- 1 day ago
One of the world’s greatest living writers has published her eleventh novel, 'God Help the Child.' Here, Morrison reads an excerpt.
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00:00Bride, I'm scared. Something bad is happening to me. I feel like I'm melting away. I can't
00:17explain it to you, but I do know when it started. It began after he said, you're not the woman
00:25I want. Neither am I. I still don't know why I said that. It just popped out of my mouth.
00:35But when he heard my sassy answer, he shot me a hateful look before putting on his jeans.
00:43Then he grabbed his boots and t-shirt, and when I heard the door slam, I wondered for a split second
00:50if he was not just ending our silly argument, but ending us, our relationship. Couldn't be.
01:02Any minute I would hear the key turn, the front door click open and close, but I didn't hear anything
01:09the whole night. Nothing at all. What? I'm not exciting enough or pretty enough?
01:18I can't have thoughts of my own, do things he doesn't approve of.
01:25By morning, soon as I woke up, I was furious, glad he was gone, because clearly he was just using me
01:35since I had money and a crotch. I was so angry. If you'd seen me, you would have thought I had spent
01:43those six months with him in a holding cell without arraignment or a lawyer, and suddenly the judge
01:51called the whole thing off, dismissed the case or refused to hear it at all. Anyway, I refused to whine,
02:02wail, or accuse. He said one thing. I agreed. Fuck him. Besides, our affair wasn't all that spectacular.
02:15Not even the mildly dangerous sex I used to let myself enjoy.
02:21Well, anyway, it was nothing like those double-page spreads in fashion magazines. You know, couples
02:32standing half-naked in surf, looking so fierce and downright mean, their sexuality like lightning
02:42and the sky going dark to show off the shine of their skin. I love those ads. But our affair didn't
02:53even measure up to any old R&B song. Some tune with a beat arranged to generate fever. It wasn't even
03:04the sugary lyrics of a thirties blues song. Baby, baby, why you treat me so. I'd do anything you say. Go
03:14anywhere you want me to go. Why I kept comparing us to magazine spreads in music. I can't say. But it tickled
03:25me to settle on. I want to dance with somebody. It was raining the next day. Bullet taps on the
03:34windows, followed by crystal lines of water. I avoided the temptation to glance through the
03:43panes at the sidewalk beneath my condo. Besides, I knew what was out there. Nasty-looking palm trees
03:51lining the road. Benches in that tacky little park. Few, if any, pedestrians. A sliver of sea far
04:01beyond. I fought giving in to any wish that he was coming back. When a tiny ripple of missing him
04:10surfaced, I beat it back. Around noon, I opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and sank into the sofa.
04:19It swayed in silk cushions, as comfy as any arms. Almost. Because I have to admit,
04:29he is one beautiful man. Flawless even, except for a tiny scar on his upper lip and an ugly one on his
04:41shoulder. An orange-red blob with a tail. Otherwise, head to toe, he is one gorgeous man.
04:51I'm not so bad myself. So imagine how we looked as a couple. After a glass or two of the wine,
05:02I was a little buzzed, and decided to call my friend, Brooklyn, tell her all about it.
05:09How he hit me harder than a fist with six words. You not the woman I want.
05:16How they rattled me so, I agreed with them. So stupid. But then I changed my mind about calling
05:26her. You know how it is. Nothing new. Just, he walked out on me, and I don't know why.
05:35Besides, too much was happening at the office for me to bother my best friend and colleague
05:41with gossip about another breakup. Especially now. I'm regional manager now, and that's like
05:50being a captain. So I have to maintain the right relationship with the crew. Our company,
05:58Sylvia Inc., is a small cosmetics business, but it's beginning to blossom and make waves,
06:06finally, and shed its frumpy past. It used to be sylph corsets for discriminating women back in the
06:17forties, but changed its name and ownership to Sylvia Apparel, then to Sylvia Inc., before going flat-out
06:29hip with six cool cosmetics lines, one of which is mine. I named it You Girl, cosmetics for your
06:41personal millennium. It's for girls and women of all complexions, from ebony to lemonade to milk.
