Tante Rose, who heard me mention school, says, “Soon you will have to come to school here in the city. That is unless you go to New York first, of course. I want you to know that your papa is not the only one who can help. I have a friend at the consulate who is going to make a special exception for the three of you and get you to New York much faster.”

MONDAY, OCTOBER 30

I realize now why Manman came to the city. It was only partly to visit with Tante Rose. Last night at supper, she told Tante Rose that she’s been feeling more tired than usual and has been having headaches, and she wants Tante Rose to have a look at her.

“Aline, I am not a doctor,” Tante Rose said. “You must see a doctor.”

So then and there it was decided. Manman will go to the hospital with Tante Rose this morning and have one of Tante Rose’s doctor friends examine her.

LATER

I wanted to go to the hospital with Manman, but she said no. As soon as Manman and Tante Rose left for the hospital, Moy went off to buy some paint for Bòs Dezi. To pass the time and to keep myself from worrying too much about Manman, I made the beds, reviewed my lessons, and then went downstairs to help Esther and Nadine prepare the midday meal.

LATER

Manman said the doctor told her she had something called anemi, or “tired blood.” Manman will get better if she eats more green vegetables, like watercress, with lots of liver. The doctor also prescribed tablets for Manman to take every day.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1

Moy left for home this morning. He took the paints to Bòs Dezi, who needed them for a sign. Manman wanted us to go back with Moy, but Tante Rose insisted she stay and rest for one more day while Esther and Nadine cooked her some liver and watercress.

It was useless to hope that Manman could rest with Moy gone. She was so worried about him getting into trouble that even though she was lying down, she never slept. At the end of the day, she said she would have gotten more rest if she had gone with Moy, and I agreed.

Today and tomorrow are days when we honor the dead. This morning I saw Tante Rose kneeling before a single lit candle on her dresser.

She was looking up at the candle and speaking to it.

“Manman and Papa,” she was saying. “I salute you.”

I never knew my father’s parents. They both died before I was born. There were no pictures of them, so I didn’t know what they looked like. But when I saw Tante Rose kneeling there, I could almost feel them in the room because I knew she had their faces in her mind as she was talking.

I was watching for a while when Tante Rose turned around and saw me.