Authors: Jamaica Kincaid
Talk Stories (3 page)
The anonymity of Talk then was a gift, and I only see that after Talk stories began to be signed. I feel sorry for those writers who now have to sign their names to Talk pieces. How young I was then and how old I felt then. I had just started to write and almost immediately I felt I wanted to write important things. And so at the beginning of each year I would make my New Year's wish be: May this be the year I write fiction. And the year would wear on and I did not write fiction; instead, I wrote for Talk and, feeling confined by it I began to write my Talk stories as little stories in themselves, as little experiments. I wrote a Talk story in the style of the Nancy Drew books, I wrote a Talk story in the form of an expense account, I wrote about growing up in Antigua. One day I wrote my first short story; it was about growing up in Antigua and it was one sentence long and it went on for three typewritten pages. One day I wrote an entire novel about growing up in Antigua.
What did I love most then? I loved my friends and I loved being at
The New Yorker.
My friends were all at
The New Yorker.
I loved Mr. Shawn, and he was the editor of
The New Yorker
and the person for whom I wrote then and who is now dead, but when I write even now, I think of him, perhaps especially even now, perhaps more than ever even now. He did not like everything I wrote, and when he didn't he never told me, we never discussed it. Sandy Frazier and I had a joke
about what happened to our writing that Mr. Shawn did not like and did not ever bring up again. It was this: Lord Mountbatten, an Englishman, had been killed by the IRA, when they blew up his yacht on which he had been a passenger while sailing off the coast of Ireland. Sandy and I for very different reasons hate aristocrats of every kind, but especially English ones, and we were perhaps the only two people in the world then who actually felt sympathetic to the IRA when they blew up Lord Mountbatten's yacht. When Mr. Shawn never mentioned our Talk stories that had been submitted, which meant that they would never be printed, we began to refer to our stories as taking trips with Lord Mountbatten on his last fateful sail off the coast of Northern Ireland. A Talk story I wrote about a mouse running over me in the middle of the night met such a fate. The mouse ran over me because I was sleeping on the floor. I had no money to buy a proper bed and so I slept on the floor, first on newspapers and then later on an old mattress I found on the street. I am so afraid of rodents that I am sure I was one in a former life. I wrote of my fear and I wrote of my poverty. That story was never printed. I do not regret it, I do not miss it.
The New Yorker.
My friends were all at
The New Yorker.
I loved Mr. Shawn, and he was the editor of
The New Yorker
and the person for whom I wrote then and who is now dead, but when I write even now, I think of him, perhaps especially even now, perhaps more than ever even now. He did not like everything I wrote, and when he didn't he never told me, we never discussed it. Sandy Frazier and I had a joke
about what happened to our writing that Mr. Shawn did not like and did not ever bring up again. It was this: Lord Mountbatten, an Englishman, had been killed by the IRA, when they blew up his yacht on which he had been a passenger while sailing off the coast of Ireland. Sandy and I for very different reasons hate aristocrats of every kind, but especially English ones, and we were perhaps the only two people in the world then who actually felt sympathetic to the IRA when they blew up Lord Mountbatten's yacht. When Mr. Shawn never mentioned our Talk stories that had been submitted, which meant that they would never be printed, we began to refer to our stories as taking trips with Lord Mountbatten on his last fateful sail off the coast of Northern Ireland. A Talk story I wrote about a mouse running over me in the middle of the night met such a fate. The mouse ran over me because I was sleeping on the floor. I had no money to buy a proper bed and so I slept on the floor, first on newspapers and then later on an old mattress I found on the street. I am so afraid of rodents that I am sure I was one in a former life. I wrote of my fear and I wrote of my poverty. That story was never printed. I do not regret it, I do not miss it.
I miss Mr. Shawn, I miss the friends I had then, I do not miss my youth. I miss Mr. Shawn because for a writer, no matter your age, to know such a voracious reader, a reader who liked to read what you had written, just what I had written, was a gift so rare, and I have never been given it again, I do not know why. And when I say that I do not miss my youth and yet that I miss my friends, what do I mean, for Sandy Frazier
is my best friend and I talk to him almost every day that there is a day. What do I mean, what do I mean? Only that George Trow will not go to Mr. Shawn and insist that the wall separating his office from Tony Hiss's be removed, so that they can write Talk stories with their typewriters facing each other, and then one day go to Mr. Shawn and insist that the wall be put in its place again because Tony wore a tie that annoyed him. Or this: Sandy Frazier standing on his desk before a window that looked into Kennedy Fraser's office, and while she was sitting at her desk, which was in front of a window that looked into Sandy's office, he started to take off his clothes, and all along she pretended not to notice, but then when he got to his underpants, she suddenly got out of her chair and pulled down her window shade. I miss all those people I knew then; I see them now, but it is not the same, and it cannot be the same: Mr. Shawn is dead, I am now over fifty years of age, I live far away from New York City.
