Cannibal

10

10 Ukay, s o the lion is stuffed. A smaller animal is runnin g between her ears with straw , and a stick keeps her head up. I hav e com e a lon g wa y t o se e a lio n stuffe d wit h straw , I say. It was shot where it stands, he says. That doesn' t scar e me, I say. Behind th e anima l i s a police station , a place almos t a s 91 • leaning a s it is , the stra w corner s tha t mak e th e walls lik e the lion' s corner s ar e rounded too , like all the othe r place s near it. At this museum I know, I say, there's a sign that says the female i s the hunter bu t th e stuffe d femal e belo w th e sig n is just watching th e young. You can't as k them t o take th e straw out and re-stretch th e jaws around the prey, can you? And not to kill another female . He wil l giv e u s permission , h e says , an d goe s towar d the door . I like this motion, thi s going toward where we will film, and hi m doin g it . I n th e daytim e I lik e bein g th e perso n along, th e producer , th e on e wit h th e film i n front , wh o prods. Though , righ t now , th e wa y w e ar e movin g h e ha s me in front o f him, like I am protecting him from what ? The ma n a t th e doo r ha s n o gun , jus t a stam p pad . H e holds th e stam p i n th e ai r ove r th e pa d t o ge t a fly. Whe n the fl y dies , th e plac e wher e h e misse d th e pa d say s PASSED. As in passed away, I decide. I like his desk . The man I am with pulls out papers from his pack. I have seen these before. They com e written i n Arabic with man y names a t th e botto m whic h ar e les s eas y t o rea d tha n th e ones made in dust around me that day which seems farthe r away tha n th e river' s beginning . Polic e lik e t o hol d thi s paper fo r a while an d the n stam p it . Wha t w e ar e waitin g for is that raising of the stamp and its falling on our paper. He orders tea. Is it racist o f me t o sa y everyone has no colo r now? I t i s not th e sunta n I have no r hi s feature s tha t ar e mor e lik e mine tha n not , i f I eve r ha d a wa y t o loo k a t mine . It' s • 9 2 that i f everyon e els e ha s color , the n I a m th e same . No t conforming, jus t hea d logic , bod y logic . I don't eve n wan t the color because it is already mine . Now, i n thi s falling-dow n plac e with th e lio n i n front, I want thi s man, thi s on e with th e stamp , I want hi m t o tel l me abou t hi s cows , abou t ho w th e cow s will buy him int o my body . Mayb e i t i s th e smel l o f paper , al l thes e filmy, bug-eaten paper s tha t scatte r fro m th e doo r t o th e man y places wher e stra w i s comin g out , mayb e becaus e I lik e paper I like him , bu t th e feelin g i s strong . Di d I want th e man who has my color, or the drunk one who measured...