At some point Radix decided he was sufficiently attached to one couple to hang on
to their company, not wander back outside to eat alone.
They shuffled away, linked to each other by the woman's happy talk; she turned
to Radix, she turned back to her husband, her words rattling like chains. They found
folding chairs outside and settled down, leaning forward, shaking hands: Radix,
Aaron Friedman from New York city, and Veronique from the islands.
They had arrived late, Veronique said, and had got lost on the way. "All this man's
fault." They had to turn back at one point. "He took the wrong exit." They hadn't
met everyone yet. Radix nodded and smiled.
Aaron like a good sport seemed determined not to let the conversation falter.
They lived, he said, pulling his chair closer, their knees almost touching, in
Riverdale in the Bronx. Where was Radix from? He'd visited the island of Dominica
once on vacation…had Radix ever been there…? The approach to the island's airstrip,
that was the most heart-stopping experience he'd ever had flying.
"Just listen to this man," Veronique interrupted. "Like he's a frequent flyer."
"I am a frequent flyer."
"Let me tell you, the only heart-stopping experience he has… is when he's in his
Lazyboy…in front of the television."
"I'd have you know," Aaron rejoined, pointing his fork at Veronique, but making his
point to Radix, "I've travelled the length and breadth of these United States…and
frequently too."
"Just listen to this man."
"And speaking of frequency, I have never met anyone with…shall we say, voracious
bedroom appetites…who makes frequent demands on her spouse…at all hours of
the day and night…Are all the girls from Dominica like that?"
"Aaaaaron!" Veronique, mouth open, fork frozen in mid-air, taken completely by
surprise at the baring of moments of their intimacy. "That's not fair, Aaron. That's just
not fair."
Yet despite her show of chagrin she was evidently enjoying herself, and lost no
time returning to the fray with more revelations about her husband's ways.
Radix was content to sit back and smile impartially. He could only marvel at what
seemed a display of verbal pillow fighting. For as long as he sat there they would need
him as witness to the very real probability that a New York Jew and a black woman
from the islands could marry and experience love and happiness.
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 