Part 9 (1/2)
”While you wait for your people, would you like something to drink?” asked the driver.
”I could drink an ocean,” I said.
”If Mademoiselle over there is selling an ocean, I will surely buy it for you.”
The female street vendors called to one another as they came down the road. When one merchant dropped her heavy basket, another called out of concern, ”Ou libere?” Are you free from your heavy load?
The woman with the load would answer yes, if she had unloaded her freight without hurting herself.
I sat in the shade of a crimson flamboyant tree, at the turn of the forked road. Brigitte quickly tightened her lips around the bottle of milk that I gave her. She sucked the warm liquid as though she hadn't been fed for days.
A few Tonton Macoutes climbed into the van and settled in the empty seats to eat their lunch. The steaming banana leaves and calabash bowls were in sharp contrast to their denim militia uniforms. They laughed loudly as they threw pieces of grilled meat and small biscuits at each other.
”I have a pig to sell you,” whispered a voice behind me.
I was startled. My body plunged forward. I tightened my grip on Brigitte and nearly pushed the bottle down her throat. Brigitte began to cry, spitting the milk out of her mouth.
”Do you have all your senses?” I shouted at the woman.
Her face was hidden behind the flamboyant's drooping branches.
I raised Brigitte over my shoulder and tapped her back to burp her.
”Pardon. Pardon,” Louise said, walking out from behind the tree. ”I did not mean to scare you.”
The driver was sitting at the stand, in her place, collecting coins and popping the caps off before handing foaming bottles to her customers.
I rocked Brigitte until she quieted down.
”I have a pig,” Louise said, sitting on the rusty gra.s.s patch next to me.
The tree bark sc.r.a.ped my back as I tried to slide upright.
”Will you look at my pig?” she insisted. ”I look at you, I see one who loves all G.o.d's creatures.”
”I have no use for a pig,” I said.
”It's a piyay, a steal, for five hundred gourdes.”
”I don't need one.” I said, shaking my head. ”Please, have you seen my Tante Atie?”
”I know you. I do,” she said.
”You know Atie too.”
”For sure, I know Atie. We are like milk and coffee, lips and tongue. We are two fingers on the same hand. Two eyes on the same head.”
”Do you know where she is? She was supposed to meet me here. I sent her a ca.s.sette from America.”
”How is there?” Her eyes were glowing. ”Is it like they say? Large? Grand? Are there really pennies on the streets and lots of maids' jobs? Mwin rele Louise.”
”I know who you are.”
”My mother was Man Grace.”
”I know,” I said.
”Gone, my mother is dead now,” she said. ”She is in Guinea ahead of me. Now I know you too. You are Sophie. Atie can never make herself stop talking about you. I am teaching Atie her letters now and all she can write in her book is your name.”
”I hope she will recognize me when she sees me.”
”Folks like Atie know their people the moment they lay eyes on them.”
”I have changed a lot since the baby. I bet she has changed too.”
”Atie? That old maid, change?”
”You are friends, you say?”
”We are both alone in the world, since my mother died.”
”What could be keeping Tante Atie,” I wondered out loud.
”The wind will bring her soon. It will. Can I ask you a question?”
”What is it?”
”What do you do in America, Sophie? What is your profession?”
”I am dactylo,” I said.
”Ki sa?” sa?”
”A secretary.” secretary.”
”You make money?”
”I haven't worked since I had the baby.”
”Had enough for this journey, non?”
”I didn't plan on this journey.”
I laid Brigitte on my lap. Her cheeks swayed back and forth like flesh balloons.
”I want to go to America,” Louise said. ”I am taking a boat.”