The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [34]
“You O.K.?”
“That was John Killens. Something's happened.”
“Is Guy O.K.? What was it?”
“Guy's O.K., but John wouldn't say.”
“Well, hell, that's a bitch, ain't it? Calling up saying something's wrong and not saying …” He went over and picked up my bags.
“You pay your bill, I'll bring the car to the front door.”
The drive to the airport was an adventure in motoring and a lesson in conversational dissembling. Oscar made erratic small talk, driving with one hand, leaning his car around corners, passing motorists with such speed that our car threatened to leave the road entirely. His chatter was constantly interrupted with “Guy's O.K. Now, remember that.” He would turn to look at me. Fixing a stare so intense it seemed hypnotic. Noticing that he was conducting a car, he would swivel his head occasionally and give a moment's attention to the road.
At the airport, he held me close and whispered. “Everything's going to be O.K., little mother. Call me. I'll be at home waiting.”
I dreaded the flight. Afraid that I would begin to cry and lose control. Afraid that the plane would crash and I would not be around to look after Guy and take care of the unknown problem.
“Well, and isn't it the wonder of Maya?” The accent was unmistakable. I raised up and looked in the seat behind me. Mike Clancy was grinning over a glass of whiskey with Pat next to him. Liam and Tommy were seated across the aisle.
“You thought you could lose us, did you? Never, little darling. We have sworn to follow you to the ends of the earth. How's about a tipple to cinch the agreement.”
I said I'd order something when the stewardess came around.
There was no need to wait. Mike had prepared against the eventuality of a stingy attendant or a plane run by teetotalers. He reached under the seat and when he straightened up, he was holding a bottle of whiskey. Pat pulled a glass from the pocket of the seat in front of him.
Mike said, “If you insist on frivolities such as ice and water, you'll wait until the serving lady comes. If not, I'll start pouring now and you tell me when to stop.”
I didn't wait.
The trip was riotous. Many passengers were incensed that four white men and a black woman were laughing and drinking together, and their displeasure pushed us toward silliness. I asked Liam to translate a Gaelic song that I had heard him sing a cappella. He said he'd sing it first.
His clear tenor floated up over the heads of the already-irate passengers. The haunting beauty of the melody must have quelled some of the irritation, because no one asked Liam to shut up.
Mike tried in vain to start conversations with two stonegrey men who sat behind him, but they retained their granite aloofness.
As the plane landed in New York, we sang a rousing chorus of “The Wearing of the Green.”
The Clancys offered to share a taxi into the city, but I said I was going to Brooklyn.
Brooklyn and Guy. My heart dropped and I sobered. The company and the drink had erased Guy and the problem from my mind.
I thanked them and got into a taxi with my bags and a load of new guilt.
What a poor kind of mother I was. Drinking and laughing it up with a group of strangers, white men at that, while my son was in some kind of trouble.
When the taxi arrived at John's house, I was abject as well as apprehensive.
Grace hugged me and smiled. “Welcome home, Maya.” Her smile told me things couldn't be too bad. Mom Willie called from the dining room, “That her?” I answered and she walked into the foyer. She was looking serious and shaking her head. Her look and gesture said, “Well, boys will be boys, and that's life.” That was a relief. I asked where Guy was. Grace said he was upstairs in Chuck's room but John wanted to speak to me first.
Mom Willie gave me coffee as John explained what happened. A group of boys had threatened Guy and John heard about it and decided Guy would be safer at his house until I returned.
I nearly laughed aloud. Only a disagreement among kids.
John continued, “The boys are a gang called the Savages. They killed a boy last month, and as he lay in the funeral