06:51And it's mine, and it's mine, all mine. The idea, the brand, the campaign. Wiggling my toes under the
07:02silk cushion, I couldn't help smiling at the lipstick smile on my wine glass. Thinking, how about that,
07:10Lula Ann? Did you ever believe you would grow up to be this hot or this successful? Maybe she was the
07:21woman he wanted. But Lula Ann Bridewell is no longer available, and she was never a woman. Lula Ann
07:31was a 16-year-old me who dropped that dumb, countrified name as soon as I left high school.
07:40I was Ann Bride for two years, until I interviewed for a sales job at Sylvia Inc.,
07:49and on a hunch shortened my name to Bride, with nothing anybody needs to say before or after that one
08:00memorable syllable. Customers and reps like it, but he ignored it. He called me Baby most of the time.
08:11Hey Baby, come on Baby. And sometimes you, my girl, accent on the my. The only time he said
08:22woman was the day he split. The more white wine, the more I thought good riddance. No more dallying
08:31with a mystery man with no visible means of support. An ex-felon, if ever there was one, though he laughed
08:40when I teased him about how he spent his time when I was at the office, idle, roaming, or meeting someone.
08:50He said his Saturday afternoon trips downtown were not reports to a probation officer or drug rehab
09:00counselor. Yet he never told me what they were. I told him every single thing about myself. He confided
09:09nothing. So I just made stuff up with TV plots. He was an informant with a new identity. A disbarred
09:20lawyer. Whatever. I didn't really care. Actually, the timing of his leaving was perfect for me.
09:30With him going out of my life and out of my apartment, I could concentrate on the launch of
09:37you, girl. And equally important, keep a promise I made to myself long before I met him.
09:45We fought about it the night he said you not the woman.
09:50According to prisoninfo.org slash parole board slash calendar, it was time. I'd been planning this trip
10:02for a year, choosing carefully what a parolee would need. I saved up $5,000 in cash over the years
10:12and bought a $3,000 Continental Airlines gift certificate. I put a promotional box of you, girl,
10:23into a brand new Louis Vuitton shopping bag, all of which could take her anywhere. Comfort her anyway.
10:33Help her forget and take the edge off bad luck, hopelessness, and boredom.
10:39Well, maybe not boredom. No prison is a convent. He didn't understand why I was so set on going.
10:50And the night when we quarreled about my promise, he ran off. I guess I threatened his ego by doing some
10:59good Samaritan thing not directed at him. Selfish bastard. I paid the rent, not him, and the maid too.
11:10When we went to clubs and concerts, we rode in my beautiful Jaguar or in cars I hired. I bought him
11:19beautiful shirts, although he never wore them, and did all the shopping. Besides, a promise is a promise,
11:29especially if it's to oneself. It was when I got dressed for the drive, I noticed the first peculiar
11:40thing. Every bit of my pubic hair was gone. Not gone as in shaved or waxed, but gone as in erased,
11:53as in never having been there in the first place. It scared me. So I threaded through the hair on my head
12:02to see if it was shedding. But it was as thick and slippery as it had always been. Allergy? Skin disease,
12:12maybe? It worried me, but there was no time to do more than be anxious and plan to see a dermatologist.
12:22I had to be on my way to make it on time. I suppose other people might like the scenery bordering this
12:30highway, but it's so thick with lanes, exits, parallel roads, overpasses, cautionary signals,
12:39and signs. It's like being forced to read a newspaper while driving. Annoying. Along with amber alerts,
12:50silver and gold ones, were springing up. I stayed in the right lane and slowed down,
12:57because from past drives out this way, I knew the Norristown exit was easy to miss and the prison
13:06had no sign of its existence in the world for a mile beyond the exit ramp. I guess they didn't want
13:15tourists to know that some of the reclaimed desert California is famous for holds evil women.
