Chapter 4
Manny scanned the crowd, searching for caramel-colored skin and sun-bleached, wavy hair. It was now a year and a half since the volcano erupted, and he hadn’t been able to find Celia in all that time. He’d only recently heard from friends that she now lived in the city of São Filipe, just a few miles from their old village.
He’d come as soon as he could, booking passage on the ferry with a crowd of tourists, who came for the annual festival. Now he stood on the cobblestone street below the two-story colonial buildings with their rickety iron balconies.
Watching the parade in front of him, he felt almost as if he himself were a tourist, come to gawk at the natives. But he hadn’t come to see the sights. He’d come to keep a promise.
At the front of the parade, an old woman shouted out the words to a song while men hammered out a beat on their drums, the crowd clapping and dancing. Others carried red flags, the symbol of São Filipe. A few rode atop horses.
He recognized some people who had emigrated to America long ago and had returned home for a visit. Now they wore blue jeans and carried smart phones. If his mother and Celia got their way, in a few years, he would be just like them. Only, he would not let his future children get that uppity look of boredom in their eyes. He would keep the island ways of easy talk and happy laughter.
Before the volcano erupted, he and Celia had spoken on his mother’s phone each week.
“Manny,” she once said in a voice that carried sunshine. “I can’t stop thinking of your last day in the village. Do you remember?” He could imagine her perched on the cinder-block porch at the front of his mother’s house, her legs swinging back and forth as she held the phone to her ear.
“How could I forget that day?” They had gone with their friends to play soccer in the sports stadium, but Celia had tugged on his arm, leading him past fig trees, lavender bushes, and grape vines on the path the tourists took to walk to the peak of the volcano. In all the hours they hiked, even as they labored through knee-deep ash, he couldn’t stand not to touch her—to fold her hand inside his or wrap his arm around the curve of her waist—knowing he would have to let go for four long years.
Her olive-green eyes had reflected the brilliance of the sinking sun as she stood at the rocky, black peak. Together they stared down at the vast blue of the ocean, lacy white at the fringes. Their home village was barely a speck in the great black crater below, and still, they couldn’t see the island of Santiago, where he would spend the next four years. He would be so far away.
Reaching for her lips seemed as natural as waves rolling up on the shore, and he had wanted to continue on, kissing her just as frequently.
“I haven’t been up to the volcano since you left,” she said, drawing out her syllables over the phone. “The next time I go, we will be together.” Then she laughed in that teasing way she had. “And I will beat you to the bottom. I’m going to practice sliding down the ash powder.”
It had been over a year now since they had spoken on the phone, and three-and-a half since he had left Fogo Island. Now, he was back, and they would finally hike the volcano together again.
He watched the parade for another ten minutes before he saw her, following along in the crowd, clapping her hands and swinging her hips to the rhythm of the drums. Her hair, still bleached blonde at the ends by the sun, fell straight to her shoulders. She was even more radiant than he remembered in her red dress, loose and wispy.
He pushed past the children in front of him to join in the parade. Soon he was dancing and clapping beside her, waiting for her to notice him. She looked at him sideways. Then there was that smile—the wide-toothed grin, a flash from her green eyes—but there was no recognition. It was as if he were just another man, flirting with her, and it felt like a slap on his face. She stepped off to the side as she continued to dance, putting more space between them.
It had been almost four years since they ate the first mangoes of the season on his mother’s porch, but she couldn’t have forgotten him altogether. Perhaps, the university years changed him more than he realized. At least he still had the familiar gap between his two front teeth—but then it was a common trait among the island people. He could be anyone.
Their old neighbor Raquel, tall and skinny as ever, came dancing up from behind, carrying a basket of bananas on her head. “My little Manny! I thought you were lost forever!”
She couldn’t have come at a better time. Celia would have to recognize him now. He kissed Raquel’s cheek as they marched along, keeping pace with the others in the parade.
“Raquel! I’ve missed you. Is all well with your family?”
The singing was so loud that she had to shout her reply. “Everything’s cool. And you? How are you doing at the university?”
“I’m all graduated,” he said, slipping out of his native Portuguese Creole into the more formal Portuguese he spoke at school. “I start my first teaching job in a few months. It’s on Santiago. I should earn enough to take my family to America in a year or two.”
Celia waved to someone who watched from the sidelines.
