Serafina's Promise Read online

  As soon as I get my new uniform,

  Auntie will bring me to school.

  Oh, Serafina, I’m so excited!

  What aunt? I ask.

  Do you know her?

  I’ve never met her,

  but Papa says she is lovely.

  Papa says she always wanted

  a little girl of her own.

  Julie Marie’s eyes sparkle,

  but a shadow

  creeps into my heart.

  I thought you said your papa

  had too many mouths to feed?

  Who will help your manman?

  Who’ll gather firewood,

  wash the clothes,

  and help care for your brothers?

  Who’ll help me tend the garden?

  Manman said she’ll manage.

  She wants me to study

  and have pretty clothes

  and enough food to eat.

  And you have your manman

  and Gogo to help you in the garden.

  Besides, you charmed the peppermint

  all by yourself.

  You make garden magic—

  you don’t need me!

  Yes I do, I think to myself,

  but out loud,

  I try to sound happy.

  That’s wonderful, Julie Marie, I say.

  Then I remember my own news.

  I’m going to school too,

  as soon as the jar is full.

  Manman said it herself last night.

  Oh, Serafina, I’m so happy!

  Julie Marie takes my hand.

  I wish Nadia were here.

  I wish we could all go

  to the same school

  and study together!

  Her eyes fill with tears.

  I’ll miss you, Serafina, but now,

  we can both be doctors

  like we always dreamed.

  I push away my sadness

  and manage a smile.

  Wi! We’ll both be doctors

  like we always dreamed.

  Early the next morning,

  Julie Marie stands in my garden

  wearing a clean white dress

  that I have never seen before.

  Manman says I am prettier

  than all the wildflowers

  that grow along the hillside.

  You are, I say.

  She touches her hair.

  Manman tucked a kiss

  into every twist.

  I can see them! I say,

  but the laugh

  gets caught in my throat

  and tears spring into my eyes.

  Don’t cry, Julie Marie says.

  We’ll see each other again.

  She kisses her hand

  and tucks the kiss into my braid.

  To help you remember me.

  I’ll remember you always!

  Me too.

  I’m only going

  to Port-au-Prince.

  I’ll come home to visit,

  and maybe you’ll see me

  when you come to the city!

  Julie Marie smiles.

  I promise to think of you

  whenever I sing “Uncle Bouki”!

  When I sing “Uncle Bouki,”

  I promise to think of you too!

  We squeeze each other tight.

  Prese! Julie Marie’s papa

  calls from the road.

  Julie Marie wipes her eyes

  and kisses me on both cheeks.

  Look for me when you come

  into the city,

  she whispers.

  Babay, I call, squeezing

  the kiss in my braid

  and blinking back tears.

  Mwen renmen ou.

  I love you, my friend.

  Later that night,

  Julie Marie’s papa

  stops by our house.

  I’ve come to say good-bye, he says.

  We’re leaving tomorrow before sunrise,

  to find work in Saint-Marc.

  Saint-Marc! Papa says.

  That’s quite a distance.

  And you’ve just built a new house.

  What about Julie Marie? I ask.

  Her papa blinks back tears,

  his face stiff and serious.

  Serafina, go inside.

  Papa’s voice is soft,

  but his eyes are sharp.

  I look down and do as he says.

  Manman and Gogo

  are counting bunches of basil.

  Julie Marie’s family is moving

  to Saint-Marc! I say.

  How can they leave without her?

  Gogo touches my face.

  To understand the stream, she says,

  you must understand the ocean.

  When my basket is full

  of kindling

  the next afternoon,

  I peek inside

  Julie Marie’s house.

  Nothing is left,

  not a pot or a rag,

  or a piece of charcoal.

  In the open doorway,

  a thin-legged spider

  drops down and wraps

  a sticky web

  around a trembling butterfly.

  Gogo says, Never interfere

  in nature’s dance.

  But I put down my basket,

  grab a stick,

  and knock away the spider.

  The butterfly falls.

  Carefully I peel away

  the sticky strands

  that bind her wings.

  The butterfly is so still

  I think she’s dead.

  Gently I brush my fingers

  across her body.

  Wake up! I whisper.

  The butterfly

  twitches her wings

  and flies away.

  Some days, I wish

  I could fly away too.

  The next day, and the next,

  and the next,

  Gogo and I pull weeds

  and pinch white flowers

  from the basil.

  Now more will grow,

  Gogo says.

  This morning Papa took

  more of my peppermint

  and our biggest green peppers

  to Mr. Pétion.