is my best friend and I talk to him almost every day that there is a day. What do I mean, what do I mean? Only that George Trow will not go to Mr. Shawn and insist that the wall separating his office from Tony Hiss's be removed, so that they can write Talk stories with their typewriters facing each other, and then one day go to Mr. Shawn and insist that the wall be put in its place again because Tony wore a tie that annoyed him. Or this: Sandy Frazier standing on his desk before a window that looked into Kennedy Fraser's office, and while she was sitting at her desk, which was in front of a window that looked into Sandy's office, he started to take off his clothes, and all along she pretended not to notice, but then when he got to his underpants, she suddenly got out of her chair and pulled down her window shade. I miss all those people I knew then; I see them now, but it is not the same, and it cannot be the same: Mr. Shawn is dead, I am now over fifty years of age, I live far away from New York City.
And yet and yet: Mr. Shawn will never be dead for me, and my youth, and all the friends and events that came with them, can never be dead. For when I sit down to write anything, anything, I cannot help but think about George Trow with the thick bunch of yellow hair growing out of his head, and he introduced me to Sandy (Ian) Frazier, and the world after that was muddled, and the world after that was so clear, is so clear; all things, everything not seen through this lens, is a mistake, a very big mistake!
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Speeding by Taxi Across the Manhattan Bridge with Sassy Antiguan Jamaica KincaidâToward Dimanche Gras, on the Grounds of the Brooklyn Museum, on the Third Day of the Seventh Annual West IndianâAmerican Day Carnival:
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“There are several things you ought to know,” said Jamaica. “First of all, you are going to see The Mighty Sparrow, who is the No. 7 calypso singer. Secondly, you are going to see âOle Mas.' The âOle Mas' is a spoof. This year, there is going to be an important âOle Mas' about New York Transit Authority buses. There will be men dressed as womenâmy friend Mr. Errol Payne told me all about it. One man will have a big over-stuffed bust. He'll have a sign saying âI Own de Bus.' Another man will have a big overstuffed bust trailing behind him.
He'll
have a sign saying âI Lose de Bus.' But what I really have to do is to tell you about âjumping up.' âJumping up' is a very important West Indian concept. You âjump up' when
things get to be so exciting you just can't sit still, and that happens all the time during Carnival. I love to go to Carnival now, because when I was growing up my mother
would not let me
â
jump up.
' My mother was
so strict.
All I wanted was to âjump up' at Carnival and get little patent-leather shoes from America. My mother would never let me âjump up,' and she would never let me have shoes from America, because she said they would fall apart in the first rain. Anyway, when I was fourteen we had a real row because I wanted to march with a band at Carnival. I was going to be in a band dressed up as bees and I would have been a worker bee. It wasn't much, but my mother just wouldn't let me do it. So we compromised, and she got me a pair of plaid sneakers from America. She was right, of course. As soon as they hit water, they fell apart.”
He'll
have a sign saying âI Lose de Bus.' But what I really have to do is to tell you about âjumping up.' âJumping up' is a very important West Indian concept. You âjump up' when
things get to be so exciting you just can't sit still, and that happens all the time during Carnival. I love to go to Carnival now, because when I was growing up my mother
would not let me
â
jump up.
' My mother was
so strict.
All I wanted was to âjump up' at Carnival and get little patent-leather shoes from America. My mother would never let me âjump up,' and she would never let me have shoes from America, because she said they would fall apart in the first rain. Anyway, when I was fourteen we had a real row because I wanted to march with a band at Carnival. I was going to be in a band dressed up as bees and I would have been a worker bee. It wasn't much, but my mother just wouldn't let me do it. So we compromised, and she got me a pair of plaid sneakers from America. She was right, of course. As soon as they hit water, they fell apart.”
