The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [48]
“I'm working late tomorrow night, too.”
“Come anytime. We'll get started around eight. We'll probably be going on until one or two. Make is the representative of the Pan-African Congress. That's the radical organization, but he's coming with Oliver Tambo, the head of the African National Congress. The ANC is to the PAC what the NAACP is to the Black Muslims. The two get along, though. Try to make it.”
Before leaving for work the next morning, I woke Guy and asked him to go to John's for dinner, and said I would meet him there at nine-thirty.
Chagrin at being a capricious and too-often-absent mother would get me to the Killenses' house.
I left the office a little early, and after John opened the door, I walked through the milling crowd of acquaintances and strangers to find Guy, Chuck, Barbara and Mom Willie in the kitchen. Guy looked up, then back at his watch and grinned.
Mom Willie offered me food, but I declined and said I'd better go shake hands with the honored guests.
Guy said, “He's going to knock you out, Mom. We talked a little. He's more brilliger than the slighy toves.” Guy was working so hard to appear grown-up, I was surprised to hear him use his favorite childhood phrase. Make had made my reserved son relax and talk like a child again.
I went to the living room and greeted Paule and John Clarke, Sarah Wright and Rosa.
The air in the room crackled like static. John Killens introduced me to a small, trim dark man.
“Maya Angelou, meet Oliver Tambo, a warrior from South Africa.” Tambo shook my hand and bowed.
John continued, “And come here and meet Vusumzi Make, another South African warrior.”
Make's appearance surprised me. I had imagined him very tall and older. He was three inches shorter than I and his baby face was surrounded by fat. He had broad shoulders and a wide waist, all encased in a beautifully cut pinstripe suit, and he was in his early thirties.
“Miss Angelou. Glad to meet you. You represent the black hero Martin King, as I represent the South African black hero Robert Sobukwe. Hazel Grey has been telling me about you. If we had not met I would have known you anyway. I've met Guy.”
His accent was delicious. A result of British deliberate-ness changed by the rhythm of an African tongue and the grace of African lips. I moved away after smiling, needing to sit apart and collect myself. I had not met such a man. He was intense and contained. His movements were economical and delicate. And he didn't seem to know that he was decidedly overweight. John's introduction was probably apt. He was a warrior, sure of his enemies and secure with his armament.
Rosa left her African diplomat to join me on the couch. “You met Make. He'd been asking to meet you. Take it easy, kid.” She smiled for me alone and went back to her escort.
Paule Marshall stood in front of me. “Listen, Maya Angelou. What did you do to Make? He says he wants to know you better.”
I told her I only said hello.
She said, “Must have been a hell of a hello. He asked me how well I knew you and if you were married.” Paule laughed and flicked her eyes. “I didn't say a word. It's up to you.”
John and Grace corralled their guests back to the living room, where everyone found seats. After the chairs and sofas filled, people rested on footstools or wedged themselves between couches on the floor. John introduced Oliver Tambo, who talked about South Africa, the ANC and its leader, Chief Albert Luthuli, in terse and controlled anger.
We applauded the man and the cause that brought him to the United States. Then John introduced Mr. Make, and my love no longer was in the hands of Thomas Allen.
Make started talking from a seated position, but passion lifted his voice and raised him out of the chair. He had been a defendant charged with treason in the trials after the Sharpville Massacre. The Africans, ANC and PAC members, along with people who belonged to neither organization, had met in 1958 to oppose oppression in their country. They had been inspired by Martin Luther