Serafina's Promise Read online

  and squeeze

  my heart-shaped rock.

  For a little while, all I hear

  is the soft brushing of feet

  through grass

  and my own heart beating

  in my chest.

  Bom-bom

  Bom-bom

  Bom-bom

  Finally Papa stops walking

  and looks at me.

  Well, Serafina, he says,

  I can tell you’ve thought about this.

  The scent of mangoes, oranges,

  and wild thyme surrounds us.

  Papa puts his hands on my shoulders.

  You must understand

  books and a uniform cost

  more money than we have.

  My heart slows and sinks.

  Silence hangs over us

  like an overripe mango,

  dotted with worms

  and maggots.

  I stare at the ground

  and bite my lip

  to keep from crying.

  Papa takes my face in his hands.

  He lifts my chin so our eyes meet.

  But maybe, maybe there is a way.

  I can hear that this is important to you.

  The warmth of Papa’s hands and voice

  raise my sinking heart.

  Hope flutters in my chest.

  Papa’s eyes are soft but steady.

  You would have to help earn money

  for books and a uniform.

  The new school year

  starts in September.

  That gives you a little more

  than three months.

  My heart leaps.

  Really?

  Mèsi! Thank you!

  I can wait!

  I can earn money!

  Mèsi! Mèsi! I say,

  jumping up

  and walking backward.

  Papa smiles.

  Then his face turns serious.

  There is one more thing.

  What, Papa? I ask.

  I’ll do anything!

  You must clear all of this

  with Manman first.

  Hope drains away

  like water in a cracked basin.

  But, Papa,

  Manman will never agree.

  All she thinks about is work,

  and she worries about everything.

  You’re the only one

  who can convince her.

  Papa shakes his head.

  I have faith in you, Serafina.

  If this is important enough,

  you’ll help her to understand.

  I push away thoughts

  of Manman and her worries.

  The whole way home,

  my mind bursts with ideas

  for how to earn money.

  If I start my chores earlier,

  I can help Manman and Gogo

  gather and bundle more herbs

  to sell in the city.

  And I have another idea too.

  Papa, did you know

  Gogo and Granpè had a garden?

  They even had chickens!

  I’ll ask Gogo to help me

  start a vegetable garden.

  We can grow our own food to sell

  so we can save for books and a uniform.

  Maybe we can even keep a few chickens!

  Maybe, Papa says, grinning.

  By the time we reach home,

  ideas tumble and bounce

  in my brain faster

  than spring rain.

  The only problem

  is how to tell Manman.

  The smell of garlic and smoke

  floating toward us

  reminds me of how hungry I am.

  Manman stands by the cooking fire

  stirring rice and beans.

  Gogo sits in the doorway

  tying little bundles of thyme.

  Manman! I cry.

  I rush into her arms

  with my holiday bouquet

  of music, color,

  and all the happiness

  that hope brings.

  Serafina, the fire! Be careful!

  Manman’s voice is sharp

  as the sugarcane leaf.

  I step away from the fire.

  Manman nods at the bucket

  by the door.

  There’s only a little water left.

  Better wash up, she says.

  The music and color

  begin to fade,

  but I won’t let them.

  I’ll be so patient and good,

  Manman will have to say yes.

  Here, I say,

  reaching into my pocket

  and handing Manman

  the heart-shaped rock.

  Oh, Serafina! she says.

  Mèsi anpil. Thank you so much.

  Her voice is warm and gentle now.

  After dinner, I’ll get more water,

  I say cheerfully,

  hoping to keep Manman happy.

  That night, before we sleep,

  Gogo tells me that

  she’s proud of me.

  Even after your long day,

  you were extra helpful

  to your manman.

  I try to think of something

  to say, but Gogo doesn’t wait

  for a response.

  Your manman works hard.

  She tries her best, but she’s tired.

  Her mind and heart

  are full of worry.

  We’re both quiet.

  Manman’s worries

  are like the mosquitoes

  at the ravine, so many

  you could never count them

  or get rid of them all.

  Even if I am patient and good,

  will I be able to convince her

  to let me go to school?

  In my mind, I see Manman

  stirring dry rice,

  picking out tiny speck-like bugs,

  and flicking them to the ground.

  I hear her humming contentedly

  while she works.

  How can that make her happy?

  When I grow up,

  I want to do

  more important things

  than pluck bugs from rice.

  How can I make

  Manman understand?

  Gogo? I whisper.

  Are you sleeping?

