âI dance wildly inside myself . . . but the piece ends . . . I creep back slowly to the veneer we call civilization and find the white friend sitting motionlessly in his seat, smoking calmly.â "Good music they have here," he remarks, drumming the table with his fingertips . . . He has only heard what I felt...
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. . He has only heard what I felt. He is far away and I see him but dimly across the ocean and the continent that have fallen between us. He is so pale with his whiteness then and I am so colored." Her companion was lackluster in his response to the music, but if she was doing all this jiving inside herself, what did the white companion see...