He hesitates.)

VOICE

Well?

DR. STRAIGHT

In three days.

VOICE

I’ll take a bottle of dat.

DR. STRAIGHT

Wait, wait, wait, this is not all. I have another preparation, Oblicuticus, “Obl”—in this case, being an abbreviation of the word “obliterate.” “Cuti”—taken from the word “cuticle,” the outer skin — and “cuss” is what everybody does when the desired results are not obtained, but there is no such word as “fail.” This wonderful face bleach removes the outer skin and leaves in its place a peachlike complexion that can’t be duplicated — even by peaches. Changing black to white and vice versa. I am going to spend only one day in your city, but I am going to convince you by exhibiting a living evidence of my assertions that these two grand preparations,

Straightaline

and

Oblicuticus

, are the most wonderful discovery of modern times.

(Attendant stands up — he is possibly made up to be half white and half black.)

This young man is a martyr to science. Here you have the work of nature. Here the work of art. Here is the kinky hair here

(stage business with hair and skin color)

The long, silky straight hair, here the bronze of nature, here the peachlike complexion. Remember, I leave here tomorrow for Gatorville, Florida.

VOICES

Give me a bottle, give me a bottle.

DR. STRAIGHT

Wait a minute — I’m not here to sell, I’m only advertising these two grand articles,

Straight— aline

and

Oblicuticus

, and after dispensing with a few coins of the realm, if you will accompany

me to Skinners, I will place a few bottles of

Straightaline

and

Oblicuticus

at your disposal. Mind you, I’m not here to sell but to advertise. I’m not here to make money, but to give it away.

(He throws coins and exits. A quartet — the Barbers Society of Philosophical Research — enters and sings “Annie Laurie.”)

Strangely enough, the first night that he actually slept in the house on Seventh Avenue, he was sure that he was in Africa. He dreamt of natives with bare feet and painted faces who leapt wildly in frenzied dances. Of oppressive heat, and strange bloodcurdling cries, of jabbering tongues and gatherings of crazed and perspiring people, all of whom seemed intent upon doing his person harm. This was his dream of Africa. There were no gentlemen in fine tailcoats, or wily businessmen, or property deals to be made. No kings, no queens, no princes, no aristocracy, just savages determined to punish him, and he abruptly opened his eyes and realized that he was covered in a heavy sweat. For a moment he had no idea of where he was, and he was unable to break clear of the terror of the dream. Mother was asleep, the moon spilling onto her face through a small gap in the floral drapes, but where was he? And then slowly his mind began to clear, and he heard traffic clipping by on the thoroughfare beneath the window. Seventh Avenue just above 135th Street. Harlem. As close to Africa as one can be in the United States of America, but his dreams were an embarrassment that he knew he must never admit to carrying in his head. He lay in bed in his home, his first real home outside his parents’ house, and he understood that he was now a part of his wife’s world. She, whose kisses tasted like cherries, had now taken control of a large part of his life, but he still possessed freedom in his work, and in his dreams, and although he felt affection for her he knew that Mother had already accepted that some things between this husband and wife would always remain a neatly executed step or two beyond her authority.

And then later, after the special gala performance of In Dahomey , and with the boisterous applause of the audience still buzzing in his head, and the syncopated frenzy of the orchestra still ringing in his ears, he sits alone in his dressing room and begins to remove the face. With each circular movement of the coarse towel more of the character falls away, revealing the true man underneath. He waits until he hears his fellow cast members tumble out of the theater in a state of high excitement and then he savors the silence. Soon heavy footsteps begin to echo along the corridor outside his dressing room, and there is a light knocking at his door. The stage manager enters without waiting for a reply, and he is surprised to find Bert still present and sitting all alone, naked without makeup. Bert observes a flicker of uncertainty register on the man’s face, and he notices that the befuddled stage manager is suddenly unsure how to address the dignified star of the show. However, Mr. Williams makes it clear that there is no need for the man to say anything, for he raises a hand and smiles and lets him know that he will be leaving momentarily. After the stage manager departs, Bert continues to sit for a while, and then he stands and slowly opens the dressing room door. He edges his way past the props that line the narrow corridor before stepping out onto the noisy commotion of Forty-fifth Street. There is nobody by the stage door. His fellow players have not waited for him, but why would they? He feels sure that Mother would have reminded them that impromptu cast parties and such foolishness are not to Mr. Williams’s liking, and so he begins the slow walk up Broadway, away from the lights, his feet hurting after the excesses of cakewalking, and shuffling around, and generally playing the fool with George. He walks slowly, with head erect and with an evenness of pace, through this most surprising of cities, which, even at this late hour, is still humming with traffic and noise and seemingly reluctant to either sleep or settle down. At the corner of Fifty-third Street he briefly stops and wonders whether he ought to at least show his face at Marshall’s, but he understands that an appearance would probably bemuse, rather than please, his colleagues, and so he decides to walk four or five more blocks and then hail a ride and encourage the driver to trip through the park so that he might keep nature close by himself.