The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 32

schedule, even though she knew what an incredible day it was. Fairies and bees and goblins all come to life. Princesses, toads, and tigers surrounded us that day, knew something we did not. My sisters headed for the attic to retrieve their bags, but I stayed and turned to face Mam at the doorway. I observed as she gathered our plates, laboring over the table. Still slender, still beautiful, with cheekbones that beckoned around corners. But changed. I thought of Torma and Korkor. Their promises that I would see Mam soon. That she would sing to me. That I would touch her again, hug her, sit in her lap. And how brief was that reunion. Where had she gone?

“What?” Mam asked, looking up from the stack of empty plates in her hand. “Go get your bag and go downstairs.”

In the basement we were allowed to sit on the sofas and couches, although Mam preferred we do our work at the coffee table in the middle of them. She monitored our progress, quietly. The doorbell rang and Mam did not budge. She looked up at the ceiling and waited for the sound of keys. When the bell rang again, she shook her head and resumed the supervision of our home assignments.

“Doorbell,” K said.

“Don’t worry, yeh? Do your work,” Mam said.

Shortly after, we heard a group of footsteps rush off of our aunty’s lawn. Through a rectangular window adjacent to the ceiling, I saw a pair of striped socks and what looked like a black cape walk past.

“Pay attention to your work,” Mam said.

“It’s Halloween,” K said for me, for all of us, finally. “They say trick or treat and dress up for candy!” The elucidation excited her.

“Pay attention, K. I know.”

“Are we going to go for candy?” Wi asked.

“No,” Mam said finally. “It’s not a good day. Some things in this country are not good. The people dress their children like devils and witches and take them around to beg for candy,” she said with a straight face. “It’s not a good day.”

In the bathtub that evening I instructed K to sit still while I covered her body with white soap foam. She laughed as I painted her body with the flattening suds and extended her arms out to either side of her so that I would not miss an inch.

“You can be a snowman for Halloween,” I said.

Later on in our attic room, I sat on the windowsill and looked out onto the front yard. Wi and K were on the floor in front of a game of Chutes and Ladders, and as I waited my turn, I peered down at the passing fairytale characters and their counterparts. They carried plastic bags and buckets with illuminated pumpkin faces, all overflowing with candy and other treats. They hopped around with their parents, who looked just as content with the unruly and cheerful night. The darker it became, more children emerged from their homes with buckets of sweets—laughing and dancing in the street. I imagined myself down there—one hand touching theirs, rubbing its whiteness for the Africa underneath, the other tightly clenching my candy bucket. I thought then that perhaps my parents’ understanding of this place, this America, was wrong. I doubt that they would have let us go outside and play with a horde of children all dressed as Gio devils in Liberia, but this place was different, and besides I would not have wanted to. But that night, I wanted to go outside. I wanted to walk with them; I wanted to exchange treats from their buckets, to sound and act and be like them, who seemed happier than I was, and at that moment happier than I would ever be.

“Papa’s here!” K said, interrupting my daydream. Thrilled, I stepped down from the windowsill and ran down the attic steps to the living room, where I heard his voice.

“Papa!” I ran to him. He was slow to respond. Again.

Over time as I raced the girls to meet him at the door, he was slower to pick us up, and the kisses on our foreheads seemed lighter than the day before.

“Your daddy’s tired, yeh,” Mam would say as he moved through the living room as if weights constrained his heels and walked straight upstairs, saying less to us as days and nights took turns passing in our new country. His eyes were different—sometimes bloodshot and sunken, as his head slanted into his palm during deadlock daydreams toward the afternoon news. And his eyes, once a whisper of “It will be okay” or “Papa is right here” or another blend of words that persuaded our peace of mind, now seemed to say “We are lost” and “They do not want me here but we must stay” and “Papa is gone. I am sorry.”

That night when Papa finally made it upstairs, all of the lights in the house were turned off except for those in the attic rooms.

“Okay, get in bed,” Mam said, coming in first.

“Today is Halloween!” I shouted.

“Didn’t I tell you girls already?” Mam said.

“I know,” Papa interrupted. He placed K back on the bed beside me and kissed my forehead. By the time he made it over to Wi’s bed to kiss her, Mam had already tucked us in under the covers and was shaking her head in disapproval.

“It’s not a good day,” he said finally.

My vision blurred with tears when he said this—because I knew that although America was new and different to them, by the way he said it, it was true.

“Why?” Wi asked.

“The people used to come out and worship devil long time ago,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s not a good day.”

“Okay, that’s enough of this Halloween. Time to say prayers and sleep,” Mam said.

I didn’t want to speak to either one of them. When Papa was leaving the room, he turned around to me, sensing, I knew, the sadness of our exclusion from all things deemed normal and fun.

“I love you, yeh?” he said and disappeared