The Heart of a Woman - Maya Angelou [88]
“I'm calling about Guy.” My mind shifted quickly from pleasant anticipation to apprehension.
“Are you from his school? What is the matter?”
“No, I'm at Mid-town Hospital. I'm sorry but there's been a serious accident. We'd like you to come right away. Emergency ward.”
She hung up. I grabbed my purse and the keys, slammed the door, raced down the stairs and was standing on the pavement before I realized I didn't know the address of the hospital. Fortunately, a taxi had stopped by a traffic light. I ran over and asked the driver if he knew where the Midtown Hospital was located. He nodded and I got into the cab and said, “Please hurry. It's my son.”
My watch said it was eleven, so Guy was in school and couldn't have been hurt in a traffic accident. Maybe there had been a gang fight. The cabbie cut in front of cars, causing other drivers to honk their horns and screech their tires, but it seemed that time and the taxi were crawling.
I paid with bills I never saw and ran through the doors of the Emergency entrance. A young black nurse at the desk looked at me wearily.
“Yes?”
I told her that my son had been hurt, and I wanted to know how badly, and where was he and could I see him? I told her his name, and she began to run her finger down a list. She continued examining the next page. She didn't find Guy's name. I told her I had received a phone call. She said they had not admitted a Guy Johnson and was I sure of the hospital? I heard the caller's voice. “I'm at Mid-town Hospital …”
She was lying. She was in the South African service. The thoughts slammed into my consciousness like blows to the heart. For the first time since I heard “I'm calling about Guy” I became aware of thinking.
I went to a pay phone and called Guy's school. After a few minutes I learned that he was in history class.
I walked up Central Park West toward the apartment, too angry to savor relief. I thought of the greedy immorals who lay claim to a people's land by force, and denied the existence of other human beings because of their color. I had opposed the racist regime on principle because it was ugly, violent, debasing and murderous. My husband had his own reasons for trying to bring down the government of Verwoerd and I had supported him. But as I walked under the green trees, and smelled the aroma of young summer flowers, I felt a spasm of hate constrict my throat and tighten my chest. To break a mother's heart for no gain was the most squalid act I could imagine. My defiance from now on would be personal.
Ethel Ayler had a co-starring role in a new Broadway play, so she was leaving The Blacks. We talked backstage on her last night.
Ethel said, “Maya, Sidney ought to pay us something for our music.” I agreed.
We had tried to squeeze money out of the producer on three or four occasions, but each time we mentioned being paid for composing the two songs, he had laughed and invited us to lunch or dinner. Now when Ethel was closing we decided to make a last attempt. We changed clothes quickly and rushed into the lobby, where we saw Sidney Bernstein standing alone.
Ethel and I walked over to him. Ethel said, “Sidney, you know this was my last night. I start rehearsing Kwamina tomorrow.”
Sidney turned and gave Ethel an insipid little smile, “Yeah, Ethel, congratulations. I hope it'll be a hit.”
I said, “So does she, Sidney. But we want to talk to you about money. You have to pay us something for composing the music for this show.”
He raised his chin and looked in my face. He didn't even try to dilute his scorn.
“Get off my back, will you? You didn't compose anything. I saw you. You just sat down at the piano and made up something.”
Ethel and I stared at him, then at each other. The people Sidney had been waiting for arrived, collected him and, laughing, walked down the stairs.
I saw Ethel control her features. She closed her lips and made her eyes vacant. When she shrugged her shoulders I thought I knew what she was going to say.
“He's a fool, Maya. Forget him.” I had anticipated correctly. She held her cosmetic case