Part 12 (1/2)

”You have a lump on your calf?” asked my grandmother.

By then, Tante Atie was already gone.

My grandmother and I spent the day watching the beans boil. The kite boy wandered into the yard with a slingshot. He aimed his pebbles at a few small birds lodged in the tcha tcha tree. He had no successes, but kept trying, encouraged by an occasional cheer from my grandmother and me.

”Eliab, come get some water,” my grandmother called out.

Eliab crawled under the porch where my mother kept a clay jug full of water. He soaked his stomach as he raised the jug to his lips.

The beans were cooked as the sun set. My grandmother mixed them with some maize, which we ate with chunks of avocado.

Tante Atie did not come home for supper. My grandmother put some food aside for her and left the rest in the pot.

I bathed Brigitte in a large pan that my grandmother dug out from under her bed, then gave her some formula before sitting down for supper. I felt both fat and guilty after eating my supper.

Eliab and two other boys crawled under the porch for some tin plates and spooned out their portions of the meal. They sat in a circle and ate quietly, like a clan of midget chiefs.

Brigitte tried to bring her left foot to her mouth, in order to suck her toes.

”She's a quiet child,” my grandmother said.

”She's been like that since she was born.”

”Crabs don't make papayas. Your mother, she was a quiet child too.”

Brigitte reached over to grab my grandmother's nose.

”Your husband?” asked my grandmother, ”Why did you leave him so suddenly?”

”I did not leave him for good,” I said. ”This is just a short vacation.”

”Are you having trouble with any marital duties?”

”Yes,” I answered honestly.

”What is it?”

”They say it is most important to a man.”

”The night?”

”Oui.”

”You cannot perform?” she asked. ”You have trouble with the night? There must be some fulfillment. You have the child.”

”It is very painful for me,” I said.

She pulled her pouch from her pocket, pinched a few dabs of tobacco and stuffed them in her nostrils.

”Secrets remain secret only if we keep our silence,” she said. ”Your husband? Is he a good man?”

”He is a very good man, but I have no desire. I feel like it is an evil thing to do.”

”Your mother? Did she ever test you?”

”You can call it that.”

”That is what we have always called it.”

”I call it humiliation,” I said. ”I hate my body. I am ashamed to show it to anybody, including my husband. Sometimes I feel like I should be off somewhere by myself. That is why I am here.”

”Crick?” called my grandmother.

”Crack,” answered the boys.

Their voices rang like a chorus, aiding my grandmother's entry into her tale.

”Tim, tim,” she called.

”Bwa chech,” they answered. ”Tale master, tell us your tale.”

”The tale is not a tale unless I tell. Let the words bring wings to our feet.”

”How many do you bring us tonight?”

”Tonight, only one story.”

The night grew silent under her commanding tone. I lay on the bed with Brigitte, the open window allowing us a clear view of the sky. The stars fell as though the glue that held them together had come loose. They were not the stars you could wish upon. In Dame Marie, each time a star fell out of the sky, it meant that somebody would die.

”The story goes,” said my grandmother, ”that a lark saw a little girl, who he thought was the most beautiful little girl he had ever seen, from the top of his pomegranate tree.”

She clapped her hands to the rhythm of the words.

”Now the lark, he wanted more than anything to have the little girl. So one day she was on the road, going to school. The lark stopped her and said to her, How would you like a nice sweet pomegranate, you pretty little girl? When she looked up at the tree, the girl was charmed by the lark. So handsome it was, with its red and green wings and long purple tail. It was a sight. And the pomegranate, it was a beauty too. Big as your head, it was. The girl thought she could eat for weeks and not be done eating that pomegranate, so she told the bird, Yes, I would like to have that pomegranate. The bird, it said, I will give it to you for the honor of just looking at your face.

”Every day it went like this. The girl got a pomegranate and the bird, it looked at her face. One day, the bird, it said, I will give you two pomegranates if only you would kiss me. The girl thought of how sweet the pomegranates were and how everyone was nice to her at school for her sharing the fruit with them, so that one day she kissed the bird and from then on always got two pomegranates.

”This went on for a while until one day the bird, it said, Would you like to go to a faraway land with me? You are so sweet and lovely. I would like to take you to a faraway land. The girl, she said, I don't know if I want to go away. The bird, it says, We will go by sea. The girl was afraid. She said, I do not want to leave my family, my village. The girl, she says, It is wet in the sea. You can go on my back-that is what the bird says. The girl, she said, I will not go. The bird, it got mad. It said, I am good enough to talk to. I am good enough to kiss. You eat my pomegranates, yet you will not go with me across the sea. The bird looked so sad, it looked like it was going to die of sadness. So the girl, she gave in to the bird and let him have his way. She said, I will go.

”As soon as the little girl got on the bird's back, the bird said to the girl, I didn't tell you this because it was a small thing, but in the land I am taking you to, there is a king there who will die if he does not have a little girl's heart. The girl she said, I didn't tell you this because it was a small thing, but little girls, they leave their hearts at home when they walk outside. Hearts are so precious. They don't want to lose them. The bird, clever as it was, it said to the girl, You might want to return to your home and pick up your heart. It is a small matter, but you may need it. So the girl, she said, Okay, let us go back and get my heart. The bird took her home and put her down on the ground. He told her he would wait for her to come back with her heart. The girl ran and ran all the way to her family village and never did she come back to the bird. If you see a handsome lark in a tree, you had better know that he is waiting for a very very pretty little girl who will never come back to him.”

The boys cheered and applauded the pretty little girl's cleverness.

”Is your story true?” they cried in unison.