Free Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwidge Danticat Page A

no desire to take me along.
    I was feeling alone and lost, like there was no longer any reason for me to live. I went down to the kitchen and searched my mother's cabinet for the mortar and pestle we used to crush spices. I took the pestle to bed with me and held it against my chest.
    The story goes that there was once a woman who walked around with blood constantly spurting out of her unbroken skin. This went on for twelve long years. The woman went to many doctors and specialists, but no one could heal her. The blood kept gushing and spouting in bubbles out of her unbroken skin, sometimes from her arms, sometimes from her legs, sometimes from her face and chest. It became a common occurrence, soaking her clothes a bright red on very special occasions—weddings and funerals. Finally, the woman got tired and said she was going to see Erzulie to ask her what to do.
    After her consultation with Erzulie, it became apparent to the bleeding woman what she would have to do. If she wanted to stop bleeding, she would have to give up her right to be a human being. She could choose what to be, a plant or an animal, but she could no longer be a woman.
    The woman was tired of bleeding, so she went home and divided her goods among her friends and loved ones. Then she went back to Erzulie for her transformation.
    "What form of life do you want to take?" asked Erzulie. "Do you want to be a green lush plant in a garden? Do you want to be a gentle animal in the sea? A ferocious beast of the night?"
    The woman thought of all the animals that she had seen, the ones that people feared and others that they loved. She thought of the ones that were small. Ones that were held captive and ones that were free.
    "Make me a butterfly," she told Erzulie. "Make me a butterfly."
    "A butterfly you shall be," said Erzulie.
    The woman was transformed and never bled again.
    My flesh ripped apart as I pressed the pestle into it. I could see the blood slowly dripping onto the bed sheet. I took the pestle and the bloody sheet and stuffed them into a bag. It was gone, the veil that always held my mother's finger back every time she tested me.
    My body was quivering when my mother walked into my room to test me. My legs were limp when she drew them aside. I ached so hard I could hardly move. Finally I failed the test.
    My mother grabbed me by the hand and pulled me off the bed. She was calm now, resigned to her anger.
    "Go," she said with tears running down her face. She seized my books and clothes and threw them at me. "You just go to him and see what he can do for you."
    I waited until I heard her moaning in her sleep. I gathered my things and stuffed them into a suitcase. I had to dress quickly. I tiptoed downstairs and opened the front door.
    I knocked on Joseph's door and waited for him to answer.
    "Are you in trouble?" he asked.
    He took me inside and sat me down.
    I was limping a little. My body ached from the wound the pestle had made. I handed him my suitcase and the pinky ring he had given me.
    "I am ready for a real ring," I said.
    "You want to get married?"
    I nodded.
    "But we have to do it now," I said. "Right this very minute."
    "Without a priest?"
    "I don't care."
    I was bound to be happy in a place called Providence. A place that destiny was calling me to. Fate! A town named after the Creator, the Almighty. Who would not want to live there?

Chapter 13
    G reat gods in Guinea, you are beautiful," the driver said as he stopped under a breadfruit tree in the middle of the sheds, stands, and clusters of women in the open marketplace.
    I lowered my head and pretended not to hear, but he persisted.
    "I would crawl inside your dress and live there. I can feed on your beauty like a leech feeds on blood. I would live and die for you. More than the sky loves its stars. More than the night loves its moon. More than the sea loves its mermaids. Strike me, thunder, it's no lie. We do not know one another, I know. Still I must tell you. You can be the core of my