Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Dancing Wantu

Wantu danced, sort of. He looked at the ground, dropped his shoulders, let his arms hang loose in front of him. He'd bend at the waist and sort of shuffle a twisting path without any discernible timing. After awhile he'd shrug, then lift his head, look upward, then return to his drooping shuffle.
"It makes me sad," my wife told me one night after watching Wantu dance, unnoticed, at the edge of the classic car rally.
"You mean because it's so bad?" I summarized.
"No. Because it just makes me sad."