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Authors: Edwidge Danticat
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that. I am older than that. I am not going to say I am better than that because I am not a priest, but I'm not about that."
"Then what do you want with me?" I asked.
"The pursuit of happiness."
"Are you asking me to be with you?"
"Yes. No. It's not the way you think. Let's just go to sleep, solitaire, separately. Fare thee well. Good night."
He waited for me to go inside. I locked the door behind me. I heard him playing his keyboard as I lay awake in bed. The notes and scales were like raindrops, teardrops, torrents. I felt the music rise and surge, tightening every muscle in my body. Then I relaxed, letting it go, feeling a rush that I knew I wasn't supposed to feel.
Chapter 10
M y mother came home early the next night. "We're going out," she said. "We have not done anything, the two of us, in too long."
A musty heat surrounded us as we stood on the platform waiting for a subway train to come.
Inside the train, there were listless faces, people clutching the straps, hanging on. In Haiti, there were only sugar cane railroads that ran from the sugar mill in Port-au-Prince to plantation towns all over the countryside. Sometimes on the way home, some kids and I would chase the train and try to yank sugar cane sticks from between the wired bars.
As the D train sped over the Brooklyn Bridge, its lights swaying on the water below, my mother kept her eyes on the river, her face beaming as if she was a guest on the moon.
"Ah, if Manman would agree to come to America, then Atie would see this," she said.
"Do you think you'll ever go back to Haiti?" I asked.
"I have to go back to make final arrangements for your grandmother's resting place. I want to see her before she dies, but I don't want to stay there for more than three or four days. I know that sounds bad, but that is the only way I can do it. There are ghosts there that I can't face, things that are still very painful for me."
I waited for the train to sink below the city so I could have her full attention.
"I am past eighteen now," I said. "Is it okay if I like someone?"
"Do you like someone?" she asked.
"I am asking, just in case I do."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?" she asked.
I was afraid to tell her right away.
"Nothing has happened yet," I said.
"I would hope not," she said. "Who is it?"
She waited for me to speak, but I wanted to hold on to my secret just a bit longer.
"Let me tell you a few things," she said. "You have to get yourself a man who will do something for you. He can't be a vagabond. I won't have it."
"He is not a vagabond."
"How do you know? Do you think he will walk up to you and say, 'Hi, I am a vagabond'?"
I trust— "You are already lost," she said. "You tell me you trust him and I know you are already lost. What's his name?"
Henry was the first name I could think of.
"Henry what?"
I thought hard for a last name for my Henry.
"Henry Je ne sais quoi."
"Don't you dare play with me."
"I was just joking," I said. "I know his last name. It is Henry Napoleon."
"Of the Leogane Napoleons?" My mother closed her eyes as though there was a long family registry in her brain.
The Leogane Napoleons? Why had I chosen them? There were more illustrious Haitian families. I could see my mother's mind working very quickly. Were they rich? Poor? Black? Mulatto? Were they of peasant stock? Literate? Professionals?
"I want to meet him," she said.
"He is not here." I thought quickly. "He went back to Haiti after graduation."
"is he coming back?"
"I don't know."
"I want to meet his parents. It's always proper for the parents to talk first. That way if there's been any indiscretion, we can have a family meeting and arrange things together. It's always good to know the parents."
"The parents are in Haiti with him."
"Are they ever coming back?"
"I don't know."
"Find out. I want to meet them when they get back."
I leaned over and kissed her cheek to show her that I appreciated her trying to be a good mother. I wanted to tell her that I
"Then what do you want with me?" I asked.
"The pursuit of happiness."
"Are you asking me to be with you?"
"Yes. No. It's not the way you think. Let's just go to sleep, solitaire, separately. Fare thee well. Good night."
He waited for me to go inside. I locked the door behind me. I heard him playing his keyboard as I lay awake in bed. The notes and scales were like raindrops, teardrops, torrents. I felt the music rise and surge, tightening every muscle in my body. Then I relaxed, letting it go, feeling a rush that I knew I wasn't supposed to feel.
Chapter 10
M y mother came home early the next night. "We're going out," she said. "We have not done anything, the two of us, in too long."
A musty heat surrounded us as we stood on the platform waiting for a subway train to come.
Inside the train, there were listless faces, people clutching the straps, hanging on. In Haiti, there were only sugar cane railroads that ran from the sugar mill in Port-au-Prince to plantation towns all over the countryside. Sometimes on the way home, some kids and I would chase the train and try to yank sugar cane sticks from between the wired bars.
As the D train sped over the Brooklyn Bridge, its lights swaying on the water below, my mother kept her eyes on the river, her face beaming as if she was a guest on the moon.
"Ah, if Manman would agree to come to America, then Atie would see this," she said.
"Do you think you'll ever go back to Haiti?" I asked.
"I have to go back to make final arrangements for your grandmother's resting place. I want to see her before she dies, but I don't want to stay there for more than three or four days. I know that sounds bad, but that is the only way I can do it. There are ghosts there that I can't face, things that are still very painful for me."
I waited for the train to sink below the city so I could have her full attention.
"I am past eighteen now," I said. "Is it okay if I like someone?"
"Do you like someone?" she asked.
"I am asking, just in case I do."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?" she asked.
I was afraid to tell her right away.
"Nothing has happened yet," I said.
"I would hope not," she said. "Who is it?"
She waited for me to speak, but I wanted to hold on to my secret just a bit longer.
"Let me tell you a few things," she said. "You have to get yourself a man who will do something for you. He can't be a vagabond. I won't have it."
"He is not a vagabond."
"How do you know? Do you think he will walk up to you and say, 'Hi, I am a vagabond'?"
I trust— "You are already lost," she said. "You tell me you trust him and I know you are already lost. What's his name?"
Henry was the first name I could think of.
"Henry what?"
I thought hard for a last name for my Henry.
"Henry Je ne sais quoi."
"Don't you dare play with me."
"I was just joking," I said. "I know his last name. It is Henry Napoleon."
"Of the Leogane Napoleons?" My mother closed her eyes as though there was a long family registry in her brain.
The Leogane Napoleons? Why had I chosen them? There were more illustrious Haitian families. I could see my mother's mind working very quickly. Were they rich? Poor? Black? Mulatto? Were they of peasant stock? Literate? Professionals?
"I want to meet him," she said.
"He is not here." I thought quickly. "He went back to Haiti after graduation."
"is he coming back?"
"I don't know."
"I want to meet his parents. It's always proper for the parents to talk first. That way if there's been any indiscretion, we can have a family meeting and arrange things together. It's always good to know the parents."
"The parents are in Haiti with him."
"Are they ever coming back?"
"I don't know."
"Find out. I want to meet them when they get back."
I leaned over and kissed her cheek to show her that I appreciated her trying to be a good mother. I wanted to tell her that I
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