Authors: Jamaica Kincaid
Talk Stories (18 page)
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Late one afternoon, the Crown Prince of Benin, his uncle, an anthropology professor named Flora S. Kaplan, some men who are associated in one way or another with the Royal Court of Benin, some American men who are associated in one way or another with foundation endowments and grants, a still photographer, and a motion-picture photographer went to the Grey Art Gallery at New York University to see an exhibit of art objects from the Royal Court of Benin. The art objects, which are extremely beautiful, are now owned by people none of whom are African.
(Information, taken mostly from the press release that came in the mail: Benin today is the capital of Bendel State, in the Federal Republic of Nigeria; it is a city reposing in a high tropical rain forest eighty miles west of the Niger River. In precolonial times, Benin was the political and cultural center of a vast kingdom known as Benin, which flourished from the thirteenth century until the British Punitive Expedition of
1897; the present Benin is to be distinguished from the People's Republic of Benin, which used to be called Dahomey, and which borders Nigeria on the west. The Benin monarchy has continued in an unbroken line of descent for over five hundred and fifty years, and a new
Oba,
or Divine King, was installed in 1979. Many of Benin's historical rituals are still observed.)
1897; the present Benin is to be distinguished from the People's Republic of Benin, which used to be called Dahomey, and which borders Nigeria on the west. The Benin monarchy has continued in an unbroken line of descent for over five hundred and fifty years, and a new
Oba,
or Divine King, was installed in 1979. Many of Benin's historical rituals are still observed.)
The visit went something like this: Dr. Kaplan, who was responsible for the exhibit in the first place and so was officiating more as a hostess than as an anthropology professor, gathered around her the Crown Prince, his uncle, the men of the Benin court, and the men of the endowments and grants, so that they could all have their picture taken. Dr. Kaplan, who seemed notably energetic and notably eager, said to the Crown Prince, “There has never been a museum exhibition of this kind in New York, but I wanted to make people in this country aware of the culture and history of Benin. Many people in this country don't have a sense of geography or history. To us, history is two years old. Since Nigeria is so important to us, since Africa is so important to us, I really felt we should make this contribution.”
The Crown Prince, who had said that he was a graduate of the University of Wales, and that he was in the United States to acquire knowledge and to broaden his horizon, nodded vigorously at Dr. Kaplan.
The Crown Prince then walked around the room. He said that as a boy he was always being reminded of who he was, that he was never allowed to go about alone, that he was
never allowed to eat food outside his home or food that his family had not prepared for him, and that he was always being told whom to see and whom not to see. Everyone listened to him as he talked.
never allowed to eat food outside his home or food that his family had not prepared for him, and that he was always being told whom to see and whom not to see. Everyone listened to him as he talked.
Then one of the endowments-and-grants men asked, “What is the distance from Benin to Lagos?”
“Seven hours' drive,” the Crown Prince answered.
“What direction?” the same man asked.
“West,” the Crown Prince answered.
“I am trying to place in my own mind the Kingdom of Benin in Nigerian life,” said the man.
“Benin existed before Nigeria,” said the Crown Prince.
“It's a hairline, isn't itâa delicate balance between the old and the new?” said the man.
“Yes,” said the Crown Prince.
Dr. Kaplan, who had left the Crown Prince and the other men for a moment, now rejoined them. She looked around her, then turned to the Crown Prince, smiled, and said, “It must be an interesting feeling to come in here and see so much of home.”
“Ha, ha, ha, yes,” laughed and said the Crown Prince.
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April 20, 1981
April 20, 1981
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Early this year, a Frenchman commandeered a helicopter and ordered it flown to a prison outside Paris, where he helped two friends, who were inmates at the time, escape. A few days later, one of the inmates was captured. Recently, the two other men were caught, hiding out in Spain. We saw a report of this on television with a friend. Our friend said, “Wow, that was so daring I am all for it.” We could see what he meant. We could see it so clearly that we have made a list of our own of things that are so daringâwell â¦
Instead of adding books to school libraries, removing books from school libraries: so daring I'm all for it.
A Secretary of the Interior who actually hates the interior: so daring I'm all for it.
Someone who is against a human-rights policy chosen to be in charge of our human-rights policy: so daring I'm all for it.
Phil Donahue: so daring I'm all for it.
Mayor Koch: so daring I'm all for it.
