by Zakes Mda
Back at Five Points he spends the evening gazing at the photograph of himself silhouetted by snow. Only he knows it is snow. To anyone else it is just a dark human figure on a white background.
* * *
Maria-Magdalena has worked for Monsieur Duval and his Duval Ethnological Expositions for many years – from the time she was a blushing bride in her early twenties. Her late husband managed the company when it was still big, with many acts and varied exhibits, before it whittled down to the one display of Dinkie the Dinka Princess. The fall of the company due to Duval’s love of bourbon and poker is a story for another day. After her husband’s passing, Maria-Magdalena stayed with the company and doubled as Duval’s housekeeper. Now her sole job is to look after Dinkie, or Acol, as she prefers to be called.
She shares her story; Em-Pee shares his too, as he enjoys buttered bread with tea and German sausages. His odyssey from kwaZulu to Cape Town, and then to London; the voyage to New York and the glorious performances with The Great Farini. He does not say anything about the loneliness and the struggles of diminishing Zulu stardom, though he does mention Aoife and Mavo in passing. She is fascinated by it all.
She is a good listener, but when it is her turn she does not hesitate to share bits of her life. Her people came from the Ottoman Empire, though her memory of her life there is vague. In any event, it is not what interests Em-Pee. He wants to know about the life today. About Acol.
Maria-Magdalena is grateful for the company, the relief from boredom while Acol is working and Monsieur Duval is out pursuing either business or pleasure prospects. Em-Pee came one day and knocked at the door. He was tired of skulking outside, hoping Acol would come out. The knowledge that she might be watching at the window and laughing at him emboldened him, so he walked up the steps and knocked. If the owner was there, well, he would deal with that then. The door was opened by Maria-Magdalena, who invited him in after pretending she was upset that he had the bravado to disturb her peace uninvited. She offered him a cup of chicken broth.
‘Just for five minutes,’ she said, ‘and you must leave before Acol and the servants who supervise the exhibit or the master return and find you here.’
Five minutes became an hour.
He came again a few days later. And again. On one occasion Acol was there. But she did not talk to him. She merely nodded and went to her room. Maria-Magdalena explained to him that Acol was always in a bad mood when she came back from work, perhaps because her work entailed sitting in a cramped cage for hours on end while men ogled her. And masturbated to the fantasy of her, Em-Pee added in his mind, not voicing that thought.
Today he is determined to stay until Acol returns from work, and to talk to her.
‘Maybe she will take you another photograph,’ says Maria-Magdalena. ‘You are the only person I know that she has photographed. She takes pictures only of insects and birds and trees and flowers and the like.’
‘How does a girl living in her circumstances have the wherewithal to take photographs?’ Em-Pee wonders aloud. She is using an old Scovill camera that she bought from her master, Maria-Magdalena tells him.
‘At first she stole the camera after watching Monsieur Duval take pictures and process them in his darkroom. When he was particularly happy, maybe because the Dinka Princess exhibit brought in a lot of money that day, he taught her how to take pictures and how to develop them.’
Em-Pee goes home feeling buoyant, even though Acol did not spend much time talking to him. She kept on referring to him as papa or mister or sir, and seems to be emphasising that she sees him as no more than a father figure. Indeed, she could easily have been his daughter if he had married when men of his age were accumulating cattle wealth and taking wives instead of gallivanting around the world playing silly games for the pleasure of White people.
As soon as he walks into his tenement he reaches for the photograph and caresses it. Now that he knows the history of the photographer, especially that he is the only human being she has ever photographed, he feels this picture is much more precious than he had imagined.
Maybe he is more than just a father figure to her. Maybe it is a signal that she is attracted to him.
The next day Em-Pee makes a point of finishing early with Davis. Once more he dons his Sunday best and goes to Madison Avenue.
‘Monsieur Duval has gone to Chicago for a few days,’ says Maria-Magdalena. ‘I’ve arranged that you take Acol with you for the night so that she can see how other Black folk live in Five Points.’