13:24Dukagan Women's Correctional Center, right outside Norristown, owned by a private company,
13:32is worshipped by the locals for the work it provides. Serving visitors, guards, clerical staff,
13:42cafeteria workers, health care folks, and most of all, construction laborers. Repairing the road and
13:52fences and adding wing after wing to house the increasing flood of violent, sinful women committing
14:02bloody female crimes. Lucky for the state, crime does pay.
14:09The couple of times I drove to Dukagan before, I never tried to get inside on some pretext or other.
14:19Back then, I just wanted to see where the lady monster, that's what they called her,
14:24had been caged for 15 of her 25 to life sentence. This time was different. She has been granted parole.
14:36And according to penal review notices, Sophia Huxley is going to strut through the bars I pushed her behind.
14:47You'd think, with Dukagan being all about corporate money, that a Jaguar wouldn't stand out. But behind the
14:57curbside buses, old Toyotas, and second-hand trucks, my car, sleek, rat gray, with a vanity license,
15:09looked like a gun. But it was not as sinister as the white limousines I've seen parked there.
15:17Engines snoring. Chauffeurs leaning against gleaming fenders. Tell me, who would need a driver
15:26leaping to open the door and make a quick getaway? A grand madam, impatient to get back to her designer
15:37linens in her tasteful high-rise brothel? Or maybe a teenage hookerette,
15:45eager to get back to the patio of some sumptuous, degenerate private club where she could celebrate her
15:54release among friends by ripping up her prison-issue underwear? No, Sylvia ain't products for her.
16:05Our line is sexy enough, but not expensive enough. Like all sex trash, the little hookerette would think the
16:16higher the price. The higher the price, the better the quality. If she only knew. Still, she might buy some
16:24you-girls sparkle eyeshadow. Or gold-flecked lipgloss. No limousines today, unless you count the Lincoln town car.
16:38Mostly just worn Toyotas and ancient Chevys. Silent grown-ups and jittery children.
16:48An old man, sitting at the bus stop, is digging into a box of Cheerios,
16:55trying to find the last circle of sweet oat brand. He's wearing ancient wingtip shoes and crisp new jeans.
17:07His baseball cap, his brown vest over a white shirt, scream Salvation Army store. But his manner is
17:17superior, dainty even. His legs are crossed, and he examines the bit of dry cereal as though it were a
17:28choice grape, picked especially for him by groundskeepers to the throne.
17:36Four o'clock. It won't be long now. Huxley, Sophia, also known as 0071140, won't be released during
17:51visiting hours. At exactly 4.30, only the town cars left. Owned probably by a lawyer with an alligator
18:02briefcase full of papers, money and cigarettes. The cigarettes for his client, the money for witnesses,
18:11the papers to look like he's working.
18:16Are you okay, Lula Ann? The prosecutor's voice was soft, encouraging, but I could barely hear her.
18:25There's nothing to be afraid of. She can't hurt you. No, she can't. And damn, here she is,
18:35number 0071140. Even after 15 years, I could never mistake her, simply because of her height,
18:48six feet at least. Nothing has shrunk the giant I remember, who was taller than the bailiff, the judge,
18:57the lawyers, and almost as tall as the police. Only her co-monster husband matched her height.
19:07Nobody doubted she was the filthy freak that parents, shaking with anger, called her.
19:14Look at her eyes, they whispered. Everywhere in the courthouse, ladies' room, on benches,
19:22lining the halls, they whispered, cold, like the snake she is. At 20? How could a 20-year-old do those
19:32things to children? Are you kidding? Just look at those eyes. Old as dirt. My little boy will never
19:40get over it. Devil. Bitch. Now those eyes are more like a rabbit's than a snake's, but the height is
19:51the same. A whole lot else has changed. She's as thin as a rope. Size one panties. An eight-cup bra,
20:00if any. And she could sure use some glam glow. Formalized wrinkle softener and juicy bronze would
20:11give color to the way color of her skin. When I step out of the jaguar, I don't wonder or care whether
20:19she recognizes me. I just walk over to her and say, need a lift?
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