Gather Together in My Name - Maya Angelou [62]
Bailey started staying out all night long, and when he came in, his eyelids were puffy and his movements slow. He walked in pushing before him an odor of unwashed clothes. His eyes were half shut on his secrets. In the afternoons Bobby Wentworth, a former schoolmate now unrecognizable in his thinness and color change, came to the house. He went into Bailey's bedroom walking like a defeated old man and closed the door.
One morning I stood in his empty room over the unmade bed and wondered how I could save my brother. If L.D. and I married soon, he would get us a house large enough for Bailey to have a room. I would nurse him back to health and buy him books and records. Maybe he'd like to go back to school and study law. With his quick brain and silver tongue, he'd be an ace criminal lawyer.
I thought of Grandmother Henderson, who prayed every tribulation into manageable size. I prayed.
Around noon Bailey came home, the unslept night dragging his shoulders down.
I faced him in the hall. “Bailey, what's the matter with Little Bobby?”
His tired face tried to shut me out. “Nothing's the matter with him. Why?”
“He's about the color of mustard and he's got so thin.”
“He's just getting down to his fighting weight. Anyway, when are you going back to Stockton? How long can you take off from your job?”
I wasn't sure how much I should tell him. “I'll stay till Mother comes out of the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Well, you … I mean, I want to be with you.”
“I don't need anything. I have told you I'm not an invalid. You'd better get back to Stockton and take care of your own business.” It was an order.
I wanted to be sure about his future before I left. “Papa Ford says you're going to quit your job.”
“Not going to. I did.”
“But what will you do? To live?”
“I'll live.” He wasn't bragging, just making a statement.
“But, Bailey, it pays well, doesn't it? I mean, pretty well.”
“You're not the one to talk to me about slinging hash. You might be a fry cook the rest of your life, if you're that stupid, but not me.”
I refused to bear the insult. “I'm not cooking now, if you want to know. I'm working in a house on the outskirts of Sacramento.”
“A what?” He sat up and leaned over to me. “Doing what?”
I knew I had gone too far. I was a boulder rolling down a steep hill and couldn't stop myself.
“What do women do in houses?” The best defense was to be uppity.
“You goddam silly ass. You silly little ass. Turning tricks, huh? My baby goddam sister.”
His new temper was cold and sneering. His rages used to be full of fire and crackling; now his diction sharpened and his neck was stiff and he looked down his nose at me. “Who is the nigger?”
“Bailey it's not like you think.”
“Who is the smartass nigger who turned you out?”
“Bailey he's in trouble and I'm just helping him for a month.”
“What's his name?” Although he continued sneering he seemed to thaw a little. “Tell me his name.”
“L.D. Tolbrook. And he's old.”
“How old?”
“About forty-five.”
“What kind of drugs has he given you?”
“You don't understand. He's even stopped me from smoking pot. He's straight and—”
“No pot? Then it's a matter of time before he gives you a noseful of cocaine.”
“Bailey.” I couldn't bear Bailey's thinking evil about L.D. “He's a … He's a gambler and he's in trouble with the big boys. So I offered to help him for a month, then we're going to be married.”
He leaned into me and spoke gray steel, “You're not going to get married.”
“Yes, I am. Yes …”
“I'll tell you what you're going to do. You are