Orange
Laughter |
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Orange
Laughter is the story of Tony Pellar, a
man of fading fortunes and |
Excerpt from Orange Laughter - Chapter One - Chapter Two
Source: Chapters 1 & 2
Author: Leone Ross
Angela Royal Publishing
Publication Date: April 27, 1999
I stooped over the child and looked at
him for a long time but I felt nothing
I wondered if he was garbage I hunkered down a foot away and
stared at his
body at first he looked like a sack then a mattress torn apart I
stretched and
I could see his arm and the tilt of his pelvis I stared hard WAS
it a child
you know the darkness plays with all our minds down here I didn't
want to
touch I tried to decide not to know but I'm not an animal baby so
I reached
out for the pathetic coat he wore I couldn't see its colour and I
wondered
where the sound was coming from a raw sorrow song I wondered who
was crying
over his crumpled face dang I saw the tears falling onto his
little arm I
watched them fall and I was thinking there are so many leaks down
here then I
realised the leak was me
it was me
someone was screaming there were bruises
going purple on his cheeks his skin
was ashy he was raven lips and ebony cheekbones a coal jawline
his tight jet
hair cupped his forehead and his ink eyes were open wide he had
deep sable
nostrils I thought did somebody love you before you died I
realised the scream
was coming from my throat God I held him he was cold all I had
was a thin coat
but I wrapped it around him I hugged him to me and thought if
only he would
cough and struggle like the end of any good book everything would
be alright
his head was soaked with my tears how old was he why did he die
alone down
here in this stinking place did the trains get you child
Agatha laughed at my tears I looked up
and there she was sitting on the steel
beam above my head smiling down at both of us you know you don't
know fear
until you look straight into Agatha's eyes they are diamond chips
they are
full stop diamonds you could bang her eyes against concrete and
never dent
them Agatha laughed and she laughed and I hugged the little boy
leave him
alone I yelled leave him alone he's dead I looked down into my
arms and there
was no child anymore all I'm doing is hugging myself in the green
coat I wear
with tears drying on my arms the little boy was lost he was gone
like the sea
I got to my feet and Agatha was gone too
there was nothing but darkness and
me sucking the salt water off my arms
so the bitch is back with her head games
I call Agatha a bitch because that's what
she is a bitch in heat I thought
she'd gone that she'd left me alone but now she's back and it
will be the same
old story her swishing her tail in my direction throwing her
thick hair over
her shoulders wanting me to see her she will peek out at me from
behind the
trains and I will hear that luscious heavy laughter once again
she is tall
enough to break a man there are snowy strands in her dark hair
and you
wouldn't believe her age with those breasts bullet nipples and
though I know I
have never kissed the dark discs around them I still imagine that
if I did she
would make sounds so good I'd go mad she leaves pools of energy
behind her
streaming yellow from the soles of her bare feet her lips are
naked she has a
midnight face her Momma must have started to paint that skin on
then got
scared and tried some funky New Age design rippling and freaking
out one side
of her face where the skin is scarred but she's still beautiful
and each time
she laughs I see it light up the place her laughter is a flash
fire in the
distance
you want to know where I'm at I'm under
the Noo Yawk streets that's where and
I know the trains like they're brothers and you know down here we
call where
we're at Underneath and the rats are as big as cats and five
times as scary
staring at my ass with antique eyes and all of us down here call
where you
live Topside I thought I'd escaped down here but no trust the
bitch to come
back with that stunt that little boy is just her style let me
give him a
corpse she must have thought to herself let me see if my Tony is
still human
I haven't been Topside and watched the
breeze for over a year but I went out
the other night after the little boy lay dead in my arms I had to
mail an
important letter and there was wax on my fingers it dripped from
the angry
candle and made hot white circles on my skin pattering one two
one two burn
baby burn I need a candle because it's dark down here the dark is
thick like
oatmeal like nothing you've ever seen and I can hear the A train
