James Vayle Diary Entry (Quicksand)

It is strange how life seems to play tricks and games with our lives, to send us down paths that cross those of old acquaintances as often as the new ones. To my surprise, my path crossed with Helga’s again after she left Naxos and nullified her promise of marriage to me. But as I’ve gathered from my experiences with Helga and from the stories I’ve heard about her, she is truly a fickle one. Never staying in one place, always managing to escape once you think you’ve finally grasped her.

Nonetheless, seeing her again, this time in Harlem, was truly a lovely surprise. As soon as I recognized her, my eyes consumed every inch of her, noticing this air of confidence and pomp about her that definitely was not instilled in her in Naxos. Quite frankly, in Naxos she seemed anxious, as if in a silent panic, but here she seemed stable and sure of herself. Even as we as spoke, I could not find a hint of old Helga.

Although I was incredibly attracted to the old Helga, I did have some micro-reservations about marrying her. I think it was the fact that she just seemed not to conform to the environment at Naxos that I had grown to love as home. She just refused to accept how things were, always suspicious that people were ostracizing her, condemning her, restricting her. I believe the word she used the day she left me was “suffocated.” Since that day, I’ve never been able to understand her reason for leaving but to see her again in Harlem made me not care anymore. I just wanted her back.

Confidently she approached me once we made eye-contact across the room and we sat down to chat. Quickly the small talk turned serious. She claimed that she was leaving for Copenhagen soon but I seriously doubted her intentions but then again I didn’t believe her the last time. Although she claims to love Danish city, I can’t help but wonder if she feel alien over there. There can’t be as many Negroes there as there are here. Though, it wouldn’t surprise me if she liked all the attention of being a white-looking Negro.

Her comment about it not being the same over there in Copenhagen as it is here stuck with me however. I don’t think that is right… Although we still healing from the wounds and sores of slavery here in America, there is just something about race that affects how we deal with people whether slavery existed or not. Basically, if I look fundamentally different than you then it is harder to feel a sense of commradery with me. That is exactly how I felt when I was in across pond serving in the army. The French treated us black soldiers as other. Although you could argue it was because we were Americas, the other non-black Americans seemed well at home and comfortable with our fellow French soldiers but me and my black brothers were not treated with the same sort of hospitality. I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter where you are, if you look black you will be treated as other by non-blacks. It’s just a fact of life. Helga is fooling herself otherwise if she believes she has escaped racism by going to Europe.