White Teeth (Vintage International) by Zadie Smith

Author:Zadie Smith [Smith, Zadie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781400075508
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2003-05-19T22:00:00+00:00

2 Meters. Natural Thai. Straight. Chestnut.

1 Meter. Natural Pakistani. Straight with a wave. Black.

5 Meters. Natural Chinese. Straight. Black.

3 Meters. Synthetic hair. Corkscrew curl. Pink.

Irie approached the counter. A hugely fat woman in a sari was waddling to the cash till and back again to hand over twenty-five pounds to an Indian girl whose hair had been shorn haphazardly close to the scalp.

“And please don’t be looking at me in that manner. Twenty-five is very reasonable price. I tell you I can’t do any more with all these split ends.”

The girl objected in another language, picked up the bag of hair in question from the counter, and made as if to leave with it, but the elder woman snatched it away.

“Please, don’t embarrass yourself further. We both have seen the ends. Twenty-five is all I can give you for it. You won’t get more some other place. Please now,” she said, looking over the girl’s shoulder to Irie, “other customers I have.”

Irie saw hot tears, not unlike her own, spring to the girl’s eyes. She seemed to freeze for a moment, vibrating ever so slightly with anger; then she slammed her hand down on the counter, swept up her twenty-five pounds and headed for the door.

The fat lady shook her chins in contempt after the disappearing girl. “Ungrateful, she is.”

Then she unpeeled a sticky label from its brown-paper backing and slapped it on the bag of hair. It said: “6 Meters. Indian. Straight. Black/red.”

“Yes, dear. What is it I can do?”

Irie repeated Andrea’s instruction and handed over the card.

“Eight packets? That is about six meters, no?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, yes, it is. You want it straight or with a wave?”

“Straight. Dead straight.”

The fat lady did a silent calculation and then picked up the bag of hair that the girl had just left. “This is what you’re looking for. I haven’t been able to package it, you understand. But it is absolutely clean. You want?”

Irie looked dubious.

“Don’t worry about what I said. No split ends. Just silly girl trying to get more than she deserves. Some people got no understanding of simple economics . . . It hurts her to cut off her hair, so a million pounds she expects or something crazy. Beautiful hair, she has. When I was young, oh, mine was beautiful too, eh?” The fat lady erupted into high-pitched laughter, her busy upper lip making her mustache quiver. The laugh subsided.

“Tell Andrea that will be thirty-seven fifty. We Indian women have the beautiful hair, hey? Everybody wants it!”

A black woman with children in a twin buggy was waiting behind Irie with a packet of hairpins. She sucked her teeth. “You people think you’re all Mr. Bigstuff,” she muttered, half to herself. “Some of us are happy with our African hair, thank you very much. I don’t want to buy some poor Indian girl’s hair. And I wish to God I could buy black hair products from black people for once. How we going to make it in this

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