in the
distance sometimes it freaks me out big time because you feel
like it's coming
to get you even when you know it's not scheduled baby you know
down here we
all dream that the trains will get us and run us over or the
third rail will
fry us one strange night when the balance goes when you're
stepping over the
tracks you know what I mean about the third rail right the rail
that they run
all those million watts through that's right Chaz is always
saying that one
day she's going to drop kick it like a stupid motherfucker and
deep fry
herself on that rail YOU CAN RING MY BE-E-ELL RINGIN MY BELL MY
BELL DING DONG
DING OW
I was writing the letter under the candle with the wax on my
fingers and
I wanted to ask Chaz to mail it for me when she goes Topside she
goes to pan-
handle but she's a jealous bitch too WHY am I surrounded by all
these bitches
so I made a decision that I had to do it myself and I ran my
thumbs over the
letter that I'd written and thought about Chaz telling me how she
gets her
letters from her sister who thinks that her fine ass self is
working as a
dancer but really she's living Underneath here with me Chaz said
yeah Tony you
could get post at the gas station they good like that there's a
fine brother
across the counter and he gives me free Hershey's and those
cigarettes you
smoking all I know is she wanted me to cop an attitude because
she called the
brother fine but I don't give a good goddamn I like Chaz and the
pussy is good
but I can't love in a place like this
jealousy is for Topside it's for real life for 42nd street and
McDonald's and Queens and the Statue of Liberty whenever I tell
Chaz about the
Lady she asks me who she ever give liberty Tony not to me yo and
I tell her
she's just a cynic because this is the land of the free and the
home of the
brave and she thinks I'm serious you could never say that Chaz
had an ear for
irony or sarcasm I knew Chaz would ask too many questions if I
asked her to
mail the letter so I took the few short paces up the ladder yeah
up to Topside
I wanted to fall when the night hit me it wasn't dark enough and
the
moon was so bright I hadn't seen it for a year and the silver
shadows were
merry goddamn I still got a turn of phrase and I crushed the
envelope in my
hand I kept saying this is the only way a man has to admit that
he needs some
help sometimes not a lot of help just a little you know a man
needs to ask a
friend for a favour sometimes and the moon laughed down at me
the letter is going to Doctor Michael Abraham Tennyson and when
he gets
it we could have a great reunion yeah class of North Carolina
1965 so he could
remind me that she's DEAD Agatha's dead I know she's dead but I
need him to
tell me the whole story of how we came to be best buds I know
she's dead but I
saw her yesterday and I know you think I'm crazy but her face was
so sweet I
swear when she laughs it's orange and there are yellow pools at
her feet and
her arms are red with blood so I wrote him and now I'm sitting
Underneath in
the subway tunnels where I live nobody knows I'm here I'm waiting
because
Mikey was the best friend a man ever had and I know he's going to
come through
for me it's a damn shame we haven't spoken so long how old were
we twelve
thirteen nine when we first met
I've written him and told him I can't get
the Soul Snatcher out of my
mind
The black boy picked pecans every day at
nine o' clock. Mikey started worming
his way under Miss Ezekiel's house at 8:30. His bulk made the
venture
difficult, but he'd mastered the art, pulling his stomach towards
his backbone
and crushing the small breasts on his chest against the rough
dirt. The best
way was to lie on his prize winning stomach, sweat turning his
shirt dark,
shuffling backwards. Once he'd wedged his legs and hips as far as
they could
go, he braced himself on his hands and pushed backwards against
the ground.
Inch by inch, his body complied. When he was in position only his
fingers
showed, and he was trapped until the black boy left. Getting out
was harder.
Each time he hid under the house, Mikey spent a few minutes in
prayer. He
prayed that Miss Ezekiel would never see him struggling. From
where he lay he
could feel movement inside the building: Miss Ezekiel and Agatha
walking in
the kitchen, frying meat and making biscuits. Agatha stepping
through,
sweeping the floors. In his most horrific imaginings he could see
the moment
his grandmother spotted the big moving lump that was him, bending
the
floorboards. She would call Agatha and she'd say 'What in all
hell is that?
