Dany Laferrière - Heading South

SUE

I’ve tried every diet known to science and I still look like a blues singer from Harlem. And I’ve never set foot in Harlem. I never go anywhere where there’s more than ten blacks. It’s not that I’m afraid of blacks, it’s just that black men aren’t my thing. Now you’re going to say that I’m not making any sense, because I’m really crazy about Neptune, and Neptune is as black as the ace of spades. But Neptune is Haitian. To me, when I say black, I mean American black. All American blacks think about is cutting white throats, and we do everything we can to help them do it. You’re shocked, hearing me say that, aren’t you? Well, that’s what I think. Who built all those schools American blacks go to? Not them! Well, I say that, but I’ve also got to say that I can’t stand white American males, either. They never look at a woman like me. If you want to get an American white male to notice you, you have to weigh less than a hundred and twenty pounds, and I weigh twice that. I’m still light on my feet. I work in a factory and there isn’t a man there who works harder than me. I can carry a heavy box a long way. I’m strong as an elephant and light as a butterfly. If he knew how to handle me, a man could do anything he wants with me. He could make me his slave. But those idiots, all they want is some anorexic bimbo. They have no idea that under all this fat I’m as thin as a razor. Neptune is the first man who ever paid me a compliment about my weight. To him, being big isn’t a fault. It’s a quality. He’s a fisherman. He has a little sailboat. He fishes not far from here, near the Île de la Gonâve. His philosophy is very simple: fish, eat, drink, sleep like a baby and fuck like a lion. Not a bad life, eh?

BRENDA

I’m going to tell you what happened the first time we came here, my husband and me. I wanted to wait a bit before opening up to you like this. If my husband were here, he’d say: “Brenda, you’ve never kept a secret longer than a day.” But that’s not true. There are many things about me that he doesn’t know, and that he’ll never know. That no one will ever know. Well, you, but it’s not the same with you. I don’t know you. It’s good to talk like this to someone you don’t know. I get the feeling you’re very young to be doing this; this kind of thing requires a certain amount of experience. I’m not finding fault or anything, but back home, inspectors are usually older men. And I also don’t see what use all this information will be to you. I must admit that I’m still a bit surprised, even though, as you reminded me, each country has its own ways. It’s also true that people who come from rich countries tend to want to impose their ways of doing things. I apologize again for getting mixed up in things that don’t concern me. I usually avoid politics like the plague. . Well, to get back to my story, it all started when my husband took pity on this young man who hadn’t had anything to eat for two days. A young man from Ouanaminthe, a small village in the north. You must know him, surely. His name is Legba. His mother called him that because it seems he was the first of her children to survive after six miscarriages. The name suited him. In any case, my husband asked him to join us at our table. Albert — that’s the maitre d’ at the hotel — he wasn’t all that pleased. My husband told him that if we’re paying for a room we can invite anyone we want to our table. And my husband added in a lower voice, so only Albert could hear him, that he wasn’t going to let any nigger stop him from doing what he wanted. That’s the way he talks, my husband, but he isn’t racist or anything. In our town that’s how everyone talks about black people. Anyway, Legba came over and ate with us at our table. He didn’t look like he was more than fifteen years old. Right off I noticed his gleaming white teeth and his radiant smile. My husband told him he could order anything he liked. I’ve never seen a human being eat so much in my life. When he went to the toilet, my husband said, “He’s a nice young man.” Albert was still making signs to us to get rid of the boy, but my husband pretended not to notice. From the first, Legba made me think of a lost dog. Anyway, he wasn’t bothering anyone, because that day we were the only guests in the dining room. But even if there had been others it wouldn’t have made any difference to my husband. Methodists are like that, they’ll walk all over anyone who tries to stop them from doing what they think is right. Not me, I was born Baptist. I only became a Methodist because of my husband. But in some ways I’m still a Baptist. I would have found a way to get food to Legba without offending Albert. But my husband isn’t like that. Like I said, he’s a Methodist. Sometimes I think people shouldn’t marry outside their religion.

ELLEN

If I had my way I’d rid the Earth of everything that’s dirty, and there’s more of what’s dirty here in this town than anywhere else I’ve ever been. So why, dear God, did you plant, in this dungheap, a flower as radiant as Legba? I turned fifty-five last month. I can tell you there are worse things in life. And this young man is as beautiful as a god. Do you think I could find anyone like him in Boston? Don’t tell me I could because I’ve been in every bar in that snobbish whore of a town a hundred times, and believe me there is nothing in the North for women over forty. Nothing, nothing, nothing, you bunch of bastards!