“And how’s your mama?” Raquel shouted, keeping hold of his hand. “Is business good for her over there on Santiago?” She wasn’t walking fast enough to keep pace with Celia. They were already falling behind.
“Yes, yes,” Manny said, trying to pull her forward at a faster pace. “She and Flora keep the sewing machine buzzing all day with orders.”
Raquel caught sight of someone at the other side of the crowd and squealed. She squeezed Manny’s hand, scooting past him to go see her friend. “You be sure to give your mama a hug from me. And give Flora one too.”
“I will,” he said, slowing down to send her off with another kiss on the cheek.
When he turned back to look for Celia, he found she marched six people ahead of him. It took him a full three verses of the song to find his place at her side again. They had circled through most of the historic part of town and were coming up to the cathedral with its sky blue exterior and twin white spires.
As a man from Cape Verde, flirting should have come naturally, but he had fallen out of practice at the university, always thinking of his promise to Celia. Now that he was back with her, his mind stumbled.
He bent to catch her eye, smiling to show his teeth. “I miss our old ball games.” He knew enough from his study that this was no poem, but it was all he had.
She cocked her head at the sound of his voice, her face blank for a moment, but it only took a second and then her eyes widened in surprise. “Manny?”
He grinned. “I kept my promise. I came back for you.”
She stopped in the middle of the parade as people danced past us. “I thought you had abandoned us forever.”
“Never. I would never abandon you.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and coaxed her to dance with him side-by-side up the street to the cathedral. She fit right into the crook of his arm. Finally, he was back with the woman he loved. They could begin their life together, the life they’d always planned.
The procession halted at the front of the cathedral. He bent to speak in her ear. “How about we get a couple orange sodas?” Orange soda had always been her favorite treat, a luxury for a girl from their village.
She smiled, but the sunshine was missing from her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t ready to forgive him for losing track of her. But she was even more beautiful than he remembered. She’d grown in four years, from a girl to a woman. “Yes,” she said. “I have a lot to tell you, but I have to get to work. Why don’t you come along?”
She pointed up the hill to the poorer part of the town. The little houses up there looked so precariously placed that he thought someday they might just slide right down the hill into the crystal blue waters of the ocean.
They squeezed past the singers and tourists, climbing up the steep cobblestone roads.
Words twisted and turned in his brain before he decided which would be the best thing to say next. “I couldn’t find you after the volcano erupted. I tried. I promise I never forgot you.”
The black earth and sand around them provided a sharp contrast to Celia’s red dress and sun-bleached curls. Shaking her head, she looked at him with sad eyes. “I wanted to contact you too, but I lost your address and phone number. When we called the university, and they gave us the number for your girlfriend, I—”
He huffed a laugh. “Girlfriend?” He had never had a girlfriend other than Celia.
She went on. “I left a message with her.” She peeked at his face and went on talking as if these events were no more important than the type of bread the baker made that day. “I guess it’s no surprise she didn’t pass it on to you. She probably wanted you all to herself.”
He stopped and turned to face her. “There must have been some mistake. I never had a girlfriend on Santiago, Celia. You are the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I never meant to abandon you or to have you think I didn’t care.”
Her brow crinkled for a moment before she forced a smile. “You don’t have to lie to me, Manny. It was no surprise you forgot me. Most people forget me when they don’t see me for a while. I lose my spell over them.”
“But I didn’t forget you . . . and I never had a girlfriend.” His voice grew quiet. “Except for you.”
∞∞∞
She stared at him, not knowing what to say. He was all innocence, just like when they were children. So unlike most men she knew. So unlike herself. There had to be some misunderstanding. It had been over a year since that phone call, but she was sure the girl on the phone said she was Manny’s girlfriend. There must have been some mistake.
This whole time, she’d thought Manny had abandoned her, but she was the one. She had abandoned him. The thought rocked through her, repeating itself in shock waves. She had abandoned him.
It wasn’t like she could go back now. Not after everything that had happened. There was no way to fix this.
He reached for her hands, holding them as gently as he would a bird’s nest. “I’m telling the truth, Celia. I promise.”
She couldn’t look him in the eyes. That would surely make her cry. “I know, Manny. I believe you, and I wish I’d known. I wish I hadn’t lost your number.” As hard as it would be, she had to tell him about André, but before she could get the words out, he spoke.
