A Song Flung Up to Heaven - Maya Angelou [36]
“I mean, don’t be stupid and use drugs.”
I was flabbergasted. The night, which had been one of laughter and teasing, had turned into a drug-counseling session.
“There is no chance that I will ever use anything. I’ve learned a painful lesson from my brother.”
“Okay. I had to say that. I’ve made a decision. I’m going to give you a monthly allowance. Continue working on your play and writing poetry.”
He patted me on the back, and we returned to the living room. Amazement showed on my face.
Rosa asked, “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “It’s probably time for us to go home.”
Jerry turned to Paul. “Paul, will you drop Maya off when you go? Rosa’s going to stay here a while. That’s all right, Maya? If Paul takes you home?”
I looked at Rosa, who looked at Jerry, then back at me. She said, “I’ll go with Maya,” but the regret in her voice was palpable.
I couldn’t get out of the apartment soon enough.
Paul Robinson said to Rosa, “He really fell for you. And you seemed to find him interesting.”
Rosa said, “He’s a nice man. I like him.”
I asked, “But when did you know you liked him? I hardly heard you say two words to each other.”
Rosa said, “I could be wrong, but I think I like him. No, I know I do.”
There is a language learned in the womb that never needs interpreters. It is a frictional electricity that runs between people. It carries the pertinent information without words.
Its meanings are “I find you are incredibly attractive. I can hardly keep my hands off your body.
“And I am crazy to touch you, to kiss your mouth, your eyes.”
The couple may have been introduced in a cathedral or a temple, but these are among the luscious thoughts each body sends to the other.
Some folks are born with more of that idiom than others. My body has always been slow-witted when it comes to that language. It neither speaks it fluently nor comprehends it clearly.
Twenty-six
The African was back. He telephoned from Ghana.
“I am not coming for you this time. You had your chances. Many chances. Now I am convinced that you do not love Africa. You do not love Ghana. I am not coming for you. I am coming to teach at one of your important universities. But I will bring you something. You are so American now. Would you like a car?”
His voice was so loud, he hardly needed a telephone.
I asked, “Why would you bring a car from Ghana? I’m living in New York. That is just down the street from Detroit. That’s where they make cars.”
“Maya, your tongue is too sharp, I’ve told you time and time again. You must watch out for your tongue.”
But my tongue was all I had, all I had ever had. He had the stature, the money, his country, his sex, and now he was coming to my country to teach in an “important university” where I had never been. When it came to parrying, he had his armament, but I also had my weapon.
“I shall stay with the second secretary, who has a place near the United Nations, but I’d like to see you. Just for two hours. I’d like to invite some people I’ve not seen since my last visit.” (I doubted that Dolly would be among the group.)
“How many should I prepare for?”
“Few. I think about ten.”
That meant at least twenty.
“I’d be pleased to have them in my place.”
“Then it’s done. My host will bring me, so I suppose that makes us twelve. You can accommodate twelve?”
“Well, of course, when are you planning to come?” I expected to hear him say within the next month or so.
He said, “I’m traveling tomorrow. I’ll spend a day in the U.K. and I’ll be in New York on Friday. Can you see me then?”
“Um, yes. Yes. Of course.” There would be time.
“Around three?”
“Three is fine.”
A smile slowly moved across my face. I hugged myself with delight and telephoned Dolly.
We splurged on a bottle of good Spanish sherry and sat in her living room.
She said, “Of course he would never imagine that we’d meet.”
I told her, “He’s coming with some diplomats. We shall have to be careful.”
She said, “I know you don’t want to embarrass him.”
“I certainly do want to embarrass him, but to himself,