The Healing Page 6
Alexandria’s Egypt. Didn’t I say Egypt? May I ask your name?
Harlan. Harlan Eagleton. Harlan Jane Eagleton. I usedta think I’d like to call myself just Jane, you know. But now I like Harlan.
Harlan? There’s a Harlan, Kentucky. Are you from Harlan, Kentucky?
Naw, I was born in Louisiana, in New Orleans, My grandmother’s from Louisville, Kentucky, though, and that’s where I grew up. I don’t know why they named me Harlan, though. Harlem, maybe. But Harlan. I guess Harlan Jane sounds better than Harlem Jane. You speak English very well. But I said that. And you said that was a flaw of the American character. One of the many flaws of the American character. But that ain’t no different from most people, is it? Seem like most people turn they own flaws of character into virtues. They see other people’s flaws, but they own flaws, they turn into virtues.
I grew up speaking English as well as German, you know. Most Europeans speak several languages. I speak English, French, German, Dutch, a little Portuguese. It’s only you Americans who’re stingy about language, who believe that your own language is the universal language. I guess it is the universal language. You’ve made it the universal language. You’ve made it so your language is identified with modernity, with internationalism. I even know some Americans, though, who’ve lived in Berlin for years, and in other European cities, and insist on speaking only English. Who insist on English only even when they’re in other people’s country. Most of you Americans. There are exceptions, of course, I have some American friends whose German is impeccable. Even some African-American friends who speak impeccable German.
I drink my coffee, nibble my coffee cake, and watch the high-bred woman. Josef’s staring at me, though, then he’s eating his cheese omelet.
Are you married? I ask. Your wife immigrate with you?
Yes, I’ve a wife, but she hasn’t come over to the States yet. She’s in Berlin. I don’t know when she’ll come. Right now, I’ve received threats, you see, and I’m trying to find out how seriously I should take them.
Threats? What kinda threats?
You know what kind of threats.
I’m wondering how seriously I should take him. All that business about being a Hottentot German or a German Hottentot. Like I said, I ain’t so countrified that I don’t know they’s got Africans over there in Europe, even Hottentots, ’cause I’ve seen them on television, but maybe he’s just jiving me, I’m thinking. But he’s telling me again how he received threats as soon as he bought him some of that prime land for his thoroughbreds. They expected him to be one of them Aryan Germans, and then when he appeared, buying up that prime land, that I guess only Aryan Americans supposed to buy, he started receiving threats. After he’d bought the land for his thoroughbreds, he went to some of the local auctions, but some sort of consortium kept outbidding him, even though his bidding prices were pretty high, but his bidding prices weren’t a match for a consortium, which he was certain had been formed merely to outbid himself—it wasn’t conceit—so he decided he’d come to Saratoga, to the Fasig-Tipton sales.
When people think I’m German, an Aryan German, they don’t have a problem. . . . Of course Josef Ehelich von Fremd sounds like an Aryan German, or what they believe to be a true German. I don’t know our original Hottentot name because the original Hottentots changed their name to a pure German name or had their names changed to a pure German name, and there’s nothing to distinguish my accent from that of any other German, but then they discover I’m an African German and not an Aryan. You know, in Germany I’m in arbitrage, but when I came to America and saw your thoroughbreds. . . . I remember once when I was in the city, at one of your restaurants, and I mentioned being German, the waiter thought I was “jiving” him, you know, as you Americans say, thought I was one of your locals only pretending to be German. He’d probably seen one of those American movies, I suppose, with the typical African-American jiver, the typical African-American Confidence Man, and he was certain I was playing some confidence game. My credit cards were suspect, and then he got the bright idea, some friend of his who spoke German said something to me. High school German, you know. But my real German, which he didn’t understand at all, still convinced him that I was some local pretender. He didn’t understand my real German, it didn’t sound like the elementary German he’d learned in high school German, so he was convinced it wasn’t real German. Do you think I’m a pretender?
No. I know they got splivs in Europe. I know they got splivs in Paris. If they got splivs in Paris, I figure they must have them in Berlin.
