The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [112]
Deceit left her face, and suddenly she became a young girl, who could have been my baby sister. Her defenses were down, she was vulnerable and I thrust at her with all my will.
“Unfortunately the job has been filled, but if it had not, dear Mendinah”—I was still speaking low—“you would never do. You are ignorant and you are a tramp.” I gave her a filthy smile and walked past her into the salon.
Luckily a row of chairs was lined against a near wall. I went directly to a seat. Wind and pride had left my body. My stomach felt empty and my head light. I sat erect from habit and early training. Banti and Kebi rushed in and took seats beside me. Banti took my right hand and Kebi the other.
They both murmured consolation.
“You were wonderful, sister, wonderful.” That was Banti.
“You made me proud of you, Maya.” Kebi squeezed my hand.
“You looked like a queen mother.”
“A princess.”
“Don't cry. Not now. You have handled it. It is over.”
Banti leaned toward me, forcing me to look in her serious face. “Sister, you will be avenged. Not to worry. You know what old man say in my country?” She had slipped from standard English into the melodic Liberian country accent. “Old man say, ‘If you mess with Jesus Christ, God will make you shit.’”
She nodded her head, asserting her own affirmation.
The blasphemy and humor struck me at the same time. I was shocked and tickled. To arrange in the same sentence God, Jesus Christ, righteousness, revenge and the word shit was so incongruous I was startled away from the humiliation of Mendinah's announcement.
Both friends' faces were solemn with concern, both heads bobbed in agreement with Banti's old man's wisdom. At last I nodded, smiled and rose. Vus was standing alone near a distant window.
“Ah, my dear. Nice party, isn't it?”
“Vus, who is that girl playing records over there?”
He turned and looked straight at Mendinah, whose profile was distinct against the white walls.
Vus shook his head, “I don't know. No.” Shaking his head, his eyes dark with puzzlement.
“Vus, you know her. Don't lie. At least don't lie.”
He twisted toward me, sudden recognition smoothing the planes of his face. “Oh, say, is that that Mendinah you were telling me about?”
I wanted to slap him until he snapped and split open like popcorn.
I walked away. I wasn't sure what God would do if someone messed with His only Son, nor how I would fare when I dropped the obeisant attitude of an accepting wife and allowed my black American femaleness to emerge.
The silent ride home seemed endless. Vus drove slowly, letting the old rickety car choose its own speed.
When we were at last in the apartment, I checked Guy's room, and found him asleep. That part of my life was comfortably accounted for. Now all I had to do was face my lover and one-time love, whom I heard dragging furniture around in the living room. I went into our bedroom and stood in the dark, wondering how to begin.
“Maya. Maya, don't go to bed yet.” I walked out and down the hall. The big man sat composed, and had arranged a chair to face him.
“Sit down here, Maya. I want to talk to you about Mendinah. Mendinah and all the others.”
There was a moment's relief. At least I didn't have to start the conversation. That brief easement was pushed away with an abysmal fear. If he insisted that I accept his infidelity, I'd have to leave him. Condoning it would increase the misdeed. I had heard of men who brought other women into their homes, into the beds they shared with their wives. If Vus was planning such flagrancy I would have to pick up my son and my heels, and get on the road, one more time.
I sat facing him, our knees touching.
“I am a man. An African man. I am neither primitive nor cruel. A nation of interlopers and most whites in the world would deny me on all counts, but let me deal with each of those stated conditions.” It was going to be a long night.
“A man requires a certain amount of sexual gratification. Much more