and peered at the pages. She held the notebook so close to her face, I thought there was a mirror inside.
"I did not realize you would remember the words of my card this long," I said.
"When you have something precious, you do not forget it."
She pressed her notebook against her chest as she started for the road.
"Are you going to the maché?" my grandmother called out.
"You need something?" asked Tante Atie.
"The Macoutes were doing damage," my grandmother said.
"Fighting?" asked Tante Atie.
"You just wait awhile," said my grandmother. "Don't go there now."
"Fighting who?" Tante Atie looked worried.
"I did not ask," said my grandmother.
"They hurt anybody?"
"The coal man, Dessalines."
"Dessalines? Why?"
"When people hate you they beat your animals. I don't know'
"Old woman, I am going to get a remedy for a lump in my calf and it cannot wait." Tante walked down the road, racing towards the marketplace.
"You have a lump on your calf?" asked my grandmother.
By then, Tante Atie was already gone.
My grandmother and I spent the day watching the beans boil. The kite boy wandered into the yard with a slingshot. He aimed his pebbles at a few small birds lodged in the tcha tcha tree. He had no successes, but kept trying, encouraged by an occasional cheer from my grandmother and me.
"Eliab, come get some water," my grandmother called out.
Eliab crawled under the porch where my mother kept a clay jug full of water. He soaked his stomach as he raised the jug to his lips.
. . .
The beans were cooked as the sun set. My grandmother mixed them with some maize, which we ate with chunks of avocado.
Tante Atie did not come home for supper. My grandmother put some food aside for her and left the rest in the pot.
I bathed Brigitte in a large pan that my grandmother dug out from under her bed, then gave her some formula before sitting down for supper. I felt both fat and guilty after eating my supper.
Eliab and two other boys crawled under the porch for some tin plates and spooned out their portions of the meal. They sat in a circle and ate quietly, like a clan of midget chiefs.
Brigitte tried to bring her left foot to her mouth, in order to suck her toes.
"She's a quiet child," my grandmother said.
"She's been like that since she was born."
"Crabs don't make papayas. Your mother, she was a quiet child too."
Brigitte reached over to grab my grandmother's nose.
"Your husband?" asked my grandmother, "Why did you leave him so suddenly?"
"I did not leave him for good," I said. "This is just a short vacation."
"Are you having trouble with any marital duties?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
"What is it?"
"They say it is most important to a man."
"The night?"
"Oui."
"You cannot perform?" she asked. "You have trouble with the night? There must be some fulfillment. You have the child."
"It is very painful for me," I said.
She pulled her pouch from her pocket, pinched a few dabs of tobacco and stuffed them in her nostrils.
"Secrets remain secret only if we keep our silence," she said. "Your husband? Is he a good man?"
"He is a very good man, but I have no desire. I feel like it is an evil thing to do."
"Your mother? Did she ever test you?"
"You can call it that."
"That is what we have always called it."
"I call it humiliation," I said. "I hate my body. I am ashamed to show it to anybody, including my husband. Sometimes I feel like I should be off somewhere by myself. That is why I am here."
"Crick?" called my grandmother.
"Crack," answered the boys.
Their voices rang like a chorus, aiding my grandmother's entry into her tale.
"Tim, tim," she called.
"Bwa chèch," they answered. "Tale master, tell us your tale."
"The tale is not a tale unless I tell. Let the words bring wings to our feet."
"How many do you bring us tonight?"
"Tonight, only one story."
The night grew silent under her commanding tone. I lay on the bed with Brigitte, the open window allowing us a clear view of the sky. The stars fell as though
"I did not realize you would remember the words of my card this long," I said.
"When you have something precious, you do not forget it."
She pressed her notebook against her chest as she started for the road.
"Are you going to the maché?" my grandmother called out.
"You need something?" asked Tante Atie.
"The Macoutes were doing damage," my grandmother said.
"Fighting?" asked Tante Atie.
"You just wait awhile," said my grandmother. "Don't go there now."
"Fighting who?" Tante Atie looked worried.
"I did not ask," said my grandmother.
"They hurt anybody?"
"The coal man, Dessalines."
"Dessalines? Why?"
"When people hate you they beat your animals. I don't know'
"Old woman, I am going to get a remedy for a lump in my calf and it cannot wait." Tante walked down the road, racing towards the marketplace.
"You have a lump on your calf?" asked my grandmother.
By then, Tante Atie was already gone.
My grandmother and I spent the day watching the beans boil. The kite boy wandered into the yard with a slingshot. He aimed his pebbles at a few small birds lodged in the tcha tcha tree. He had no successes, but kept trying, encouraged by an occasional cheer from my grandmother and me.
"Eliab, come get some water," my grandmother called out.
Eliab crawled under the porch where my mother kept a clay jug full of water. He soaked his stomach as he raised the jug to his lips.
. . .
The beans were cooked as the sun set. My grandmother mixed them with some maize, which we ate with chunks of avocado.
Tante Atie did not come home for supper. My grandmother put some food aside for her and left the rest in the pot.
I bathed Brigitte in a large pan that my grandmother dug out from under her bed, then gave her some formula before sitting down for supper. I felt both fat and guilty after eating my supper.
Eliab and two other boys crawled under the porch for some tin plates and spooned out their portions of the meal. They sat in a circle and ate quietly, like a clan of midget chiefs.
Brigitte tried to bring her left foot to her mouth, in order to suck her toes.
"She's a quiet child," my grandmother said.
"She's been like that since she was born."
"Crabs don't make papayas. Your mother, she was a quiet child too."
Brigitte reached over to grab my grandmother's nose.
"Your husband?" asked my grandmother, "Why did you leave him so suddenly?"
"I did not leave him for good," I said. "This is just a short vacation."
"Are you having trouble with any marital duties?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
"What is it?"
"They say it is most important to a man."
"The night?"
"Oui."
"You cannot perform?" she asked. "You have trouble with the night? There must be some fulfillment. You have the child."
"It is very painful for me," I said.
She pulled her pouch from her pocket, pinched a few dabs of tobacco and stuffed them in her nostrils.
"Secrets remain secret only if we keep our silence," she said. "Your husband? Is he a good man?"
"He is a very good man, but I have no desire. I feel like it is an evil thing to do."
"Your mother? Did she ever test you?"
"You can call it that."
"That is what we have always called it."
"I call it humiliation," I said. "I hate my body. I am ashamed to show it to anybody, including my husband. Sometimes I feel like I should be off somewhere by myself. That is why I am here."
"Crick?" called my grandmother.
"Crack," answered the boys.
Their voices rang like a chorus, aiding my grandmother's entry into her tale.
"Tim, tim," she called.
"Bwa chèch," they answered. "Tale master, tell us your tale."
"The tale is not a tale unless I tell. Let the words bring wings to our feet."
"How many do you bring us tonight?"
"Tonight, only one story."
The night grew silent under her commanding tone. I lay on the bed with Brigitte, the open window allowing us a clear view of the sky. The stars fell as though
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