How large is the space between wake and sleep? How am I transported? Perhaps the thyroid, or the pineal; a lateral shift while pretending to rest. While waiting for the train Breton becomes a fish in a meadow. The wild flowers bloom as he floats away in a pin striped suit blown up like a balloon. The long black sedan keeps coming for me. My hands are seed pods. They are faint green with a violet light about them. I look left and Max Parrish is painting vases into being. The room is absolutely breath taking, the sky so blue, the clouds so bright. I see Paris below me…the room turns to night and Eva is singing at Cafe Virtu, the poem is visible and begins to breath, a field of grass. My feet are orchids smiling with a hard cadmium. A single tone. Breton is accompanied by three other fishes, hovering over the Spanish Sahara in black and white…the door opens on the big black automobile. The door opens…the shiney black door. The huge door on the black sedan bursts open from the force of a thousand roses…we are all breathing deeply…The waiter, who is a star fish, pours our champagne. Eva is now a praying mantis tearing off heads in the front row of tables, but there’s no blood, only gushing champagne! We howl with laughter…I look down and my feet are chariot wheels treading a river of champagne. The wheels are the eyes of Mantonica Wilson. Warning eyes, a godmother’s eyes warning…there is blue, and my folly ceases…there is blue…all blue and quiet except for the tone…the singular tone…the tone… Tone becomes taste and Eva smells of banana…Eva is a huge banana illuminated by the sun…her sentences taste like thick green leaves as she explains how heaven has no rules…Mantonica Wilson begins to shrink into a little butterfly and flutters down the path towards Shanghai, al bright with glittering lights…every little village is made of silver and coral hundreds of children attempt to capture her with silvery nets and turquoise pots…they beckon me to the city…the black sedan arrives and my father opens the door and waves me in. The automobile is blue sky and white fluffy clouds inside. The door slams shut and Mantonica Wilson is the driver telling me to lower the window if I’d like to see Gaugin painting in Tahiti…he is surrounded by strange creatures chatting busily in pinks and greens. Father asks if I’d like cooler air and points out his brothers and sisters among the throng populating the road into the exquisite city…they are dressed like birds in red and lavender plumes.
Above everyone’s head is a constellation spelling out their names…as I look out the back window, I see masses of children riding bicycles and I am flush with the warm feeling of sex…Eva is on the floor before me, kissing my thighs and sqeezing my genital tomatos gently. What appears to be a cigarette in my father’s hand is really incense that smells of the cane fields at Sagua la Grande. He opens his plain black collarless jacket and there’s a moving picture of him landing at Cuba…he is a ball of light dressed as a Chinaman …all of his bundles float to shore behind him. He is met by mother and Mantonica Wilson, both of whom are flanked by tall stalks of sugar cane swaying in the ocean air…
Mother waves a red scarf to indicate her passion for the Chinaman’s effulgence…the cane begins to dance as though there were drums. Father quickly closes his jacket and begins to weep against sounds of lutes and bamboo flutes. In his eyes I see the begining of a seriuos lesson…father has always been serious about living, and spoke briefly about my sisters and their children wanting to return to China…as we enter the palace, the tiniest people begin to throw lotus petals at our feet…there is a gigantic golden Buddha chanting in the foyer…he turns and winks at us, and Mantonica Wilson blushes like a little school girl as tiny jets of fire shoot from her armpits. She stops Him
mid-sentence and explains how I would not accept the mantle of the Orishas, how I had refused the transition of the fire, the double axe of Shango…the Buddha took me up in His arms as though I were a babe and spoke in what sounded like mathematics, a singing mathematics, and I understood him to mean that Shango was His brother and was abit peeved about the whole irrational affair…and that after consultation with Him about it all, determined that what was left to do was transform the the life of the night onto the picture plane……my canvasses would contain the night inall of its splendor and myth…father was very pleased with this. Mantonica Wilson jumped with delight, and bata drums fell from her fingers and begin to play themselves right there on the spot…soon the gongs are sounding…the ceiling of the palace opened to the azure of early evening…the stars hurry to take their places…we are hearing a thousand voices chanting for this initiation…the children are weeping with joy, We are carried to the threshold of the palace and as we step outside the entire sky is filled with kites of every description…there are many with renderings of Eva and little Wifredo. with a huge roar of approval, all the tails of the kites explode with fireworks of every hue…every face in the crowds lit up with celebration. Everything is light and shadow…
We are taken to an open field where a wine colored zeppelin awaits us. Father waves his hand and the sky smiles…I am feeling as though a huge burden has been lifted from my body, as though the angels have washed the inside of my body with snow and ice…I am weeping because father says he cannot accompany me on this journey, yet I am over joyed that things have finally been settled…Mantonica Wilson hands me a scroll wrapped with a red ribbon, a small bowl for the limpieza, some gold coins, and the numbers four and seven hewn from blood and palm leaves. She mentions that upon landing, I should make sacrifice of yam and kola nut for Eshu before undertaking any business. When
the zeppelin lifts from the earth, there are suddenly horses that are pulling the balloon ship through the sky…a small voice comes on the radio and says we will be in Tahiti by morning. I am thinking that finally I get to meet Gaugin. When I look down, the planet is one big smiling face, I make out the eyes and nose and lips of Mantonica Wilson, only she is Chinese, and whispers that everything is on schedule and not to worry…I am protected by the Orisha and the Buddha’s wisdom, and that all the horses are my ancestors showing me the way to liberation…
-Sadiq