  If he thinks they are

  good enough

  and buys them,

  our jar will be full.

  I am holding

  my breath because

  there are only two more days

  until school starts!

  I snip a few basil leaves

  and notice a circle of

  small, silvery dots

  on the underside of the leaf.

  What’s this? I ask Gogo.

  Gogo frowns

  and shakes the plant.

  A cloud of tiny

  white-winged moths

  flies into the air.

  We have work to do, Gogo says.

  We make a soapy concoction

  and wash each leaf.

  Whiteflies suck the juices

  from healthy plants

  and spread disease.

  If you let them,

  they’ll destroy

  everything good

  and beautiful.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon

  searching and scrubbing.

  I’m worried, but Gogo says,

  We just need to keep watch.

  We just need to recognize

  troublemakers in the garden.

  Papa comes home

  singing and smiling.

  Mr. Pétion bought our peppers

  and my peppermint!

  Papa adds a handful

  of glittering coins to the jar.

  At last it is full!

  He puts the coin jar

  on the floor.

  Gogo, Manman,

  Papa, and I join hands.

  We dance in a circle

  around the jar,

&n
bsp; and I forget all about

  troublemaking whiteflies.

  In two days, I will be

  going to school!

  The next night, Papa brings home

  a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with blue ribbon.

  My heart leaps. I tear it open.

  Inside is a bright blue uniform,

  a white shirt, white socks,

  and shiny black shoes.

  I hug the crisp, clean clothes

  and new shoes to my chest.

  Mèsi, Papa! I cry.

  Mèsi, Manman! Mèsi, Gogo!

  Tears fall down Manman’s cheeks.

  Don’t cry, Manman.

  I’ll be a good student and make you proud!

  Papa beams.

  Of course you will, Serafina.

  Later, while Manman cooks supper,

  Gogo puts coal in an old black iron.

  When the iron is hotter than a cooking fire,

  she presses away every wrinkle from my uniform.

  I carry Gregory outside and look into

  his large brown eyes.

  Mèsi, baby brother, I whisper.

  I promise to make you proud too!

  I close my eyes.

  Thank you, Baby Pierre!

  Thank you, Granpè, for watching over me

  and helping Manman to understand.

  Gogo is still snoring

  when I wake up

  and slip out the door

  to start my chores.

  A thick, long-tailed shadow

  brushes across my bare feet.

  A gray-masked owl clicks

  and flies into the brush.

  Crickets chirp, tree frogs chitter.

  In the distance, dogs bark,

  goats cry, roosters crow.

  Everyone is awake to celebrate.

  I’m finally going to school!

  When I get back,

  Papa is leaving for work.

  Ou dwe bon! he says.

  Be good! Listen to the teacher.

  I hug him tight.

  I will! I assure him.

  Prese! Manman says.

  You don’t want to be late

  on your first day!

  She helps me step out

  of my green dress

  and into my uniform.

  Don’t put your socks on yet,

  Gogo says.

  Wait until you get closer

  to school so they don’t get dirty.

  Manman ties bright blue ribbons

  in my hair.

  I strap Gregory to her back

  and help Gogo lift a heavy tin

  filled with our best vegetables.

  Carefully we put the tin

  on Manman’s head.

  My heart-shaped rock

  is in my pocket.

  I squeeze it and say a small prayer.

  Finally we leave for school!

  Together we walk

  down our hill of dirt and roots,

  across a field of rock and grass.

  Down one mountain, up another.

  Dèyè mòn gen mòn, Gogo says.

  Behind the mountains, there are mountains.

  We walk and walk.

  I can’t wait to put on my white socks and

  my black shoes made of buckles and shine.

  When we finally reach the giant mango tree,

  Manman nods.

  Time to put on your socks and shoes.

  Clouds in the sky

  are not softer than the socks on my feet.

  Stars in the heaven

  are not shinier than my new shoes!

  Manman kisses me.

  There are tears in her eyes.

  Pa pèdi tan! she reminds me.

  Don’t dawdle!

  I promise I won’t, I say.

  Manman and Gogo wait

  as I walk by myself

  to the small, square cement building

  at the bottom of the hill.

  My heart flutters like a butterfly.

  A tall girl with a round face

  and a big smile walks toward me.

  Alo! Mwen rele Terèz.

  What’s your name?

  Serafina, I say quietly.

  Terèz brings me

  to a group of girls

  jumping rope.

  Li rele Serafina, she says

  and signals me to jump

  into the turning rope.

