The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [120]
Our reunion was feverish with greetings and news. We retold old stories and exchanged new tales. Anna Livia gave me the names of people to see at the university. Julian promised to accompany me to the offices. We ended the evening howling at Julian's outguessing the American vigilantes, and making his circuitous way to African asylum. The crowd found Guy's importuning intelligence amusing, although I did not, and Julian said I could go to Liberia with a free mind. He would keep an eye on my son. He added, “Now, listen, boy, Ghanaian young folks call everybody six months older than themselves auntie or uncle. I'll look after you, but big and rusty as you are, don't you ever make the mistake of calling me ‘Uncle Julian.’ I'll be your big brother, and that's all.” We all laughed and hugged and chose hours and dates to meet again.
Frank deposited us at Walter's. Guy and I said curt good nights. I had been less than pleased at his arrogant insistence into the adult conversation. He was displeased at my displeasure.
When I awakened the next morning, his bedroom was empty. Richard and Ellen had gathered him for their picnic, and Walter had left the house.
I spent the day examining Guy's clothes. Separating the things which could be mended, setting aside the jeans which were only good for dust cloths. I hung up his two good suits, in preparation for our trip to the university. I only unpacked two dresses and my underclothes. I would be leaving in such a short time, I would save the African three-piece outfits Banti had given me. She had vouched that by wearing them, I would travel through Liberian society as a Liberian.
I cooked, ate, folded clothes, read the titles in Walter's bookcase until dark.
At about six o'clock, I began to feel uncomfortable, edgy. I felt as if I had forgotten a commitment or stepped on and crushed some precious thing. I went into the kitchen and found Walter's bottle of gin. I was accustomed to drinking in company, but drinking alone had never appealed to me. I poured a small jelly glass to the rim with gin.
I was sipping the strong liquor when the doorbell rang. Alice Windom stood on the steps, with Frank standing behind her.
“Hey, Maya. I guess we're first. The rest will be here in a little while.” I admitted them into the house and poured glasses of fruit juice, since neither of the two drank alcohol. I saw my gin glass was empty and refilled it.
We sat relaxed in the living room. Frank, unable to keep his eyes from Alice's face, or body or legs, talked about the picnic in episodes.
“Plenty food. Lots of good food. Right, Alice?” She didn't quite smile, just adjusted her jaw muscles and showed a little teeth.
“Folk enjoyed themselves, had a good time. Right, Alice?” She offered another friendly grimace to the room. I asked, “What time do you think Guy will come home?” Alice answered. “We passed them at Winneba. Richard got drunk at the picnic, so Guy was driving. They should be here in the next few minutes.”
My mind adapted to her statement. If Guy was driving, everything was all right. His first driving lessons had been taken in a tired Citroën, along the crowded streets of Cairo. There was no question that he could handle a car. Tires gusted on the driveway. Alice said, “Here they are. They've arrived.” The old Arkansas toby, unimpressed by spanned oceans, quivered under my skin. I rose immediately and went to Guy's room and collected his passport. Across the tiny hall I found my passport and money and waited while Alice opened the door.
A short exchange of mumbles wavered down the passage way. Suddenly a voice cut through.
“Where is his mother? Isn't his mother here?”
I slid our passports and the English pounds I had collected into my bra and stepped out into the hall. Ellen was in the living room, tousled and covered with blood. When she saw me she screamed.
“Maya, it wasn't our fault. Nobody else was hurt, and anyway he's still alive.” I understood every word and intent of her hysteric speech, and continued walking until