Reviving the HUAC: so daring I'm all for it.
Abandoning the Voting Rights Act: so daring I'm all for it.
Revoking the Clean Air Act: so daring I'm all for it.
Suing your parents: so daring I'm all for it.
Writing a book in which you reveal sensational and shameful details of your personal life: so daring I'm all for it.
Tearing down a beautiful old building and putting in its place an ugly new building: so daring I'm all for it.
The arms race: so daring I'm all for it.
World War III: so daring I'm all for it.
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July 27, 1981
July 27, 1981
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A woman we know who takes a deep interest in clothes and the fabrics that they are made up in, and who, it seems, occasionally makes herself a dress or a pair of trousers or a blouse, invited us to go “look at some cloth,” as she put it. On our way, she said, “On the day I turned seven, my mother gave me a copy of the
Concise Oxford Dictionary
, and in it she wrote, âTo my darling daughter, with love, Mamie.' And also she said, âMiss Doreen can take you now.' Miss Doreen was a seamstress. She wasn't my seamstress and she wasn't my mother's seamstress, though sometimes she was asked to make my everyday school uniform. What my mother meant by her taking me now was that I could begin to be her new apprentice. We lived on a small island in the Caribbean, and everyone I knew then was apprenticing to someoneâthe girls to cooks or seamstresses or housekeepers, the boys to carpenters or mechanics or men busy at some other thing that men do. My father was a carpenter, and some boy's mother was always at our house asking if the boy could become my father's apprentice.
My father's apprentice had to carry my father's toolbox and walk behind my father, and he couldn't stop and talk to people while he was with my father. At the time I began with Miss Doreen, I already knew how to sew on a button, and how to sew two things together, using a simple in-and-out stitch. But that made no difference to her. This is what she had me do: for the first few months, at the end of every sewing day it was my job to sweep up the floors, which were always covered with threads and scraps of cloth; I dusted her sewing machine; and at the end of every week I polished its mahogany cabinet. It was almost a year before I could tie off the ends of threads on the wrong side of a dress, and then only if it was a child's everyday dress. It was years before I was allowed to go to the store with a sample of cloth and buy the matching-color thread for it. I was fourteen years old before I was asked to hem a woman's Sunday dress. In between all these things, though, she showed me how to make buttonholes, how to cut on the bias, how to make a gathered skirt, how to make pleats. When she worked, she would purse her lips; and she was very bonyâher collarbones really stuck out. I would go to see her on Tuesdays and Thursdays from four to six when I had school, and from one o'clock to three o'lock three days a week during school holidays. I never saw her on weekends. She was a Seventh Day Adventist. She charged five shillings to make a woman's dress and two shillings and sixpence to make a child's dress. I haven't seen her in years. I don't know what it is she does now. I don't know if she is dead or alive.”
Concise Oxford Dictionary
, and in it she wrote, âTo my darling daughter, with love, Mamie.' And also she said, âMiss Doreen can take you now.' Miss Doreen was a seamstress. She wasn't my seamstress and she wasn't my mother's seamstress, though sometimes she was asked to make my everyday school uniform. What my mother meant by her taking me now was that I could begin to be her new apprentice. We lived on a small island in the Caribbean, and everyone I knew then was apprenticing to someoneâthe girls to cooks or seamstresses or housekeepers, the boys to carpenters or mechanics or men busy at some other thing that men do. My father was a carpenter, and some boy's mother was always at our house asking if the boy could become my father's apprentice.
My father's apprentice had to carry my father's toolbox and walk behind my father, and he couldn't stop and talk to people while he was with my father. At the time I began with Miss Doreen, I already knew how to sew on a button, and how to sew two things together, using a simple in-and-out stitch. But that made no difference to her. This is what she had me do: for the first few months, at the end of every sewing day it was my job to sweep up the floors, which were always covered with threads and scraps of cloth; I dusted her sewing machine; and at the end of every week I polished its mahogany cabinet. It was almost a year before I could tie off the ends of threads on the wrong side of a dress, and then only if it was a child's everyday dress. It was years before I was allowed to go to the store with a sample of cloth and buy the matching-color thread for it. I was fourteen years old before I was asked to hem a woman's Sunday dress. In between all these things, though, she showed me how to make buttonholes, how to cut on the bias, how to make a gathered skirt, how to make pleats. When she worked, she would purse her lips; and she was very bonyâher collarbones really stuck out. I would go to see her on Tuesdays and Thursdays from four to six when I had school, and from one o'clock to three o'lock three days a week during school holidays. I never saw her on weekends. She was a Seventh Day Adventist. She charged five shillings to make a woman's dress and two shillings and sixpence to make a child's dress. I haven't seen her in years. I don't know what it is she does now. I don't know if she is dead or alive.”
