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.
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.
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