Red & Black | C@V3M3N
I was folding a black and red beaded necklace in half, sliding it up and down my wrist. I sat sprawled out across the armchair. Feet on the arms, torso tucked at the vertex of the other arm, back and seat. The life of a small person. I was admiring the alternating colors. The beads were the same color as my shirt that said ‘100% Genuine Kizomba Addict’. The same color as the bag that matched my shirt that I had given to Tony. The same color as the huge fan other dancers felt at liberty to take without asking when I went out. When I bought the fan, I asked them to put my last name on it. The cashier asked me if it was Carter like the president. No, es Carter como el rapero, Jay-Z. Ay si, she replied. El esposo de Beyoncé. Así mismo. Tony, my kizomba teacher, was seated in the chair in front of me, next to the vanity that I loved sitting in and that overwhelmed me. I stared at the beads. I asked Tony ¿como practicante, tu crees que sería una falta de respeto llevar el collar si no formo parte de la religión?
¿Porque me preguntas? His eyebrows, lips, and eyes were straight. He stared. I ran my fingers along the beads. Red. Black. I told him I like the necklace but no quiero ofender a nadie. Menos sus creencias. ••• At a church in Regla, the women outside who play tourists for money told me I was a child of Elegguá. Elegguá is the opener of paths, master of destinies. I was skeptical. After a negligible amount of research online, I felt I had the sophistication to be a child of Obátala. One woman in blue spoke to me while her friend in yellow beat down my passenger with perfume drenched herbs. It was July in Havana hot, the heat one used to assume would deter tourists from visiting. My passenger’s wife stood at a distance after declaring she didn’t even want to pay around with this stuff. The women in yellow and blue were black like me. I leaned in closer. Eyebrows arched. ¿Elegguá? ¿Ústed está segura? Ústed, because I respect the hustle. Perhaps asking my orisha then if he would accept me, too. My passenger was spinning in circles while the yellow woman blew cigar smoke around him. I glanced at him, decided he was entertained, and stared back at the woman in blue. Tell me about Elegguá. He’s a mischievous child. Playful and cunning, wise and young. Everything starts with Elegguá.
My shoulders dropped as an exhale spoke my disappointment. I stepped back from her distracted, looking off over the Havana harbor being prepared for cruise ships. Pensé que era una mujer seria. I thought I was Obátala’s. The sophisticated one. My passenger finished his treatment and bought red and white necklaces and bracelets. I asked the woman in yellow who had tended to him. Y su dios, ¿cual es? He was the child of Changó: powerful, charismatic, egotistical. He wore blonde hair cut in a style uglier than the stretch of my imagination. Shirt tucked into his pants that came up too high held with a belt too tight. He participated to mock. I glanced at him. I said a prayer: I hope that yellow woman robs you. The woman in blue observed me as I stared off. She poured a liquid into the palm of her hand and began to rub it on me. I let her. You are very intelligent. I was still distracted by my disappointment, contemplating. It smelled like jasmine. She told me that was my seduction scent. Your thoughts are what you have to offer the world. She told me Elegguá’s colors were red and black. I bought a red and black necklace from her with program funds from the tourist agency I felt morally conflicted working for. I hung the necklace on the doorknob in my room. I didn’t wear it out. I played with it on my wrist when I was relaxing in my room.
••• I told Tony no era nada oficial. He smiled and spoke with laughter. Pero lo aceptaste. Me quedé pensando y decidí aceptar Elegguá como mi orisha. I accepted Elegguá into my heart after talking to a black woman in a tourist trap. She had reminded me of my mother’s rage creeping into a sweet smile she wears when she talks about breaking the law. I played with the beads on my wrist. Tony extended his left arm toward me. He pointed at his wrist. He touched his bracelet that also had red and black beads. We were silent before I asked him. You’re a child of Elegguá? Ése collar. He leaned Back, giving an upward nod towards the doorknob. Fue lo primero que noté un tu cuarto. ••• The day of Obama’s arrival, I asked an older Cuban gentleman for the Granma with articles about the president’s visit. He stared at me for a while before turning back to the pages of the newspaper. No response.
I told him forget it. I could understand wanting to keep it for historical records. Without looking up at me, the old man said, pero mi hija, por favor. I’m not reading about Obama. He thrust the newspaper in my face. At the top in bold red letters it read ‘Transportation Delays’. Tony had asked me if he could sleep at my house during Obama’s visit, as it wouldn’t be possible for him to get to and from work with the changes in public transportation. He taught dance to people who danced like Havana Club bottles. His clients could then rent him out as a ‘taxi dancer’ when they went out dancing at night. Mierda Tony, I said after he first explained to me what a ‘taxi dancer’ was. Eso es un poco pesado. I warned Tony one day before he went to work. Hoy es un día dedicado a la mujer. Habrá un evento en mi casa. There may be shirtless men in bowties giving my friends and I massages when you get home tonight. Para que sepas. Está bien. He grabbed his work shirt with one sleeve missing and a sweat towel. I moved to lock the door behind him. No te preocupes. All the shirtless men had given consent and committed to nonreciprocation. He came home to candlelight, four topless men and three other women dancing.
He walked passed the dance floor into the kitchen, sat down, back hunched, and watched. I knew he loved to dance but he came home at night worn out. He was silent. When the party departed, Tony and I remained with the leftover chocolate, tea, and candlelight. I placed my arms around his neck. ¿Estás muy cansado? He was. ¿Porque? He looked at me questioningly, but he knew. Dale. Pónla. I released him, fist pumped and pushed play on my computer. He stood up. His hand traced down my forearm, grabbed my hand. At the end of each song, we were more desirous than the first. We danced until he couldn’t anymore. The first time we danced kizomba together I decided he was my kizomba soul mate. He was small, just my size. He was a beautiful dancer. He made me laugh. He was seductive. Him and I shared the same orisha. I had tried to learn kizomba in the past, but never felt I had the partner I needed. Then I danced with Tony. I accepted Elegguá on a hunch. I am inclined to believe. The Yoruba gods remind me of zodiac signs. Enneagram called me an adventurer, Myers-Briggs an architect (INTJ), bell hooks. Malcolm X and Cheikh Anta Diop are my theoretical frameworks. Jesus was a revolutionary. The prophet a political mastermind. My parents were criminals. #wholeotherstory