Chapter 12
A group of Manny’s students crowded into the small airport, singing in unison as they waited for the plane to arrive. He’d expected the crowd to come. It was a tradition, after all, to bid friends goodbye at the airport. What he hadn’t expected was all the women.
One tall, thin woman in blue jeans handed him a photograph of herself, showing him how she’d written her address on the back. “We can be pen pals, so you won’t miss home so much.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever met the woman before, but he nodded and thanked her.
Before he could slip the photo into his travel bag, an older sister of one of his students came with her photograph. “I’m going to miss you so much, Manny.”
He gave her a hug as three neighbor women he hardly knew came up with pictures and notes. Others followed them.
By the time the flight crew called for passengers to board, he’d received too many photos to stuff into his carry-on bag. He carried them in his hands as he boarded the plane that would take his family to the island of Sal, where they would catch another plane to New York City.
“Those girls sure were desperate,” Flora yelled over the music blaring from her headphones. She puffed out her chest and imitated the women who’d come to see them off. “‘Tell the Americans I’m your girlfriend.’ ‘I can send you anything you want.’ What were they hoping, that you’d marry them on the spot and take them to America with us?”
“Now Flora,” their mother chided. She removed the big basket from on top of her head and carried it in her arms so it wouldn’t get knocked off when she entered the airplane. Inside the basket, she carried a day’s worth of meals. “Don’t be so hard on the girls. It’s their way here on the island of Santiago to bid their friends goodbye at the airport.”
Flora chuckled as they sat down in their seats. She snatched a few photos from his pile and pointed to a photo of a girl wearing her dance costume from a parade. “I know this girl. She flirts with every man, even old men. She would cheat on you for sure.” She pointed to another photo. “And this one. If you get lonely and decide to order her for your bride, your children will all have wide noses.”
His mouth went dry. He hoped a mail-order bride would never become a temptation, but he didn’t want to be single for the rest of his life. Surely, he could find a friendly Cape Verdean woman in Brockton, someone who’d kept the island ways of cheerful hospitality. He’d heard about islanders who, after only a few years in America, forgot to offer their guests refreshments or always seemed to be in a hurry. Then there were others who never bothered to teach their children Creole. He couldn’t imagine raising a family without the songs and stories of his own childhood.
Everything seemed tight and crowded inside the plane, and his knee bounced as he glanced through the leaflet that showed how to get out of the plane in an emergency. Those types of emergencies didn’t happen often, so there was no reason his palms should be sweating. The leaflets were just a precaution.
After the flight attendant went over the safety procedures, he leaned toward Flora, trying to get a glimpse of what she was doing on their mother’s phone. “Aren’t you going to put your seatbelt on?”
“As soon as I send this email.”
“Who are you emailing?”
“My friend Lance. Remember him?” She went back to punching in letters.
The name was definitely American, but it seemed familiar. He furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. “Not the guy from the resort!”
“He lives in New York, and since we’re flying in there, he’s going to come see us.”
He slipped the safety leaflet back into the seat pocket. “Good idea.” He supposed it couldn’t do any harm for Flora to visit her friend, as long as it was simply that—a visit. He hoped Flora didn’t have plans to stay in New York City with this boy. “Put your seatbelt on.”
They watched out the tiny window as the airplane drove toward the runway. It felt much like riding in a car or bus until the plane lifted off the ground. That’s when Manny had the sensation of being inside a giant lobster trap, and it was as if a fisherman were pulling him up from the depths of the sea, tilting the box from side to side.
Once the plane leveled off, Manny realized he’d been holding his breath, afraid that this whole flight thing wouldn’t actually work. But now here they were, flying. He leaned past Flora to gaze out the window upon turquoise blue waters. “I didn’t know the water would look so beautiful from up here,” he said, watching how the rippling water cast shadows upon the sand beneath.
The plane rose above the puffs of clouds, hiding the sea from their view as if behind a veil of lace.
Behind them, their mother gasped. “Take a good look, Flora. It might be a long time before you see these waters again.”
His excitement sank with her words. How long would it be before he returned?
As they flew for another half hour toward the island of Sal, he promised himself that he would come back someday. Once again, he would taste the sweet mangoes that grew beneath Fogo’s volcano, listen to the whine of a violin drifting across the town square, walk the uneven cobblestones, and smell the lavender blossoms near his childhood home.
