Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou [95]
Undeniably, Egypt impressed every member of the group. Irving Barnes, his wife and eight-year-old daughter, Gail, spent whole days in museums and art galleries. The child who had put on grown-up airs, throwing her tiny hips as she tried to imitate the strut of a provocative Bess, became a little girl again, intrigued with African toys.
Paul Harris forgot his extraordinary good looks for a while and allowed his plump ego to deflate of its own accord. He semi-adopted two young beggars and they hung around the stage door and the hotel entrance until he emerged. He bought the urchins clothes and shoes and took them to restaurants for belly-distending meals.
Earl Jackson, our street-wise Sportin' Life, underwent the most startling personality change. Where he had used colorful profanity to shock the university-schooled and proper singers, he now substituted kind words, softly spoken. His romantic preferences for the local good-time women shifted and focused on the prim soprano of the group. He was to be found in the wings talking low to Miss Helen Thigpen, or finding a chair for Miss Thigpen in the hotel lobby, or rushing to be first on a bus to save a window seat for the quiet and reserved singer. He had begun to act, for all the world to see, like a man in love. And Thigpen, who had only been excited by recitals and her own repertoire, bloomed under the attention.
We left Egypt undeniably changed. The exposure to extreme wealth and shocking poverty forced the frivolous to be level-headed and encouraged the sober to enjoy what they had taken for granted.
Replicas of the Sphinx and the pyramids were packed along with three-inch busts of Nefertiti and small stuffed camels. Ned acquired a carved walking stick, which he kept at hand for the next six months, and Bey bought a red tasseled fez, which, with the giant congo drum that he never let out of his sight, made him look like a Sudanese musician on a pilgrimage to Mecca.
We boarded our Greek ship in Alexandria and the captain welcomed us. Maki smiled when he saw me, but the purser scowled, glum-browed and mean. He arrived at my cabin a moment after I entered.
“Mrs. Angelos.” His voice was nearly closed with accusation.
“Yes?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I beg your pardon? I don't lie to anyone.” I might not tell the truth, but I did draw the line at outright falsehood.
“You said you were a widow?”
“What? When did I say that?”
“I asked you how you had learned Greek and you said your dead husband taught you.” He was pointing his finger at me as if he had caught me stealing the gold out of his mouth.
“I said to you my husband was Greek.”
“Exactly.” His smile was malevolent with satisfaction. “So he's dead?”
“No. I mean, he was my husband.”
“But he's still alive?” Confusion and disappointment shifted his features.
“Very much so.”
“Then why did you say he was Greek? Anyone who is Greek will be Greek until he dies.”
I thought about that and thought about my husband who had intended to lock me into the apologetic female role, which he understood was proper for wives.
“Yes, You're right. He is Greek and will be that until he dies. But he is no longer my husband.” I wanted to apologize to the purser for the misunderstanding, but I couldn't bring myself to ask for pardon.
“Vlachos loves you now?”
God, men talk about women gossiping. “I don't know. I hardly know him.”
The frown was gathering again beneath his overhanging brow. “He said you were going to take him to the United States …”
Lillian knocked at the door. “Hey, Maya, let's have a drink.”
I opened the door and the purser gave Lillian a little bow, put his hat on and left the cabin.
“Girl, you don't wait, do you? Well, they say there's no time like the present.” She laughed.
I knew there was no use explaining the scene, and I knew that even if I