Breath, Eyes, Memory

by Edwidge Danticat

Tante Atie told me that my mother loved daffodils because they grew in a place that they were not supposed to. They were really European flowers, French buds and stems, meant for colder climates. A long time ago, a French woman had brought them to Croix-des-Rosets and planted them there. A strain of daffodils had grown that could withstand the heat, but they were the color of pumpkins and golden summer squash, as though they had acquired a bronze tinge from the skin of the natives who had adopted them.

She told me about a group of people in Ginen who carry the sky on their heads. They are the people of Creation. Strong, tall, and mighty people who can bear anything. Their Maker, she said, gives them the sky to carry because they are strong. These people do not know who they are, but if you see a lot of trouble in your life, it is because you were chosen to carry part of the sky on your head.

My mother brought some face cream that promised to make her skin lighter.

My mother now had two lives: Marc belonged to her present life, I was a living memory from the past.

As a child, the mother I had imagined for myself was like Erzulie, the lavish Virgin Mother. She was the healer of all women and the desire of all men.

Tante Atie once said that love is like rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you.

There are ghosts there that I can’t face, things that are still very painful for me.”

Isn’t it a miracle that we can visit with all our kin, simply by looking into this face?”

Joseph could never understand why I had done something so horrible to myself. I could not explain to him that it was like breaking manacles, an act of freedom.

You do not have to name something to make it any more yours.”

“You did not leave me. You were summoned away. We must graze where we are tied.”

The bird, it always returns to the nest.”

“I will miss her like my own skin.”