At the fabric store, a large, barnlike room filled with rows
and rows of bolts of cloth stacked on top of each other in a disorderly way, our friend said, “It's all been changed since I was here last. They used to keep linen here.” She pointed to a place where there were bolts of silky-looking material. “I haven't been here in years, so everything must have changed. There used to be a man who worked hereâI liked him. He was always so nice to me. He would always go in the back and bring me some piece of fabric that he thought I would like. Once, he showed me the most beautiful piece of French silk crêpe. It was pink with large blue flowers. I used to like to stand and watch him cut the cloth. He had little tufts of hair growing in his ears. Of course, the thing about this place is that you can find wonderful fabric, and none of it is too dear. Now I shall just walk by and look.”
and rows of bolts of cloth stacked on top of each other in a disorderly way, our friend said, “It's all been changed since I was here last. They used to keep linen here.” She pointed to a place where there were bolts of silky-looking material. “I haven't been here in years, so everything must have changed. There used to be a man who worked hereâI liked him. He was always so nice to me. He would always go in the back and bring me some piece of fabric that he thought I would like. Once, he showed me the most beautiful piece of French silk crêpe. It was pink with large blue flowers. I used to like to stand and watch him cut the cloth. He had little tufts of hair growing in his ears. Of course, the thing about this place is that you can find wonderful fabric, and none of it is too dear. Now I shall just walk by and look.”
Our friend walked along the aisles. She tugged at and shuffled between her fingers taffeta, silk, organza, wool, cotton, crepe de Chine, gabardine, wool challis. She held some of these fabrics up against her body, and she seemed on the verge of buying yards of red and pink plain cotton. She said, “None of this is really right. It's none of it exactly what I want. I know just what I want. Or I will know it when I see it. What I guess I really want is some handkerchief linen. But they don't have any handkerchief linen here. Usually, it costs fifteen dollars a yard. They have some nice gingham. I like gingham a lot, though only in a certain way. When I was little, I had many dresses made up in gingham. Some of them were decorated with braid and some of them with smocking. At my school, the girls were allowed to wear dresses on Fridays. Also
on Fridays, the person who was the best student for the week would receive from the teacher a small prize. It might be a two-tone rubber eraser or a special notebook, made in France. For a long time, almost every week I was the best student. If I wasn't the best student, I was the second-best student, but usually I was the best. This made some other girls annoyed at me, and on one Friday afternoon, when I went into the bathroom, they came with me. Then they picked me up and tried to flush me away. Feet first, thank God. On that day, I was wearing one of my gingham dresses.”
on Fridays, the person who was the best student for the week would receive from the teacher a small prize. It might be a two-tone rubber eraser or a special notebook, made in France. For a long time, almost every week I was the best student. If I wasn't the best student, I was the second-best student, but usually I was the best. This made some other girls annoyed at me, and on one Friday afternoon, when I went into the bathroom, they came with me. Then they picked me up and tried to flush me away. Feet first, thank God. On that day, I was wearing one of my gingham dresses.”
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August 17, 1981
August 17, 1981
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One evening recently:
In the ballroom (an ordinary-looking ballroom, with large star-bursting-up-shaped lamps hanging from the ceiling) of the new Vista International New York Hotel (situated at the World Trade Center, and the newest United States hotel in the chain of Hilton International Hotels), there were two hundred and eighty people, most of them the managers of Hilton hotels and their wives, and then there was Catherine Tritsch, the managing editor of
Successful Meetings
, which is a magazine for corporation and association people who plan meetings. The Hilton managers and their wives had spent the last few days meeting each other in a business-conference way and meeting each other over meals. Now, in the ballroom, they were meeting to eat a dinner of clam chowder, steamed clams, boiled lobster, boiled ears of corn, and watermelon.
