The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [11]
I said, “Let's take the stairs, Mother.”
She said, “We're taking the elevator,” and pushed the “up” button. The waiting people looked at us as if our very presence had stripped everything of value from their lives.
When we got out of the elevator, Mother took a moment, then turned and walked left to 210. She unlocked the door and when we entered, she threw her purse on the bed and walked to the window.
“Sit down, baby. I'm going to tell you something you must never forget.”
I sat on the first chair as she opened the drapes. The sunlight framed her figure, and her face was indistinct.
“Animals can sense fear. They feel it. Well, you know that human beings are animals, too. Never, never let a person know you're frightened. And a group of them … absolutely never. Fear brings out the worst thing in everybody Now, in that lobby you were as scared as a rabbit. I knew it and all those white folks knew it. If I hadn't been there, they might have turned into a mob. But something about me told them, if they mess with either of us, they'd better start looking for some new asses, 'cause I'd blow away what their mammas gave them.”
She laughed like a young girl. “Look in my purse.” I opened her purse.
“The Desert Hotel better be ready for integration, 'cause if it's not, I'm ready for the Desert Hotel.”
Under her wallet, half hidden by her cosmetic case, lay a dark-blue German Luger.
“Room service? This is two ten. I'd like a pitcher of ice, two glasses, and a bottle of Teachers Scotch. Thank you.”
The bellboy had brought our bags, and we had showered and changed.
“We'll have a cocktail and go down for dinner. But now, let's talk. Why New York? You were there in '52 and had to be sent home. What makes you think it has changed?”
“I met a writer, John Killens. I told him I wanted to write and he invited me to New York.”
“He's colored, isn't he?” Since my first marriage to a Greek had dissolved, Mother had been hoping for a black son-in-law.
“He's married, Mother. It's not like that.”
“That's terrible. First ninety-nine married men out of a hundred never divorce their wives for their girlfriends, and the one that does will probably divorce the new wife for a newer girlfriend.”
“But really, it's not that way. I've met his wife and children. I'll go to New York, stay with them for a couple of weeks, get an apartment and send for Guy.”
“And where will he stay for two weeks? Not alone in that big house. He's only fourteen.”
She would explode if I told her I planned for him to stay with the man I was leaving. Vivian Baxter had survived by being healthily suspicious. She would never trust a rejected lover to treat her grandson fairly.
“I've made arrangements with a friend. And after all, it's only two weeks.”
We both knew that she had left me and my brother for ten years to be raised by our paternal grandmother. We looked at each other and she spoke first.
“You're right. It is only two weeks. Well, let me tell you about me. I'm going to sea.”
“To see. See what?”
“I'm going to become a merchant marine.”
I had never heard of a female merchant seaman.
“A member of the Marine Cooks and Stewards Union.”
“Why?” Disbelief raised my voice. “Why?” She was a surgical nurse, a realtor, had a barber's license and owned a hotel. Why did she want to go to sea and live the rough unglamorous life of a seaman?
“Because they told me Negro women couldn't get in the union. You know what I told them?”
I shook my head, although I nearly knew.
“I told them, ‘You want to bet?’ I'll put my foot in that door up to my hip until women of every color can walk over my foot, get in that union, get aboard a ship and go to sea.” There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”
A uniformed black man opened the door and halted in surprise at seeing us.
“Good evening. Just put the tray over there. Thank you.”
The bellboy deposited the tray and turned.
“Good evening, you all surprised me. Sure