A Song Flung Up to Heaven - Maya Angelou [21]
I began taking license with the simply told story of passion and horror. Since I was not directed, I had to create situations that would explain why the character I was playing could condone even the most base actions of Medea. I did not propose to comprehend Medea’s mind, or how love and idolatry could lead to theft and murder, but I did find that Nurse had a fair voice, and singing was the only pleasure she had that didn’t stem from Medea.
I got some stage gray hair and ghoulish makeup, and a week before opening, when I was invited to join rehearsal, I brought the gray-haired, limping, singing nurse onto the stage. Beah and Frank were amazed, and neither was too pleased, but we were too close to opening for Frank to redirect me.
The play opened to baffling reviews. Some critics loved it, while others loathed it. Some thought it modern and wonderfully acted, and some thought it stagey and mannered. All lauded Beah Richards, and a few had kind words for the elderly actress whom no one knew but who played the nurse so well.
Eleven
Sid’s Café and Bar was a popular hangout for people from New Orleans. The owner, Jase, and his wife, Marguerite, were highly respected cooks of Louisiana food, and the bar was always filled with bright laughter and loud talk. Jase and Marguarite liked and welcomed me, so Sid’s became my base.
One evening a group of four in the red booth at the front of the café were particularly interesting. The two women were as loud and fierce as the men, yet no one used profanity. They saw me watching, and one man beckoned me over.
“Hey, are you alone?”
I said, “Yes.”
“Well, join us.”
“Yes, come on.” I sat. “Are you from New Orleans?”
“No.”
“Well, we are. Where did you run away from?”
“I came here from Hawaii, and before that, San Francisco, and before that, Ghana in West Africa.”
“Hey, all right. You will fit right in with me. I am one crazy lying nigger, too. My name is Phil. What’s yours?”
“My name is Maya, and I am neither a nigger nor a liar.”
One woman said, “That’s right. Speak up for yourself. This fool calls himself a nigger, and he’d put his fist through the face of the first white man using that word.”
“I can say it ’cause I am me. I don’t mean any harm.”
I said, “But you’re calling yourself a despicable word, and surely you are not despicable.”
Phil said, “I believe you were in Hawaii and Africa. You sound a little like a teacher I had in Baton Rouge.”
I said, “I thought you were from New Orleans.”
Phil said, “Told you I was a lying nigger. I can be ornery, too.”
I said, “Maybe I’d better go back to my table.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“No. Stay with us.”
“Tell us about Africa.”
“No, I want to hear about Hawaii.”
“Don’t mind Phil. He really doesn’t mean any harm, and we do laugh a lot.”
I enjoyed the group’s company, and after I had been around them a few weeks, Phil used the racial slur less. When he did slip, he would pop out his eyes and look straight at me.
One morning they came to my house. I offered them Mogen David and Mateus wine. We sat around the kitchen table drinking and telling stories.
Phil suggested that we go for a ride. We agreed, although we were all too old to be joyriding, since the youngest of us had to be at least thirty.
There were no dissenters. We all piled into Phil’s run-down car and said things like:
“Home, James, and don’t spare the horses.”
“Driver, follow that cab.”
“There’s a tenner in it for you if you keep him in sight.”
We were in high spirits as we crossed railroad tracks and heard a train whistle blow. We began to imitate the sound. After a second, Phil backed up until our car sat on the tracks. He turned off the motor.
I couldn’t see the train, but judging by the sound of the whistle, it was just around a curve in the tracks.
I shouted, “Move the car. Move the damn car.” I was sitting in the backseat. Phil turned his head to look at me and grinned.
I pushed on the back of the front passenger seat, but the woman in it had gone to sleep. Another voice joined mine as the train rounded into view. “Move, man, what the hell?