Love Me Black or Love Me White

Abortion. Abortion the day after tomorrow. Anna tried to let it all sink in, to explain it to herself reasonably, but she got dizzy thinking about what it meant. She could not imagine herself actually getting onto the operating table where they would remove from inside her what had, in the short time of its existence, become a part not only of her body but of her entire being, changing the whole manner of her thinking. It was as if she were discovering the world again for the first time—from a different perspective and according to new associations. This barely-human little creature in her body had, through some peculiar magic of its own, become an inexhaustible fountain of love inside her. Anna desperately yearned to touch and know it, to verify its existence with her own eyes. It will be very beautiful! Very, very beautiful! She closed her eyes and added, And, of course, as intelligent as Edmund. She saw in her mind’s eye a tiny brown face framed in dense curls, ringlets twice the diameter of Edmund’s. A plump, healthy baby with glowing skin rose before her eyes. “My child!” she whispered, entranced. Have I gone mad? I am holding in my hand the appointment for the abortion! she thought, waking up out of her reverie. But how can I when I want it so much! Dear God, I want it so much! I beg you, do something! Let me keep my child! She hid her face in her hands. You can do anything. You can change the circumstances. She straightened up, not sure what she was hoping for. A day passed, the night, another day, and evening came. Nothing had changed. Tomorrow morning at eight. She got the papers ready in her handbag, and got into bed. Tomorrow. She closed her eyes. In vain, she waited for sleep. Behind the closed blinds, the night was pitch black. Malaika, nakupenda malaika, the melody crooned inside her. A light-brown face was smiling at her, a light shone from behind its curls. “Don’t!” Anna whispered. She turned on the wall lamp and picked up the first book that came to hand. She began to turn the pages at random, her glance barely skimming the chapter-headings. She yawned and turned off the light. The small brown face reappeared; the light threw arcing tails of light from behind its curls. What if, after all … but no, it was impossible. “For an unmarried girl, giving birth is an honor.” Ha-ha! Only the shame remained of the honor, the stigma of illegitimacy. And for the mother, lifelong contempt. Mother and father would never be able to bear it if she … it had never happened in the family. And her child, in addition, would be brown skinned. The black sheep! The thought stabbed into Anna’s heart. It will be my child they will hurt and ostracize, my child that will be the black sheep! This, of all children, this, a bridge between two worlds, after all, brotherly love will be encoded in its very genes from day one! Panic mixed with dread overcame Anna. “Dear God!” she groaned, annihilated. She turned on the light to try to rid herself of the thought. She turned to face the wall and stared at the floral pattern of the wallpaper. One flower was missing, the green background showing through in its place. Suddenly, her nose seemed to pick up the scent of baby powder, and she could almost feel the tight, healthy little body snuggling up against her as she clasped it to herself. “My baby!” she whispered ecstatically. “I will not let them!” She looked at her handbag. “You are staying with me!” she promised. But how? a sober voice spoke up inside her. The missing flower in the pattern caught her eye again; she could only see the green spot now. She turned off the light, but the spot was imprinted on her eyes; she saw it even in the dark. “I want my child! It is my right! It is my right, as it is everyone’s!” Impassioned, she stared into the darkness. From: The Old Hindu On the opposite side of Bukit Tima Street, three slender palm trees shoot skyward, their heads touching as if they were engrossed in a conference. Behind them is a lot covered with freshly grown green grass. Not long ago there stood a small hut, filthy with black rot, where a tiny bent-over Chinese woman used to live in her perennial black trousers and black top and carrying her ever-present black umbrella, her white hair trailing down her back in a ponytail. One day the old man observed a coffin being carried into the hut; the day after that, a bulldozer came and leveled it. Then the lot was dug up and sowed with grass seed. The result was that within a month the lot was covered with thick grass. As one of the few witnesses of this transformation, the old Hindu must have asked himself, “Is this, what human life is all about?” The old man sits opposite the three palm trees on the edge of the sidewalk, gesticulating as if in deep conversation with himself. “Come on home!” Kathy says to him, but the old man doesn’t understand. “Vittuk vanga!” she repeats, the only two words she knows in Tamil. She’d learned it the other day from a delivery boy working next door to the Tamil shop. She asked the boy for these two Tamil words when she saw that gang of street urchins teasing him. When she told them to stop, they even started throwing pebbles at him. “Vittuk vanga!” Kathy repeats, at which point the old man, startled, looks at her and gets on his feet as if waiting for something. Kathy knows that she ought to do something. She takes out a dollar bill and hands it to the old man. He in turn puts the money between his two palms and raises them to his forehead as if in prayer. He remains frozen in this stance for seconds before taking a deep bow. When he straightens up, they head for the compound, Kathy in front, he following her two or three steps behind. From: Violations I have a stomach ache and hope that the man will leave as soon as he finishes his coffee. I take his empty cup and while I’m standing near him. He grabs my hand. “I want you!” he blurts out. “What?” I ask, convinced that I must have misheard him. “I want you!” he repeats more loudly. It takes a few seconds before the real meaning of his words sinks in. I feel myself color as I condense every ounce of my human dignity in these three words: “But I don’t!” “I still want you!” he says, egging himself on. He won’t let go of my hand. He gets up, grabs my other arm, and pulls me toward him with one decisive movement. Now we stand eyeball to eyeball, and I can see what a powerful change has come over him. His eyes glitter with the instincts of the predator on the trail of its prey. This look is so deep, so evil, that I realize that this human being who has just become a beast could also become a killer. For a moment fear robs me of my strength. I could scream; perhaps someone would actually hear it. But I feel ─ I know ─ that if I scream, I will pay for it with my life. With his thick hands, he would squeeze my throat until no sound would ever come out again. Now his stare is radiating enormous power, as if he wants to hypnotize me, and I understand that no supplication, no pleading, will help me. Never before was I in such danger. I try to escape.