“Flora, Mama, and I have turned in our papers to go to America, just like you wanted.” In his excitement, his words sped along. “I can help you get yours together while I’m here.”
He looked exactly the same with his clear dark skin and eyes the color of cocoa. Such a handsome man, the best man she could have asked for. Why hadn’t she waited for him? “Oh, Manny, you’re sweet, but you don’t have to worry about me. I already have my visa. We’ll be leaving in a few weeks.” She forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re going too. It’s what we all deserve, isn’t it? To live in a place where there’s plenty of good food and clean water.”
He reached for her waist. “They may have better food and water, but I’ve never seen an American with a dress as pretty as the one you’re wearing today.”
She stepped back. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn’t be right to accept his advances. “You just haven’t seen enough American dresses.” She swiveled and bounded back up the steep hill. “Come on. It’s not much farther to André’s.” Perhaps it would be easier to tell him when they got to the café. André wouldn’t be there for another hour, so they would have a chance to sit and talk.
They had arrived in the newer part of the town, set higher up on the slope. Here, small, cinder-block houses crowded together. Like the old colonial homes, they were painted with the customary island colors—coral pink, lemon yellow, and turquoise. She led him down a dirt path, passing her pig as it dug its snout into the sandy, black earth. The pig was twice the size now as when he first started following her around.
She pointed ahead to where a group of men sat on white plastic lawn chairs in front of a lime green wall. They wore baggy foreign T-shirts. “That’s André’s place there,” she said, her words stumbling as she stopped to catch her breath. “It’s very popular.”
Dance party music poured through the open front door, the traditional sound of accordion mixed with the metallic rhythm of the ferrinho. As they got closer, he wrapped an arm around her waist and danced her all the way to the doorstep, just like old times, the happiest times of her life, times long gone.
Then, in the corner of her vision, she spied a familiar silhouette. André sat brooding at his table. She startled, turning from Manny but keeping hold of his hand. “André! Come meet my old friend, Manny.”
André set his glass of grogue down on the table, but didn’t make an effort to stand. He was a handsome man with light skin and fashionable clothes. “So, this is what you do when you think I’ll be partying at the town hall.” His words slurred. It was only eleven in the morning, and he was already drunk.
She pulled Manny over to stand in front of a card table. “I wanted Manny to meet you.” she said, forcing cheer into her voice and turning to Manny. “You remember André, right? He’s on the soccer team.” They’d seen him play a few times at the big soccer games at the stadium, only now his hair was clipped short with the outline of a shark shaved into the side. He wore a rhinestone stud earring in his left ear, and a gold chain around his neck.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Manny said, slipping again into his more formal style of Portuguese.
André grunted. “You too.”
Manny’s eyes questioned her, and she motioned for him to follow her to the counter. It was time to tell him. But first she walked past the tiny counter to the refrigerator, where she took out two glass bottles of orange soda. After hitting them both on the edge of the counter to remove their caps, she held up her bottle to imitate an American toast. “To your graduation from college. I always knew you could do it.”
He leaned across the counter and clicked his bottle into hers. “To the old times, the best island, and the prettiest girl.”
She took a sip and then shook her head, staring down at her bottle. “Lots of things have changed since I lost your number.”
“I haven’t changed that much.” His gaze moved across the photos on the walls—André in a uniform with a soccer ball, André smiling in his bathing suit on the beach. It was only a matter of time before he saw the picture of their wedding.
“When I heard you had a girlfriend,” she began, trying to keep her voice steady, “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
But he’d already seen the wedding picture behind her and was squinting at it in the dim light. He stood up from the table and walked over to it, his smile fading. Her mouth grew dry.
He pointed a trembling finger toward the center of the photo, where she stood small against the background of Fogo’s big church. “Is this woman—is this you?”
His words seared through her. She felt his pain as if it were her own. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
With trembling hands, he set the soda bottle down on a nearby table. “So, you’re married . . . to André?”
“Yes.” She stared at the floor, knowing how he felt—the same way she felt when she’d talked to that woman on the phone—that her whole life was crashing down around her. All his dreams—the dreams he worked so hard to build over the last four years at the university—they were all pointless. They’d lost each other.
He said something in English, something she couldn’t understand through the haze of her thoughts. She tilted her head to the side.
He stumbled back into Creole. “Congratulations and much happiness.” He kissed both her cheeks in the way he would have kissed his sister. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.”
