The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [114]
“Mendinah. It is said that she is a sexual glutton. Women like that are only good for one, at most two experiences.” He had been talking for some time. I suddenly remembered the drone of his voice. “The men who have spoken about her consider her a pretty but temporary vessel.”
I nodded, assured. I had finally found my words.
“I'm leaving you, Vus. I'm not sure when or where I'm going. But I'm leaving you.”
His face didn't change from the placid sheet of control when I got up and went to bed.
Banti's telephone call at my office came unexpectedly. I had gone to her house early the morning following the Mendinah incident and told her of my plans to leave Vus. Her response had been that of a wife who had a faithful husband. “Sister, you have been a giant. Everyone admires your patience. Truly, you have proved yourself.” With my decision made, the burden of tolerance lifted and the approval of my friend, I had gone to work buoyant.
“Sister,” I heard her say on the telephone, “Joe and I want you to come to us, this evening. After dinner. Nine o'clock. Will you?”
I agreed. The day rushed along. Entire paragraphs leaped out of my typewriter, needing little, if any, revision.
Vus didn't appear for dinner, so Guy and I ate alone. He was reading, so was happy to hear that I had an appointment and he would have the house quiet and to himself.
The heavy door of the Liberian Residency was opened by a servant. I stepped into the foyer and heard a cloud of low voices. Banti hadn't advised me to dress for a party. But then, the tone wasn't party-like. I walked past the doorman two paces, and I was at the door of the salon, where a multitude of faces peered at me.
It was a surprise birthday party, months off schedule and lacking the gaiety of a fete.
About twenty people sat in a crescent of chairs. Kebi, Jarra and Banti were together. I hastily examined the familiar faces and felt that I had stumbled, unluckily into a secret ritual or a dangerous kangaroo court.
No one smiled, not even my friends, and the awkward moment could have lasted forever. Joe Williamson's high melodic voice preceded his presence.
“Sister Maya. We are waiting for you. Come in. Come in. Abdul will bring you a drink. Come, you are to sit beside Brother Vus.”
My eyes followed the general indication of his right hand. Vus sat, stiff and sober at the center of the row of chairs. I knew that I was befuddled, thrown and totally mystified, so I smiled and obeyed Joe's directive, finding an empty seat beside my husband. The low thrumming of voices did not stop. I leaned toward Vus and whispered, “What is this? What's happening?”
He gave me a calm look and said, “This is all for you.” There was only weariness in his tone.
“Brothers and sisters.” Joe walked in the center of the floor. “You know why you are here.” I was handed a drink of Scotch. “Our sister from across the seas, and across the centuries, is planning to leave our brother from South Africa.”
Damn. Vus knew it, I knew it, and I had told Banti a few hours earlier. I gazed at the African men and women, and found that the information was not news to them. No eyes widened, no jaws tightened at the announcement.
“Our sister and her son have returned to Africa. We all know that she has worked very hard and that she feels herself an African.” A mumble of agreement followed his statement.
“Our South African brother wages a fight for all of us. No day passes but that he is on the battlefield. No night comes without Vusumzi Make at the gun, threatening the fortress of white oppression.” Another rumble of accord lifted and floated in the room.
“Now, I, the brother to all of you, have called for palaver.