Agatha, come over heah, watch out fo' snakes and jes' you see
what's the cause
of this heah hump.' Then they would find him, stuck, dirty, too
slow and too
big to scramble out. The black boy would turn around and finally
speak to him,
and the words would be damning: 'Whatchoo doin' watchin' me?'. It
would all be
out and he would have to raise his eyes to heaven and die.
Mikey blinked as sweat trickled into his
left eye and sighed as the
back door opened. He heard the boy's soft footfall on the front
steps.
Miss Ezekiel told him that you could
smell niggers before they came up
on you, if the wind was blowing right. She said she was surprised
people
didn't just lay down and die when all of them got together. That
was probably
why intelligent folks didn't encourage them to gather. She said
when she
passed them nigger gin joints in town, she smelled them on the
air. All drink
and sinning. She said she was surprised that these silver-rights
goings on
didn't kill the police with the stench. Mikey had never smelt
anything special
on the niggers. Just sweat and a Sunday afternoon, like him.
Except Agatha.
Mikey smiled, thinking about her. Agatha, Miss Ezekiel's daily
help, who came
six days a week, at seven in the morning. Agatha, who smelled
good every day.
Even when the heat blistered the porch walls, and a man could
drink shade like
lemonade, she smelled good. He shifted, thinking about her and
the way she
made ice cream, cranking the old machine. One day her sweat had
dripped onto
his arm as she handed him a bowl. It was all the best smells in
the world. Her
skin was like hot butter in a pan. He could imagine her pouring
herself over
biscuits.
He'd been in Edene for eighteen months, since Miss Ezekiel
brought him over
from his home town in Georgia. Two days after they arrived,
Agatha came to the
back door, looking for work. Mikey watched the tall,
brown-skinned woman duck
her way into the house and then looked away. He was more
concerned with his
own lingering disorientation. It had only been four months since
his father
had died, and he didn't like Miss Ezekiel. The house his
grandmother had
rented - with his father's money, he was sure - still looked
unknown and
empty, despite the boxes and bags strewn in the front room and
across the
porch. Miss Ezekiel hadn't let him bring anything that belonged
to him. She
bought him all new clothes. She said all of his daddy's things
smelled like
death.
In Georgia, the people on the street had respected his daddy too
much to
exclaim about his fat son. But in Edene, each new person he met
widened their
eyes, as if they were trying to accommodate his body. He watched
them pity
him. Mrs Jenkins - Miss Ezekiel's neighbour, who had her up in
all the sewing
circles, all the church meetings - took one look at him and
proclaimed him as
wide as he was tall. She said it in a loud voice. Mikey dipped
his head and
scurried inside himself. That was where he lived.
Agatha was different. When she saw him, her eyes had widened too,
but there
was something warm there. She looked at him thoughtfully, as if
she'd been
about to say something but changed her mind. When Miss Ezekiel
turned away,
Agatha put out one hand and stroked the damp hair off his
forehead. She
wrinkled her nose at Miss Ezekiel's back, a conspiratorial
gesture that made
him smile.
Agatha was six feet tall if she was a mile, and her hair wasn't
like any
colour Mikey had seen before. It fell from a widow's peak into
slender black
ropes, past the bright cloth in her hair and down across her
shoulders. When
she held her head just so, secret strands went blue. Her skin was
high yellow-
brown and her feet were small. When you got up close your eyes
were drawn to a
surprise in her face: thin lines crawled across her right
cheekbone, around
the eye socket, scattered across half of her forehead, crept
under her chin
and down her neck. She watched him looking and smiled, as if to
say yes, I see
you looking, I see you've seen it, now what? He blushed and moved
away. On
that ice cream day he sat down with his dried, sweated-on arm,
smelling her,
until Miss Ezekiel called him, fussing, asking him what the hell
he was doing.
He'd sniffed the Agatha-smell all day. It was the smell of love.
