Breath, Eyes, Memory - Edwidge Danticat [58]
"I am a beautiful woman with a strong body." Davina led the affirmations.
"We are beautiful women with strong bodies." We echoed her uncertain voice.
"Because of my distress, I am able to understand when others are in deep pain."
"Because of our distress, we are able to understand when others are in deep pain."
I heard my voice rise above the others.
"Since I have survived this, I can survive anything."
Buki read us a letter she was going to send to the dead grandmother who had cut off all her sexual organs and sewn her up, in a female rite of passage.
There were tears rolling down her face as she read the letter.
"Dear Taiwo. You sliced open my soul and then you told me I can't show it to anyone else. You took a great deal away from me. Because of you, I now carry with me an untouchable wound."
Sobbing, she handed me the piece of paper. I continued reading the letter for her.
"Because of you, I feel like a helpless cripple. I sometimes want to kill myself. All because of what you did to me, a child who could not say no, a child who could not defend herself. It would be easy to hate you, but I can't because you are part of me. You are me."
We each wrote the name of our abusers in a piece of paper, raised it over a candle, and watched as the flames consumed it. Buki blew up a green balloon. We went to Davina's backyard and watched as she released it in the dark. It was hard to see where the balloon went, but at least it had floated out of our hands.
I felt broken at the end of the meeting, but a little closer to being free. I didn't feel guilty about burning my mother's name anymore. I knew my hurt and hers were links in a long chain and if she hurt me, it was because she was hurt, too.
It was up to me to avoid my turn in the fire. It was up to me to make sure that my daughter never slept with ghosts, never lived with nightmares, and never had her name burnt in the flames.
When I came home from the meeting, I found Joseph sitting in the living room with Brigitte on his lap.
"Listen to this." He grabbed her and jumped up. "Say it again, pumpkin."
"Say what again?" I asked.
"She said Dada."
At his prodding, Brigitte said something that sounded like Dada.
"Say it again." We were both cheering.
Her eyes lit up as she watched us.
"Sweetie, say it again, please," I said, secretly rooting for "Mama."
She clapped her hands, keeping up with our excitement.
"Oh please, honey, say it again. Dada. Dada."
"Mama. Mama. Manman."
She said Dada and laughed.
Joseph jumped up in the air and simulated a high five.
"She's saving Mama for when she can really talk," I said. "Dada is such a random sound."
"You're green with envy and you know it."
I went to the kitchen to make myself some tea.
"How was the meeting?" he asked.
"Good."
"Your mother called. She says she urgently needs to talk to you."
The baby was saying Dada over and over, trying to capture all his attention.
"Your therapist called too," he said. "She wanted to know if you'd be coming for your visit tomorrow. I said yes."
I let him play with the baby while I went in to call my mother.
"Marc is downstairs making me some eggs," she said.
"Are you all right?" I asked. "Joseph said it was urgent."
"It was an urgent feeling. I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"You think it's unhealthy, don't you? My sudden dependence on you."
"As long as you're all right."
"How is my granddaughter?"
"Fine. How about you? How is your situation?"
"I can't sleep. Are you coming this weekend?"
"On Saturday," I said.
"I am really happy we have this time again."
"Me too."
"I got a telegram from Manman today. She said everything is ready now for her funeral. She's glad about that."
"Did you tell her that you're pregnant?"
"I'll tell her when I'm further along. I don't want her to worry about me going crazy again."
"You sure you're feeling all right?"
"Better. Maybe this child, she's getting used to me. Man-man tells me she's worried Atie will die from chagrin. Louise