He closed his eyes, trying to impress the images deep in his memory.
Soon the plane descended, putting pressure on his ears, and the island of Sal came into view, bleak and barren beneath the clouds. The plane drifted down, landing in the middle of Sal’s sandy nothingness.
Inside the airport, the tiles shone white and pristine. Since their next flight wouldn’t leave until morning, they would spend the night here, and, except for all the bright lights, it seemed a good enough place to sleep. “I can see my reflection in the floor,” Flora said, trying to take a picture with her mom’s phone.
Joana sat down in one of the cushioned black chairs to eat her dinner. Soon, she was exchanging food and conversation with a woman from the island of Santiago. Manny plopped down beside them, savoring a slice of bread with cheese. He listened to their chatter as they each described where they would be living in America, and how they would get there from the airport in New York City.
“We’ll be staying with an old friend of mine in Brockton,” his mom said. “Her name’s Isobella Andrade. I don’t suppose you know her?”
The other woman shook her head, and his mom continued. “She and I used to sell clothes together on Fogo Island. We both had babies at the time, and we took turns tending the babies. Then the volcano erupted—the one in 1995. That eruption wasn’t so bad, but Isobella was the smart one. She moved to the city and set her sights on America. It took her another thirteen years to get things in order, but she’s there now. And our babies are each twenty-two years old.” She gestured toward Manny. “Mine has become a handsome man, and her daughter has grown into a beautiful young woman.”
In all the months he’d spent working to get ready for their move, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about Della Andrade, the little girl he’d visited a few times in São Filipe. She was the shyest girl he’d ever met, hiding behind her mother’s skirt until she became old enough to hide behind the sewing machine. Either way, he doubted she’d spoken more than a few dozen words in all the years they’d gone to visit her mother in São Filipe. Now he was going to spend a few weeks, perhaps a few months, living in the same apartment with her, and not just with her, but with her mother too.
He would be living with four women. In the years he was away at college, he had grown accustomed to living life in his own way. It had been a hard adjustment living with his mother and sister again—now he would have four women commenting on his choice of clothing, food, and leisure activities. Four women to tease him about still being single. Four women he would have to keep happy.
Flora wandered from one side of the airport to the other, occasionally sending messages on the phone but mostly keeping an eye on the foreigners. She said she was trying to learn English, but he could tell by the swing of her hips that she had other objectives. He rolled his eyes and pulled his English language textbook from his bag.
The hours wore on, and night fell. He lay down on the floor to sleep while his mother chattered on and Flora continued to strut from one end of the airport to the other. He dreamed of his childhood in their home village, the years after his father’s death, when his mother struggled to establish her business, the days when they ran short of water and the crops failed. When he woke, the memory of his hunger ripped through his stomach, raw and tight. It had been years since he’d felt the dizzying hopelessness of starvation, but it was still present, a fear that never left him. This was why he had to go to America.
In America, his children and grandchildren would have full bellies. They would have wells of water that never ran dry. Sure, things had gotten better in Cape Verde, but who was to say there wouldn’t be another drop in tourism? Who was to say there wouldn’t be another natural disaster?
Their boarding call came a few hours after sunrise. Following the line of tourists, Manny stepped onto the stairs that led to the airplane, knowing he might be leaving Cape Verdean soil forever, knowing that leaving home would become either the best decision of his life or his biggest regret.
To his mother, going to America meant the completion of all their dreams. But his only dreams had been to marry Celia and become a teacher. At least he had achieved one of them. He loved being a teacher, influencing young minds, and encouraging his pupils to aim high.
But now what? Before he could teach in America, he would have to go back to school. That meant waiting tables again, unless his English wasn’t even good enough for that. It would be a long road back to teaching, but he needed to do it. If not for his mother’s sake, then for the sake of his future family. He would provide well for his family.
Once again, the flight attendants repeated the safety instructions, and once again, Flora sent a message to Lance. Since their mother’s phone plan wouldn’t work outside Cape Verde, this was her last chance to connect with Lance.
After the plane took off, Manny tried his best to decipher the articles in an English magazine. After all the time he had studied the language, there were still words he didn’t understand. More than that, he didn’t understand the culture—how they could have so much and still want more.