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At Dimanche Gras (Threatened by Rain), on the Grounds of the Brooklyn Museum
:
:
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There were a lot of seats set up around a big stage in the open air. On the back of each seat was a plastic bag that read “Fred Richmond for Congress,” which would become useful if it rained. Jamaica introduced us to several dignified men who wore ribboned badges reading “Carnival Improvement Committee.” Then she introduced us to La Belle Christine, the limbo dancer. “I'm the famous limbo-dance artist,” said Miss Christine. “I performed on Friday night. I'm adjunct-professor of Ethnic Dance at City University. I'm America's No. 1
limbo-dance artist. I design my own costumes and I do my own choreography. I've got my B.A. I'm working on my M.A. I'm in
Who's Who Among Students in American Universities and Colleges: 1972-73
.”
limbo-dance artist. I design my own costumes and I do my own choreography. I've got my B.A. I'm working on my M.A. I'm in
Who's Who Among Students in American Universities and Colleges: 1972-73
.”
We asked Miss Christine where she came from in the Caribbean.
“I'm from Montserrat,” she said. “âThe Emerald Isle of Natural Beauty.'”
Then The Mighty Shadowâa young calypso singer who won the 1974 Road March in Trinidad and Tobagoâcame onstage. He was dressed in beige pants, a navy-blue jacket, and an orange-and-white large-brimmed hat. He sang in a rapid-fire style to music that was staccato beyond syncopation. Jamaica said he was very slick. Then Alwyn RobertsâLord Kitchenerâcame on. Lord Kitchener is a famous Calypso singer who has been popular for many years. He wore white pants, a black-white-and-yellow shirt, and a maroon cap. His music had a less rapid, less staccato beat. “I like Lord Kitchener very much,” Jamaica said. “You see how less slick he is? Shirt, pants, and cap. None of that jacket stuff. When I was little, it was Lord Kitchener, The Mighty Sparrow, and Lord Melody. They were the ones. Lord Kitchener and Lord Melody did songs about loose women. The Mighty Sparrow was always slipping in a little social consciousness. Remember Patrice Lumumba? The Mighty Sparrow did a song about Patrice Lumumba. Lord Melody was the raunchiest. Lord Melody did a lot of songs they wouldn't play on the radio.”
The audience was very well behaved. In the audience
there were people of every ageâall enjoying the same thing and all well behaved. There were many men in coat and tie, and no one was sloppy. The white people in the audience weren't sloppy, but they were less well put together. Many of the white people there looked as if they were doing fieldwork for an extension course in Inter-Cultural Interaction: The Folk Experience. After Lord Kitchener performed, a man whose name we didn't catch sang a song about Trinidad called “God Bless Our Nation.” The chorus went:
there were people of every ageâall enjoying the same thing and all well behaved. There were many men in coat and tie, and no one was sloppy. The white people in the audience weren't sloppy, but they were less well put together. Many of the white people there looked as if they were doing fieldwork for an extension course in Inter-Cultural Interaction: The Folk Experience. After Lord Kitchener performed, a man whose name we didn't catch sang a song about Trinidad called “God Bless Our Nation.” The chorus went:
It's fantastic
,
yes it is, the way how we live as one.
In integration, our nation is second to none.
Yes, the Negroes, the white man, the Chinese, the children play together in the sun,
In this wonderland of calypso, in this wonderland of steel bands.
,
yes it is, the way how we live as one.
In integration, our nation is second to none.
Yes, the Negroes, the white man, the Chinese, the children play together in the sun,
In this wonderland of calypso, in this wonderland of steel bands.
Then The Mighty Sparrow came on. He wore blue polyester pants and a multicolored shirt, and had a whistle around his neck. He sang a song called “Come See Miss Mary,” which wasâwell,
suggestive,
and then he sang a song called “We Passed That Stage.” He sang:
suggestive,
and then he sang a song called “We Passed That Stage.” He sang:
Project an image of honesty and courage.
Put decency on front page.
Show wisdom not rage.
You must remember we passed that stage.
Show wisdom not rage.
You must remember we passed that stage.
