Some Feet Not Meant for Shoes - Novel Excerpt
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“Paw-paw, we call it here,” he says, licking the juice from his fingers, then pulling a chair up and sitting down on the edge of it. “It like candy only it natural. Grow everywhere. Mummy make paw-paw gratin, but she use the paw-paw when it green. Falcon find some for Norah to taste.”
“I want to taste it too,” says Vincent quickly and a bit sarcastically.
The waitress brings around some clean forks and she takes away the old ones, all the old ones. Falcon thanks her and then me, again with a hand to his heart. Sometimes it is open and laying out flat, sometimes it is closed up tight into a fist, but it is on his chest often, that hand. It is close to his heart. And his face is bowed. It is the way Falcon lives, how he relates to others, how he shows himself when respect is in the air. From across a table of piled-up dishes, cracked lobster shells and chicken bones, glasses near empty of red wine and cups full of steaming lemongrass tea, I feel it beating, his heart. Boom boom boda boom. Strange, I am thinking, it sounds just like a Burru drum. I hear the call, West African licks that talk in rhythms and all, oh yes I believe that I do. It speaks directly to my spirit in a language I don’t even yet know. And so begins my response.