He ended up drifting off to sleep again, waking only when Flora got up to go to the bathroom. “Have you been sick?” their mom asked her after the second time.
“No.”
“Then why do you keep changing your clothes?”
She drew a hand across her sequined top and shimmied her shoulders. “I want to look good for Lance.”
Their mom tilted her head back. “Ahh. I see.” She went back to paging through the magazine, but Manny kept his eyes on Flora.
There was something different about the way her blouse hung. It looked like she was wearing another shirt underneath. “Are you cold?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Why are you wearing two different shirts?”
A flash of worry passed through her expression before she smiled. “I’m not wearing two different shirts.”
It wasn’t like her to lie about a small thing like that. Something was definitely up, and he could bet it was all about this American boy she kept messaging. “We still have three more hours on the plane before we get to Lisbon,” he said. “Then we have to take another plane to New York. Get some sleep.” She was much too obsessed with this American boy. Did she plan to run off with him when they got to New York? In a way, she was no different from the women who had given Manny their pictures and addresses at the airport on the island of Santiago, aching to move up in social class.
Even Celia had succumbed to a marriage for social reasons. In his mind, he could still see her, standing barefoot in the black sand, selling paper flowers to tourists. She had been so innocent, so immune to materialism, happy to own only one dress.
But he had to tear his mind away from thoughts of what could not be with Celia. He could, however, still prevent his sister from making a mistake. He opened his English textbook and pretended to read, hoping to steal a glance at the phone when she went to the bathroom. Flora was too smart for him, though. She had logged out of all her accounts.
After the long flight, they arrived at an even larger and shinier airport and boarded their plane to New York City. This plane had little televisions on the backs of the seats.
Manny, Flora, and Joana donned headphones and watched the screens with interest, trying their best to decipher the English language. Manny chose a show about American history while Flora and Joana found shows tailored to women.
After a few minutes of watching, Flora removed her earphones and nudged Manny. “What are calories?”
He told her what he remembered from the science class he took at the university. “A calorie is the amount of energy it takes to raise the temperature of one gram of water by one degree Celsius.”
She scrunched her nose. “What does that have to do with food?”
“It helps measure the energy it takes for your body to use up food.”
“Oh.” She went back to watching her show, but a few minutes later, she had another question. “What’s low carb?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have to look that up when we get to Boston.”
She went to the bathroom again, taking the phone along with her. This time she came back wearing yet another layer of clothing. Manny raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him. Whatever she was planning, he was going to stick close to her in New York City.
During the ensuing hours, she had more questions. What was the gym? A spray tan? Lycra? Depression? A support group? A selfie? A carbon footprint?
His small English dictionary had no answers. When he had grown bored with the television, he drifted off to sleep. The next time he woke, his ears told him they were landing. Beside him, Flora applied lipstick. “Can you see the Statue of Liberty?” he asked.
“I can’t tell. There are so many buildings.”
He looked out the window to the gray landscape that met the ocean. New York resembled a complex circuit board with rows of rectangular blocks. The air seemed slightly yellow, and he couldn’t see the sun. Good thing they wouldn’t be staying here in New York City.
She checked the battery on the phone.
“You know the phone won’t work here?” He kept his voice gentle and low.
“Of course it will work. We still have battery power.”
“True, but mom’s plan only works in Cape Verde.”
She rolled her eyes, indicating that he had to be wrong.
After they landed, she tried the phone. She couldn’t even read her old e-mails anymore, but that didn’t keep her from trying over and over again until the battery went dead.
The next hours were a confusion as they went through one line after another, showing their immigration papers, trying their best to answer questions in English, and allowing security personnel to search their luggage. He had traded the relaxation of island life for the austerity of American security.
When they finally walked past the last security check, their mother heaved a sigh of relief. “Now all we have to do is find Della.”
“And Lance,” Flora said, straightening her blouse. She hung back behind them as they walked, and Manny craned his neck to make sure she stayed with them. He wasn’t going to let her escape if that was her plan.
Everywhere, people surrounded them, different sorts of people than he had ever seen before, wearing all kinds of clothes and speaking all kinds of languages. He didn’t see Lance anywhere, but soon his gaze fell upon a woman with light, freckled skin and long, braided hair extensions. She wore a loose, flowy top in an intricate pattern of orange and green. She was waving to them and calling out “Joana. It’s me, Della.”
