The Face- Cartography of the Void Read online

  Comfort

  In Los Angeles, where I lived for thirteen years until recently, male grooming is as much part of the landscape of masculinity as the gym. If you wandered into any nail salon, littered among the graceful women would be a few men, like wildebeest among gazelles. Relaxing in massage chairs, flicking through old copies of Elle and Cosmopolitan, men get manicures and pedicures as casually as you may please. And these are not male models or wannabe actors, just regular men who work in mechanic shops, grocery checkouts, the DMV: men’s men.

  I was a regular at East West Nails (now defunct) that was right by my house. The beauticians were mostly Korean and older—middle-aged ladies. They chatted with each other as they worked and many times to their clients. My favorite was a fifty year old who said, “Call me Margaret.” When she knew I was a writer she would regale me with summaries of the romance novels she got from the library near her home in Koreatown. When I asked for the titles, she would say, “All in Korean, you can’t understand.” Then she would tell me about her husband who couldn’t hold his liquor and whom she loved to get drunk so she could watch him sing at karaoke. “Even drunk he have a good voice,” she would say. “That’s why I loved him, you know? He’s a good man with a good heart.” Then she would tell me how bad I was at looking after my feet, but she forgave me because my toes were funny and small for a big man. “Small toe for big man is good, plant you deep in the ground. I tell my husband that I tell you everything. That you listen good and not make me feel bad.” “Really,” I said. “What did he say?” She laughed and said, “He get jealous. All man get jealous. But I tell him it’s not like that. I tell him this man with small toe, he have a comfortable face. That’s why I tell him everything.”

  Comfortable face. I liked it. Made me think of a well-worn armchair that I’d like to collapse into after a rough day. A face made for sitting in. Where one could sip a sweet spicy ginger tea and talk about love and books and karaoke. A face worn in by living, worn in by suffering, by pain, by loss, but also by laughter and joy and the gifts of love and friendship, of family, of travel, of generations of DNA blending to make a true mix of human. I think of all the stress and relief of razors scraping hair from my face. Of extreme weather. Of rain. Of sun. I think of all the people who have touched my face, slapped it, punched it, kissed it, washed it, shaved it. All of that human contact must leave some trace, some of the need and anger that motivated that touch. This face is softened by it all. Made supple by all the wonder it has beheld, all the kindness, all the generosity of life.

  Comfortable face.

  To be at peace with yourself. To sit in that place in West African thought that is calmness, serenity, sensitivity, insight, inspiration—a river, all flow yet relaxed. Or the stone at the bottom of the river—worn smooth and reflective by the flow around it, unchanging, undying, ota omi.

  When asked what I would say about my face in this essay, I thought about what Margaret said, thought about my face as a worn-in leather armchair.

  Come.

  Sit here a while.

  About the Author

  Chris Abani is a novelist, poet, essayist, screenwriter, and playwright. Born in Nigeria to an Igbo father and English mother, he grew up in Afikpo, Nigeria, received a BA in English from Imo State University, Nigeria, an MA in English, Gender and Culture from Birkbeck College, University of London and a PhD in Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Southern California. He has resided in the United States since 2001.

  He is the recipient of the PEN USA Freedom-to-Write Award, the Prince Claus Award, a Lannan Literary Fellowship, a California Book Award, a Hurston/Wright Legacy Award, a PEN Beyond the Margins Award, the PEN Hemingway Book Prize, and a Guggenheim Award.

  His fiction includes The Secret History of Las Vegas, Song For Night, The Virgin of Flames, Becoming Abigail, GraceLand, and Masters of the Board. His poetry collections are Sanctificum, There Are No Names for Red, Feed Me The Sun - Collected Long Poems, Hands Washing Water, Dog Woman, Daphne’s Lot, and Kalakuta Republic. His work has been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, German, Swedish, Romanian, Hebrew, Macedonian, Ukrainian, Portuguese, Dutch, Bosnian, and Serbian.

  Through his TED Talks, public speaking, and essays, Abani is known as an international voice on humanitarianism, art, ethics, and our shared political responsibility. His critical and personal essays have been featured in books on art and photography, as well as Witness, Parkett, The New York Times, O Magazine, and BOMB.

  His many research interests include African Poetics, World Literature, 20th Century Anglophone Literature, African Presences in Medieval and Renaissance Culture, The Living Architecture of Cities, West African Music, Postcolonial and Transnational Theory, Robotics and Consciousness, Yoruba and Igbo Philosophy and Religion.

  He is a Board of Trustees Professor of English at Northwestern University.

  Colophon

  Copyright © 2014 Chris Abani

  Digital edition published by Restless Books, 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-63206-0-143

  Cover design by Greg Mortimer

  All rights reserved.

  Ellison, Stavans, and Hochstein LP

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  [email protected]

  www.restlessbooks.com

 

 

  Chris Abani, The Face- Cartography of the Void

 

 

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