SUE

People bring their illusions with them when they come to Port-au-Prince. Even Fat Sue. There is sun here. Fresh fruit, grilled fish, the sea.

And I have a lover.

BRENDA

My husband and I got into the habit of having every dinner with Legba. He seemed shy at first. Every night we’d spend hours talking to him about his life, his family, his future. It’s like we adopted him, and he seemed to have accepted us, too. One day we suggested he join us for an afternoon on the beach. My husband knew an isolated spot. The three of us were stretched out in our bathing suits on this enormous rock, facing the sun. Legba’s body fascinated me: long, supple, delicately muscled. His skin glowed. I could hardly take my eyes off him. I drank him in, trying not to be too obvious about it. It didn’t take long for my husband to notice the state I was in, though, and when Legba got up to walk lankily down towards the water, my husband gave me a wink that I took as a kind of permission. When I pretended not to understand what he was on about, he told me straight out that he didn’t have any objections to me giving in to my obvious inclinations. I tried to look offended, but just then Legba came back and my husband only had time to whisper, “I want you to.” I was totally taken aback by his behaviour; it was the first time he’d ever acted like that. I completely lost my head. Legba was lying beside me on his back, with his eyes closed. I didn’t dare look his way. My husband elbowed me and made me look at Legba’s young, almost naked body. So I let my eyes travel over his flat, sleek stomach, his long legs, his bathing suit with its enticing mound. From then on I was in a kind of trance, hypnotized by Legba’s firm yet trembling skin. I was irresistibly drawn to this body that seemed like it was being offered to me on a platter. My husband took my hand and guided it towards Legba’s torso. When he let go, my hand fell on his chest and I kept it there. Legba briefly opened his eyes and then shut them again. Encouraged, I moved my hand down to his stomach. I felt an incredible thrill of pleasure travelling up from the young man’s soft skin through my fingertips. My hand was trembling. I tried to stay calm but couldn’t. Legba didn’t move a muscle. It was as though he was making me a gift of his body. I slid two fingers under his bathing suit and took hold of his penis, which quickly began to harden in the palm of my hand so that it poked out under the string of his bathing suit. Seeing his black cock, so long, so tender, made me completely lose control of myself. My lungs were on fire. I felt waves of heat flooding between my legs. I feel awkward telling you about such an intimate experience, but believe me, it’s been two years and I haven’t been able to tell a soul, and yet I’ve relived each moment a thousand times in my head. I remember each second as though it had happened yesterday. I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I am a very sensual woman. I hadn’t known that about myself, but now I totally accept who I am. I’m a good Christian, but why else had the Good Lord put me in this degrading situation? I had absolutely no control over my desire. It was as if someone had thrown gasoline over my whole body and then lit a match. I tried, oh yes, I tried, but I couldn’t stop myself. I turned into a sexual animal. Look at me — even telling you about it I’m breaking out into a sweat. (There is a long pause.) Do you want me to go on with my story? All right, but I still don’t understand how it’s going to help you find the man who did this. Yes, you’re right, man or woman. I’m a bit lost, I’m afraid. . Oh yes, with his arms lying by his sides, Legba was barely breathing, but regularly. I looked around quickly to see if anyone was coming our way, then I gently spread Legba’s legs apart and knelt between them with my face above his penis. I took it in my mouth. I breathed up and down its length, covering it with my saliva. Then I took it into my throat as far as it would possibly go. When I couldn’t stand it any longer I sat up, took off my bathing suit, and impaled myself on his rod. It tore so deep into me I couldn’t hold back a howl. It felt like it was piercing me all the way up to the middle of my chest. I hadn’t even recovered from the shock of it, the pain and pleasure all mixed together, before I started going up and down on him. He was breathing harder now, almost panting. But still he didn’t move. My husband was lying right next to us, taking it all in. His eyes were riveted on the long, black sword that was splitting me in half. I was going faster and faster, knocking my forehead against his chest, making his cock go in farther, deeper. I think I was crying out constantly. The sight of his young body drove me even crazier. Finally I felt powerful jets of hot sperm deep inside me. They went on and on. I came, too, almost at the same time as him, completely out of my mind. I clutched at his fresh and fragile chest like a woman possessed, and jammed myself one last time on his cock, as deep as I could get it in, and held it there for a long time. He opened his eyes. He was as exhausted as I was. His eyes were red and timid and a bit frightened. Moved by a wave of gratitude, I threw myself on him, kissed him everywhere and cried like a baby. It was my first orgasm. I was fifty-five years old. . I feel so tired now. Would you mind if I went and lay down for a bit. .? Thank you. .