The Terrible Threes by Ishmael Reed

Author:Ishmael Reed
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Columbia University Press
Published: 1989-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

21

It didn’t take long for Beechiko to establish herself in Longsfellow’s Greenwich Village four-story brownstone. She supervised the housecleaning, which was done by Samantha and Teddy Crawford, a black couple from Saint Albans. She nearly drove them crazy. Pointing out dust under the bed, and on the living room furniture they’d missed. Demanding that they clean the stove every week. Insisting that they do windows. Sometimes she would entertain Mr. Longsfellow’s guests after they’d had their brandy and conversation, usually dealing with the lowering of cultural standards in the United States, or as one of their intellectual heroes said, the descent into the primeval slime. She would sing ancient songs accompanying herself on the koto, and for very special occasions she would entertain Mr. Longsfellow’s gentlemen friends with Shirabyoshi dances which dated to the reign of the Emperor Toba (1107-1123). The men would applaud politely and Beechiko would serve the white men tea. She was happy serving Mr. Longsfellow and writing, in the evening, her second book about the treatment of Japanese women in the novels of Japanese men. Having indicted most of the Japanese male writers in history, she was completing her last chapter on sexism. Her first book was receiving good reviews. The publisher had hailed it as a New Year’s Eve for Japanese-American women, and the Japanese men who criticized the book were dismissed as mysogynists.

Mr. Longsfellow enjoyed her too. They spent until the early mornings discussing John Updike’s theology, and V.S. Naipaul’s trenchant comments about the Third World. She was having the time of her life except for two things. Her appearance. She’d tried to do something about her eyes, you know, well, to make them more modern. She hated what for her was an ugly Japanese face. But that didn’t bother her as much as the fact that she wasn’t a blonde. Another famous editor she’d had a crush on had already run away with a big old blonde. Mr. Longsfellow had married a blonde shiksa too. His first wife gazed down at her from an oil portrait that hung on the wall above the staircase. She hated her features. Sometimes she’d cry herself to sleep, wishing that she was a blonde. Her second problem was the Crawfords. They were insolent. Always muttering under their breaths.

One day they had it out. It was late morning, and Mr. Longsfellow had been up all night with some friends, discussing Great Books, and the Crawfords were preparing breakfast. Beechiko was already upset. She had an early morning conference with her editor, and had returned to the Village on the subway. There was a handsome couple sitting across from her. The man looked like Martin Sheen; the woman resembled Christie Brinkley; the child was the most beautiful kid you’d ever want to see, and she started playing with the child. The couple wouldn’t give her the time of day. Wouldn’t even look in her direction. She had been so hurt.

“I told you that Mr. Longsfellow wouldn’t be eating that sort of breakfast anymore.

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