‘Is that Acol’s wish or yours?’ asks Em-Pee, fearing that he might be burdened with a woman who does not want to be with him.
‘It is my idea,’ says Acol, standing at the kitchen door. ‘I am ready when you are.’ Acol then turns to Maria-Magdalena and says sternly, ‘No one must ever know about this or they will tell Monsieur Duval. That will be the end of you because you are supposed to keep me prisoner here.’
She is silent for the forty minutes it takes them to get to Mulberry Bend. He tries very hard to have some conversation, but all she does is grunt a yes or no without any elaboration.
She is the first woman he has had in his tenement since Aoife left. He does not know what to do with her. How do you entertain an uncommunicative girl? An ephemeral girl, who sometimes doesn’t seem to be there at all? Does she want them to go out, perhaps, and have a drink and grub at a neighbourhood Irish pub? He makes the suggestion and she says no, she would rather stay in the room. She does not want the crowds; she sees enough of them to last her a lifetime when she is in the cage being ogled.
He leaves her for a while and comes back with some colcannon and beef stew from The Chop House. He gives her the food in a bowl, but she merely toys with it with a spoon without really eating it. After a while she declares she is not hungry and puts the bowl on the table.
She takes out a book and places it on the table. It is a tattered penny dreadful titled Black Bess.
‘Wanna read?’ asks Em-Pee.
‘I can’t read. My jailer reads it for me sometimes.’
‘Jailer?’
‘Maria-Magdalena.’
‘I can read it for you.’
‘Please.’
He moves closer to the smoky oil lamp and gingerly opens the pages, mindful that they do not fall out. He reads aloud about the outlaw Dick Turpin. Em-Pee is horrified that this character commits robberies and murder, breaking into farmhouses and stealing property, but Acol seems to be relishing it all. She even giggles when Turpin is chased by military men, mounts his horse Black Bess and gallops away, leaving everyone in the dust.
‘You enjoy this sort of thing?’ asks Em-Pee.
‘Why not?’
‘Isn’t it for boys?’
‘Who says?’
‘Too savage for a young lady.’
‘Isn’t what they call us? Savages?’
He reads on. Right up to the end. She is already dozing off, but her face reflects nothing but bliss.
He leads her to the bed. She quickly gets under the blanket without taking off her clothes. He, on the other hand, strips naked and gets into bed beside her. He holds her in his arms. After a sporadic exchange of awkward compliments followed by moments of silence, he kisses her. She kisses him back. In no time she is all passion, kissing him so voraciously that his limbs quiver, not with anticipation but with fear. He stops. He does not know what the source of his fear is. But she takes the initiative and kisses him. It’s not just a peck on the cheek or on the lips. She presses her open lips hard on his, breathing heavily. And he responds likewise.
They continue for a long time, until he cannot help it any more. She wants us to make love, he thinks. His hands frantically grope, searching for the drawstring of her drawers. He can’t find it. She removes his hand, shaking her head, no. They kiss again, even more passionately than before. There is no way he can walk away from this; she may not be pleased with him. She does seem to want them to make love. He tries to reach for the drawstring again, to no avai
l. Then he gropes her crotch, hoping to find the overlap. She removes his hand firmly, with a hint of anger. But not before he concludes there is neither a drawstring nor an overlap. It obviously is not one of those old-fashioned split-legging drawers with an overlap that his wife wore.
As his hands caress her body he realises that she is wearing one of those combinations – a camisole bodice attached to drawers. How does she afford such classy undergarments? She’s a captive girl who lives in a cage for most of the day. Everything she wears would be a hand-me-down from the ladies of the house. Poor women like her go without this new-fangled habit of wearing undergarments. But he has no time to dwell on these questions or to seek an answer. He wants her.
‘Please take it off,’ he pleads.
‘No, I feel safe with it on,’ she whispers.
