by Marie Arnold
“What’s wrong?” Rocky asks as he takes off the cape.
“You did a great job translating, but it’s not the same. I couldn’t tell my mom about my day or hear about hers. When we get on the phone, sometimes she tells me a quick story, or she tells me who won the mango-eating contest this week. I’ll never understand what she’s saying ever again, without your help. Rocky . . . what did I do?”
* * *
For the next week Rocky has to follow me everywhere around the house. He says he’s okay with it, but I feel bad, so I try to give him treats whenever I can.
Rocky says he likes staying over at my house because there’s always a “show.” He means there’s always something crazy happening. Monday, Kayla and my uncle have an argument about which hair color is “respectable.” My uncle says, “Only the hair color God gave you.” Kayla says, “God made hair coloring. So, maybe he meant for humans to color their hair blue and pink.” They only stop when my aunt calls out to them, letting them know dinner is ready.
On Tuesday, Kayla and my uncle argue about the rap music that she likes to play. They end up having a kind of battle to see whose music was better. He plays old-school Haitian and French songs, and she plays hip-hop. I think both types are too loud, but when they ask, I just smile. Rocky is having the time of his life. And as soon as the argument starts, he gets a chunk of cheese and settles in for “the show.”
On Thursday, my uncle asks my aunt to make him a nice, hearty soup for dinner, because it’s cold outside. So she makes my favorite soup, soup joumou. It’s a spicy soup they make in Haiti with squash. My mom puts a lot of good stuff in it, like beef and potatoes. She also puts in vegetables, but they just get in the way, so I usually take them out.
My uncle tells my aunt how delicious the soup smells and thanks her for making it. He’s right; it smells really good—almost as good as when my mom makes it. Kayla and I have to set the table while my aunt goes to the kitchen to get the soup. Suddenly, we hear two small voices shout, “Surprise!” Then my aunt screams and we hear the sound of glass shattering.
We race to the kitchen and find my aunt standing in a puddle of soup while the twins cross their arms over their chests and nod proudly—they managed to surprise us again. They hid under the kitchen sink and waited for my aunt to come and then popped out holding a dead mouse.
My uncle has had enough. He lightly swats the twins on their bottoms three times. I don’t think it hurts them; mostly they look surprised. Their little mouths form Os and they pout.
“No more surprises, okay?” my aunt says.
“Okay,” they reply in unison.
That night, we have pizza for dinner.
And while I’m stuffing my face with extra cheese, I tell my family that I will only be speaking English from now on so I can focus on my new life in America. Rocky tells me that my uncle says, “It’s fine to focus on English. Since you were born in Haiti and went to school there, Haitian Creole won’t fade from your memory.”
I force a laugh. “Ha! A whole language fading from memory, that’s . . . crazy!”
* * *
The next morning, before I go outside to the bus stop, I do the same thing I have been doing all week long—look for the red door in the lobby. But so far, there’s no red door and no sign of Lady Lydia.
“It’s not fair, Rocky. She should have said that I could lose something as important as my native language.”
“Witches are sneaky,” he says as we make our way to the bus stop.
“Well, she’s not gonna get away with this.”
“What do you want to do?” Rocky asks.
“I have to find the witch and get my language back. But I can’t spend all day looking for her. I’ll miss school.”
“Don’t worry, Gabrielle, I’ll see what I can find out. I will meet you at recess. Hurry, the bus is here,” Rocky says.
I run after the bus and get inside right before the door closes. I plop down next to Carmen, breathless and worried.
“What’s wrong?” Carmen asks.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” she says with a mischievous smile.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I like crazy. Crazy sprinkle colors, crazy loud music, and crazy friends.”
“That’s right, we are friends . . .”
“Of course.”
I think about it, and I remember how she tried to help me when Tianna made me fall on the bus. I remember her smiling at me even though I didn’t know how to speak English back then.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but this has to be between us,” I reply. I whisper the whole crazy story, and to my surprise, she actually believes me.
“I know a few witches in Mexico. Some good. Some not so good.”
“They have witches there too?”
“Oh yes. It’s not a good idea to trust one. And now your language is gone. How are you gonna get it back?” she asks.
“I’m gonna make the witch give it to me.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure. How do you feel about witch hunting at recess?”
“I’m in!”
“Great! Let’s meet by the double doors as soon as recess starts. Oh, and I’ll introduce you to my other friend, Rocky the rabbit.”
“You’re friends with a rabbit?”
“No, I am friends with a rat who thinks he’s a rabbit.”
Carmen looks me over and whispers, Ella es loca.
I’m not sure what she’s saying, but I think it’s Spanish for “My friend is crazy.”
* * *
When recess time comes around, the rest of the kids gather outside to play. Carmen and I sneak off and go back inside the school. I open a window so that Rocky can come inside.
“Did you find out anything?” I ask him.
“No, sorry. Hey, who’s that?” Rocky asks when he sees Carmen. He scrunches his face and turns his nose up at her.
“I don’t know how I feel about adding another member to our little team. I wasn’t consulted,” Rocky says.
“But Rocky, she can help. Her name is Carmen. Say hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he mumbles stubbornly.
