Gather Together in My Name - Maya Angelou [63]
I knew the old Bailey could be as violent as Mother, and this new one seemed even more lethal.
“Clear?”
“Yes.” That was all I could say. When I arrived in Stockton, I could explain to L.D. that Bailey had misunderstood everything, so for a while I'd go back to San Francisco. When Bailey cooled down, I'd return to him. My absence would make him fonder and I'd have more chance to help my brother pull himself together.
Bailey gave me money for the round trip, and to pay the baby-sitter. I took the afternoon bus to Stockton.
CHAPTER 29
Big Mary's house was near the corner of a typical smalltown block, and in the late-afternoon sun the clapboard cottages seemed to be dreaming. I concluded that I must have passed the house when I reached the farthest intersection. My mind was busy with other things, so when I turned and didn't see the house, I decided I was on the wrong street. Another glance at the street names on a sign post assured me that this was the street. Then where was the house? I started back. Here was the little white railroad house. Here was the house with a fenced yard. Here was … but it couldn't be Mary's house. The windows were boarded up and large planks had been nailed in an X across the door.
The two houses flanking Big Mary's were empty. I might have stopped breathing as I walked up and down the creaking steps and tried to peer into windows. The world had suddenly spun off its familiar axis and the rhythm of life slowed to quarter time. The streets and houses, broken toys that lay in overgrown weeds, were monotone in color like objects in an old sepia photograph.
“Who you looking for?”
I turned to face a woman on a porch across the street. Time was in such strange process that I had the opportunity to examine her in minute point. She was fat and white and wore a flowery loose housecoat. From a distance I made out her friendly countenance and the sweat that already dampened semicircles under her arms.
“My baby.” But the words wouldn't come. I tried again and the words refused again. I had become paralyzed, literally struck dumb. I stared at the woman in horror.
“Come over here, lady.”
She ordered and I had no resistance.
“I know you're looking for Big Mary, aren't you?”
I nodded.
“She moved three days ago. A big truck pulled up and took everything away.”
She must have waited for me to question her. After seconds, she continued, “You're the mother, aren't you?”
I nodded.
“There was a big coming and going of the other parents, but I noticed you didn't come for your little boy. Mary and I haven't spoken since she called me a meddling bitch three years ago—she used foul language. But I broke the silence and asked where she was taking the boy. She said you had given him to her. Said you were too busy. I asked where she was going and she told me none of my business. But I know she's got a brother in Bakersfield.”
It was a rattling tale told on a radio and I couldn't make it have to do with my life.
“If you want to call the police, come in. I'll give you some lemonade … while you're waiting for them.”
The word “police” shook me awake. My brain moved sluggishly. Big Mary had left with my baby and lied as well. Then she kidnapped him. If the police came, they'd question me about my job. A whore (well, I had to admit it) wasn't a fit mother and they'd take him from me and put me in jail.
“I'll call them for you.” The woman turned and an oblong of perspiration was dripping down the back of her dress.
Before she reached the door, I forced my voice out. “No thank you. I know where she is, everything's all right.”
“Where is she?” The woman's suspicion was nasty.
“I'm going there now. It's over on the south side. By the sloughs.” I