Gather Together in My Name - Maya Angelou [34]
The war's end had left the skeletal WAC staff with little to do except file papers in triplicate and dress up in privilege. For nearly a month I provided diversion. Naturally, the clerks couldn't enjoy my artful dodging as much as I, because they weren't privy to my secrets.
I sidled over the questionnaires and applications, double-checking, doubly-lying. Married … check one. No. Children … check one. No.
My cavorting brain was of no use to me at the medical examination, though. There the doctors opened my mouth wide (I needed dental work; the Army would pay), thudded and tapped and listened to my strong lungs and courageous heart. All was well.
The gynecologist's table was my Armageddon. There on the cold table, gray steel instruments would probe between my legs and into the unknown territory where my deepest guilts had lodged. I had no more idea of the construction of a woman's regenerative organs than I had of the structure of the moon. Surely, I thought, there would be some scars visible from my son's birth. Some leftover tube hanging down which would signal to the knowledgeable that I was a mother and therefore unfit to serve my country (which by this time I had come to love with a maudlin sentimentality).
“We'll take a few slides.” The nurse's face was stony, and the doctor ignored my face, acting as if I was nothing but a thin chest, flat belly and long black legs.
I asked why.
“These are venereal-disease tests.” She spoke as if she were weather-watching. I'd gladly have settled for syphilis and gonorrhea. If the Army could take care of my teeth, a couple of injections would cure the diseases.
“The tests will be back in a few days.”
I tried to scrape from their faces any information they had gathered. But those faces were trained in suppression. I wanted to shout at their closed ears, “I'll wait. I'll sit in the outer office and wait for the results.” But I too had some training—that is, “Never let white folks know what you really think. If you're sad, laugh. If you're bleeding inside, dance.”
“I'll be away for a few days,” I lied, “but I'll phone as soon as I return.” I tried to make it sound as if I would be doing them a favor.
Three or four days jittered by with no pretense at flowing, and then the phone call came.
“Miss Johnson?” I recognized the voice with echoes of starched uniforms and drill squadrons.
“Yes, I'm Miss Johnson.” I tried to put “I'm Miss Johnson, so what?” into my own response and failed.
“Sergeant Matthews at the Induction Center.”
I know. I know. Go on, dammit.
“I'm calling to tell you you've passed all your tests and have been included in the March-April quota of personnel to enter Office Candidate School. Is that all right with you?”
I suddenly had dirigible-sized air pockets in my cheeks which prevented me from making any sound except a loud explosion. I nodded into the telephone.
“Will you be prepared to leave the San Francisco area at the beginning of May for Fort Lee, Virginia?”
The air plopped out of my mouth and I jerked the phone away. God knows I didn't want to frighten the sergeant and give her a reason to re-examine my dossier of lies. I turned the sound into a fake cough and brought the mouthpiece back.
“Excuse me. A little spring cough. Oh yes, I can certainly be ready for May first.” I was in a little more control, so I added, “I'm most happy to have this opportunity to serve my country and I shall—”
She interrupted, “Yes, well, come down in the next few days and sign the loyalty oath. Good-bye.” And hung up.
Now I was ready. Things had arranged themselves in my favor at last. For the next two years I would have the security of purpose and the dignity