"I am going to excuse myself and go back inside," I said. "I do not want to leave the baby alone for long."

"The old woman, she is going to send word to your mother that you are here," she said.

"My mother does not concern herself with where I am."

"You are judging her much too harshly."

"When Joseph and I first married, I used to write her every month. I have sent her pictures of Brigitte. She keeps the letters, but makes no reply."

"She will come," said Tante Atie.

"Come where?"

"She will come here. She has promised for a long time to come and arrange the old woman's funeral and the old woman will place on the ca.s.sette words begging her to come, so you can settle this quarrel."

Brigitte got up early the next morning, ready to bounce and play. I lay her on the bed and tried to make her do some baby exercises.

In the next room, my grandmother was recording her reply ca.s.sette to my mother.

"Martine, ki jan ou ye?" How are you? "We are doing fine here, following in the shadow of Father Time. I am well, except for the old bones that ache sometime. Dessalines has died. Macoutes kill him. Do you remember him? He was the coal man.

"I don't even need to talk about Atie. She is carrying on like she has got a pound of rocks on her chest. Sadness is now her way of life. You needn't worry about Sophie. Could be she is on a little holiday. The bird, it always returns to the nest."

My grandmother stopped to clear her throat. Brigitte grabbed my fingers and held them tightly as she rolled on her side.

"Is Atie in her room?" yelled my grandmother.

"She is out!" I shouted back.

Brigitte shrieked, trying to scream along.

"Is there something you want to say to your mother?"

"No!"

The recorder clicked to a stop.

"Any more you want to say?" asked my grandmother.

"I think we've already said enough."

In the distance, the bells tolled, announcing Dessalines's funeral. Tante Atie stumbled into her room, her body rocking from side to side. She lowered herself to the ground, her large feet barely sidestepping my outstretched leg and Brig-itte s toes. Tante Atie's eyes were red; she blinked quickly trying to keep them open. She snapped her fingers and made faces at Brigitte, to get her attention.

"Are you all right?" I asked her.

"Fine, good."

Her breath smelled like rum. She stretched her body out on the floor and within a few seconds, fell asleep.

She woke up at noon with a panic-stricken look in her eyes.

"My notebook?" she asked. "You seen it?"

I shook my head no. Brigitte was asleep on the bed. I was afraid that Tante Atie's sudden movements would wake her up.

"Maybe the book's in my room," she mumbled, heading for the door.

"Were you drinking?" I asked.

"I drink a little to forget my troubles," she said. "It's no more a vice than the old woman and her tobacco."

She walked out to the yard, splashed some water over her face, then started towards the road.

She came back in the very early morning hours. The voices in the yard kept me awake.

"You can go now," said Tante Atie.

"Let me see you enter," insisted Louise. "That calf of yours, go and rest that calf of yours."

"People do not die from aching calves," said Tante Atie. "You think I am an old lady. I do not need a walking cane."

"Be pleasant, Atie. Go inside."

I heard Tante Atie walk inside.

The bed squealed under her body as she crashed on it. Louise walked home alone in the fading dusk.

Chapter 22.

The next morning, a pack of rainbow b.u.t.terflies hovered around the porch. I was sitting on the steps, watching the sun rise behind the shack spotted hills.

My grandmother's face was powdered with ashes as she left the house. Walking past me, she tapped my knee with the tip of her cane. She lowered a black veil over her face as she twirled a rosary between her fingers.

The baby let out a sudden cry from Tante Atie's room. I rushed back in. Tante Atie was pacing as she carried her around the room. Brigitte stretched out her hands when she saw me. She pressed her face down on my neck when I held her against my body.

"Did the old woman leave for the cemetery?" Tante Atie asked.

"Is that where she's going?"

"She is going to pay her last respects to Dessalines."

Brigitte clawed my neck with her fingernails.

"You and Louise, you are very close, aren't you?" I asked Tante Atie.

"When you have a good friend," she said, "you must hold her with both hands."

"It will be hard for you when she leaves, won't it?"

"I will miss her like my own skin."

My grandmother had her veil on her arm as she walked back towards the house. Eliab ran to her and took a heavy bundle from her hand. He pulled out its contents, sniffing the coconuts before setting them down.

"Did you have a nice visit to the cemetery?" I asked.

"There are two ways to go to the cemetery. One is on your two feet, the other is in a box. Each way, it is a large travail. Where is your Tante Atie?"