“Hi! Wow, Gabrielle, I didn’t know you made friends with a rabbit! He’s so cute!” Carmen says as she winks at me.
“Me? A rabbit? Well, aren’t you sweet . . .” Rocky says, pretending to be shy.
“I’d love to be friends, but if you don’t want that, then okay,” Carmen says, pretending to be hurt.
“Wait! I guess you can come along. I’m a rabbit, and we are very inviting creatures.”
“That’s great!” Carmen says. I whisper “thank you” as I walk by her.
“Where do we start?” Carmen asks.
“Let’s start with the places I’ve talked to her around school. Down this hallway—let’s go!”
We spend our recess looking for Lady Lydia in every inch of the school. It was so easy to find her before, but now, she’s nowhere in sight.
“And just what are you two doing out of class?” Mrs. Bartell asks.
Both Carmen and I jump at the sound of her voice.
“It’s recess,” Carmen says.
“That ended ten minutes ago. You girls are late. You know better than to play around when you should be in class,” Mrs. Bartell says, looking disappointed.
“We’re sorry. It won’t happen again,” Carmen says.
“It’s too late for that. You girls are going to be written up. We will send a note to your parents letting them know that you two have been horsing around.”
Carmen and I look at each other in full panic. “Mrs. Bartell, it’s not Carmen’s fault,” I say. “She was helping me find something I lost. Please don’t send a letter home for her. It’s my fault.”
“Don’t send a letter home for Gabrielle. She just wanted to find something she lost,” Carmen says.
“And what is it you misplaced?” Mrs. Bartell says.
She looks
over at me. I want to tell her right then and there, but I don’t know how. How do I tell her that I lost my language?
“Gabrielle, what did you lose?” she asks again.
“Um . . . I lost my pencil set. It’s my favorite.”
“A pencil set?” she asks suspiciously.
“Yeah, it really meant a lot to me.”
“Well, if it means that much, I assume next time, you’ll be more careful with it. Right?” she asks.
“Right,” I reply with my head down.
Mrs. Bartell looks at both of us. “You girls can go. There will be no letters home. But you have both been warned. No more playing. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bartell,” Carmen and I reply in unison.
She signals for us to be on our way. When Carmen and I turn the corner, Rocky runs up to us.
“Was there any trouble?” he asks.
“No, but we were close. I wish we could get away as quick as you can,” Carmen says.
“Yeah, we rabbits have it pretty easy,” Rocky says.
“We better get to class,” I say.
“What about the witch?” Carmen says.
“Rocky and I will keep looking after school. We should go inside now,” I reply.
Rocky waves goodbye, and Carmen and I enter class. The teacher scolds us for being late. We take our seats, and the teacher continues the lesson. In the middle of class, I hear footsteps, but not just any footsteps. I hear the sharp click of pointy heels hitting the floor.
“I think Lady Lydia is outside in the hallway,” I whisper to Carmen.
“Are you sure it’s her?”
“Yes, I know by the clicking sound her heels make. It’s her.”
I raise my hand and ask to go to the bathroom. My teacher says no. She thinks I’m going to fool around in the hallways. I beg her, and she says that class is almost over and that I can wait to use the restroom. I turn to Carmen.
“The sound is fading. She’s getting away,” I whisper.
“I have an idea. Be ready,” Carmen whispers.
I nod, and a few moments later, Carmen begins to sneeze. She does the best fake sneezes I have ever heard. Right away, the teacher asks her if she’s okay. She plays it up even more and sneezes with her whole body.
“That’s so good! I can’t wait to tell Rocky what an expert performer you are, Carmen,” I whisper.
“Gabrielle, go!” she says between sneezes.
“Oh yeah, right! Sorry!” I reply. And while the class is trying to tend to Carmen, I sneak out into the hallway, and it’s just like I thought—Lady Lydia is strutting down the hall. I run and catch up with her.
“Lady Lydia, wait!”
She turns around and gives me a bright smile. “Hello, Gabrielle! I hear you’ve been looking for me. I think I know why.”
“You do?”
“Yes, of course. You want to send me flowers for granting you a wish. There’s no need. I’ll get paid soon enough.”
“What? No, that’s not it. I’m not looking for you to thank you. You tricked me!”
She gasps loudly and places her hand on her heart. “Excuse me? I never trick anyone. I am hurt by your accusations, after everything I’ve done for you.”
“You said my first wish would cost me a sock. But that was a lie. You stole my language!”
Her smile fades and her eyes are alive with sinister glee. “I didn’t steal it. You gave it away!”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Oh yes, you did. You knew that you would be losing something, but you didn’t care. You wanted perfect English, and you got it.”
“You said I would lose something I didn’t care about.”
“Yes, and you did.”
“I care about speaking Haitian Creole.”
“Did speaking Haitian Creole help you make friends? Did it help you not get bullied anymore? Did speaking your native language help make your life in America better?”
“No . . . I guess not.”
“Exactly! So, who cares if it’s gone? It was more trouble than it was worth. Now that you only speak English, your life is better. You have friends, you have fun, and you, my dear, are popular. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Well, yes, but . . . I can’t understand my family. I can’t talk to my mom.”