All he can do is rest his stiff member on her crotch. She responds by moving her hips in a frenetic lovemaking motion. He humps gently, and they make frottage love while she remains clothed. She seems to enjoy it and moans as though this is penetrative sex. He tells her he is about to come, and she says, ‘Please don’t. I’ll be wearing these drawers again tomorrow.’ He respects her wishes and climbs down from her. He is still erect though. He feels her hand looking for his manhood. Of her own volition she grabs it, stiff and throbbing as if it has a heart of its own, and masturbates it vigorously until he ejaculates.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he says as she cleans the semen off her hand on his belly. ‘It is just as good as penetration. You made me very happy.’
She quickly turns her back on him and says, ‘No, it is not just as good. You’re just saying that.’
He holds her and rocks her like a baby. I’ve violated her, the words ring in his head. I’ve violated her. She could have been my daughter. I have violated her.
In the morning she declines breakfast. As he walks her home, he tells her he loves her and is determined to liberate her from Duval.
‘What hold does he have on you?’ he asks.
‘He owns me,’ she says.
‘No one owns anyone any more. You don’t have to go back to Duval. What can he do about it? Come on, stay with me.’
She does not respond. And for the rest of the way they walk in silence. About two blocks from Monsieur Duval’s mansion she urges him to return.
She would rather walk alone. She doesn’t want to be seen with him.
For many days after this encounter he is tortured by it. A deep sense of shame prevents him from going anywhere near the brownstone mansions. He is not sure what to make of his relationship with her. Are they lovers?
Or is he a dirty old man who took advantage of a trusting girl in search of a father figure? And what was that lovemaking about? He wonders why she limited it to the intercrural. Could she be one of those young women who are preserving their maidenhood for marriage? If that was the case he would be even more ashamed of himself. Perhaps he misread the signs. Perhaps she does not love him. But she did kiss him back, didn’t she? They kissed passionately. In some ways she was proactive, otherwise he would not have gone on. He is attacked by guilt. Did he use this girl? Did he force himself on her? Did he rape her?
He feels dirty.
7
New York City – November 1887
Courtship
Skildore Skolnik sits in front of a roaring fire, rocking his chair gently as he reads the play script. Davis and Em-Pee stare at him expectantly, occasionally glancing at each other with question marks in their eyes whenever the producer frowns. The more he reads, the more he frowns, and the more Davis’s face contorts with worry.
‘Obviously you’re no writers,’ says Skolnik finally.
‘I did my best, given the circumstances,’ says Davis.
‘It’s a bloody mess. The story is all over the place.’
‘But that’s how it happened,’ says Em-Pee. ‘All over.’
‘I don’t give a flying tart how it happened. I want a story. There is no story here. This has potential though. This can be a great musical play if you take my advice.’
At this Davis smiles and Em-Pee scowls.
Skolnik looks at him suspiciously. ‘You don’t think what I am saying makes sense?’ he asks, glaring at Em-Pee.
‘Yes, sir, I don’t think it makes sense,’ says Em-Pee innocently.
Davis elbows him in the back so hard he staggers. He realises he might have said the wrong thing.
‘What I’m trying to say, sir, is that there is a story there. It is the story of my people. I know it first-hand because I was there for most of it.’
Skolnik says there are quite a few things he likes in the play. But the savages cannot be left with ultimate victory. Yes, in Isandlwana they won, but the play must extend to Ulundi and depict the defeat of the savage king. Only then will the audiences walk out of Niblo’s satisfied.
‘The Great Farini said King Cetshwayo became popular with White people because he defeated a superior civilisation,’ says Em-Pee. ‘Why can’t we let Isandlwana be Isandlwana in all its glory?’
‘With due respect to your Farini, he knows nothing about theatre,’ says Skolnik, turning down the corners of his mouth contemptuously. ‘This is theatre. This is no freak show.’
Skolnik says a lot of fictionalisation must be added. The savage king must be possessed by demons – his conscience devouring him to a point of madness – for biting the benevolent British hand that fed him. It is at this point of madness that British soldiers come and kill him at his royal palace in Ulundi.
Em-Pee protests once more. ‘But that’s not how Cetshwayo died.’
‘If you want authenticity you are in the wrong business,’ Davis pipes up.