But that’s not telling me who you think I am.
I don’t know who you are, but I know they got splivs in Europe, ’cause I seen them on television. Even got splivs in Russia. I know some of them Afro-Communists in the 1930s went over there to Russia and some of them stayed over there, and I know them Russians they’ve always had they own history with Africa, even before the 1930s. The most famous Russian writer he got African in him, you know, though they don’t think of him as African they think of him as Russian, ’cause I remember this Russian writer, this Russian poet was being interviewed on television, and this interviewer points out that this famous Russian writer he’s talking about is part African, and he kinda looks embarrassed, you know, because you know he’s not thinking of him as part African, but Russian, not Russian African or African Russian ’cause he’s supposed to be Russia’s greatest writer sorta like the Russian Shakespeare, you know, and maybe also because he knows of the prejudice about Africans in America, the interviewer’s American, you know, they had that on television, and I know you telling the truth about them Germans, thinking you a immigrant, ’cause I read about them, and I even heard a African American over there in Germany talking about leaving Berlin on account of being mistaken for a immigrant of color himself and he ain’t even a true German like you and talking about all them neo-Nazis over there in Germany, them neo-Fascists in Berlin, and them talking about Germany for the Germans, and say that even in Sweden they’s got ’em, them neo-Fascists, and Sweden supposed to be the land of racial tolerance. So I know you telling the truth about them neo-Fascists over there in Europe, but it wouldn’t be honest of me to say I know you telling the truth about who you yourself are, ’cause I don’t know you. Deutschland für Deutschländer—one of them neo-Fascists on television were holding up a sign that said that.
Deutschland fir Deutschländer, he corrects my pronunciation, though it sound like the same German to me.
I know all over Europe it’s supposed to be the same thing. France for the French. England for the Englishmen. All them former colonialists and colonizers wants they own land for theyselves. Why I heard somebody say that if all them Englishmen and French and Germans in other people’s country had to return to England or France or Germany, they wouldn’t have enough England or France or Germany even for theyselves, and they would start recolonizing again. Of course the colored peoples of the world would say they wouldn’t let them Europeans recolonize them again, but now they’s recolonizing each other, them that ain’t economically recolonized. So you send for your wife when you feel things is safe?
He nods, then he explains how he don’t want any dirty tricks with his wife around, then he’s explaining again why he’s at Saratoga, to buy him some new bloodstock.
Maybe you should just send for her in spite of the dirty tricks, I say. She German like you? I mean is she the same kind of German as you? Is she a Hottentot German?
Not Hottentot. She’s Afro-German, actually African American and German. She’s fairer than I am and so is often mistaken for a true German. No one mistakes her for an immigrant. Sometimes they think she’s Jewish or Italian. Her maiden name is Wandervogel, her African-American father, a jazz musician, changed his name to a German name when he settled in Berlin after the war, but she’s not at all a migratory woman herself. But a man knows how to handle dirty tricks better than a woman.
It depends on what kind of dirty tricks. And what kinda woman.
He says something to me in that German, but I don’t know that German, except Deutschland für Deutschländer, so I can’t tell you what he say. But what he say sound kinda like the universal language to me.
CHAPTER
FOUR
And you, are you married? he asks, stroking my jaw. I half-frown. You know, thinking that shoulda been his first question, whether I’m married or not. I’m wearing a wedding ring, but there’s women who wears wedding rings that ain’t married, just so’s they don’t have to deal with every joker. Least if you’s a woman from the Looking for Mr. Goodbar generation. There’s jokers that don’t mind a woman being married, but at least the woman’s got a wedding ring for a excuse. He ain’t wearing no wedding ring hisself, but that’s my first question; Are you married? Course a lot of you’s probably thinking that this is the romance of a roguish woman on account of my being with him and he say he’s married. Maybe this is the romance of a roguish woman, or maybe it’s just him talking about protecting her from dangers, but me I’m supposed to be the other type of woman. She supposed to be the mystical type of woman and I’m supposed to be the common woman.
