Breath, Eyes, Memory - Edwidge Danticat [4]
Madame Augustin took a sip of her tea and looked over at me. She gave me a reprimanding look that said: Why aren't you playing with the other children? I quickly lowered my eyes, pretending to be studying some random pebbles on the ground.
"I would wager that it is very nice over there in New York," Madame Augustin said.
"I suppose it could be," said Tante Atie.
"Why have you never gone?" asked Madame Augustin.
"Perhaps it is not yet the time," said Tante Atie.
"Perhaps it is," corrected Madame Augustin.
She leaned over Tante Atie's shoulder and whispered in a not so low voice, "When are you going to tell us, Atie, when the car comes to take you to the airplane?"
"Is Martine sending for you?" asked the albino's wife.
Suddenly, all the women began to buzz with questions.
"When are you leaving?"
"Can it really be as sudden as that?"
"Will you marry there?"
"Will you remember us?"
"I am not going anywhere," Tante Atie interrupted.
"I have it on good information that it was a plane ticket that you received the other day," said Madame Augustin. "If you are not going, then who was the plane ticket for?"
All their eyes fell on me at the same time.
"Is the mother sending for the child?" asked the albino's wife.
"I saw the delivery," said Madame Augustin.
"Then she is sending for the child," they concluded.
Suddenly a large hand was patting my shoulder.
"This is very good news," said the accompanying voice. "It is the best thing that is ever going to happen to you."
I could not eat the bowl of food that Tante Atie laid in front of me. I only kept wishing that everyone would disappear so I could go back home.
The night very slowly slipped into the early hours of the - morning. Soon everyone began to drift towards their homes. On Saturdays there was the house to clean and water to fetch from long distances and the clothes to wash and iron for the Mother's Day Mass.
After everyone was gone, Monsieur Augustin walked Tante Atie and me home. When we got to our door he moved closer to Tante Atie as though he wanted to whisper something in her ear. She looked up at him and smiled, then quickly covered her lips with her fingers, as though she suddenly remembered her missing teeth and did not want him to see them.
He turned around to look across the street. His wife was carrying some of the pots back inside the house. He squeezed Tante Atie's hand and pressed his cheek against hers.
"It is good news, Atie," he said. "Neither you nor Sophie should be sad. A child belongs with her mother, and a mother with her child."
His wife was now sitting on the steps in front of their bougainvillea, waiting for him.
"I did not think you would tell your wife before I had a chance to tell the child," said Tante Atie to Monsieur Augustin.
"You must be brave," he said. "It is some very wonderful news for this child."
The night had grown a bit cool, but we both stood and watched as Monsieur Augustin crossed the street, took the pails from his wife's hand and bent down to kiss her forehead. He put his arms around her and closed the front door behind them.
"When you tell someone something and you call it a secret, they should know not to tell others," Tante Atie mumbled to herself.
She kept her eyes on the Augustin's house. The main light in their bedroom was lit. Their bodies were silhouetted on the ruffled curtains blowing in the night breeze. Monsieur Augustin sat in a rocking chair by the window. His wife sat on his lap as she unlaced her long braid of black hair. Monsieur Augustin brushed the hair draped like a silk blanket down Madame Augustin s back. When he was done, Monsieur Augustin got up to undress. Then slowly, Madame Augustin took off her day clothes and slipped into a long-sleeved night gown. Their laughter rose in the night as they began a tickling fight. The light flickered off and they tumbled into bed.
Tante Atie kept looking at the window even after all signs of the Augustins had faded into the night.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she unbolted the door to go