Juba! by Walter Dean Myers

Author:Walter Dean Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

Engraved portrait of Charles Dickens

“I wish I could remember what you just said, sir,” I said. “I’ll never get the words just right, but I liked the way you said it.”

“Are you going to dance again?” Mr. Dickens asked. “I would love to see you perform one more time before I leave.”

“Charles Dickens is one of the most famous writers in the world,” a puffy man next to Mr. Dickens said. “I’m sure you’d like to dance for him.”

When somebody admires what you do, and tells you to your face, you really do want to do something to earn his good opinion. I said I’d dance again.

I told Miss Lilly that Mr. Dickens wanted to see me dance again, and she got her husband to clear people off the floor to give me room. The Jewish woman who had been playing piano was going toward the door, and I went and asked her to play one more time.

“I don’t know. My husband doesn’t like me out too late,” she said.

“I’ll get someone to walk you home. And there’s an extra fifty cents in it for you,” I said. “Do you know ‘Morrison’s Jig’?”

“I sure do,” she said.

“Don’t play it too slow.”

Middle of the floor. I looked over to where Mr. Dickens was sitting and nodded toward him. He smiled and nodded back. I could see all the eyes around the rest of the room focused on me.

The piano player hit a chord, then a second that I knew was a lead-in, and then began to play “Morrison’s Jig.”

The music swept through the room as I began to dance. I had thought about dancing as well as I could, but suddenly there was no reason to think about dancing at all. I let the music take me over and sweep me across the floor. I spun, I moved across the floor on one leg and back on the other, I double-stepped, slid on one leg as I moved backward, switched to a six-beat clog step. I danced faster than I had ever danced, with more precision than I had ever had before, and with more joy in my heart.

Mr. Dickens had stood and was clapping his hands, and everybody who was still in Almack’s followed his lead.

I danced until it seemed I couldn’t dance anymore. When the piano player got to the last chorus, I was tired and exhausted, and as happy as I had ever been in my life.

Mr. Dickens came out onto the floor and put his arms around me. I was sweaty and hot, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Master Juba.”

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