We’re in the bedroom of his hotel suite, the furniture all gold and beige. One of them real expensive-type hotel suites, you know the kind you see in the movies, the kind I ain’t seen except in the movies. I seen a hotel suite like that in one of them movies where the people win the lottery and then they go stay in this real expensive–type hotel. I think that Nicholas Cage in that movie. He play the role of the good man in that movie, and there’s a good woman, and then there’s the female rogue. Me I think it be more interesting if the woman play the female rogue play the good woman, and the woman play the good woman play the rogue. Course I guess them moviemakers got they own stereotypes of good womanhood. Ain’t exactly the Plaza, though, but it’s one of them expensive-type hotels. Gilded mirrors and that gilded-type furniture. Might not be real gold. Might be fool’s gold. I don’t think even them most expensive hotels got real gold. They’s probably all got fool’s gold. But that’s the America a lot of foreigners see in the movies, and a lot of them think that’s the true America. They think that’s everybody’s America. Or even if they know it ain’t everybody’s America, they think they come to America and it be their America. Or they read about people like Josef, who maybe the exception that prove the rule.
No, I ain’t married now, I say.
Even got a tray with all kindsa fruits on it. Even kiwi and them Caribbean-type fruits. I don’t know the names of all them Caribbean-type fruits. I’m eating one of them kiwi. You usedta think of them kiwi as exotic-type fruits, but now a lot of people think of them as ordinary fruits. In the tiny refrigerator there’s all kindsa drinks—wines and beers and liquors.
What happened? he asks, lifting up a banana and then one of them Caribbean fruits.
Jealousy. You know.
Yours or his?
I rear my head back and try to whinny, like one of his prime stallions. I wipe kiwi juice from my chin. N’Orleans, he whisper, taking a bite from my kiwi. He eat that kiwi, though, like he still think it a exotic-type fruit. I wonder if he think of American women as exotic, even African women in America? He don’t call me Harlan or Harlan Jane. He say N’Orleans like he think N’Orleans more my true name than Harlan or Harlan Jane. He pull my hair back from my forehead and kiss me. I weren’t wearing braids then, just straightened hair, though I was using that special cream from Brazil that didn’t have all them harsh chemicals in it, and made your hair seem naturally straight. You’re a charmer. And say something else in German. Must be saying You’re a charmer, again, but saying it in German. I don’t know the German word for charmer, though. Then he say the German word for pretty. I know that word ’cause I heard it once in a German movie. Schönheit. Or something like that. Or maybe that Schönheit stand for Beauty Itself and not just being beautiful. Then he say something to me in French, and that sound like a more universal language than that German. Least that French sound like the universal language of love. Course if you’s Algerian during that war, or a Algerian in France after the war, you wouldn’t think of that French as a lover’s language. I met me one of them Algerians telling me about them French. Some of them languages might sound like a lover’s language, but they ain’t a lover’s language to everybody.
When I stand in front of his mirror, arranging my hair, he say, Stay longer. You’re quite beautiful, you know. And then he say that word Schönheit, which mean Beauty Itself. I know I ain’t so beautiful to be Beauty Itself. But I know how men is. You know, when they’s speaking lover’s language.
No, I got to go bet on my horses.
Are you ever lucky?
Always.
Why don’t you come home with me? My farm’s just outside Lexington. I’ve got some of the finest thoroughbreds in the state. I’d wanted to buy a larger farm, but they didn’t want to sell so much prime land to a “foreigner.”
What about the dangers?
You seem like you’re the kind of woman who can handle it.
Well, I ain’t.
I bet you are.
