Talk Stories by Jamaica Kincaid Read Free Book Online Page B

got a good time. First of all, the theatre is a dimly lighted room with about fifteen medium-sized round tables, a red tablecloth on each table, and four chairs to each table. When we got there, about ten couples were already seated and were unpacking or eating their lunches. It was very cozy and comfortable-looking. We thought we would wait until the show got under way before we had our lunch, and then we were sorry, because we laughed so much. The show began with a man reading this from a piece of paper: “It is with great pleasure that I welcome Dr. Kheal to Theatre at Noon today. With this visit, Dr. Kheal is completing a cross-country lecture tour, which has taken him to more than fifty universities and colleges. After this lecture Dr. Kheal will be returning to Harvard, where he will resume his position as Distinguished Professor of Philosophy and Mathematics. I am proud to introduce—Dr. Kheal.” Dr. Kheal came onstage. Dr. Kheal, played by a talented young actor named Richard Hamburger, was wearing formal evening clothes and white shoes with red shoelaces. He looked quite comical. Then he started to act quite comical. He walked over to a blackboard that was already on the stage, drew a large square on it, and wrote in the square lecture topics like “On Poetry,” “On Ambition,” “On Energy,” and “On Truth.” All in all, Dr. Kheal—or Richard Hamburger—was a funny man. Also, he said very funny things. The thing he said that we liked best
was on the subject of energy. He said, “How does one do a million small things? One at a time. How does one do a million big things? One at a time. How does one do one big thing? Never.”
    â€” February 16 , 1976

Free-ee-ee
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    We have become interested in a young black woman singer named Deniece Williams. We have become interested in her because she sings in a soft, sexy voice. It is a voice we haven’t heard from young black women singers since the early sixties, when young black women singers sang in groups. We first heard Deniece Williams on the car radio. She was singing a song called “Free.” She sang, “But I just got to be me, free, free-ee-ee.” She sang most of the song in a clear soprano. Then, when she got to the “free-ee-ee” part, she shifted her voice upward—way, way up. It seemed effortless, and completely cool.
    We saw Deniece Williams the other day. She was in town performing in a concert at the Felt Forum, where she was billed third in a lineup of four acts. We visited her in her dressing room shortly before she went onstage. A few friends and aides were with her. She wore a tight-fitting aqua-blue satin jump suit and gray satin platform shoes. She told us that
she is from Gary, Indiana; that she has been living in Los Angeles for the last four years; that she has been singing since she was five; that she started singing in church; that when she was seventeen years old she had a job as a salesgirl in a record store, would sing along with the records, and began to think of singing professionally; that years ago she recorded two singles for a label called Toddlin’ Town; that she sang backup for Stevie Wonder for three years; and that she now writes all the songs she sings.
    As she told us these things, she mixed some hot water, lemon juice, and honey in a cup. Then she went into the bathroom and closed the door. From where we were, we could hear her sing in her upper register, “God is truly amazing.” She sang this over and over, sometimes stretching out and emphasizing the word “amazing.” Then she sang some la-la-la-las in the upper register. When she came out of the bathroom, she said “Yuk.”
    Half an hour before she was due onstage, her road manager told her that, because of scheduling confusion, she would have to go on second and could do only a twenty-minute set, instead of thirty-five, as she had expected.
    â€œOnly