SATURDAY, JANUARY 27

  Manman brought home some food from work. She seems to like her job a lot, most of all because she doesn’t have to cook at home in the evenings anymore. Most of what we eat now is leftover food from the restaurant. It feels strange to be sharing Manman’s cooking with so many people. Those people are lucky to have Manman cook for them.

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 28

  Moy practiced some of his English on me today.

  “How are you, Celiane Espérance?” he asked.

  I said, “I am fine, thank you.”

  We giggled through the whole thing.

  In Beau Jour, when I used to think about coming to New York, I had imagined that speaking in another language would make me a different person. But here Moy and I were, saying a few words to each other in English, and we were still the same people we have always been, the same people living in a different language.

  MONDAY, JANUARY 29

  A fight broke out outside the school. Faidherbe, Immacula, and I were making our way to the edge of the crowd when a gun went off.

  The students quickly scattered in all directions. Immacula grabbed me by the arm and the three of us started running to the bus stop.

  I was relieved when we got on the bus. Immacula asked if we would come over to her apartment for a while. After hearing that gun go off, she was very frightened. Thinking of the gunfire I’d heard nightly from Tante Rose’s house during the election period, so was I.

  LATER

  A school bus dropped Immacula’s three younger sisters off soon after we arrived at her apartment. The oldest of the girls was eight years old, the middle one, seven, and the youngest, six. Not having sisters myself, I found Immacula’s adorable, like little dolls.

  Immacula’s living room wall was covered with pictures of her mother and father and three sisters. There was only one picture of Immacula with the rest of her family.

  When she saw me looking at the pictures, Immacula walked over and explained that she was hardly in any of the family photos because her parents had left her in Haiti with relatives while they settled here. Like Papa, they had overstayed tourist visas and it took them nine years to get the proper papers and send for Immacula.

  In the meantime, Immacula’s three sisters were born here, in America. She didn’t meet them until eight months ago, two months before her father died.

  Imagine waiting that long to see your father, only to have him die two months after you arrive.

  Faidherbe had an interesting story as well. His aunt and uncle, whom he is living with here in Brooklyn, had had to adopt him in order to send for him. His parents were still living in Haiti. He couldn’t wait to get older and make lots of money to bring them here.

  The three of us started on our homework and it wasn’t until it was dark that I realized maybe I should have telephoned Manman—I now carried the house number everywhere with me—to let her know where I was.

  Manman was furious. Even Papa was already home, she said. Papa asked where I was when he got on the phone. He sounded angry, too.

  “First Moy and now you,” Papa said.

  “What did Moy do?” I asked.

  “Tell me where you are and I’ll come for you,” he said.

  While I was gathering my things to go outside and wait for Papa, Immacula’s landlord came knocking on the door. Following Immacula’s orders, Faidherbe and I hid in the corner and listened as the landlord questioned Immacula.

  Faidherbe explained, in whispers, that the landlord was asking if Immacula’s mother was home. When he found out that she was not, he said he wanted to speak to Immacula’s mother as soon as possible. After the landlord left, I went out and waited for Papa outside Immacula’s apartment building. When he pulled up in the van, he pushed the door open and said nothing.

  “I am sorry, Papa,” I said as I got in. “I did not intend to worry you.”

  I wanted to tell him about my day, about the fight at school, but he was looking very tired and angry, too.

  During the ride home, he seemed as far away from me as he had been during those five years we’d been apart. And I felt as unable to speak to him as I had been when Manman had put the cassette player in front of me and had asked me to say more than a greeting to him.

  When we were close to the house, he finally blurted out, “I worked every waking moment for five years to get you, your mother, and brother here. Do you know that?”

  “Yes, Papa,” I said.

  “Is this how you show your gratitude?”

  “I am sorry, Papa. It was just that—”

  “The money I sent you every month did not simply appear out of the air,” he said, interrupting me. “I worked all the time. I am still working all the time. If I didn’t work in a restaurant, I never would have seen the inside of one. I never went dancing, never went on a vacation. All you could do, the three of you, is give me some peace. I have earned it.”

  Papa’s words reminded me of the ending of Granpè Nozial’s ice story. Even if Granpè Nozial’s ice man, who had spent so many years telling his friends about ice, had been able to bring a block of it up to the mountain, his friends would have been let down by the ice. Having tried and failed many times to bring the ice to his friends, Granpè Nozial’s ice man would have probably described it in such glorious detail that his friends would have constructed a block of crystal or diamonds in their minds. Finally, if he had succeeded in bringing the real thing to them, they probably would have looked at it with some disappointment, examining its frailness, its fragility, and asking, “Is that all it is?”