Four months ago, as July's weight bent down upon them like an old
man with a
burning ambition, Agatha had introduced the black boy. His name
was Tony. She
came to the back door holding his hand. Mikey climbed out of his
room to look
at him. He wanted to hate him: Tony was as beautiful as a girl.
Mikey was
awed, looking at the boy's bowed head. The sunshine made Tony's
skin glossy.
He had a new haircut. Agatha explained that when Tony arrived at
the bus
station from New York, his head was all rat tails. She couldn't
untangle it,
so she sheared it off.
Tony looked up at her as she spoke. He was pretty, but he was
going to be a
man. Thick eyelashes framed his bottomless eyes. Blackberry eyes.
He looked at
Mikey looking at him while Agatha explained chores: Miss Ezekiel
wanted the
lawn cut and she wanted the silver cleaned and boy, we've got to
move on now.
Her voice was firm and peaceful.
Tony didn't speak. He nodded to show that he understood. Agatha
said he never
uttered a word. Mikey wondered if the black boy was a retard. He
knew that
Miss Ezekiel didn't like the lack of yessum, no-um. He'd realised
early that
words like that made his grandmother happy. But there was nothing
Miss Ezekiel
could change about the silent boy in her house all summer. Mikey
listened to
her comfort herself out loud in the evenings as he did his
homework at the
dinner table, knees together, hands flat on the table top like he
was told,
doodling around the edge of the paper when he coudn't get the
work right: the
boy was clean, Agatha was a decent coloured and the Lord, well He
did send
things to test a body.
Mikey avoided Tony, as he avoided most. When the school holidays
had started,
he'd found once more that he had no friends, and needed no more
enemies. There
wasn't much to do except go into the woods, avoiding the swamp,
lest Miss
Ezekiel start hollering, his niggershooter in one hand and food
in a bag:
quarter of a watermelon, some biscuits, a handful of peanuts and
one of Miss
Ezekiel's chickens fried up brown and smelling good, in case he
needed to keep
his strength up. He tried fishing in the creek, but the fish just
seemed to
laugh up at him, and he was tired of that, so he kept walking,
looking at
squirrels and shooting at them. He knew he'd miss but it didn't
bother him. He
liked squirrels. It was just that he couldn't take any joy in the
summer, like
a nine year old boy should. He wasn't good at anything and
eventually when the
sun became merciless, he decided to go home. It was like this
every day, and
before he knew it, school was in again and the teasing began
again and this,
he decided, was his life. Yells of disgust in the hallways and
no-one ever
talking to him without contempt. Until October came, and the
pecans began to
fall. It had been another long day when he happened upon Tony in
the yard,
picking pecans, and talking.
Mikey wriggled, trying to get comfortable
as Tony walked forward into his
range. He grinned to himself, then frowned. It would soon be
over. The pecans
were only good for a couple more days. When Tony had started
picking they were
nearly three inches thick on the ground. Miss Ezekiel was mighty
proud of the
pecan trees on her new land. Tony shook out the first sack and
began to pick
up nuts.
When he first heard the black boy's
voice, Mikey was too shocked to make out
the words. He'd paused, excited, debating the wisdom of running
out and saying
hey, or running into the house and telling Agatha, to let her
praise the Lord
for a miracle. He would have given his whole lunch and a lot more
to be
responsible for a light in her face. He moved behind a tree and
listened, his
stomach churning. It was only a murmur, but the words were
unmistakable.
'An' Elimelech, Naomi's husband died, an' she was left, an' her
two sons....'
said Tony.
Mikey guessed that it was the Bible. He wondered whether it was
such a good
idea to run inside and tell Agatha. If the boy was talking
damnation maybe
that would make her sad. He leaned against the tree and listened.
His daddy
once told him he had good ears.
'An' they took them wives of the women of Moab, an' the name of
the one was
Orpah, an' the name of the other Ruth, an' they dwelled there
about ten
years...' said Tony, picking up pecans.
Mikey had seen the coloured all hollering and shouting up in
their churches.
