Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou [71]
After the midnight show I introduced my friends to the full audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, some members of the Porgy and Bess company.”
The audience stood up to look at the suddenly modest singers, who refused to rise, but simply nodded grandly from their seats.
I knew what was wrong. I hadn't singled them out and made individual introductions giving their names and the roles they played. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Miss Lillian Hayman, who sings Maria and Serena.” She was understudying the two roles. Lillian stood and graciously took the applause. She sat down gratified. “Joseph Attles, Sportin' Life.” He stood, waved his long hands and blew kisses. “Ned Wright, Robbins.” Ned stood and flashed a smile like a beacon around the room. “And Miss Martha Flowers, Bess.” Martha stood up slowly and solemnly. She inclined her head, first to the right, then to the left, then to the audience directly in front. Only after she had bowed did she smile. Her sense of theater was never better—she began the smile slowly, keeping her mouth closed and simply pulling her lips taut. Then she allowed a few teeth to show and gradually a few more, and then more. When her lips were stretched as tight as possible and her teeth glimmering like a row of lights, she snapped her head back and laughed, the high sound tinkling like chimes.
The audience was bewitched. They began to shout, “Chantez, Bess. Chantez, chantez, Bess.”
Martha suddenly became demure, and shaking her head in refusal, draped her small body in her seat. Her action incited the crowd and their clamor rose in volume. At exactly the correct moment, Martha stood up and shyly went to the piano. She leaned and whispered to Bobby. He struck one note and took his hands from the keys.
“O they so fresh and fine
And they right off'n the vine.”
She was singing the vendor's song a cappella and her voice floated free in the quiet room:
“Strawberries, strawberries!”
I looked around-everyone was beguiled, including our fellow singers. Martha ballooned her voice, then narrowed it, dipping down into a rough contralto, and then swung it high beyond the lyric soprano into the rarefied air that was usually the domain of divine coloraturas.
For a second after she finished there was no sound. Then people applauded her and began to crowd around her table. She coyly accepted the attention as if she hadn't worked hard for years to earn it.
One of the lessons I learned from Porgy and Bess was that jealousy is conceived only in insecurity and must be nourished in fear. Each individual in our cast had the certainty of excellence.
After the din over Martha's singing diminished, I asked Lillian to please sing.
She stood up without reluctance and sang,
“Go way from my window
Go way from my door
Go way way way from my bedside
And bother me no more
And bother me no more.”
Her voice was as colorful as Martha's was pure, and the customers were again enchanted. Ned Wright sang a medley of popular songs beginning with “I Can't Give You Anything but Love,” which the French people recognized and loved. Joe Attles gave the audience “St. James Infirmary” and they literally stood in the aisles.
Maya Angelou was a crazy success. A smash hit! The audience thought they had never been better entertained. Ben was certain I would improve business; the bartender and waiters smiled gratefully at me. If I hadn't memorized a story my grandmother told me when I was a knee-high child, I might have become conceited and begun to believe the compliments I did not totally deserve.
The old story came to mind:
Mrs. Scott, a woman well past middle age, fancied young men. She was a great churchgoer and used each religious gathering to search for the objects of her choice. All the young men in her town were aware of her predilections, and she was unsuccessful in snaring them.
One day a new man appeared at the meeting house. He was handsome and