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By Root 343 0

dust but I looked in it and saw misery in sharp outline. If I went through with the wedding to Thomas, I would load our marriage with such disappointment, the structure couldn't stand. He was too good a man to abuse, yet I knew that I would never forget or forgive the facts. Because of him, I would have lost Make, a life of beckoning adventure and Africa. Africa. I would hate him for that. And Make. Make needed me. I would be a help to him. I was brave. Abbey had once told me I was too crazy to be afraid. I would be a fool to let Make go to a bunch of whorish white women in Amsterdam. In fact, I might be betraying the entire struggle. I wouldn't do that. And then Guy. Guy would have the chance to have an African father. There could be no greater future for a black American boy than to have a strong, black, politically aware father. His being African would add an enriching spice.

Admitting for the first time a decision I had made at the fancy-dress ball, I would accept Make's offer.

I called Abbey from a pay phone. She answered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were there.”

“What's happening?”

“Nothing yet, I'll call back.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Really. I'll call you in a few minutes.”

Make stood again as I reached the table. I sat down and took the napkin in my hands. The words refused to get themselves in order.

“Mr. Make, I'll do it. I'll do it. I'll go with you.”

His face broke open. A brown moon splitting, showing its white core. The room was filled with large even teeth and shining round eyes.

“I'll marry you, Miss Angelou. I'll make you happy. We will be known as the happiest family in Africa.” He came around the table and pulled me to my feet to kiss me. I noticed other customers for the first time and drew away.

Make laughed, turning to the tables of black people openly watching us.

“It is all right. She has just said she'll marry me.”

Applause and laughter. The folks liked a happy story.

He held my hand as if I had just won a race, “This is the joining of Africa and Africa-America! Two great peoples back together again.”

I tried to sit back down. He was going to make a speech. A laugh rumbled up his chest and between the perfect teeth.

“No. I claim my engagement kiss.”

His lips were full and soft. Shaken by the physical touching, we took our seats again. The woman who had offered to help me in the toilet came to our table.

“Honey, I should have known you weren't crying out of sadness.” She smiled. “You all have a drink with us. We've been married eighteen of the best years of my life.”

A man's voice shouted across the room, “Ernestine, just offer the folks a drink and come on back and sit down.”

The woman grinned. “See how nice we get along? He orders. I obey. Sometimes.”

Make and I laughed as she strutted back to her table.

After a few nervous minutes of finding no way to say all the things which needed to be said, I asked Make if he was free for the afternoon. He said he was. I excused myself and went to the telephone.

“I've done it this time, Ab.”

“Done what?”

“It. I've told Vusumzi Make I'll marry him.”

“Who?” Her voice was strong with shock.

“A South African freedom fighter. He's brilliant, Abbey, and pretty. Beautiful, in fact. And we've fallen in love.”

“Well, hell, Maya Angelou, what about Thomas?”

“I want to talk to you about that.”

“Seems like to me, you'll have to talk to Thomas.”

At the moment that chore didn't seem so onerous.

“I wish you'd come down to Wells and meet him and take him to your house. I have to go back to the office, but I'll come over after work. Will you?”

She didn't use a second to deliberate.

“Of course I'll come. Are you going to wait or do I just walk in and ask for the African who's going to marry Maya Angelou?”

I told Make that my friend, Abbey Lincoln, was coming to pick him up.

He recognized her name immediately and began to tell me how the Max Roach/Abbey Lincoln records were smuggled into South Africa and then passed around like the hot revolutionary material they were. He knew the title of every track and most of the words to all their