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HOME 2004-08-02
James Baldwin B. 8.2.24 Harlem / D. 12.1.87 St. Paul-de-Vence, France Stomach Cancer James Baldwin beckons to me across the room to come light his cigarette. I don�t know why, I�m not the only unimportant person in the room, nor the least important in the spaces intervening but without hesitation, I am off across the room, to light his cigarette. Funny how this would never have happened ten years ago, even five, it occurs to me. James Baldwin is talking to a dark-skinned U.N. diplomat whom he appears to have mesmerized with the cold, bee-dancing baton of his cigarette. Me, a white girl, bringing a match to such a one, when beckoned! Draped behind James Baldwin there is something like a semi-circular curtain, such as would be used to �set off� a marble faun on sale, made up entirely of faces; multi-colored, stretched to listen, strained to smile, in all the living swathe there�s not a single pair of eyes to see that someone needs to light his cigarette. I arrive as if at the dais, as if pensive and shy in a short clinging tunic, as if wearing one of those thin gold bands around my virgin head, and offer flame. In the snaky depths of his smoke-squint I see he's read my every thought. Consolation Site: The Times
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