Successful Meetings
, which is a magazine for corporation and association people who plan meetings. The Hilton managers and their wives had spent the last few days meeting each other in a business-conference way and meeting each other over meals. Now, in the ballroom, they were meeting to eat a dinner of clam chowder, steamed clams, boiled lobster, boiled ears of corn, and watermelon.
Catherine Tritsch, the managing editor of
Successful Meetings,
said to us, “People think that the people who go to conventions don't eat well. The theory is that they are rubes, they don't know good food. But it's not true. People who go to conventions are high-income people, and they are very professional.”
Successful Meetings,
said to us, “People think that the people who go to conventions don't eat well. The theory is that they are rubes, they don't know good food. But it's not true. People who go to conventions are high-income people, and they are very professional.”
The Woody Herman orchestra was there, and it was led by Woody Herman himself, and it played some songs, all of them popular old American songs. “A good convention banquet will create the atmosphere of a good restaurant,” said Catherine Tritsch. “A good restaurant has to have a theme. This has a theme. American food. American music.”
There was a waitress wearing knicker-style pants and there was a waitress who looked more or less like a colonial maiden, but all the rest of the people who were waiting on the tables were waiters, and there was no mistaking them.
“Did you know that waiters who serve at banquets have their own union?” Catherine Tritsch asked us. “If you have so many people, you have to have so many waiters. Union rules.”
A man got up from his table and, taking up a small American flag, led a number of people halfway around the ballroom. Then he came back to his own table, and he and the men sitting with him tied their napkins around their heads as if they were pirates.
“These people are upscale people,” said Catherine Tritsch. “High-income people. Very cosmopolitan. This is a successful meeting.”
Among them, Catherine Tritsch and the two hundred and eighty other people, most of whom were hotel managers and
their wives, ate and drank eighteen gallons of clam chowder, three hundred lobsters, three thousand clams, four hundred ears of corn, fifteen cases of wine, seven barrels of beer, and sixty watermelons.
their wives, ate and drank eighteen gallons of clam chowder, three hundred lobsters, three thousand clams, four hundred ears of corn, fifteen cases of wine, seven barrels of beer, and sixty watermelons.
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September 14, 1981
September 14, 1981
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“Hello, I am so glad you could come,” said Gwendolyn, the assistant editor of a literary magazine, greeting some of the guests at her twenty-sixth-birthday party. As she said this, she kissed each of them on the cheek. There were well over a hundred guests at the party. They all knew Gwendolyn and said how glad they were to come.
Now she stood in the middle of the room surrounded by these friends, who were momentarily and randomly grouped together. A young man joined the group.
“Do you know Tommy?” Gwendolyn asked her friends. “We grew up in Virginia together. His father and my father went to all the same schools.”
“Tommy,” said a friend standing beside her, a man named George.
“Tommy,” murmured the others.
“I am so honored that Victor came,” she said. “He does my hair. He is a wonderful man.”
“Victor,” said George.
“Victor,” murmured the others.
“That tree is too large for this room,” said a man named Maurice, pointing to a plant that if it stood in a forest would be a mere sapling.
“But isn't this a beautiful room?” asked Gwendolyn.
“I think you are beautiful,” said a man named Chris.
“Natalia writes beautifully about food,” said Maurice.
“Food,” said Tommy.
“A drink,” said George.
“Maurice has almost finished writing his book,” said Gwendolyn.
“I am trying not to mention it,” said Maurice.
“Have you received many presents?” asked Chris.
“Yes, but I am not opening them until tomorrow,” said Gwendolyn.
“I am giving you a book,” said Chris. “I am giving you a book full of pictures.”
“Oh,” said Gwendolyn. “What kind of pictures?”
“They are the most beautiful pictures I have ever seen,” said Chris. “I have been looking at these pictures for months and months now, day after day.”
“Will I like them?” asked Gwendolyn.
“Yes, I think so,” said Chris. “I look at these pictures and I am emptied out. I have nothing left inside once I have seen these pictures. I feel so much when I am looking at them. Lots and lots of sensation, and then I am drained. It's as if I
had been in Los Angeles. Sensation, as you know, is the tyranny of Los Angeles.”
had been in Los Angeles. Sensation, as you know, is the tyranny of Los Angeles.”
“A book of pictures,” said Gwendolyn.
“A book of pictures,” murmured her friends.
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May 10, 1982
May 10, 1982
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