Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

Kim Clarke, you lie.

You’re lying now. A lot of that really happened. But you said nothing to the man, you didn’t even grunt. You just raised your skirt and pulled down your panties and prayed that the man didn’t have syphilis. And he was almost nervous, so much so that it was then that you realize that you were probably the first woman that fell for the threat and he couldn’t believe his luck. You weren’t tapping to seconds, you were tapping his back just so he could get a rhythm and maybe not think about his wife, and when he finally came you felt sorry for him, because he knew you had to walk through the door past his staff. And you haven’t looked at the passport since because if you do even the shitty photo will make you ask yourself if it was worth it. Was it worth it, Kim Clarke? Yes, yes, yes damn it, and don’t ask me again. Me would fuck him again and put him cocky in me mouth. Me will even lick him battyhole, this is 1978. Is nineteen seventy fucking eight and a woman must know that sometimes the only way forward is through. When I landed in Montego Bay I knew that whether on a plane or in a box, I was going to leave this place. You almost think you did get me don’t it, Jamaica? You almost think you did get me. Well kiss my bombocloth ass. Shit, purple thumbprints all over the fridge — how much washing this going take before it’s gone?

Waiting for the water again. Standing under the showerhead listening to the drain hack a cough. This fucking country. Every day water goes at the precise time you need to use it. I wish there was a river behind the house so I could go wash like a country woman. Just fucking fabulous, the one afternoon I need a shower. Get this man off me before my man comes home. Why can’t I feel more? Why don’t I feel more? My heart beats faster when I’m experimenting with a new dish. Maybe if I punch it hard enough or long enough blood will fill up where conscience supposed to be. Don’t you understand, I WANT to feel something. I want my heart to pump because guilt riding it hard and won’t jump off. Guilt would mean something. How many times should I wipe before it’s clean? What I would give for water to come back right now. Please, right before he comes home. No? Then fuck you then. As soon as he comes in I’ll have dinner ready and then I’ll play with his hair like I’m not even thinking about it and he will love that. Maybe I will sing “Dancing Queen,” he knows how much I love that song, or maybe Andy Gibb. Maybe “Shadow Dancing” will come back on the radio and I will pull him from the chair and say dance with me, baby, and he will say Kim Clarke, no, babykins you sure you’re okay? And I will just show him the visa.

No. That’s a terrible idea. You already told him you had a visa, fool, and it’s not like he asked. Show him now and he will see that it was stamped only last week. And he still hasn’t said beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were going with him. But why would he have to say it? We can’t be living together for him to just up and go. Is he practicing to see which goodbye will cause the least tears? Which one won’t make me try to kill him? Is he doing it in front of a mirror? Kim Clarke, if you had sense you would have gotten yourself pregnant by now. If I stop taking the pill today will I be pregnant by the time he’s setting to leave? Today I will love his hair, and ask when I need to pack.

Kim Clarke, you make a wrong move. Kim Clarke, shut up and get out of this shower. I need to cream my hair. Should I do that here or in America? It’s coming down to that with everything. Should I do it here or when I go to America? Jesus Christ, the day when I get bored with thirteen channels, what will I do? The day I get bored with corn flakes, no not corn flakes, Frosted Flakes. The day I get bored with looking up and seeing buildings that clouds hit and run into. The day I get bored with throwing out bread because it’s been there four days and I want a new loaf. The day I get bored with Twinkies, Halston, Lip Smackers, L’eggs and anything by Revlon. The day I get bored with sleeping straight from night to morning and waking up to the smell of coffee and the sound of birds and have Chuck say, Did you have a good night’s sleep, babykins? And I’ll say yes I did, sweetheart — instead of watching the dark all night, and listening to the damn clock tick, because once I fall asleep things come after me. I thought we were going to stop this thinking business, Kim Clarke. Seriously, thought is one tricky bitch. Because all thoughts take you back to that one thought and you will never go back to that one thought, you hear me? Never go back. Only stupid women ever walk backwards.

— I love this country. You people have got it so good and don’t even know it. But you got a shit for brains Prime Minister, how come you people voted for him again?

— You want to stop using “you people”?

— Sorry, babykins, you know what I mean.

— No I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t vote for him.

— But—

— Stop the “you people” like I’m the rep for all the people of Jamaica.

— Sheesh, it’s just an expression.

— Then express yourself better.

— Damn, what got your panties in a bunch this morning?

— You know us people, every day is that day of the month.

— I quit. I’m going to work.

You, girl in the mirror. You, girl, Kim Clarke, admit that it was easier to do it when you made yourself mad at him. But what did you do, stupid bitch? You never get mad, you never give him reason to even think about going away and leaving you behind. You never become the difficult bitch, that’s the white woman’s territory.

— Well, hopefully you’re in a better mood when I get back.

— Hopefully you stop chatting shit when you get back.

Sometimes I think he likes me feisty. I don’t know. A woman supposed to know when to shut up and make a man think he won. I don’t even know what that means. I used to think I knew what American men want. When he takes you out for Kentucky Fried Chicken it a “date.” But if he only comes around every now and then for sex then he’s “seeing” me. Or I’m “sleeping” with him. Crazy business, if he is only coming around for sex the last thing I want him to do is sleep with me. Can you make a man love you harder?

The company is pulling out after thirty years in Jamaica, he says on the “date” last week. Alcorp mining finally get their bauxite belly full and now packing up to go. Chuck says it’s because of this bauxite levy, which is just step-one towards nationalization, which is in itself step-one towards communism . I said you Yankees are afraid of communism the way old country women are afraid of rolling calf. What’s that? he said. The boogieman I said. He laughed that loud laugh.

— Gotta get out before this becomes the capital of Cuba.

I laughed that loud laugh.

— I might know something you don’t, Kim.

— No, you might have heard some things I haven’t heard. Not the same thing.

— Damn, that mouth on you—

— You don’t complain when you’re inside it.

— Babykins, you’re one sexy bitch, you know that?

Do men marry their sexy bitches? I need to take him someplace where he’d have to introduce me, just so that I can hear what he calls me, see where I stand. Right, like I really want to know that. Kim Clarke, your life is nothing more than a series of plan B’s. I must be glad that I have a man who likes to rub my feet. A big man, a tall man, a mountain. Six feet four? Must be at least that. Grey eyes, lip so thin that it looks like somebody just cut a slit open. His hair is curly, now that he’s growing it out. Big chest and arms, he used to work with his hands before he started to work and eat at a desk. Brown hair on his head, but red above his penis and sprouting from his balls. Sometimes you have to just stop and look at it.