Her scar has disappeared. I sit near her once in a while out at the cemetery. We are the only two who visit him. She is offended by the words on his tombstone and, legs crossed, perches on its top so the folds of her red dress hide the insult: “Ideal Husband. Perfect Father.” Other than that, she seems content. I like it when she sings to him. One of those down-home, raunchy songs that used to corrupt everybody on the dance floor. “Come on back, baby. Now I understand. Come back, baby. Take me by the hand.” Either she doesn’t know about me or has forgiven me for my solution, because she doesn’t mind at all if I sit a little ways off, listening. But once in a while her voice is so full of longing for him, I can’t help it. I want something back. Something just for me. So I join in. And hum.
ALSO BY TONI MORRISON
FICTION
Paradise
Jazz
Beloved
Tar Baby
Song of Solomon
Sula
NONFICTION
The Dancing Mind
Playing in the Dark:
Whiteness and the Literary Imagination
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Copyright © 2003 by Toni Morrison
All rights reserved under International and
Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York.
www.aaknopf.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Morrison, Toni.
Love / Toni Morrison.
p. cm.
1. African American women—Fiction. 2. Seaside resorts—Fiction. 3. Hotelkeepers—Fiction. 4. Rich people—Fiction.
PS3563.O8749L68 2003
813’.54—dc21 2003052737
eISBN: 978-1-4000-4185-5
v3.0