‘I don’t give a flying tart for authenticity,’ says Skolnik. ‘I want a working story, a Shakespearean tragedy. You take it or leave it.’
He indicates that the meeting is over. As they walk out he says to Davis, ‘Next time don’t come with the Zulu. He argues too much.’
As soon as they get outside, Davis says, ‘Skildore Skolnik is not Slaw. You don’t just talk to him anyhow you like. He doesn’t like uppity Negroes.’
He then turns his back on him and limps away.
Em-Pee stands there for a while looking at him, puzzled.
Then he yells after him. ‘I’m not an uppity Negro! I’m an uppity Zulu.’ He stresses uppity, enunciating each syllable.
* * *
Maria-Magdalena has arranged that Acol and Em-Pee meet at the nearby park – where he first saw her as a caged princess. Maria-Magdalena has done it twice since that night, five months ago, when she let Em-Pee take Acol to Five Points so that she could learn how Black people lived.
After Em-Pee had squirmed in shame for a few days, he couldn’t help but return to Monsieur Duval’s mansion.
At first, he stopped on the sidewalk and gazed at the windows upstairs, one of which he hoped would be Acol’s or Maria-Magdalena’s bedroom. He lingered for an hour or so and then left. The next day he came with a determination to knock at the door. But he froze for a while just when his knuckles were about to hit the wooden panel, and then left. On the third attempt he froze again, but Maria-Magdalena swung the door open and glared at him.
‘What did you do to the girl?’ she asked, not even waiting for him to complete a timid greeting.
‘Nothing. I love her,’ said Em-Pee.
‘You cannot love her, you will not love her, she is not meant to be loved.’
Em-Pee was dumbfounded.
‘I sent her with you because I thought you were a responsible adult family man,’ she added.
‘I am an adult family man. What did she say I did to her?’
‘I don’t know. She does not want to talk about it. But she says it was just the two of you. The whole night? No wife? No child? You told me you’re married and have a child. You lied to me.’
‘I do have a child, yes, but I no longer have a wife. She ran away with the circus.’
Maria-Magdalena could not he
lp but laugh. ‘People do that in real life?’
Em-Pee looked pained. He did not understand what was funny about being deserted for a circus.
Maria-Magdalena suddenly became serious again and glared into his eyes. ‘What makes you think you can love Acol and live?’
He stood there as if mesmerised by her question. She invited him in for a cup of bean-and-bone soup. She put some gin in hers, claiming that it was medicine for her weak knees. Em-Pee was no fool; he knew the smell of gin and said so.
‘Of course, it is gin,’ she said. ‘But it is knee medicine too.’
Em-Pee said he wanted to try some for his knees too, in case they gave him problems in future. He’d never thought anyone would want to mess up such a delicacy as bean-and-bone soup with alcohol. Not being a regular imbiber, soon his knees were becoming jelly instead of stronger. And soon the two were full of nothing but laughter and silliness.
It was during this warm imbibing session that the plan was hatched: when the situation allowed, Maria-Magdalena would take Acol to Madison Square Park where they could meet – provided Acol wanted to see him.
This brought so much joy to Em-Pee that even Slaw and Samson noticed the change. When they danced at a Tenderloin outdoor venue, with Mavo as the drummer boy, he recaptured the flair he used to have in kwaZulu, before his soul had been battered by the vulgar dances of London and the failures of New York. He was graceful in his gyrations, in his high-kicking jinks, in his foot-stomping. They did not know it was for Acol he was dancing.
He had summoned her to stand in the front row, and she was clapping her hands excitedly. Seen only by him, she gave him more power, more inspiration, more agility, more stamina. She was the muse he discovered he could invoke on demand, and there the muse was, swaying in front of him, with thick, pursed red lips and wide smiling eyes with the whitest of sclera and the blackest of irises. Her tall limbs yearned for a dance, but she dared not steal his thunder. Remember, this was his narrative; his to control. Hers was only to inspire him to greater heights. She only swayed gently, her knobbly knees almost knocking against each other.