  Not yet, Serafina,

  she says,

  but her voice

  is low and drowsy.

  Tell me again

  about the dancers.

  The day after Flag Day

  is cloudy and dark.

  I don’t like the rainy season

  but Gogo always says,

  Remember the rain

  that grew your corn.

  When I remind her

  that we don’t have corn,

  she just laughs.

  Julie Marie is washing clothes

  at the ravine when I get there.

  She greets me with a large,

  sparkling smile.

  I remember what Papa said

  about her father struggling

  to feed his family.

  I wish I’d saved her

  something to eat.

  Tell me everything,

  Julie Marie says.

  Did you see the parade?

  Did you ask your papa about school?

  I thought about you all day.

  Tell me everything!

  I describe the lobsters

  and the house

  for Mr. Pétion’s car.

  I tell her about the music

  and the dancers.

  I saw Nadia too! I say.

  I don’t tell her

  that I didn’t wave.

  And school?

  Did you ask your papa

  about school?

  I tell her everything

  that Papa said

  and all my ideas

  to save money.<
br />
  But I’m afraid

  Manman won’t understand.

  Julie Marie flashes

  her sparkling smile.

  She will.

  Mothers only want

  what’s best.

  Maybe Julie Marie is right.

  Maybe I am misjudging Manman.

  I hurry home and quickly

  sweep the floor,

  gather the wood,

  and pile the charcoal.

  When I see Manman and Gogo

  coming down the path,

  I run to meet them.

  Serafina! Is everything okay?

  Manman asks.

  Wi, wi, I say, but I need

  to ask you something important.

  Did you finish your chores?

  I nod. Please, Manman,

  it’s very important.

  I hold the curtain open

  so Manman and Gogo

  can place their baskets

  on the freshly swept dirt floor.

  You help your mother

  bundle the herbs, Gogo says.

  I’ll go outside and start dinner.

  Manman pulls out

  tiny sprigs of thyme

  and spreads them

  on the table.

  What’s so important, Serafina?

  she asks.

  I clear my throat

  and take a deep breath.

  Manman, I would like

  to go to school,

  I say steadily.

  And then, without stopping

  to breathe

  or to let her interrupt,

  I tell her everything—

  about wanting to be a doctor

  like Antoinette Solaine

  and what Papa said

  about helping to save money

  for books and a uniform.

  I promise her that I will still

  get all my chores done.

  I am old enough to do more

  than gather wood and water.

  This is my dream, Manman.

  I want this more than

  anything in the world.

  Before I even finish my last sentence,

  Manman shakes her head.

  School? Serafina, we have

  a new baby coming!

  If you want more grown-up chores,

  Gogo and I will take you

  with us to the city.

  You can wash the clothes

  and help prepare

  the rice and beans.

  Suddenly I forget

  all about being patient.

  Manman! I don’t want

  to pick bugs out of rice!

  I want to be a doctor!

  I want to help save babies like Pierre.

  And to be a doctor, I must go to school.

  Don’t you remember your own papa?

  Granpè wanted you to read too!

  If he were here, he would want me

  to go to school and learn to read.

  Don’t you remember what he said?

  Education is the path—

  Manman interrupts, her voice

  as fragile as a sparrow’s egg.

  —to freedom?

  Were my father’s books able to save him?

  Be happy with what you have, Serafina.

  I turn away,

  my mind full of prickles and stings.

  Manman can be happy

  washing clothes

  and sifting rice,

  but I won’t ever be!

  At dinnertime,

  Papa still wants to talk

  about the parade.

  He brings me a small flag

  left over from his boss’s party.

  Mèsi, I say.

  I bring my bowl of rice outside

  and stick the flag in the dirt.

  Papa sits on the ground

  beside me.

  Gogo stays inside with Manman.

  We eat without talking,

  but finally Papa asks

  what happened.

  Why are you so quiet?

  Why is Manman so sad?

  I shrug.

  The words in my mind

  still scratch and sting.

  Papa keeps eating.

  He doesn’t push me to answer.

  While we wash the dishes,

  Gogo tries to talk,

  but I’m not ready yet.

  When we’re done,

  I get my stethoscope

  and look for Banza.

  Sometimes in the evening

  I find him sniffing garbage

  in the alley between

  Julie Marie’s house and Nadia’s.

  He always comes when I call

  and lets me listen to his heart.

  Sometimes Julie Marie plays with us.

  But tonight,

  there’s no sign of Banza

  or Julie Marie anywhere.

