creation a few moments later: my eyes now have a mountain range in them.
I can play oslè for hours without losing a turn. Yseult doesn’t mind. She can sketch for hours without stopping. She draws one of the mango trees with ripe fruit hanging from its limbs. “Yvela,” Yseult says, “get us a couple of good ones from that tree.”
Yvela scales the tree like a boy. Her scarred knees cling to the bark. Yseult sketches Yvela’s face and gives her the body of a zandolit—a lizard. Yvela’s grip is firm as she pulls herself higher and higher. “Come get them,” Yvela calls out.
Yseult and I run toward the tree to catch the fruit in our skirts, lest they fall on the ground and burst. When Yvela climbs back down, we sit together and eat until we’re full.
“Wait for me here,” Yseult tells Yvela.
“What else would I do?” Yvela sucks her teeth.
“Keep showing off,” Yseult says. “See if I don’t tell Manman. See if she doesn’t pull out what’s left of your brown teeth.”
Yvela makes the sign of the cross on her lips. “Pardon me,” she responds.
“I want to see,” Yseult says as she takes my hand. She wants to go upstairs every time she comes to my house after school, especially when Manman is not here.
“Where is she?” Yseult squints as she peeps through the keyhole. “Where is the doll?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. I look through the keyhole too. The high chair is there, but the doll is not. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t,” Yseult answers quickly. Her eyes dart about. She runs down the stairs.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I tell her.
I have to go, she says without words. Just her eyes.
When we reach the porch, Yseult takes Yvela’s hand and runs away.
* * *
Madan Casseus watches me when Manman is away. She won’t get here until dark. I try not to think about the missing doll. I try not to think about anything at all.
Manman went to the leaves doctor’s compound again. She took Karine and Marjorie with her. Manman took me to the leaves doctor once, but the man said I was different from the other girls somehow and did not need special protection against bad spirits. (Manman is afraid the bad spirit might follow her to our new house. The leaves doctor concocts a special lotion that’s supposed to keep all bad spirits away.)
To get to the leaves doctor’s compound, you have to start walking before the sun even thinks about rising. Walk for a long time, past a cemetery teeming with stray goats and graves heaped with food and candle wax. Go through the marketplace where vendors haggle in a singsong that tells you you’re a long way from Port-au-Prince. Cross a valley full of bones that crumble under your feet. Pray that the scorpions scurrying on the blistering rocks don’t sting you. Walk some more until you see the statue of Fatima nestled in the shimmering mosaic grotto on the other side of a little stream. Cross the little stream, then stop. Stop at the grotto; everyone does. Kiss Fatima’s feet three times. Seven, if the line behind you isn’t too long. Then walk up a mountain that’s so high it takes hours to reach the top. When you do reach the top, sit down and rest awhile before starting down the other side. The leaves doctor’s compound is visible from that distance, but you won’t reach his front door until it’s so dark that you’ll think you’re blind. But you’re not blind because your eyes will catch the glow of a bald-headed lamp that’ll draw your shadow into the house long before you reach it. When Manman goes to the leaves doctor’s compound, she stays for several days so that he has plenty of time to do whatever it is she’s convinced he can do.
Since Madan Casseus won’t get here until after dark, I’ll wait for her on the porch. When I hear her donkey approaching, I’ll pretend to be asleep. She’ll shake my shoulders gently and tell me to come inside. Young girl, children mustn’t sit outside by themselves.
We’ll go inside. She’ll offer me some of the food that the taptap drivers did not buy from her. I’ll take some fried plantain and spicy blood pudding. Then Madan Casseus will make me take off my school uniform and iron the wrinkles out of it. She’ll make me wash my feet in the basin before going to bed. I’ll put on my nightgown while she bolts the front door. She’ll tell me to pray for my mother and sisters. “Priye pou Manman-w, pitit. Pray for them.” I’ll kneel down by the bed. Cross myself. Recite the Our Father. Madan Casseus will recite the Our Father along with me. “Good night,” she’ll say. “Dream about butterflies and rainbows.”
“Good night,” I’ll say. “Dream about butterflies and rainbows too.”
In the morning, Madan Casseus will saddle the donkey and ride down to Kalfou Djoumbala. She’ll spend the day there, selling food to famished taptap drivers and their passengers. I won’t see her again until after dark.
In the morning, I will wait for Yseult to stop by on her way to school. We’ll run together, hand in hand. Yvela will carry Yseult’s bags as she follows us. She’ll leave only after the nun locks the gate.
Yseult and I will stand one behind the other to pledge our undying love for our nation and her flag. We’ll throw our voices high when we sing our national anthem.
Yseult’s voice will sound pretty. Her French will sound better when it’s mixed up with the other girls’, the ones who speak it even when no one is listening. “Marchons unis! Marchons unis! In our midst there are no traitors . . .”
Afterward, we’ll go to Sister Bernadêtte’s class and hope that she banishes us to the back of the room again. At lunchtime, we’ll eat quickly. Afterward, we’ll play La Ronde with the only other girls in school we like: Marie Lourdes Jean, Caroline Saint Louis, and Elizabeth Lafrance. We’ll stomp our feet and sing our favorite La Ronde song which is also an old history lesson about Napoléon Bonaparte and Henri Christophe, “Commandant, Commandant du Cap!”
If there’s still time before our next class we’ll play Good Underwear. We’ll lower our voices so that the nuns don’t hear. One girl will step inside the circle and twirl around as fast as she can. We will inspect her underwear. If there are holes, we will laugh her out of the circle. If the elastic around the thighs is frayed, we will laugh her out of the circle. If the girl is bashful and refuses to spin around, we will pull her out of the circle and push someone else in. No one will have to push Yseult in. Playing Good Underwear is her second favorite thing in life. Yseult’s panties are the best. Her papa sends them from New York. My panties are not so bad today. When it’s my turn inside the circle, I’ll spin like a hurricane whipping though palm fronds. I’ll spin and spin while the other girls cheer: “Sak pa vire kilòt yo gen twou!” Spin, spin. Show us your good underwear.
A NEW LIFE
There’s a roach on the patch of ceiling directly above my bed. I gather the blanket around me, leaving only a slit to watch its whereabouts.
Across the room, my sisters are sprawled out on the double bed they share. Karine is reading one of her mystery novels. Marjorie, the youngest, is injecting her brain with another dose of Daffy Duck.
Brooke Shields pops up on the screen, smiling a dazzling smile and winking her pretty-baby eyes. “Nothing comes between me and my Calvins,” she coos, just as another
