Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende
MABLE JOHN was the first female recording artist for Motown, the lead “Raelette” for Ray Charles from 1968–1976, and a successful solo artist for Stax/Volt. She’s now an ordained minister with a doctorate in counseling. DAVID RITZ is coauthor of Howling at the Moon and the author of biographies of Marvin Gaye and jazz singer Jimmy Scott. He has also coauthored autobiographies of Ray Charles, B.B. King, Aretha Franklin, Smokey Robinson, and other musicians. He lives in Los Angeles, California.
Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Part One
"He made known to us
the mystery of His will...
--Ephesians 1:9
Say a Little Prayer
I start out every morning in prayer, setting my life out in a motion that moves toward the Lord. Then I get quiet and simply listen. Sometimes I don't hear Him, though, because Justine, my next-door neighbor, is already knocking at the door. Knocking hard. Justine is something else.
"Hold on, baby," I say. "Getting there fast as I can."
"You look tired, Albertina," says Justine. "Didn't sleep well?"
"Haven't had my morning coffee."
"I'll make us a pot. It'll be ready by the time Maggie goes on."
Maggie, of course, is Maggie Clay. Every day of the week Justine comes over to watch Maggie's World. Couldn't stop her if I wanted to. Truth be told, I like watching the show with Justine. Justine puts on more of a show than Maggie.
"When you watch Maggie," says Justine, who has marched into my kitchen and is busy making coffee, "you learn everything you need to know about how a Black woman can get rich in white America."
"I don't see it that way, sweetheart. I was reading in the book of Joshua the other day--"
"Here we go again with the Bible--"
"I don't know any other book so packed full of wisdom."
"Alright," Justine says with resignation. "Go on. Tell me about Joshua."
"It's a passage--Joshua 1:8--that's basically saying that God is the source of wealth and success. There's no true prosperity without Him."
"Well, it looks to me like Maggie is sure enough prosperous. Whether God is behind it or whether it's her own genius brain, I just don't know. All I know is that Maggie's the richest Black woman in the history of blackness."
"It isn't about Blackness or whiteness, baby. It's from one blood that God created all nations, all men, all women."
"You get that little nugget from the Bible as well?"
"Acts 17:26. Someday you really oughta take a look at that book."
"Why do that, Albertina, when I have you around quoting all the good parts to me?"
"You'll see yourself in so many of the stories."
"Right now I just want to see what color her hair's gonna be today. First of the month comes around and Maggie has a new shade. It's April first and I'm guessing red highlights. Heavy red highlights."
"April first will fool you, Justine."
"Maggie don't fool me none. She's going for red, I know she is. She has to. She's tried everything. What's left?"
"Before you start tearing up Maggie, I think we better pray."
"You usually get your praying out of the way before I get here."
"I'm having a slow morning, baby. Just give me your hand."
Justine raises her eyebrow skeptically, as if to say, Here she goes again, but gives me her hand. We're standing by the stove where the fragrance of fresh coffee floats in the air.
"Father God," I say, "we thank You for this day. We thank You for the breath we breathe. You are the breath we breathe. You are the breath of life. We thank You for our friendship and our families and the food we eat. You say in Isaiah 53:4 and 5 that You bore our grief and by your scourging we are healed, right here, right now. So we thank You. We thank You for Your suffering, we thank You for our salvation, we thank You for life eternal. We magnify You, we glorify You, we praise You. We thank You for the gift of Your life because You are our life. And we say all this in the precious name of Jesus. Amen."
"Amen," Justine repeats. "That was sweet. Does that get me off the hook for what I did last night?"
"I'm not sure I want to know what you did last night, baby."
"Herman."
"Again?"
"Again."
"Lord, have mercy," I say.
"He's back," says Justine.
"For now."
"Now is all I know."
"You know more than you like to let on. Sugar, you know all about Herman," I tell her.
"You say accept folk the way they are. You say, we can't change people, only God can."
"That's what I believe," I say.
"Well, I believe it too. Herman is Herman."
"And self-respect is self-respect."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The coffee's ready. Want some toast?"
"I'll make it for you, Albertina."
"You act like I can't make toast."
"You're seventy. I'm fifty. I'll make the toast."
"Think I can butter it myself?" I ask.
We sit at the kitchen table. Outside my window the sun is peeking through the clouds and warming the ferns sitting on the ledge behind the sink. I'm not good with plants--not the way my mother was, bless her heart--but the ferns are growing in spite of me. Looks like another nice day in South Central Los Angeles.
"The thing about Herman," says Justine, "is that he's sweet. Deep-down sweet. And, unlike many men, he's not prejudiced against large women."
"You don't have to explain, Justine."
"I feel like I have to. I feel like you're judging me."
"The Lord said in John 12:47 that He did not come to condemn the world but to save it. I'm no judge, sugar."
"But you're a minister, Albertina."
"A minister without a sanctuary and without judgments."
"Judging is what ministers do for a living."
"Fortunately I don't make my living from ministering."
"You got your song royalties. Thank God for your song royalties. Don't you miss singing?"
"I still sing on Sunday mornings."
"I know, but you're singing with nine or ten people sitting in your living room."
"Home-church singing is some good singing, baby."
"But how 'bout those days when you were singing in front of thirty thousand people in football stadiums?"
"Those folks were listening to James Brown or Elton John, not me. I was just singing background."
"But how 'bout those days when you were singing on your own?"
"Chitlin circuit singing. Singing the blues."
"Didn't you love it?"
"I loved it, sure I loved it. But I found I loved something more."
"You aren't going to make me pray again, are you?"
I laugh. Justine is buttering my toast and spreading on blackberry jelly. "Justine," I say, "you don't have to do that, honey."
"It pleases me to please you. Don't you say we're here to serve each other?"
"In serving each other we're serving Him."
"We're not talking about Herman, are we?" Justine asks.
"No, we are not talking about Herman."
"I want to talk about Herman. I think it's different this time."
"Based on what?"
"He's doing stuff to me he's never done before. Can I tell you about it?"
"That's hardly necessary, baby."
"Well, you can imagine."
"I could, but I don't want to. . . ."
"And that tells me he's changing. He's willing to take the time to please me. Isn't that a good sign?"
"I'm not sure how good I am at reading signs," I say.
"You read everything right. You solve everyone's problems. That's your...