  The alley is dark and empty

  with the threat of rain.

  The only one outside is me—

  me and my sputtering bees.

  Hurry before the rain comes,

  Gogo says the next morning.

  She gives me the bucket

  and pushes me out the door.

  A sagging, shapeless sun

  slumps purple, orange,

  and heavy in the dark sky.

  Why don’t we just wait

  for the rain? I ask.

  Gogo shakes her head.

  If you want your eggs hatched,

  sit on them yourself! Now go!

  I carry my bucket to the small stream

  flowing down the other side of the alley.

  It isn’t a real stream, just a footpath

  that gathers rainwater.

  It’s closer than the place

  where we wash our clothes,

  and take our baths,

  where we gather water when

  the rains don’t come.

  Manman’s words buzz in my head.

  Be happy with what you have.

  What do we have? I wonder.

  The bees in my brain grumble furiously.

  Just work, work, work!

  The first drops are slow

  and long in coming.

  tumpa tumpa tumpa tumpa

  I scrape my bucket along

  the bottom of the muddy stream.

  Water bubbles and brims

  over the narrow opening.

  tumpa tumpa tumpa tumpa

  The purple sky sags

  low enough for me to touch.

  Serafina, I hear Manman call.

  Serafina! Hurry, Serafina!

  Mud and water

  squeeze between my toes.

  tumpa tumpa tumpa tumpa

  Mud and water

  rush down the mountain

  and suddenly swell

  higher than my knee.

  tumpatumpatumpatumpatumpatumpatumpa

  Purple folds into black.

  Serafina! Gogo screams.

  I drop my bucket

  and drag my legs

  through clinging mud

  and rising water.

  Manman and Gogo

  rush toward me.

  We clutch each other

  and watch a blur

  of dark gray rain

  sweep across

  the muddy alley.

  A giant wet shadow

  with shimmery arms

  glides into our doorway,

  lifts our house,

  and carries it away.

  I scream,

  but Manman and Gogo

  pull me along.

  Arm in arm,

  we wade against

  the rising water.

  Gogo carries a basket

  of rice and beans on her head.

  Without stopping,

  Manman lifts me onto her back.

  Manman, I whisper.

  I’m too heavy for you!

  Shhhh … hol
d on tight.

  My fingers clutch

  the yellow tail of her scarf.

  I bury my head

  in her soaked shoulder.

  Broken branches, spoons,

  and empty pots drift by.

  Close your eyes, Manman says

  when the dead donkey floats down.

  I close my eyes

  but still I see.

  On and on we wade.

  Water swells to the hem

  of my dress.

  Manman! I cry.

  Are you sure

  I’m not too heavy?

  Shhhh, Manman says again.

  At every step,

  the water rises.

  I look behind us.

  Nadia’s mother struggles,

  a bag of rice and a baby in her arms.

  Manman! I whisper,

  Nadia’s mother—

  The sounds of rain

  and rushing water,

  of children screaming

  and mothers crying,

  swallow my words.

  When I look back again,

  Nadia’s mother is gone.

  What happened?

  Where did she go?

  Manman’s shoulders heave

  and I wrap my arms

  tighter around her.

  A man in a pink shirt

  offers to carry me.

  Manman shakes her head

  and shifts me higher on her back.

  Gogo’s arm pulls us to one side,

  but we keep going.

  Where are Julie Marie and Nadia?

  Where are their brothers and sisters?

  Are they safe?

  Hail Mary, full of grace,

  Manman begins to pray.

  Her shoulders shake so hard,

  I’m afraid I’ll fall

  into the water and disappear.

  Mwen pè, I whisper

  close to Manman’s ears.

  I’m scared.

  Manman’s shoulders still shake

  but her voice is strong.

  Ou dwe brav, Serafina, be brave.

  Manman worries about everything.

  How can she be so brave?

  The rain stops.

  The muddy water drops

  lower than Manman’s knee.

  I can walk now, Manman,

  I say.

  Manman doesn’t answer

  or put me down.

  My arms tingle and twitch.

  Manman, I can walk now.

  Shhh … Serafina.

  Look for Papa.

  Slowly we slog

  through the sinking city.

  Papa will be waiting

  at our meeting place,

  outside the President’s Palace.

  Papa will make everything

  all right.

  Marie Rose! Serafina!

  Gogo!

  Papa’s hearty voice

  skims the water.

  He sloshes toward us,

  and lifts me in his arms.

  Papa! The rain washed away

  our house!

  Manman whimpers