Lady Lydia mocks me and pretends to cry.
“Stop it! This is serious.”
“Dear, I gave you the gift of the English language. It would have taken years to learn, but I gave it to you in a matter of minutes.”
“But I lost—”
“The only thing you really lost was your old life. The life where no one liked you and no one could understand you. But now, thanks to me, you have friends. You have a life here in America. You’re welcome.”
“But—”
“Gabrielle, are you saying you want to undo your wish and get your language back?”
“Um . . . can I do that?”
“No, you can’t. But even if you could, why would you? Your life is perfect now. No accent. No teasing. No problems. Again, you’re welcome.”
“I’m gonna wish for my language back.”
“Oh dear, did I forget to mention this? You can’t undo a wish. In fact, once you wish on a subject, you can’t get another wish on that same subject. So none of your wishes going forward can have to do with language. Sorry. All you can do is create a new wish. But lucky for you, you have two perfectly good wishes left.”
“You never told me that! Fine, but I’ll learn Haitian Creole again, even if it takes years.”
“Seems like a waste of time to me, but whatever you say, dear.”
“And I’m not gonna let you trick me anymore. This is it! No more wishes.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes! No more. I’m throwing the last two mango slices away.”
“You could do that, or you could wait until the party.”
“What party?”
She laughs. I hate her laugh.
“What party?” I ask.
“One of your classmates is having a birthday party. She’s inviting the popular kids. You speak perfect English now, so there’s no doubt you’ll be invited too. But I wonder . . .” she says quietly.
“Wonder what, witch?”
“Well, I’m just wondering if that’s enough. Is speaking perfect English enough to get you to fit in?”
“Yes, of course it is!”
“Well, we’ll have to wait and see . . .”
Chapter Eight
Problems
KAYLA WARNED ME that for Easter Sunday her mom would be waking everyone up early. I thought she meant at six or seven in the morning. I was wrong. My aunt wakes up the whole household at four A.M.! I groan and roll back onto my side. I have a lot more sleeping to do. But she shakes me again.
“Easter Sunday, no one sleeps! Everyone up! Church time,” my aunt says in English.
“I think God is still sleeping, Auntie.”
“No! Get up or we will be late!” My aunt’s English is getting better.
“Can we go later?” I beg her as I rub my eyes.
“No. Shower. Now.” She pulls the blankets off me. In Haiti we get up early on Easter too, but I guess my body forgot. And now, my aunt is here to remind me. “Gabrielle, let’s go!”
I drag myself out of my room and head for the bathroom. I am not the only one unhappy with the time of day. I hear my uncle groan about this being his only day off. The twins are crying, and Kayla only has one eye open as she comes toward me.
“I’m taking a shower first. I got here first,” I tell her.
She moves me aside and says, “I was born before you, so I got here first for everything.” She enters the bathroom before I can stop her and shuts the door. I’m thinking maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I can get back to bed. My aunt sees me and says, “Do not think on it!”
I think she meant to say, “Don’t think about it.” But it’s okay. I know exactly what she means.
My aunt moves around like a tornado as she gets the twins ready. They look adorable with their light blue bow ties and gray suits. My uncle wants to wear a funky tie. So he comes out of the bedroom with a tie that has ducks and taxicabs on it.
“Is my aunt gonna let you wear that?” I ask.
“I am a grown man. I can wear what I want.”
My aunt walks past him, sees the tie, and says, “No.” And right away, my uncle goes back into the bedroom to change.
We are about to head out the door when my aunt looks us all over. We all look pretty good in our Sunday best. All us girls are wearing dresses, even Kayla. She hates it and sighs every five seconds. But she looks beautiful.
The twins are still sleepy and leaning against the wall, hoping to get back to sleep. My aunt has on a flowing baby-blue dress and her hair is pinned up. She’s wearing a large blue hat that covers most of her face. Rocky comes out of my room wearing a tie. I guess he didn’t want to be left out. He puts on the cape and disappears.
Kayla warns me that the church service will go on forever. She’s right. We enter the small basement church and stay there for about three years. Okay, less than that, but that’s what it feels like. The pastor goes on and on and on. I tell Rocky he doesn’t need to translate. He gladly runs out of the church and says he’ll be back before the service is over.
A while later, the pastor’s voice goes soft, and people around me begin to bow their heads. I guess that means we are near the end. Thank goodness. I think that God must be tired and wants to go back to bed, just like we do.
When the service lets out, we shake everyone’s hands and mumble something. Rocky is not back yet, so I just nod but don’t say anything. My stomach is twisting in knots. I’m so hungry that I could eat a whole chicken all by myself.
“Are we done? Can we go eat?” I ask Kayla.
“Yeah, and that’s the best part. The church rents a banquet hall every year and has Easter lunch. This year it’s right down the block.”
My stomach hears the news and growls. Then my uncle’s stomach growls too.
My aunt hears it and laughs. “We go to eat now,” she says in English.
The whole church walks down the street together. We look like a small parade of large hats and pastel dresses. I linger behind, looking for Rocky. Thankfully, he shows up just in time so I can join the others.