  Perhaps Papa was feeling the same about us, just as I was feeling about him. After five years of fantasies, visions, and dreams, we were all bound to be a little disappointed in one another.

  LATER

  It seems Moy only went to English class the first week he was enrolled, then quit. Papa found this out when he stopped by Saint Jerome’s.

  Manman and Papa put Moy and me together for a joint scolding.

  I was the first to be given the opportunity to explain myself.

  “Celiane, where were you?” Manman asked.

  I explained that I had gone to the apartment of a girl from school.

  “Celiane, no more going off to strangers’ apartments, people we don’t know,” Papa said, interrupting me again. “We must know where you are so we know where to look for you if something happens.”

  “Yes, Papa,” I said.

  Papa seemed anxious to get to Moy’s situation. Moy had a lot more to explain.

  Why hadn’t he continued his classes?

  Moy said he would eventually re-enroll. But for the next few weeks he wanted to finish a series of paintings.

  “What is two hours a day to learn English if you have the rest of your life to paint?” Manman asked.

  “What about tailoring?” Papa asked. “Making clothes?”

  Moy declared he was no longer interested in that. All he wanted to do was paint.

  Papa announced that from now on Moy would be forbidden to paint.

  “Ki sa?” Moy shouted. “What?”

  He was getting ready to make a case for himself, but Papa did not give him a chance.

  “Moy, you go to your classes or you go back to Haiti,” Papa said.

  Papa then went to his room and slammed the door behind him. Manman followed him there. Soon after, Moy and I could hear them arguing.

  “Don’t threaten him like that,” Manman said.

  “I can’t let him sit around and waste his life,” Papa said.

  “Maybe we can make an exchange with him,” Manman said. “If he takes his English classes, he can go to school to study painting, the way he was studying to be a tailor.”

  “Study painting? What good would that do him?”

  “It is what he has always done,” Manman said. “It is the only thing that seems to make his heart happy.”

  “It takes more than a happy heart to eat and have a roof over your head in this country,” Papa said. “If anything, it takes a lot of unhappiness to do that.”

  Moy couldn’t take any more. He changed into his running clothes and left.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 30

  In homeroom, Immacula said she was sorry for getting me in trouble with my parents. I told her it was not her fault; it was mine for not calling and letting them know where I was.

  While I was talking to Immacula, I kept thinking of Thérèse and how Thérèse would have been as interested in Moy’s situation as mine. Immacula didn’t even know Moy and it would take too much explaining to tell her Moy’s story, ending with what happened last night.

  Aside from Immacula and Faidherbe, all the other students were talking about the fight and shooting. A few of the kids said that one of Gary’s gang friends had fired the gun. Thank goodness the boy who had been shot was not killed.

  Gary was sitting quietly at his desk, reading a comic book, pretending not to hear the conversations. He was not wearing his usual blue bandanna. In fact, he was dressed like Faidherbe, in a yellow shirt and navy slacks, as though his mother had picked out his clothes for him that morning.

  During all the talk about the shooting, I could not get my mind off Moy. I was worried about Papa carrying out his threat and sending him back to Haiti, or that Moy, angry with Papa for forbidding him to paint, would volunteer to go back to live with Tante Rose, splitting us up again.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 31

  I still have not given Moy the Audubon photocopy. Since he cannot paint anymore, it probably would make him sad.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 1

  Manman had a chat with Moy before Papa came home from work. She begged him to go back to his classes in order to keep the peace with Papa, and to remain with us in New York.

  She said she had spoken to Papa and everything would be all right if Moy stopped painting for a while and went back to his classes.

  Moy agreed to go back to his classes, not because of Papa’s threat, I think, but because he adores Manman and he sees how sad this conflict with Papa is making her.

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2

  Moy and Papa are still not talking. They only nod hello to each other, once in the morning and then again at night before they go to bed. Whenever Moy is in the house, he walks around with a big frown on his face, one just like Papa’s.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 3

  This afternoon I noticed fresh paint on Moy’s running shoes. I have a suspicion that he is painting somewhere else.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 4

  Franck called to say that even though it was Manman and Papa’s day off, he needed them to work.

  As soon as Manman and Papa left, Moy got dressed and gathered his things to go out.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Running,” he said.

  “With your bag?” I said, pointing to the backpack in his hand.

  He paused, as if to judge whether or not I could be trusted.

  “Should I tell you?” he asked, thinking it over.

  “I won’t tell Manman and Papa,” I said.

  “There is a girl in my class,” he says. “She has her own apartment. She is letting me paint there.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?” I asked.

  “I am wasting time,” he said. “I need to go.”

  “Wait, I have something for you,” I said.