"She is visiting with Louise."

"Why do I even ask?"

She picked up a machete from under the porch and chopped a green coconut in half. Eliab pushed an open gourd beneath the coconut and caught the cloudy liquid flowing out of it. My grandmother carved out the flesh with a spoon and stuffed it in her mouth.

She chopped another coconut and brought it over to me. The coconut milk spilled all over my chest as I raised the sh.e.l.l to my lips.

My daughter reached up to grab the coconut. My grandmother and Eliab sat on an old tree stump, sharing the soft mush inside the coconut. My grandmother threw some at the pig, which it leaped up to swallow.

Tante Atie did not come home for supper. My grandmother and I ate in the yard, while Brigitte slept in a blanket in my arms. My grandmother was watching a light move between two distant points on the hill.

"Do you see that light moving yonder?" she asked, pointing to the traveling lantern. "Do you know why it goes to and fro like that?"

She was concentrating on the shift, her pupils traveling with each movement: "It is a baby," she said, "a baby is being born. The midwife is taking trips from the shack to the yard where the pot is boiling. Soon we will know whether it is a boy or a girl."

"How will we know that?"

"If it is a boy, the lantern will be put outside the shack. If there is a man, he will stay awake all night with the new child."

"What if it is a girl?"

"If it is a girl, the midwife will cut the child's cord and go home. Only the mother will be left in the darkness to hold her child. There will be no lamps, no candles, no more light."

We waited. The light went out in the house about an hour later. By that time, my grandmother had dozed off. Another little girl had come into the world.

Chapter 23.

A rooster crowed at the next morning's dawn. I peeked into Tante Atie's room. Her bed was still made, without a wrinkle on it. She had not come home at all the night before. My grandmother made herself some bitter black coffee with a lump of salt to prepare her body for the shock of bad news. rooster crowed at the next morning's dawn. I peeked into Tante Atie's room. Her bed was still made, without a wrinkle on it. She had not come home at all the night before. My grandmother made herself some bitter black coffee with a lump of salt to prepare her body for the shock of bad news.

I sat out on the porch with Brigitte waiting for the food vendors to come by. They trickled by slowly, each chanting the names and praises of their merchandise.

My grandmother bought some bananas, boiled eggs, and hard biscuits, Louise and Tante Atie came up the road. Tante Atie was ahead. Louise marched a few feet behind her.

My grandmother looked up without acknowledging their presence. Louise walked into the yard, charged towards the tree, untied her pig, picked it up, and walked away.

"Why? What are you doing?" I called after her.

She did not turn back.

"What is the matter with her?" I asked Tante Atie.

"Manman told her to come get the pig or she would kill it," Tante Atie said.

Tante Atie was carrying a small jar of water with three leeches inside.

"Is it true Grandme Ife? Did you say that?" I asked.

"We need a pig, we buy a pig," said my grandmother.

"I will buy it," I said.

"Non non," Tante Atie jumped quickly. "The money, it will surely go for her boat trip to Miami."

"You think you can keep money out of her hands?" asked my grandmother.

"I do not want to push her into the ocean," Tante Atie said.

She raised the leech jar towards the sun. The animals squirmed away from the light, their black slippery bodies coiling into small b.a.l.l.s. She raised her skirt and stretched out her calf. Opening the jar, she tipped it over so that the water was soaking her skin. The leeches slowly crawled out of the jar and climbed on a lump on her calf.

She ground her teeth when one of the larger leeches bit into her skin. She leaned back against the porch railing, pulled her notebook from her sack, and began writing her name. She wrote it over and over, following a pattern at the top of the page.

The leeches sucked the blood out of her lump, until they were plump and full. She pulled them away one by one, slid her fingers down their backs, and pumped the blood into an empty jar. I felt my head spinning, my stomach about to turn inside out. Tante Atie noticed the pained expression on my face.

"It's no loss, angel," she said. "It's only blood, bad blood at that."

I asked my grandmother if I could cook supper for us that night.

Tante Atie offered to take me to a private vendor where food was cheaper than the mache. mache. She put the leeches in some clean water and we started down the road. She put the leeches in some clean water and we started down the road.

"What are you making for us?" she asked.

"Rice, black beans, and herring sauce," I said.

"Your mother's favorite meal."

"That's what we cooked most often."