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.