  I ran to my room and found the Audubon photocopy. He looked it over and handed it back to me.

  “Put it on your wall,” he said. “This house needs some decoration.”

  And then he left.

  LATER

  Papa came home with a small bandage on his forehead. He had been in a car accident, ramming the restaurant van into the back of another car. He was not too badly hurt. He only got a small cut from hitting his head on the steering wheel when he struck the other car, but he looked so shaken he could barely talk.

  “The road was glise, slippery,” Manman explained. “He tried to stop the van, but it wouldn’t stop.”

  Manman had been in the van with him, but she was all right.

  When Papa finally spoke, it was to ask where Moy was.

  I told him Moy had gone out.

  “Out where?” he asked.

  “Probably running again,” Manman said.

  “So late?” Papa asked, looking at the clock on the living room wall. It was almost midnight.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Manman said.

  We all sat down in the living room to wait for Moy’s return.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 5

  Moy did not come back until about 6:00 a.m. this morning. Papa must have carried me to bed because I woke up in my room to the sound of Moy and Papa yelling at one another.

  I walked out to the living room to see Papa and Moy with their faces within inches of each other’s. They looked like they were going to get into one of those fights that Moy had been in so often in Léogâne.

  Manman was standing between them, trying to keep them apart.

  “Where were you?” Papa was shouting.

  “I didn’t know I was coming to prison here,” Moy shouted back.

  “If you’re too grown to live here, then get out!” Papa said.

  It was then that Moy must have finally noticed the small bandage on Papa’s forehead.

  “What happened to your head?” he asked Papa.

  “If you cared what happened to any of us,” Papa said, “you would have been here at home with your sister.”

  “Victor,” Manman said. “Please lower your voice.” Then turning to Moy, she whispered, “Your father hit a car with the van. It’s a small cut.”

  Moy walked over to the couch, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. I could tell he was feeling bad for what happened to Papa and even worse that he hadn’t been here all night.

  Papa turned away from both Manman and Moy and walked to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, I followed him there and found him sitting at the table with his face lowered against the edge of the table. When he heard my footsteps, he raised his head. He was crying.

  I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder. I thought he would push it away, but he just let it rest there for a while until he stopped crying.

  Then he got up, went back to the living room, and told Moy to leave the house immediately, go back to wherever he had spent the night.

  Manman begged Moy not to leave, but Moy picked up his bag and walked out.

  LATER

  I spent the whole day at school thinking about Moy. I hope he is safe wherever he is. He is probably with that girl, the girl at whose house he has been painting. I hope he is okay.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 6

  Papa did not leave the house today. I took the bus to school by myself.

  No word from Moy.

  LATER

  Franck came by tonight to see how Papa is doing. Franck said the repairs on the van wouldn’t be too expensive and he would pay for them.

  Papa insisted that he wanted to pay for the repairs himself since the accident was his fault. He was probably feeling ashamed that Franck was always taking care of things for him.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 7

  Tonight we listened to a report of President Aristide’s inauguration on the radio. The reporter said that before President Aristide spoke, two white doves, which had been released by schoolchildren, stopped and rested on the podium for a while.

  I would like to think that those doves represent the seven-year-old girl and teenage boy who had died before the elections last November, their spirits returning to express hope for a more peaceful Haiti.

  In his speech President Aristide said, “Honor and respect and bravo for the Tenth Department Haitians living abroad. There is no place like home.”

  Papa and Manman listened to the speech closely. They both looked pensive, as if imagining themselves in the crowd outside the national palace in Port-au-Prince.

  “After two hundred years of political violence,” President Aristide said, “there is only one road that will lead to complete deliverance. This is the road of peace.”

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 8

  We called Tante Rose this morning to see how she is doing. After the inauguration, she is cautiously hopeful, she said.

  Papa did not tell her about Moy, that he had left the house and that we didn’t even know where he was.

  LATER

  Still not a word from Moy. Manman is getting more and more nervous about him, and even though he doesn’t say it, I think Papa is, too.

  Oh, Moy, where are you?

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 9

  During homeroom, a policewoman came into our classroom and took Gary away. Mr. Marius followed them outside, and when he came back, he told us that Gary was not being arrested, but was among many kids in the school who were going to be questioned about the shooting.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10

  Still no word from Moy.

  Will we ever see him again?

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 11

  Manman and Papa are barely speaking to each other. I suppose the most important thing they could talk about is Moy and that’s become too painful a subject.

  I blame Papa for driving Moy away. I blame Manman for not doing more to stop Moy from leaving. I blame Moy for leaving. I blame myself—I am not sure why I blame myself, but I do anyway.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 12

  There is no school today. According to Mr. Casimir, today is the birthday of Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States.