is now. But every now didn’t simply reach so by itself. Every now have its before. Every destination have its journey. The Apostle Paul did have to walk the Damascus Road, and the Savior did have to walk up the steep hill of Calvary to get to his cross. I tell him just like I will tell you now— be patient, be patient. I wasn’t always this old woman. I have a past that I need to sort through. If he puff up his face when I say something like that, then I get up from the sofa and I say, listen now, it was you who did come knocking on my door. I was contented and at peace living where I was living. The world did long ago forget bout me. But it was you who did take up your own self one evening and come asking for me. I frown when I hear the name on your lips, Pearline Portious, because I tired of explaining that that is not my name. I ask you what is it that you want? You ask me if I is the same Pearline Portious who … and you pause for a short while … who was once at Saint Osmund Mental Hospital in Warwickshire. I try hard to close the door on you. I wanted to slam it. I feel so afraid. I think you want to take me back to that place. But it was you who beg me please, please. You make big promise that you don’t mean me no harm. You say you just need to ask some questions. So I let you come in and I let you say what you had to say at last. You walk in circles and circles like you was walking the surface of the earth. You keep on stopping and looking toward me. You finally say, I never had an idea of what you would look like, but I never imagined you would look like this. You reach to touch my face, and I move away. Who the hell was you to be familiar like that? And I still ‘fraid. I cannot stop from nervous. I tell you to please talk whatever it is that you have to talk. So at last you say to me, Miss Portious, I have a strange proposal for you. I stop you. First thing’s first, my name is Adamine. Adamine Bustamante, and that is my true true name. You will please to call me that. You lift your eyebrows high like you confuse, but you say, alright … Adamine, Adamine … like you testing my name in your mouth … well, that’s a pretty name, isn’t it? I don’t answer you. I tired of white people talking down to me like they think I is a stupid pickney or something. You continue—Well, I was saying Adamine, I know you will find this strange, but I would like you to consider coming to live with me for a few months. I think I start to choke right then, but you was still talking—I have a comfortable place and an extra room all set up for you. You look at me and I see that you was serious. Your green eyes was waiting right then for an answer. So I start to laugh. I don’t laugh so hard in years. Like I suddenly alive again. I thinking, maybe you is the man I used to dream bout who was supposed to come and take me out of every goddamned place they lock me up in. But you come too late. I wonder who you really is then … who is this young white man putting question to an old woman like me, as if he trying to court me? Who is this man who want to pull an old woman from her life? I laugh and I laugh some more. But you never even crack a smile. You wring your hands round and round. I’m serious, Adamine! You say it sharp, I want you to come and stay in my flat … I want you to consider it. You see, I am a writer … Oho! I say, you is a Writer Man? Of books and all them things? Yes, you say. And I need your help with the book I am writing now. It’s about a Warner Woman. And that time I look at you serious. I never hear an English man talk bout “warner woman” before. The words sound funny in your mouth, with your speaky-spokey accent. I get curious and sit down. Tell me more, Mr. Writer Man, I say to you. Well, Adamine, all I would like is for you to talk. That’s all really. Just talk to me, tell me about your life, and I will listen. I get real quiet then. One and two and three minutes pass us by in that
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