You don’t know what kinda woman I am, I start to say, but I just look at him. Men is always like that with me. I ain’t met a man that ain’t like that with me. A few might tell me I’m beautiful, might even say I’m Beauty Itself, which I know I ain’t, others might point out my flaws, but they’s all sure they know what kinda woman I am. Now his wife, he ain’t sent for her, ’cause of them dirty tricks. Probably one of them type of women he don’t even wanna get her panties dirty. But me I’m supposed to be the sort of woman who can handle dangers? Course the neofeminists what that man call the feminazis would say that they don’t want the mens to be protective towards them, or the chivalrous type. ’Cause chivalry is prefeministic or some shit. But me I be wondering how come he talking about protecting his wife from them dangers, but me I’m just supposed to be that other kinda woman. And then you be asking with Sojourner, Ain’t I a woman too? Least that high ideal of a woman. That’s why I’ve always been kinda ambivalent about that feminism. Them women that don’t wanna be on no pedestal or say they don’t want to be on no pedestal, ’cause seem like to me a lot of them wants to keep the perks of womanhood, is kinda different from the women that ain’t never been on no pedestal. Course Sojourner ain’t mean exactly that when she ask, Ain’t I a woman too? I just look at him, then I laugh, like one of his stallions again.
Why don’t you come with me to the track? I say. I’ll pick you a winner.
I think I’ve already picked a winner.
The elevator doors slide open. In the lobby, a huge African American is sitting in a leather chair, watching us. Now I know he African American, though he the same complexion as Josef, kinda that gingerbread complexion, like they could both be in the Original Adventures of the Gingerbread Man, but he ain’t got that air of foreignness about him. When we step out of the elevator, he get up and walk toward us. He the sort of tall man who when he stands up keeps standing until he’s a height you’d hardly thought possible. He dressed in dark trousers and a beige shirt, and wearing a tie but no jacket. He as dark-skinned as Josef, like I said, but his eyes and eyebrows slant up kinda like an Asian’s, at least the stereotype of them Asians, ’cause the real Asian eyes don’t all slant up like that. He ain’t Asian, though. He pure African American, if there such a thing as pure African American.
Harlan, I’d like you to meet Nicholas Love, he’s coming with us to the racetrack, say Josef. I thought Josef a tallish man, but next to Nicholas, he look like a average-sized man. Course he look more well taken care of than Nicholas Love. But a lot of them Europeans always looks more stylish than Americans.
I say hello.
He nod.
You a German too? I ask, though I know he ain’t. And I know the name Nicholas Love sho ain’t no German name, ’cause them Germans got they own word for love. Course there could be Germans got English-sounding names, like they’s Americans got German-s
ounding names and every other kind of language–sounding names. The Americans, like he said, might not want to learn other people’s languages, but they’s got to say other people’s languages when they says they own names.
No, he say. And say it like it the only word in the English language he do know.
Don’t you recognize a fellow American when you see one? ask Josef.
I smile, ’cause I know all along he a American.
Nicholas walk beside Josef, not me. Neither of them converse. Nicholas seem like he one of them quiet-type men, like I said, one of them taciturn-type men. I don’t think he inarticulate, though. I just think he one of them taciturn-type men. Outside, the three of us climb into the back of a chauffeured Lincoln Town Car, Josef in the middle. The chauffeur, he a little Italian-looking man. Somebody you got to speak the Italian language to say they name. Like them Italian movie stars. When you say DeNiro or Pacino or Aiello, you gotta speak Italian to say them names. Kinda remind me of that Danny DeVito movie actor, though, ’cept it ain’t Danny DeVito.
She’s coming back with us to the farm, say Josef after a while.
Nicholas didn’t reply. And I’m wondering who this Nicholas suppose to be. And then I’m wondering if these men thinks they’s supposed to form some sort of ménage à trois with me, or some shit, ’cause you read about that ménage à trois shit in them confessional-type stories in them confessional magazines, and I’m about to explain to them that I ain’t that sorta girl, that I ain’t no freak, and no trollop neither, and that’s when Josef explain who Nicholas.
Nicholas is my bodyguard, says Josef.
And I’m thinking that just like in the movies. Here I am thinking about the movies and about my favorite Italian movie stars, when he starts saying what sounds like a movie. I ain’t never been in the company of nobody famous or rich enough for no bodyguard. He didn’t guard your body this morning, I joke. I meant at the racetrack. And I ain’t been trying for one of them blue joke, you know, but it come out sounding like one of them blue joke.