Part 17 (1/2)

”That young fellow, he wants to marry your daughter,” my grandmother said as she and my mother walked into the yard.

Eliab looked embarra.s.sed.

”Does that fellow know?” my mother laughed. ”My daughter has a very old husband.”

My mother was carrying a few large bundles.

I had never seen my grandmother so happy. My mother was glowing.

”We are now landowners,” my mother said. ”We all now own part of La Nouvelle Dame Marie.”

”Did this land not always belong to you and Tante Atie?” I asked my mother.

”Yes, but now you have a piece of it too.”

She flashed the new deed for the house.

”La terre sera egalement divisee,” she read the doc.u.ment. ”Equally, my dear. The land is equally divided between Atie and me and you and your daughter.” terre sera egalement divisee,” she read the doc.u.ment. ”Equally, my dear. The land is equally divided between Atie and me and you and your daughter.”

My grandmother pulled out a dressy church hat that she had bought for Tante Atie.

”Sunday we go to the cathedral,” said my mother. ”We meet Manmans priest.”

My mother kissed the bottom of Brigitte's feet.

”Where is Atie?” asked my mother. ”I got her a hat that will make her look downright chic.”

”She went out,” I said.

”The G.o.ds will punish me for Atie's ways.” My grandmother moaned.

Tante Atie kept her eyes on the lantern on the hills as we ate dinner that night. She was squinting as though she wanted to see with her ears, like my grandmother.

”I look forward to the Ma.s.s on Sunday,” my grandmother said, breaking the silence. ”I want that young priest. The one they call Lavalas. I want him to sing the last song at my funeral.”

Brigitte shook the new rattle that my mother had brought her.

My grandmother took Brigitte from me and put a few rice grains in her mouth. My daughter opened her mouth wide, trying to engulf the rice.

Tante Atie walked up the steps and went back to her room.

”I don't know,” my grandmother said. ”Her mood changes more than the colors in the sky. Take her with you when you return to New York.”

”I have asked her before,” my mother said. ”She wants to be with you.”

”She feels she must,” my grandmother said. ”It's not love. It is duty.”

Everything was rustling in Tante Atie's room, as though she were packing. She was mumbling to herself so I dared not peek in. In the yard my mother and grandmother were sitting around the table, pa.s.sing my grandmother's old clay pipe back and forth to each other.

”Manman, will you know when your time comes to die?” my mother asked sadly.

”The old bones, they will know.”

”I want to be buried here when I die,” my mother said.

”You should tell Sophie. She is your daughter. She will respect your wishes.”

”I don't want much,” my mother said. ”I don't want a Ma.s.s like you. I want to be buried the day after I die. Just like the old days when we kept our dead home.”

”That is reason for you and Sophie to be friends,” my grandmother said. ”She can carry out your wishes. I can help, but she is your child.”

My mother paced the corridor most of the night. She walked into my room and tiptoed over to my bed. I crossed my legs tightly, already feeling my body s.h.i.+vering.

I shut my eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep.

She walked over to the baby and stood over her for a long time. Tears streamed down her face as she watched us sleep. The tears came harder. She turned and walked out.

My mother walked into the room at dawn while I was changing Brigitte's diapers.

”Are you all right?” I asked.

”Fine,” she said.

”Do you still have trouble sleeping?” I tried to be polite.

”It's worse when I am here,” she said.

”Are you having nightmares?”

”More than ever,” she said.

My old sympathy was coming back. I remembered the nightmares. Sometimes, I even had some myself. I was feeling sorry for her.

”I thought it was my face that brought them on,” I said.

”Your face?”

”Because I look like him. My father. A child out of wedlock always looks like its father.”

She seemed shocked that I remembered.

”When I first saw you in New York, I must admit, it frightened me the way you looked. But it is not something that I can help. It is not something that you can help. It is just part of our lives.