The Farming of Bones_ A Novel - Edwidge Danticat [40]
“Has something happened to Sebastien?” I asked. Because of the baptism, I had not been able to go and see Sebastien all day.
“Sebastien’s well, he is,” he said. “He decided after what happened at the ravine that he didn’t want to waste more time. He sent me to ask you if you would promise yourself to him and keep yourself just for him. When a young man’s serious about a young woman, the old customs demand he bring his parents to express his intentions to her parents. Since both your parents and his parents are absent, I came to you on his word.”
I looked down at the mask in my hand. I couldn’t help but think of the night Joel had died, how for a moment I’d thought it was Sebastien who had been struck down by Señor Pico’s automobile. The old man glanced at me and then at the mask.
“Always hoped my son would find a woman like you,” he said, “a good woman.”
“Joel had a good woman,” I said.
“You think of that one with the big black mark under her nose. I did not want her for him.”
“She wanted your son,” I said. “She desired your blessings. She still does.”
“Blessings? What for? My son’s only a remembrance now, if even this. The one with the big mark under her nose, she is young, and the young do not stay young by keeping watch on the past. Soon she will find another man, and my son will slip from her mind.”
“She’s still very troubled,” I said.
“I hope Sebastien will let you keep the mask,” he said.
“Are you certain you don’t want to keep this face for yourself?” I asked.
“I’ve made many,” he said, “for all those who, even when I’m gone, will keep my son in mind. If I could, I would carry them all around my neck, I would, like some men wear their amulets. I give this one to you because you have a safe place to preserve it.”
“I’m happy to have it,” I said, “though ‘happy’ is not the proper word.”
“I’m glad to give it to you,” he said, “though ‘glad’ is also not the proper word.”
“Thank you for trusting me with something so precious to you,” I said.
“My son was precious to me,” he said. “This is only a sad reminder of him.”
As he got up to leave, I straightened his collar and removed a clump of rice that was clinging to the top button of his shirt.
“Now you look handsome.” I said.
“Sebastien, he let me keep the clothes,” he said. “I put in some pleats and made them smaller.”
“I am happy you were the one to bring this word from Sebastien,” I said.
“I don’t often have a chance to do these things,” he said. “I also had another thought when I came here tonight.”
“Tell me, please.”
“The elder of your house, Don Ignacio, he’s not asked again to come and see me, no?”
With Rafi’s death, Papi did seem to have forgotten about him and Joel.
“I’m not surprised,” he said, “that my son has already vanished from his thoughts.”
After Kongo left, I rushed out to see Sebastien. I didn’t go the ravine route but down through the footpath around the stream, which was a much cooler trail at night.
It was a dark night, but I knew the trail well enough to follow it in my sleep. I dashed around the stream, listening to the tree frogs and the cicadas trilling from far away.
I had been walking for some time when I heard the parting of tree branches and the flopping of footsteps landing in the mud holes behind me. The steps were faint at first, but slowly grew in force and concentration. They were coming closer, marching in perfect unison.
Jumping off the path, I tried to slip into the stream but landed on my bottom with a splash.
The night appeared clearer from the water. I reached down to the bed of the stream,