The limo turns onto Grand Boulevard, heading toward Mr. Abbott’s home, while Katherine straightens the lavender lace sleeve of her white satin gown.
“Oh, this old thing?”
“Quit pretending. You bought it at Marshall Field’s last weekend.”
“Oh, right. I almost forgot we went shopping together.” Katherine shrugs. “But seriously, that was quite a show you and your father put on. We never had a chance to talk.”
I call out to the driver, “Let’s circle the block a few times.We don’t want to arrive exactly on time.” I gesture to Katherine, saying, “Let’s talk now.”
“Of course. As long as we’re not too delayed.”
“I just wanted to thank you. Tully and I are very excited about the expedition, and personally, I truly appreciate your allowing us to join you.”
“You’re welcome, but I don’t need the company. I was ready to make the trip solo, but you’re only coming with me to Accompong. Correct?”
Her abrupt tone isn’t meant to be dismissive, but over the years, I’ve learned some things about Katherine Dunham. She is outspoken, independent, and sometimes rude, even to her friends. I believe that when it comes to her work, friendships are almost the last thing on her mind. It’s her genius that makes her intolerant. So, I’ve developed a thick skin and learned to take her impatience in stride.
“Yes, that’s correct,” I reply. “My focus is on the Maroon people and Accompong.”
“Just making sure you know I won’t need you or your husband in Haiti, Martinique, or Trinidad.”
These are the islands she plans to explore after Jamaica, and I am not interested in them. But even if I were, her bluntness would not insult me. Katherine is accustomed to running her own show. At least she and I agree on the importance of the Maroon people. In the 1700s, the Maroons, descendants of enslaved people who escaped, fought for their freedom throughout the Caribbean. In Jamaica, after winning their war, they negotiated a series of treaties with the British and maintained political autonomy long after the abolition of slavery. Now, they have their own government, land rights, and justice systems deep in Jamaica’s Cockpit Country.
Katherine looks out the car window. “Accompong wouldn’t be part of my itinerary without Melville Herskovits. He suggested I study the Maroon people. Their culture is as connectedto African culture as any in the Caribbean, but their numbers are dwindling.”
“I’ve been reading journals and articles by some of Herskovits’s colleagues,” I say, “including Dr. Jean Price-Mars, the Haitian anthropologist.”
“That’s great to hear.” She furrows her brow. “Honestly, I was surprised when you asked to join my expedition a few weeks ago. You’ve been away from anthropology, dance, and the university for quite a while. Since—”
“I married Clifford in ’32.”
“I remember. I was at the wedding.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’m sure Maxi had a lot to do with your renewed interest in Accompong.”
We circle the block again. The lights from the Abbott mansion glow in the night sky. It’s still blasphemously hot. I roll down the window, hoping for a breeze, but I’m also killing time, making up my mind whether to tell Katherine the secret I’m keeping about why my trip to Accompong is about more than the Maroon people.
“Yes,” I say. “Maxi was raised in the Cockpit and calls Accompong a living archive of African culture, religion, and traditions.”
“And she told you about all the myths and folklore, too.”
“From the rolling calves to duppies to the power of the silk cotton tree.”
“You could even be an asset,” Katherine says. “But what about Tully?”
I chuckle, hoping she’s joking, even if it doesn’t seem like it. “Yes, I might well be, but come on, you know, Tully is an excellent camera operator and skilled in using recording devices.”
“You two seemed rather prickly toward each other at the party. And now he’s not coming to this reception—is there something you want to tell me?”
“No. Nothing. His leg was bothering him, and he wanted to rest before tonight’s train ride,” I reply, touching her elbow. “I swear. You can count on us to behave.”
“I trust you understand why I’m asking,” Katherine states.
“I do.”
“I’m not so sure you do. I want to create choreography that does more than regurgitate the history of dance from the viewpoint of Russian ballerinas or choreographers like Ruth Page or Martha Graham. Their works embody their cultures. But what about the American Negro? How do we represent our African roots? How can I choreograph without honoring our ancestors and our dances? I want my art to reflect who I am as a Negro woman. I want families of color to see their heritage on stage. I don’t wish to be the dark-skinned girl only choreographing the dances that white women teach me.”
