Free How to Make Love to a Negro without Getting Tired by Dany Laferrière

your neck, Billie Holiday sings “Strange Fruit.” The song gives me a desperate case of the blues.
    Miz Literature comes in and stands behind my chair.
    â€œAre you going to keep on working?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œDo you think you’ll get somewhere?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œIf there’s some way I could help you . . .”
    â€œUnfortunately, it’s the kind of thing you have to do yourself.”
    MIZ LITERATURE comes back to observe a half-hour later.
    â€œCool, brother!”
    â€œSince when do Outremont girls talk like that?”
    â€œSince they hang out with blacks.”
    â€œBe specific—since they go to bed with blacks.”
    â€œYou’re young, gifted and black, is that it?”
    â€œAnd you’re just rich, is that it?”
    â€œNot just rich, since I’m going to bed with a young, gifted black.”
    â€œYou trying to ruin your Outremont reputation?”
    â€œWhat have you got against the rich?”
    â€œWhat do I have against the rich? I’m green with envy, I’m yellow with jealousy. I want to be rich and famous.”
    â€œYou realize I’m taking you seriously.”
    â€œGood. That’s the only serious thing I’ve said in months.”
    â€œYou want to become the best black writer?”
    â€œThat’s right. Better than Dick Wright.”
    â€œBetter than Chester Himes?”
    â€œBetter than Chester.”
    â€œBetter than James Baldwin?”
    â€œBaldwin’s all worn out!”
    â€œBetter than Baldwin or not?”
    â€œBetter than Baldwin. ‘With Black Cruiser’s Paradise, a young black Montreal writer puts James Baldwin out to pasture.’”
    THE RAIN stopped a while ago. It’s stifling in here.
    â€œWhy don’t we go out?”
    â€œWhere to?”
    â€œOutside.”
    â€œIt’s no better out there.”
    â€œIt’s different.”
    â€œYou want a change of scene?”
    â€œThat’s about it.”
    It stinks in here, but Miz Literature can put up with the smell better than I can.
    â€œIt’s hot, huh?”
    â€œVery hot.”
    â€œHow hot is it?”
    â€œNinety or thereabouts.”
    â€œLook at that bike.”
    â€œWhich one? Down there?”
    â€œWatch carefully.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s going to evaporate before it reaches St.
    Catherine.”
    â€œAre you crazy? What are you talking about?”
    â€œJust watch.”
    â€œOh no!”
    â€œI told you so.”
    â€œOh, my God! My God! My God!”
    â€œAre you going to say that all day?”
    â€œOh, my God!”
    WE GO into Hachette. Artificial cool. The bookstore’s full.
    â€œLook at the crowd!”
    â€œIt’s because of the air conditioning. Most of them don’t have the slightest intention of buying a book.
    They’re here for the cool air.”
    â€œWhat are they reading?”
    â€œCookbooks, macrame, diet, horoscope, great outdoors, sports. Stanké and his gang.”
    â€œWhat are we going to read?”
    â€œWe’re here to steal. When you rip off a book, you must choose only the best. When I want to read a bad book, I buy it. Getting caught with a lousy writer under your shirt is the greatest humiliation.”
    â€œWhat are we going to steal?”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    I’ve got the cashier all figured out. She looks but she doesn’t see. Better pay attention to the guy standing with his hands behind his back, near the paperbacks. He’s the floorwalker.
    Miz Literature is whispering away. That’s her way of panicking.
    â€œKeep your eyes open for ladies in their sixties— you know, flower-print dresses, silver hair, clean hands, Madame Respectable. They’re liable to squeal on you just to get in good with the store manager.
    That gives them legitimacy, since they come here every day.”
    Miz Literature is all hot and bothered.