Up until those words, she’d held her tears back, but now she couldn’t keep them from rolling down her cheeks. She could tell his feelings were still as fresh as her own. He was still her same, sweet Manny, always wanting what was best for her, even through his own devastation. “Thank you, Manny,” she whispered. “I hope things will be happy for both of us.”
One of the regulars came to the counter and ordered a drink. Wiping away her tears and stealing a glance at her scowling husband, she rushed to pour the customer a glass of grogue. She had to get control of her emotions, talk about something other than the past. After the customer left, she brought the envelope of photographs from beneath the counter—pictures from America. “This is André’s grandmother’s home in America. We’re going to live with her while André tries out for the soccer teams there.”
Manny shuffled through the stack of pictures—rooms full of possessions, a beautiful apartment building surrounded by trees, fancy furniture, Christmas decorations, cars, television sets, laptop computers. He never was too impressed with all that, though. It had been her idea to move to America.
“How is your mother?” he asked, pushing the pictures away. “I heard she wasn’t well.”
At least this would be easier to discuss. “She’s much better. She has a boyfriend, who takes good care of her.”
“That’s . . . good,” he said and his eyes lingered on hers, as if he knew she hadn’t told him everything. Perhaps he guessed her mother might still be struggling with mental illness and could never handle a move to America.
She glanced at André, still sitting in his plastic chair and glaring at them. “We’re going to have to leave her behind when we go to America,” she explained, her words picking up speed as André continued to stare. “But it’s what she’s always wanted—for her children and grandchildren to have a better life. André’s grandmother already has jobs lined up for us. We’ll be living with her in North Carolina.”
Manny’s brows dropped. “You’re not going to Boston or Brockton?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t you seen how many people come back from Boston because they couldn’t make things work? Lots of them end up in jail. André doesn’t want that to happen to us. North Carolina’s a better place.”
“But Boston and Brockton, Massachusetts, have the largest groups of Cape Verdean immigrants in the United States. It’s easier to live in a place where people speak our language and understand our culture.”
Another man came up to place an order, and she poured him a drink of grogue as she answered. “I suppose it would be nice to live near other Cape Verdeans, but André’s grandmother promises she can help us learn English, and they have a professional soccer league near her house.”
“I could teach you some English while I’m here.” He glanced back at André, who had stood up and was making his way toward them, a dumbbell in each hand and a scowl on his face. This didn’t look good.
“That would be nice,” she said, startling as André clunked his dumbbells down on the counter between them.
She reached for his arm, but that didn’t keep him from pushing his face up to Manny’s. “It’s easier to learn English in America,” André said.
Manny backed away, putting space between the two of them.
André closed the gap, grabbing him by his collar. “No use getting her all bothered about it,” he slurred, pushing Manny toward the wall.
“André,” she called, walking out from around the counter to wedge her way between them. “Manny’s an old friend. He means no harm.” André had never reacted this way before. Sure, he’d broken up plenty of fights at the café, but he’d only stepped in to interfere when there was already a fight in progress. He’d never actually started a fight.
Manny twisted out of his grasp. “I’m afraid I’d better get going. It was nice to see you again, Celia.”
She pressed a hand to her hip and looked up at André. “No, stay. I want to hear about your family.”
But André just stood there with his muscular arms folded over his chest.
Then, as a few of the customers laughed, Manny walked for the door. He held his hand up, signaling that she shouldn’t follow.
There was nothing more she could do, so she raised her hand as he reached the door. “Good-bye, Manny. May God be with you.”
He turned to look at her in that same way people looked at her mother, their eyes full of pity. “You too.”
This was probably the last time she would ever see him, and she hated that his visit had ended this way. It had been a mistake to bring him to the café, but then again, her whole life since the volcano seemed to have been a mistake. Now she would just have to make the best of it. She bit her quivering lip, lifted her chin, and sent a glare toward André. “Why don’t you sit back down? Lunch won’t be ready for another few minutes.”
Her throat constricted as she thought back to the phone call André helped her make to Santiago. The female voice on the other end claimed to be Manny’s girlfriend. Celia had made sure they were talking about the same Manny, asking for his full name and facial features. The woman had lied. But why would someone lie to her like that? She stared at André, her gaze drilling into his dark eyes. He was the only one she knew who would want her to believe that Manny loved someone else.