  Now a million butterflies

  flutter inside me.

  Krick krack, click clack,

  the girls chant.

  How many coconuts in my sack?

  Youn … de … twe … kat …

  With every count,

  a butterfly flutters away.

  A skinny bald man

  with a gold tooth

  shakes a bell

  and everyone lines up.

  Before we go inside,

  the man raises the flag

  and the children sing

  the same song I heard

  on Flag Day.

  For our country, for our forefathers,

  united let us march.

  Let there be no traitors in our ranks.

  Let us be masters of our soil.

  Today and on special holidays,

  we sing in Creole, the teacher says.

  But tomorrow we sing in French.

  Every day in school, we’ll speak French.

  Gogo said speaking French

  doesn’t make you smart,

  but Nadia said it does.

  Now I’ll find out for myself

  because I’m going to learn it!

  We stay in line

  as we walk

  into the classroom.

  My heart beats

  like a bomba drum,

  but I look straight ahead

  and calmly follow Terèz.

  Ahead of me is a big

  green board

  with yellow writing on it.

  The small, blue-painted

  cement room

  is crowded with rows

  of narrow tables

  and worn-out benches.

  Green notebooks

  are piled at the end

  of each table.

  I think of Nadia

  and her yellow notebook.

  She was so happy

  and proud.

  I wonder if she even

  goes to school now.

  Sit with me, Terèz says,

  and I squeeze

  into the tiny space

  between her and a girl

  with a fat bun on her head.

  The room smells a little

  like dirty laundry,

  and the bench is hard as rock.

  Already, my shiny shoes

  pinch my feet.

  But I promised God

  if Manman let me go

  to school,

  I would never complain

  about anything again.

  Who cares if my shoes

  pinch a little?

  I’m in school!

  The teacher points

  to the scribbles on the board.

  Monsieur Leblanc, he says.

  He signals us

  to repeat what he says.

  Monsieur Leblanc, we say in unison.

  My voice catches in my throat.

  What would Gogo say

  if she heard me talking French?

  The teacher points to himself.

  Monsieur Leblanc, he says again.

  Je m’appelle Monsieur Leblanc.

  Some of the students start

  to repeat his words,

  but he shakes his head

  and waves his hand over the class.

  Classe, he says.

  Classe, he writes on the board.

  He points to himself and repeats,

  Monsieur Leblanc.

  Again he waves his hand over us.

  Classe, he repeats.

/>   Bonjour, classe, he says.

  Then with his palms up,

  he pulls our voices to him.

  Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc, he says.

  Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc, we repeat.

  Our voices rise and fall together.

  Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc.

  At lunchtime, we sit outside

  on painted wood benches.

  Monsieur Leblanc

  gives each of us

  a scoopful of rice

  on a banana-leaf plate.

  I eat half and roll the rest

  to bring home for Manman.

  Boys break into teams

  and kick a rag-stuffed sock.

  The girls talk

  and take turns jumping rope.

  When it’s our turn,

  Terèz and a girl called Romare

  let me jump first.

  I am so excited to be here

  that my heart leaps

  higher than my feet.

  In the afternoon,

  Monsieur Leblanc hands out

  the green notebooks

  and yellow pencils.

  Nadia showed me

  how to hold a pencil,

  but some of the other students

  grab it in their hand

  like a maraca.

  Monsieur Leblanc walks

  around the room

  shaking his head

  and twisting fingers.

  He signals us to

  open the notebooks

  and copy the lines and circles

  that he’s written on the board.

  Then he walks around the room again,

  talking quietly to each student

  and writing in their notebooks.

  What if he talks to me in French?

  I won’t know what he’s saying.

  My heart pounds so hard

  I’m afraid it will jump out

  of my chest and run away.

  When his back is toward us,

  Terèz whispers in my ear.

  He’s just asking your name

  so he can write it

  on your notebook.

  Serafina, I say,

  when Monsieur Leblanc

  stands over me.

  I watch him draw

  a neat group

  of loops and lines.

  When he moves on,

  I trace the loops and lines

  with my fingers.

  Serafina.

  My name.

  My beautiful,

  beautiful name.

  After school, my new friends

  walk one way, and I walk another.

  Jean-Pierre,

  a boy with a scar over his eye

  and a space between his teeth,

  follows me up the hill.

  Want to see something? he asks.

  Manman’s voice rolls in my head.

  Pa pèdi tan! Don’t dawdle!

  I keep walking.

  Jean-Pierre laughs. Aren’t you curious?

  He offers me a wooden box