Page 82 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #2

(continued from page 60)
one hit him hard on the side of his head.”
of the working class variety, spilling out of the tube. “Ooh, what was that?” Sandra looked a bit scared.
“Outside, they exchanged a
long kiss and he felt some- him by mistake.
Lady’. If people cannot take me as I am...” he shrugged. They looked at each other and were both silent.
She lifted her lips to his. “I like you the way you are.” He looked into her eyes and smiled.
They crossed over the road, laughing and whisper- ing to each other, and walked down the alley to her street. It was dark enough for him to attempt to kiss her, so he did not hear the footsteps – but he did hear the curses rushing at him, like the first blow.
It was Oyedeji’s first Christmas and the cold that en- thought he was going to die, he saw his father, shak- tered his very soul made him long for the land of his ing his head at him in pity.
birth. Here it was all about giving gifts, so the shops were full of merchandise and everyone went into this frenzy of buying. Sandra took him up to Oxford circus to see some pop star switch on the lights. It was an enlightening time – not because he saw how the fru- gality of the British disappeared during the month of December, but because it was the first time they had done gone anywhere together in public.
He saw Sandra’s face loom over him like a picture flickering out of focus. She was screaming and cry- ing. Then someone kicked him again and he floated away, to wake up in a room full of bright lights with this woman with black stains running from her eyes shrieking all over him.
Maybe it was the beer they had shared in a little pub in Soho that made them this confident, and by the time they got down to Mile End they were holding hands and she lay her head on his shoulder. Outside, they exchanged a long kiss and he felt someone hit him hard on the side of his head. He broke away and looked back at the sea of cold hard white faces, mostly
“He’s awake.”
73
Oyedeji shook his head and they moved on through
the crowd down the road. Maybe someone had hit
He did not know how many they were. Their heads were bald like babies but they had fists that pounded into his ribs and feet that kicked at his stomach
and head, until he gagged up the steak and kidney pie and beer he had eaten in Soho. Just before he
The tall man in the white coat spoke so quietly that he could hardly hear him but he caught the words ...