Breath, Eyes, Memory - Edwidge Danticat [28]
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 grass patch next to me.
The tree bark scraped 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 God'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 cassette 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 rélé 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?"
"A 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."
"It is very dangerous by boat."
"I have heard everything. It has been a long time since our people walked to Africa, they say. The sea, it has no doors. They say the sharks from here to there, they can eat only Haitian flesh. That is all they know how to eat."
"Why would you want to make the trip if you've heard all that?"
"Spilled water is better than a broken jar. All I need is five hundred gourdes."
"I know the other side. Thousands of people wash up on the shores. They put it on television, in newspapers."
"People here too. We pray for them and bury them. Stop. Let us stop talking, so sad. It is bad luck in front of a baby. How old is your baby?"
She reached over and tickled Brigitte's forehead.
"Twenty weeks."
"The birthing? What it feel like?"
"Like passing watermelons."
"Wou." She cringed. "You look very meg, bony. Not like women here who eat to fill a hole after their babies come out. When you were pregnant, you didn't eat corn so the baby could be yellow?"
"I never thought of that."
"You should have eaten honey so her hair would be soft."
"I will remember that."
"The next time, maybe?"
"Maybe."
"Your daughter? What is her name?"
"Brigitte Ife Woods."
"Woods? It is not a Haitian name."
"No, non. Her father, he is American."
She called the boy with the kite over and squeezed a penny between his muddy fingers. With a few whispers in the child's ear, she sent him dashing down