Color Purple, The - Alice Walker [72]
God is different to us now, after all these years in Africa. More spirit than ever before, and more internal. Most people think he has to look like something or someone? a roofleaf or Christ? but we don't. And not being tied to what God looks like, frees us.
When we return to America we must have long talks about this, Celie. And perhaps Samuel and I will found a new church in our community that has no idols in it whatsoever, in which each person's spirit is encouraged to seek God directly, his belief that this is possible strengthened by us ais people who also believe.
There is little to do here for entertainment, as you can imagine. We read the papers and magazines from home, play any number of African games with the children. Rehearse the African children in parts of Shakespeare's plays--Adam was always very good as Hamlet giving his To Be or Not to Be soliloquy. Corrine had firm notions of what the children should be taught and saw to it that every good work advertised in the papers became part of their library. They know many things, and I think will not find American society such a shock, except for the hatred of black people, which is also very clear in all the news. But I worry about then* very African independence of opinion and outspokenness, also extreme self-centeredness.
And we will be poor, Celie, and it will be years no doubt before we even own a home. How will they manage the hostility towards them, having grown up here? When I think of them hi America I see them as much younger than they appear here. Much more naive.
The worst we have had to endure here is indifference and a certain understandable shallowness in our personal relationships? excluding our relationship with Catherine and Tashi. After all, the Olinka know we can leave, they must stay. And, of course, none of this has to do with color. And?
Dearest Celie,
Last night I stopped writing because Olivia came in to tell me Adam is missing. He can only have gone after Tashi.
Pray for his safety,
Your sister,
Nettie
Sometimes I think Shug never love me. I stand looking at my naked self in the looking glass. What would she love? I ast myself.
My hair is short and kinky because I don't straighten it anymore. Once Shug say. she love it no need to. My skin dark. My nose just a nose. My lips just lips. My body just any woman's body going through the changes of age. Nothing special here for nobody to love. No honey colored curly hair, no cuteness. Nothing young and fresh. My heart must be young and fresh though, it feel like it blooming blood.
I talk to myself a lot, standing in front the mirror. Celie, I say, happiness was just a trick in your case. Just cause you never had any before Shug, you thought it was time to have some, and that it was gon last. Even thought you had the trees with you.
The whole earth. The stars. But look at you. When Shug left, happiness desert.
Every once in a while I git a postcard from Shug. Her and Germaine hi New York, hi California. Gone to see Mary Agnes and Grady in Panama.
Mr.??? seem to be the only one understand my feeling.
I know you hate me for keeping you from Nettie, he say. And now she dead.
But I don't hate him, Nettie. And I don't believe you dead. How can you be dead if I still feel you? Maybe, like God, you changed into something different that I'll have to speak to in a different way, but you not dead to me Nettie. And never will be. Sometime when I git tired of talking to myself I talk to you. I even try to reach our children.
Mr.??? still can't believe I have children. Where you git children from? he ast.
My stepdaddy, I say.