Na shuddered at Sene’s unspoken words. Her intonation reminded him that just that morning he had abandoned Sene and his children in favor of Quashe’s delights.
He took Sene’s hand. “They are safe with mother, let us go home and be new together.”
The cave was spilling over with the scent of Sene’s juices. Sene reached into the hanging basket and grabbed an armful of twigs. She dumped them onto the fire pile and kneeled to light a fire. Na stopped her. With her scent vibrating in his chest, he lifted her to her feet. Trembling, as if this were indeed new, he pulled her to the mats. With his free hand, he tipped two mats to the floor and unrolled them with his foot.
< Laloro flew both Quashe and her crocodile to the river on his great diseased back. Laloro watched as Quashe stepped into the river. The water swirled around her. Quashe paused. “Will you be there waiting for me? Perhaps we can feed together when I rise.”
Laloro could not speak. Quashe lifted her tail and slapped it hard against the water’s surface. Drops of water splashed Laloro’s face. He lifted his trunk and trumpeted a loud “Yes!” >
Na kneeled before Sene; he parted her cloth and stroked her bare belly. He pushed his chin between her thighs and kissed her moistness. Sene pulled Na’s head away from her body and looked into his eyes. There was a hard seed-thought hiding out in Sene’s newly juicy body, a dry little nugget of doubt that questioned Na, questioned her own sanity, suggested she had better use for her time than dabbling in fantasy—she and Na would never again be one. But the same scent that filled Na’s nose seeped into Sene’s pores. It drowned that dry little thought and lured Sene into her husband’s embrace.
< Faru, Faru bounding up the cliff.
Rocks flew away from Faru’s hooves as he rushed towards Sene and Na’s cave. Desire was once again his, but Faru was not satisfied. He could see the scar he intended to rip across Sene’s face. He would not kill her, he would do worse—he would kill anything desirable about her. Faru’s goat eyes flashed when he reached the entrance of Sene’s home. He reared up on his hind legs, ready to attack. But neither Sene nor Na saw him. They saw only the stretches of each other’s skin.
Faru’s anger turned to wonder. How could they be touching each other in that way? Faru dropped down to all four hooves. How could Sene be calling up such desire from Na? He suddenly felt as weak as Laloro accused him of being. He listened to the power of desire pounding in his blood. The same power Sene had held, yet she had not died when it was taken from her. She was moving, breathing, calling forth passion without Faru’s magic.
Faru, Faru pausing for the truth.
A moth brushed against Faru’s ear. He turned away from Sene and Na. Behind him a pack of flying night creatures swarmed. Faru laughed and went bounding up the cliff towards the bush. The flying things brushed against his skin, bursting with desire. He leaped and twisted with his throng of admirers. Sene and Na were vague forms, coupling mysteriously on the periphery of his memory.
Faru sprang to the top of the cliff, and ecstasy exploded in his chest. He heard the hoarse groans of bush animals bellowing in heat. It seemed as if the entire night was singing a love song to him. Faru parted his godly lips and let out a triumphant yell.
Faru, Faru running through the bush. >
On deep purple-black nights, when the whole house has pushed itself into slumber, WaLiLa’s energy flits around her room like a moth. It leaps up to do jumping jacks & turn cartwheels, then clings to the ceiling. It bounces off the walls & jiggles its knees impatiently. WaLiLa is a jitterbugging ball of need about to pop.
Her energy screams at the top of its lungs. “I want to wake the whole house!” How can they sleep when they know that somewhere the Brugal is being poured, the disco lights are pulsating, the speakers are thumping, & the dance floor is full. How can they sleep?
WaLiLa’s charged energy frowns & pouts in its boredom. Her fuse is dampened. Her flame reduces to a dim glow; the dynamite doesn’t blow. On deep purple-black nights, WaLiLa’s energy kicks the walls of her insides, sulks to the corner of her chest, & slides down into a deep, defeated slump.
call malkai me fuse re-flames. me fire burn long way to club. we go in club. i excited. i holding on wrist malkai. i feel air white & thick on me skin. me eyes see sticks skinny people use to spread air thick. glow of light on end of stick make me think home. i feel burn in me nose. malkai tell me is scent: smell of rum. me heart pumps to music beat.
sudden we on floor dance. circle malkai spin me in. feet we slide to beat. i mirror malkai mirror i. we dip, we glide, we bump, we grind. we pause…& EXPLODE! malkai wink. i turn & we go spin & spin & spin.
“I am going to buy a drink Lila, do you want one?” MalKai asked.
“Yeah, me want rum.”
“
“I want rum,” WaLiLa repeated & turned back to face the dance floor. WaLiLa saw MalKai’s outstretched fingers cross over her shoulder & impatiently demand her attention. She turned back around with an innocent grin. “Oh, coins you want?” she asked & gave MalKai five pesos.
As WaLiLa scanned the club with her sharp vision, she fumbled with the waist of her stockings. She still wasn’t accustomed to them. At home, they never used such trappings. As her eyes skimmed the faces of the club-goers, their identifications popped into her mind.
? Raul Gomez, 21, 5?6?, 150, Dominican ?
? Daniel “Chino” Rodriguez, 21, 5?9?, 210, Dominican ?
? Edwin “Choco” Cruz, 32, 5?4?, 116, Dominican ?
? George B—?
WaLiLa was interrupted by a sharp nudge at her elbow. She turned around, & as her eyes collided with the face of the person standing behind her, information popped into her eyescreen.
? Patrice Johnson, 20, 5’3?, 135, American ?
Patrice was staring at her hands. She was about to reach out & touch WaLiLa again when she realized WaLiLa was looking at her. WaLiLa was used to such amazement. Her skin was thick & velvety soft. Almost plush, like fur. She was brown from head to toe. People would look at her & stare. The question was always on their lips. “Where are you from?” WaLiLa would always answer with the point farthest from where she happened to be. When she was in South Africa, she said Seattle, Washington. When she was in Seattle, she claimed Mongolia. When in Mongolia, she said Martinique. No one knew the difference.
