Diálogo Volume 8 Number 1 Article 17 2004 The Negro is Paid to Dance Matilde E. López Karin Killian Follow this and additional works at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/dialogo Part of the Latin American Languages and Societies Commons Recommended Citation López, Matilde E. and Killian, Karin (2004) "The Negro is Paid to Dance," Diálogo: Vol. 8 : No. 1 , Article 17. Available at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/dialogo/vol8/iss1/17 This Rincón Creativo is brought to you for free and open access by the Center for Latino Research at Via Sapientiae. It has been accepted for inclusion in Diálogo by an authorized editor of Via Sapientiae. For more information, please contact [email protected]. The Negro is Paid to Dance Cover Page Footnote This article is from an earlier iteration of Diálogo which had the subtitle "A Bilingual Journal." The publication is now titled "Diálogo: An Interdisciplinary Studies Journal." This rincón creativo is available in Diálogo: https://via.library.depaul.edu/dialogo/vol8/iss1/17 Art by Fernando Llort. isThePaid Negro to Dance Image from stationary, provided by Claudia Morales Haro A Short Story by Matilde Elena Lopez Translated by Karin Killian Lima, Peru This is the history of a sad man, or better put, the history of a The only thing I remember about my father is a strong tail sad Negro who is now sadder still. I feel in my heart as though Jamaican who spoke only English. "British, British. Panama is I have been painted with pitch. I am drowning in a cesspool. I of no importance to me," he used to say. have been drowning since I was born. But to me, yes, it is important. Because it is my land. And the One time I read -- or was it something I heard my mother say things that happen here pain me much. More than anything when I was young? -- Maybe it was she who read it to me. the things that happen in Chorillo, Marnon, Calidonia and San Regardless, it was something by Chestertonl: "The tiger may Miguel. The colored neighborhoods. The black muscles of the free himself from his cage, but never from his spotted skin." Canal Zone. I did not know what discrimination was until I had to go work at the Canal. It was then that they told me that we My mother cried a lot. Perhaps this is why I was born sad. One are race of hapless beings in this world of dollars. But I was day she told me: "Everyone carries her drama within." I telling you why Christmas scares me. It's all because of one guessed what her's was. But we don't talk about that. Christmas Eve, many years ago, when I was a sad young boy (because I was once a young boy, whether you believe it or "My poor son," was all she said to me as I fell asleep. not) and my mother helped me to trim a little pine branch. We were very poor, but I had been able to obtain many things, "M y little Erne, Erne, Oh! My Little Eme, Oh Eme!. Sleep tig h t because I am both skillful and clever. That's just how I am. My my beautiful black baby. My little Eme, Eme, Oh! My little mother, poor woman, she was abandoned by my father and Eme, Oh Eme!" She then sang to me as I slept on. then went to live with another. He was a drunken carpenter, infamous. I helped her when I could. But he hated me. These were the only tender works I have known. I don't know why but each year when Christmas comes around I have a "Bad little Negro," was what he always called me. Ay! I could premonition: something bad is going to happen to me. bear it when he insulted me. But not when he hit my mother. Something bad, you ask? It was the day before Christmas, and I had arrived content to light the lights on the little Christmas tree. My drunken Oh yes, all that has happened to me has been disastrous. But stepfather was discussing me with my mother. I always think that this will be something worse. I am one superstitious Negro. It comes from the oldest atavisms of my "This boy is bad. Bad!" He said. " I am going to kill him. " people. and the fear too. I come from the jungle, this I My mother cried, didn't dare enter. I just stood there, know. But I don't know where all the sadness within me comes watching. But then I saw how he hit her, and how she fell to from. Perhaps from my mother. the floor. And then how he kicked her again still. I was blinded by my rage. That is all. I threw myself on top of him. "Run. Quick!" My m other scream ed at m e. m e one day. A nd I took her in my arm s and kissed her deeply. That w as the happiest day of my life. "O h. So you w ant him to run quick, huh?" He scream ed back. And he took a ham m er that w as close by and threw it at m e, But said happiness could not last long. As I w orked nights in aim ing for my head. I only rem em ber that I saw m any lights. Happy Land, my w om an often had to stay alone. A gringo A nd then everything w ent red and I fainted. They say that I started com ing around. He w as a soldier from the zone; of the bled a lot. A nd now you know w hy Christm as scares m e. Later type w ho arrives, sets up cam p and then goes out to look for you will say that us N egroes are superstitious and have m any an am usem ent to keep them busy until they return to their c o m p l e x e s . country. He liked my w om an. N ot long after that my m other died. "You are one hot little m am a," he said one day, entering the house w hile I slept, tired. "Go to hell, you dem on black boy," my stepfather told m e. A nd I w ent to the city. I w anted to look for w hat w ork there My w om an m oved her hips w hen she w alked, and liked to w as. I w as only tw elve years old. provoke. She put a colorful scarf on her head. It gave him pleasure to see her. I d o n 't know if I have told you th at I w as born in a little village, and that that w as w here m y m other died. To go to the Capital A nd here begins, m y friends, the true history. W hen a w om an then was, well, an adventure. I did a little of everything. I says to a m an: "I feel like I've know n you forever. I love you cleaned cars. I sold things in the m arket. I dream ed of leaving s o m u c h . " on a big ship, of sailing around the w orld. I w anted to w ork as cargo labor, because I am strong! I did get aboard once, but Though everyone repeats these w ords, one still think th at it's they threw m e off the job. In the capital I w andered about the the truth and w alks in the clouds. No, don't think that I am bars, because at m idnight the drunks no longer w ant the going to begin to cry because my w om an left m e, because she sandw iches, and I w as able to get som ething to eat. w ent w ith the gringo that gave her a house w ith a law n. No, ladies and gentlem en. I don't care th at she left! T here are m ore Later I w ent to the Canal Zone, to w ork as a porter on the than enough w om en in Panam a. I only ache because of my son. w harf. This is the only thing us black m en are good for. A nd it He w ould have the sam e luck as I did in the hands of that w as then that I got to know her: the bad one. It seem ed then gringo. I ache because he could not leave. W hat w as I going to like everything w as m ade clear to m e suddenly, that my life do w ith him ? Little by little the w om an w as forgetting m e. w as going to change. They put us in a house. A nd I w as able to get furniture on credit. She w aited for m e after w ork, and w ith Now, tell m e if I don't have an excuse. It w as C hristm as. I had her I learned to laugh. I even cam e to be happy. A nd I learned to w ork all night at H appy Land. That night there w ere m ore a sense of hum or. Though som ething som etim es crossed m e drunk sailors than ever.