Part 3 (2/2)

”There is no need,” the woman said. She bowed slightly and walked away.

I raised my hand to wave good-bye. The woman had already turned her back and was heading inside. It was as though I had disappeared. She did not even see me anymore.

As the woman went through the gate, my mother kissed me on the lips.

”I cannot believe that I am looking at you,” she said. ”You are my little girl. You are here.”

She pinched my cheeks and patted my head.

”Say something,” she urged. ”Say something. Just speak to me. Let me hear your voice.”

She pressed my face against hers and held fast.

”How are you feeling?” she asked. ”Did you have a nice plane flight?”

I nodded.

”You must be very tired,” she said. ”Let us go home.”

She grabbed my suitcase with one hand and my arm with the other.

Outside it was overcast and cool.

”My goodness.” Her scrawny body s.h.i.+vered. ”I didn't even bring you something to put over your dress.”

She dropped the suitcase on the sidewalk, took off the denim jacket she had on and guided my arms through the sleeves.

A line of cars stopped as we crossed the street to the parking lot. She was wobbling under the weight of my suitcase.

She stopped in front of a pale yellow car with a long crack across the winds.h.i.+eld gla.s.s. The paint was peeling off the side door that she opened for me. I peered inside and hesitated to climb onto the tattered cus.h.i.+ons on the seats.

She dropped the suitcase in the trunk and walked back to me.

”Don't be afraid. Go right in.”

She tried to lift my body into the front seat but she stumbled under my weight and quickly put me back down.

I climbed in and tried not to squirm. The sharp edge of a loose spring was sticking into my thigh.

She sat in the driver's seat and turned on the engine. It made a loud grating noise as though it were about to explode.

”We will soon be on our way,” she said.

She rubbed her hands together and pressed her head back against the seat. She did not look like the picture Tante Atie had on her night table. Her face was long and hollow. Her hair had a blunt cut and she had long spindly legs. She had dark circles under her eyes and, as she smiled, lines of wrinkles tightened her expression. Her fingers were scarred and sunburned. It was as though she had never stopped working in the cane fields after all.

”It is ready now,” she said.

She strapped the seatbelt across her flat chest, pressing herself even further into the torn cus.h.i.+ons. She leaned over and attached my seatbelt as the car finally drove off.

Night had just fallen. Lights glowed everywhere. A long string of cars sped along the highway, each like a single diamond on a very long bracelet.

”We will be in the city soon,” she said.

I still had not said anything to her.

”How is your Tante Atie?” she asked. ”Does she still go to night school?”

”Night school?”

”She told me once in a ca.s.sette that she was going to start night school. Did she ever start it?”

”Non.”

”The old girl lost her nerve. She lost her fight. You should have seen us when we were young. We always dreamt of becoming important women. We were going to be the first women doctors from my mother's village. We would not stop at being doctors either. We were going to be engineers too. Imagine our surprise when we found out we had limits.”

All the street lights were suddenly gone. The streets we drove down now were dim and hazy. The windows were draped with bars; black trash bags blew out into the night air.

There were young men standing on street corners, throwing empty cans at pa.s.sing cars. My mother swerved the car to avoid a bottle that almost came cras.h.i.+ng through the winds.h.i.+eld.

”How is Lotus?” she asked. ”Donald's wife, Madame Augustin.”

”She is fine,” I said.

”Atie has sent me ca.s.settes about that. You know Lotus was not meant to marry Donald. Your aunt Atie was supposed to. But the heart is fickle, what can you say? When Lotus came along, he did not want my sister anymore.”

There was writing all over the building. As we walked towards it, my mother nearly tripped over a man sleeping under a blanket of newspapers.

”Your schooling is the only thing that will make people respect you,” my mother said as she put a key in the front door.

The thick dirty gla.s.s was covered with names written in graffiti bubbles.

”You are going to work hard here,” she said, ”and no one is going to break your heart because you cannot read or write. You have a chance to become the kind of woman Atie and I have always wanted to be. If you make something of yourself in life, we will all succeed. You can raise our heads.”

A smell of old musty walls met us at the entrance to her apartment. She closed the door behind her and dragged the suitcase inside.

”You wait for me here,” she said, once we got inside. I stood on the other side of a heavy door in the dark hall, waiting for her.

She disappeared behind a bedroom door. I wandered in and slid my fingers across the table and chairs neatly lined up in the kitchen. The tablecloth was s.h.i.+elded with a red plastic cover, the same blush red as the sofa in the living room.

There were books scattered all over the counter. I flipped through the pages quickly. The books had pictures of sick old people in them and women dressed in white helping them.

I was startled to hear my name when she called it.

”Sophie, where are you?”

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