Every Time a Rainbow Dies Read Online Free PDF Page B

buyers to cajole, Shakira turned her talk to Thulani.
    â€œThat’s a pretty cloth you have.”
    He pretended not to hear.
    â€œOn your wall,” she said, begging a reaction, some telltale gesture that she could pounce on.
    Heat rose up in him. She had no right to be among his things. To stick and prod him.
    â€œWhere did you get it?”
    â€œNowhere.”
    â€œA cloth like that had to come from somewhere.”
    She had no right .
    With one sweep he knocked the dolls off the table.
    â€œWhat! You crazy? Where you going? You have to help me.”
    He turned his back to her and was absorbed into the moving crowd. He could hear her calling after him. He wouldn’t leave her there to struggle with the table and cart. He’d be back. He just had to step away from her at that moment. He wasn’t ready to talk about the girl. Or her skirt. Or the alley. He certainly didn’t want to hear Shakira’s spin on it. Not while the girl was in his every thought.
    He needed his stride to be wide and free, but no one step was his own. He was pushed into a group of female dancers in mas, their buttocks and breasts jutting out of scanty, sequined costumes. Their flesh surrounded him. One dancer shoved him. Someone kicked him. Another dancer teased him, shimmying her breasts at him and sticking out her tongue. He broke free of them and imagined himself running through the hills of his homeland until exhaustion washed away his rage and suffocation. Then he saw a trace of green cloth. Bright, bold, like the green parrots of the Amazon. He saw it as its wearer dashed across the parade route and wasswallowed in the thick of the crowd ahead.
    His mind raced. Was that the girl in one of those skirts? This was his chance. He had to find her. He began to push through the crowd.
    â€œEh! You crazy?”
    â€œHey, bwai. Watch it.”
    He didn’t care. He couldn’t let her get away. He knew what he wanted. Her name. He had to know her name. She took up almost every thought in his head. He needed her name to go with his thoughts. And to talk to her. And maybe smell her. To be close to her for a minute. Everything in him stood up large. His heart, his voice, his longing. He could not let her go.
    Although he lost sight of her green skirt up ahead, he had to believe she was there. He would have to swim through the throng, ten-man deep, just to reach her. His heart was beating in his ear. What would he say when he caught her?
    He tried to see the back of her head, but it was impossible. The crowd was too dense. The people, all dancing, pushing, milling. He couldn’t get through. He jumped up high, but the Jamaican float was passing through, its carnival priestess imploring the masses to jump up, jump up. He could not find the girl or her green skirt.
    In his head he heard his mother say, “Still yourself.Just be still.” He had to trust this voice. Even if he got to the girl, he couldn’t just rush her. He would scare her. He would have to do it right. Approach her carefully. Let her see him coming, if that was possible. Let her decide if she wanted to talk to him. If she ran from him again, then and only then, would he let her go.
    He made his way through a cluster of blue and yellow T-shirts. If he could only get around the next group, he would be in front of her. He couldn’t see her too well, but he caught glimpses of the bright green skirt.
    He somehow had to get ahead of her.
    He saw his chance and ducked under a blue wooden police barricade and ran ahead. A police officer blew his whistle at him, but it was okay. He was now in front of her. He slipped back under the barricade before the police officer came and stood at a stand of figures carved from coconut skins. She would not miss him.
    The Jamaican float pushed on, and its priestess took the crowd with it. Steel drums clanged in his heart as he waited.
    She was coming, surrounded by friends. They had stopped to get a better