His mother shoved her bag into his arms and ran to Della, throwing her arms around her and kissing her on both cheeks. “Little Della! You are so grown up!”
Manny repeated the greeting, taking Della’s slight frame in his arms, but he spoke in English. “It’s good to see you.”
“Ah,” Della said in Creole, “your English is good, Manny. I’m impressed.” America had made her more outgoing, yet she still spoke Creole with ease. Perhaps he didn’t need to worry so much about women forgetting their heritage here. He also didn’t need to worry about them becoming any less beautiful.
“You remember Flora?” He pulled back, searching for his sister behind them, but he couldn’t see her.
“Of course I remember Flora,” Della said. “Where is she?”
Manny stretched as tall as possible, looking over the crowd for Flora’s dark head of hair or a sequined top, but it was just as he’d feared. She’d escaped.
He dropped his bag at Della’s feet. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me a moment.” He took off running past the crowds.
“I’ll check the bathroom,” his mom called after him.
So many people walked through the corridor. Others crowded around baggage carousels, waiting for their luggage. He searched carefully for a dark-haired girl or a blond boy as he ran, turning back sometimes to make sure he’d seen everything correctly. When he reached the end of the corridor, he turned back, hoping that his mom had found her in the restroom.
That’s when he saw her shoes—the same white sandals Flora had worn for the past year. It was the only thing about her that was the same as a few moments ago. She was sitting far off in the corner beside the windows. She kept her head turned away from him, and she’d changed her outfit. She was now wearing shorts and a blue tank top, as well as a baseball hat and sunglasses.
Manny let out his breath, and rubbed his hand over his face as he approached her. “What are you up to?”
She didn’t bother to look at him. “Lance said he’d meet me here.”
“Why the change of clothes?”
She paused a moment, as if she didn’t quite know what to say. “It’s . . . hot here.”
“I hope you aren’t planning to run off with him. You know that would kill Mom.”
She pressed her lips together, but there wasn’t time for an answer. Their mother had found them, and Della came along too, throwing her arms around Flora. “It’s so great to see you again.”
Flora took a break from staring out the window to look Della up and down. “Nice to see you. I like your hair.” She could only keep her eyes on Della for a few seconds, though. Soon, she was back on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of Lance.
Their mother chuckled. “Flora’s planning to meet up with a boy.”
Flora smoothed back her hair with her hand and gestured toward a sign. “He told me to meet him by this car rental place. He’s from New York, but I’m not sure if he got my message about our flight number. Our phone doesn’t work here.”
Della reached into her purse. “You’re welcome to use mine, but you won’t need to push all the same numbers as you do in Cape Verde. Here, I’ll show you how to do it.” Della put her arm around Flora as she found Lance’s number on Joana’s phone and explained which numbers she still needed to use.
Soon Flora had the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing!” She bounced in her seat.
“You’re probably starving,” Della said, sitting down in the chair beside Flora’s. “Mom sent something to settle your stomachs before our long drive home.” She pulled out a Thermos, handed each of them a Styrofoam cup and poured steaming liquid. The scent of ginger and lemon wafted from the cup. It was the same kind of tea Celia’s mother used to make. “It’s not much, but we thought you needed a little something on your stomachs.”
“Thank you,” he said, noticing light green speckles in Della’s hazel eyes. “This is delicious.”
Flora handed the phone back to Della. “He didn’t answer. I think he must not have gotten my message, but that’s no problem. I have his address.”
Manny was about to answer that New York was too big a place, but his mother spoke first, placing a hand on her hip. “And what are you going to do if he’s not home? Leave a photograph with your name and number on the back?”
Flora’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a good—” Her face fell, and she frowned at her mother. “Don’t start comparing me to those women at the airport. They hardly knew Manny.”
He didn’t say so, but he suspected that, despite all the time she and this American boy had spent together, Flora hardly knew him. “And how are you going to get there?” Manny asked. “We can’t expect Della to drive us all over New York City.”
“I’ll take a bus then,” she said, her words brimming with defiance. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
Manny’s fingers tightened around the Styrofoam cup, causing him to spill hot tea on his leg. Bringing Flora to America was already harder than he’d planned.