Later (During the Rain) at Dimanche Gras:
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After The Mighty Sparrow went off, a light rain began to fall. A steel band began to play, and people “jumped up”âall over but especially on the stage. Many people made use of their “Fred Richmond for Congress” plastic bags to keep the rain off their heads. One person who did this was Marcia Manners, the 1974 Carnival Queen. The band was good, and people had a fine time. It was very pleasant to “jump up” in the light rain. We had a good time talking with Ruddie King, who said he introduced steel bands in this country, and who told us how West Indian-American Day parades used to be in the old days when they were held in Harlemâstarting at 110th Street and going up to 150th, ending with a celebration at the Rockland Palace. He showed us a group of props he had assembled for an “Ole Mas.” There was a big clock, there was a figure of a man in a white pith helmet, there was an old pushcart, and there was an old-fashioned coal scuttle. Mr. King said that this “Ole Mas” was called “Behind Time.” Then the rain got heavier. We took refuge in a booth where Mrs. Lezama, wife of Carlos Lezama, the hardworking man who organizes the Carnival each year, was presiding over pots of
souse,
rôti
, and other West Indian food. We had some souse and some ginger beer made with fresh ginger, and then the rain really came down, spoiling the “Ole Mas.” At five minutes past midnight, there was a cloudburst. Most people left. A dozen people went by under a tablecloth, still dancing. We left soon afterward. We found out the next day that Mr. Lezama and his co-worker Mr. Herman Hall stayed until the rain stopped, late in the morning, to properly look after the chairs, the stage, and other rented equipment.
souse,
rôti
, and other West Indian food. We had some souse and some ginger beer made with fresh ginger, and then the rain really came down, spoiling the “Ole Mas.” At five minutes past midnight, there was a cloudburst. Most people left. A dozen people went by under a tablecloth, still dancing. We left soon afterward. We found out the next day that Mr. Lezama and his co-worker Mr. Herman Hall stayed until the rain stopped, late in the morning, to properly look after the chairs, the stage, and other rented equipment.
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Report from Jamaica on the History of Carnival:
Â
“Errol Payne is an impressive-looking man who is the vice-president of art and culture of the West Indian-American Day Carnival Association. He is considered Trinidad and Tobago's Carnival ambassador to North America, and this is why: he has been entering costumes in band competitions since 1946; in 1956, he was made a Grand Knight of the Carnival Court for life; one of his winning costumes, âPeacock,' was once used as a postage stamp for Trinidad and Tobago; he has had so many winning costumes that for a few years he was asked not to compete in costume contests in Trinidad and Tobago; his authority on costume-making is so widely respected that other costume-makers often come to him for assistance. So, naturally, if you want to know anything about Carnival, you ask him. This is what he says: âCarnival started in Trinidad in the days of slavery, when the slave masters were
French. Around Christmastime, the slave masters would celebrate with eating and drinking and dress themselves up in costume. The slaves would be allowed to celebrate, too, and it was the only time they could dress themselves up and pretend they were anything they wanted. A man could pretend he was a king or a prince. They didn't have fine things to dress up in, so they would use old rags and old things to do it. That was the beginning of “Ole Mas.” After slavery was abolished, the ex-slaves went into the streets, singing and dancing and beating drums, and that was Carnival. It was also with the slaves that calypso music was born. If a slave master was standing in the presence of two or three slaves and they wanted to say something that they didn't want him to know about, they would start singing it in picong tone, which is broken English, and patois French. That was their way of communicating with each other without the slave master's knowing what they were saying. Ever since then, Carnival has been growing like a wild vine, and nobody can stop it!'
French. Around Christmastime, the slave masters would celebrate with eating and drinking and dress themselves up in costume. The slaves would be allowed to celebrate, too, and it was the only time they could dress themselves up and pretend they were anything they wanted. A man could pretend he was a king or a prince. They didn't have fine things to dress up in, so they would use old rags and old things to do it. That was the beginning of “Ole Mas.” After slavery was abolished, the ex-slaves went into the streets, singing and dancing and beating drums, and that was Carnival. It was also with the slaves that calypso music was born. If a slave master was standing in the presence of two or three slaves and they wanted to say something that they didn't want him to know about, they would start singing it in picong tone, which is broken English, and patois French. That was their way of communicating with each other without the slave master's knowing what they were saying. Ever since then, Carnival has been growing like a wild vine, and nobody can stop it!'
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Excerpt from program of West Indian-American Day Parade down Eastern Parkway to Prospect Park:
While it is true that Carnival is a very informal affair you are kindly urged to refrain from dancing inside of costume bands on Eastern Parkway. You may dance in front of them or behind because it is not right for bandleaders to spend
months of sleepless nights, a lot of money and to work under all poor type of conditions and then the public get inside of bands on Carnival Day; Thus not allowing the bands to display their pretty costumes.
months of sleepless nights, a lot of money and to work under all poor type of conditions and then the public get inside of bands on Carnival Day; Thus not allowing the bands to display their pretty costumes.
