Corregidora (Bluestreak) by Gayl Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

he wonts.”
    “I never did know what he wonted.”
    “He just wont you to come outside and say something to him.”
    “I already cussed him out. In the hospital I cussed him out. I thought everybody I seen was him and I cussed everybody I seen out. I kept looking up cussing everybody.”
    “He said he go away. He just wont you to come out and say something to him before he go away.”
    “I’m not going out there and say nothing to him, Jim.”
    He said nothing. He sipped his drink.
    “I guess he be going away without it then.”
    “Don’t do that, Jim. Don’t try to draw my pity. It ain’t there.”
    “It’s there.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It’s there. It’s just turned all inside.”
    I wanted to slap him but didn’t.
    “I never have pitied myself and never will,” I said.
    “You pitied yourself when you left Bracktown and came to the city and you been pitying yourself ever since.”
    “Shit. Don’t try to make it easy for him, Jim. I never thought of you that way.”
    “You never thought of me anyway,” he said. He took another sip.
    I watched him, but said nothing.
    “What man was you singing to now?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “Once you told me that when you sang you always had to pick out a man to sing to. And when Mutt started coming in, you kept picking out him to sing to. And then when y’all was married, you had your man to sing to. You said that you felt that the others only listened, but that he heard you.”
    I said nothing. Then, “Don’t worry about it.”
    “I ain’t.”
    “Well, don’t.”
    “I think there’s your old man.”
    “What?”
    “Tadpole Mac-I-want-my-woman-back giving me the evil eye. I think he wants you.” He finished his drink and stood up.
    I kept looking at him. I wouldn’t look at the window, or at Tadpole, behind the bar.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “For what?”
    “I enjoyed the music.”
    I rolled my eyes at him, but looked back at him.
    “He told me to ask you something. He said you know what it meant.”
    “Ask me what?”
    “What’s a husband for?”
    I took my eyes off him.
    “It’ll keep hurting, Urs.”
    I kept my eyes off him. He started towards the door.
    “Him or me?” I called.
    He went out. When I looked to see if Mutt was still there, he wasn’t.
    Tadpole came from behind the bar.
    “You better get upstairs,” he said.
    He didn’t ask what Jim wanted. I thought he would, but he didn’t.
    I got up, tired, but trying not to show it.
    “You coming up?” I asked.
    “I got to close up first. I be up. Do you want me to take you up?”
    “Naw.”
    Tad went back to the bar. I saw men watching me as I walked across the room.
    I went upstairs and undressed, put on my robe, but didn’t get in bed.
    “Songs are devils. It’s your own destruction you’re singing. The voice is a devil.”
    “Naw, Mama. You don’t understand. Where did you get that?”
    “Unless your voice is raised up to the glory of God.”
    “I don’t know where you got that.”
    But still I’ll sing as you talked it, your voice humming, sing about the Portuguese who fingered your genitals. His pussy. “The Portuguese who bought slaves paid attention only to the genitals.” Slapped you across the cunt till it was bluer than black. Concubine daughter.
    “Where did you get those songs? That’s devil’s music.”
    “I got them from you.”
    “I didn’t hear the words.”
    Then let me give witness the only way I can. I’ll make a fetus out of grounds of coffee to rub inside my eyes. When it’s time to give witness, I’ll make a fetus out of grounds of coffee. I’ll stain their hands.
    Everything said in the beginning must be said better than in the beginning.
    I didn’t know what time it was when Tadpole came up.
    “I thought you’d be in bed.”
    “Naw.”
    “Thank you for waiting for me.”
    I said nothing. He got undressed and came and sat beside me.
    “You were beautiful, honey,” he said. His hand went under my robe, stroking my