Agatha's grandaddy had been a preacher. Maybe she knew. Maybe
she'd been
teaching Tony the Bible. Maybe it was the only thing he could
say. He listened
to the pleasant voice and decided that he liked it. It was
soothing. His
daddy's voice had been good too: cutting through noise like
water. Mikey
crouched behind the tree for a long time, hearing about Ruth's
life, until
Agatha called for Tony and the boy went inside.
For three days Mikey hid under the house, waiting to hear Tony
speak. He
didn't know why he was doing it. He only knew that it distanced
the self-
consciousness in his belly. It was their secret, even if Tony
didn't know.
Agatha was tearing out her hair about why this boy don't speak,
but he, Mikey,
could see Tony doing it every day. Words running out of his mouth
into the
combustible afternoons. It was like watching a miracle. He
thrilled to himself
when he saw Miss Ezekiel muttering under her breath, cussing how
this little
nigger better not be sassing her with his buttoned-up lip. He
knew that Tony
was more than silence.
Mikey smiled as Tony took a breath and
began.
'The song of songs, which is Solomon's. Let him kiss me with the
kisses of
his mouth, for their love is better than wine...'
It was a good secret for a little boy who couldn't hit the house
with a rock
if he tried. A boy who had comics on his shelf until Miss Ezekiel
found them
and burned them, watching Superman and Spiderman go up in flames.
He wanted
Spidey to jump out of that big old fire and give Miss Ezekiel a
hiding. Then
they would be friends, he and Spidey, go up North on Greyhound
and no-one
would think he was a sissy boy then. Spidey would teach him how
to use his
Spidey sense and he'd know who was a bad 'un and he would leave
all them bad
folks alone.
'I am black, but comely, o ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the
tents of Kedar,
as the curtains of Solomon. Look not upon me, because I am black,
because the
sun hath looked upon me...' Tony said.
When Spiderman declined the offer and continued to burn, Mikey
wasn't
surprised. Nothing good had happened to him since his daddy died.
He saw
Agatha shaking her head. Later she asked Miss Ezekiel in that
fancy voice of
hers - better, Mikey admitted than his grandmother's or his own -
why Miss
Ezekiel felt the need to be burning up the boy's only pleasure.
Miss Ezekiel
turned her back on Agatha and there was nothing more to be said.
He noticed
that Miss Ezekiel didn't give Agatha any of the leftover clabber
milk that
evening. Agatha's fancy voice fascinated him almost as much as
her face.
Almost as much as Tony's incorporeal murmur.
'I have compared thee, o my love, to a company of horses in
Pharoah's
chariots. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck
with chains of
gold...' said Tony.
Mikey strained to hear, hoping snakes wouldn't eat his knees.
'We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver. Thy
lips, o my
spouse, drop as the honeycomb, honey and milk are under thy
tongue and the
smell of thy garments....'
'Michael Abraham! Michael Abraham? Where is that boy?'
Mikey banged his head against the floorboards above him. It hurt
so much that
he bit his bottom lip to restrain a yelp. Bruised air exploded
from his lungs
in a sharp hiss. Miss Ezekiel was yelling from the house. He
glanced back at
Tony. He was still talking. Panic hit him. Surely Tony would hear
her calling
and shut his mouth. There must be a reason why Tony could talk
and wasn't.
There must be a very big reason.
'I said, Michael Abraham, where you at, boy?'
'Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits,
camphire...' said Tony.
Mikey wished he would stop talking about campfires. His voice was
getting
louder. There would be hell to pay if Miss Ezekiel heard him. He
was talking
and talking, picking up pecans with his nimble fingers. They were
nearly gone.
Mikey heard the sound of footsteps moving through the house above
him. Miss
Ezekiel was heading for the back door. They'd both get a
whipping. Miss
Ezekiel would know that Tony had been fooling her. She'd know
that he, Mikey,
had been listening. She might say it was a plan. That Agatha knew
all along.