Jamaica Reports on the West Indian-American Day Parade:
Â
“I got to watch the parade from the second-best platform of dignitaries. The first-best platform of dignitaries was reserved for politicians. West Indians are the only group of people I know who still have a great deal of respect for politicians, men of the cloth, and schoolteachers, and anyone who makes a career in any of the above fields automatically becomes dignified. I saw Shirley Chisholm. She sat with her legs crossed at the ankles. Howard Samuels was there. No one seemed to recognize him, and he looked like a man who had got himself invited to the wrong party. Soon after, the first float appeared. It carried the Carnival Queen and her lady-in-waiting. The Queen looked regal enough in her long white gown and silver crown, but, instead of waving to the crowd and smiling like a dummy (the way queens usually behave), she was snapping her fingers, wiggling her hips, and shuffling her feet, all at the same time. I liked her very much and personally think she's going to start a new vogue in royal public behavior. Then came the bands. Now, here, when you say bands you don't mean people playing musical instruments together in harmony
but people wearing costumes in harmony. That is, they pick a theme, and each member of the band wears a costume that supports it. The bands had names like Caribbean Fragrance, Fiesta South of the Border, Vision of Beauty, The Dream of Attila, Sailors Ashore in France, Splendor in Siena, and Dreaming Through the Ages. Quite a few of these fantasies took the shape of giant insects and birds, some were fishes, and some were dragons, and some I just couldn't figure out. They were quite wild and extravagant. The colors most often used were red, orange, and yellow. Everything was trimmed with gold and silver braiding. Some costumes had such elaborate skirts that little wheels had to be attached for mobility. Soon after this wave of fabulously alarming creatures passed by, things at the dignitaries' platforms got as boring as things at dignitaries' platforms can get. The remaining bands were ten blocks away, jumping up' for their own pleasure, and were in no great hurry to entertain dignitaries. Mrs. Chisholm kept waving; poor Mr. Samuels looked even more lost than before. I felt hungry and went to get something to eat. I bought a rice-and-peas-and-chicken-and-pork dish from a Panamanian woman, who said that she had made it herself. It was so good I had two portions. Then I had a pattyâWest Indian pastry stuffed with ground meatâwhich I bought from Tower Isle. I was told by the woman who sold it to me that you can find Tower Isle patties in the frozen-foods department of your local supermarket. Of course, I liked that idea very much, because you know an ethnic group has made it in this country when you find its food at your local grocer. As
Lord Kitchener said to me, âaccessibility is the key to success.' After that, I had a large hunk of Shabazz Bean Pie. I say, without reservation, this is the No. 1 Third World dessert. In fact, every time I have some of it I think kindly of Mr. Shabazz and everybody with an âX' after his name.”
but people wearing costumes in harmony. That is, they pick a theme, and each member of the band wears a costume that supports it. The bands had names like Caribbean Fragrance, Fiesta South of the Border, Vision of Beauty, The Dream of Attila, Sailors Ashore in France, Splendor in Siena, and Dreaming Through the Ages. Quite a few of these fantasies took the shape of giant insects and birds, some were fishes, and some were dragons, and some I just couldn't figure out. They were quite wild and extravagant. The colors most often used were red, orange, and yellow. Everything was trimmed with gold and silver braiding. Some costumes had such elaborate skirts that little wheels had to be attached for mobility. Soon after this wave of fabulously alarming creatures passed by, things at the dignitaries' platforms got as boring as things at dignitaries' platforms can get. The remaining bands were ten blocks away, jumping up' for their own pleasure, and were in no great hurry to entertain dignitaries. Mrs. Chisholm kept waving; poor Mr. Samuels looked even more lost than before. I felt hungry and went to get something to eat. I bought a rice-and-peas-and-chicken-and-pork dish from a Panamanian woman, who said that she had made it herself. It was so good I had two portions. Then I had a pattyâWest Indian pastry stuffed with ground meatâwhich I bought from Tower Isle. I was told by the woman who sold it to me that you can find Tower Isle patties in the frozen-foods department of your local supermarket. Of course, I liked that idea very much, because you know an ethnic group has made it in this country when you find its food at your local grocer. As
Lord Kitchener said to me, âaccessibility is the key to success.' After that, I had a large hunk of Shabazz Bean Pie. I say, without reservation, this is the No. 1 Third World dessert. In fact, every time I have some of it I think kindly of Mr. Shabazz and everybody with an âX' after his name.”
â
September 30
,
1974
September 30
,
1974
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