She might tell her to get going. The thought made him bite his
lip even
harder. And Tony was still talking, as if he couldn't stop.
'...with spikenard, spikenard and saffron, calamus and
cinnamon.....'
Miss Ezekiel would be opening the back door soon. She was
shouting at the top
of her voice. Why couldn't Tony hear?
'Michael? I said, Michael, where are you, boy?'
Maybe this was a punishment. He was going to be found out, lying
and watching
a nigger talk out the Lord's words like he was somebody. Like he
was black and
comely like Solomon said. He'd asked his teacher what comely
meant and she
said it was another word for pretty. Miss Ezekiel was going to
find out and
Tony was going on and on, as if he was in a trance, squeezing the
plump nuts
in his small fists, dropping them in yet another sack, using his
enchanted,
pained voice. He had to distract her. He could hear her on the
steps.
'Mizz Ezekiel! Mizz Ezekiel!' Mikey yelled.
Tony jumped like the devil was coming and peered over the sack in
his hand.
He looked alarmed, furtive, embarrassed and angry all at the same
time.
'Michael?' Miss Ezekiel's voice sounded even more annoyed.
Mikey scrabbled at the ground in front of him, hoisting his
weight forward.
He had to get to his feet. Miss Ezekiel was coming down the steps
and around
the house. He could see her long feet and cracked toes in the
sandals she
wore. He gripped at the ground. His nails scraped against stones
that cut into
his palms. She was going the wrong way, heading around the left
hand side of
the house, peeping, arthritis making her joints rustle. Any
moment now she was
going to be standing over him, yelling out that he should be
afraid of snakes
and ha'ants under the house, how you put yo' fat self up under
that porch
anyhow, boy, is you a fool? A panicked tear squeezed itself out
of his eye as
he tried to lever his feet into a position from which he could
push. He was
stuck.
A pair of brown legs appeared in front of him.
A brown hand reached out. Mikey gaped up
in astonishment as Tony grasped his
hand and pulled. He felt as if his gut would rip. A nipple
scraped against
splinters. Tony braced himself and pulled again. Mikey felt
himself sliding.
Tony flailed and lost his balance and the two boys fell to the
ground, Mikey
almost in Tony's arms. They could hear Miss Ezekiel's patterned
footfall
coming back around - 'Boy, where you at, looka heah, don' be
playin' with me
now!' - and Tony tugged again. Then they were both on their feet,
panting.
Tony's face was solemn. Miss Ezekiel turned the corner of the
house just as
Agatha came to the front steps.
'Tony! Why you not pickin' those pecans? Get on, now!' she said.
Her hand
clenched and unclenched her skirt.
Miss Ezekiel stared at Mikey's shirt. Dust painted the front and
a rip hung
sadly on the sleeve.
'Boy, you a fool? I need you ta be inside these books! What you
out heah
doin'? What you do to yo' shirt?'
Mikey looked down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tony
hurrying back to
the nuts, picking faster than ever.
'Nothin', ma'am,' he said.
'Then get in the house, boy!'
He smiled up the steps. He looked at Tony but the boy had his
head down
again. Mikey decided that he didn't care. Now they shared the
secret. It was
out in the open and he didn't care about the fussing. Everything
was fine.
Reviews of Orange Laughter
Readers comments:
A powerful ending, to say the least. I havent been
so emotionally caught upin a novel for a long time. This is a
remarkable, strong and highly intelligent novel, full of the
whole gamut of human passions: hatred, sexual desire, despair,
hope, violence, and above all, love - and written with
extraordinary skill.
- A Reader, London
What a great story! You have restored my faith that
there is a new generation of black literary novelists. Bless your
writing hand, bless your writing heart. Go forth and work your
magic - dazzle the world.
- Jiton Sharmayne Davidson, USA
How to purchase
Orange Laughter is now available in good bookstores in the UK.
It may also be purchased online at Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk
Mail order: Wings Mail Order, tel: 0181 443 5333
©
Leone Ross 1999
All rights reserved.
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