Create Dangerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work by Edwidge Danticat

Author:Edwidge Danticat
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf, epub
Tags: Expatriate Artists - United States, Social Science, 20th Century, Literary, Biography & Autobiography, Expatriate Artists, Edwidge, Haiti - Social Conditions - 20th Century, Artists - Haiti, Authors, American - 20th Century, Haiti, United States, Emigration and Immigration, Personal Memoirs, Art, American, General, Literary Criticism, Artists, Danticat, Biography
ISBN: 9780691140186
Publisher: Princeton University Press
Published: 2010-08-29T21:00:00+00:00

The next day, I called Tante Zi and explained all that I’d learned about Marius’s return to Haiti. Tante Zi was aware of the funeral home cost, she said; she just wanted to confirm that Delens was telling the truth. She was ready to make a money transfer. She even had Mister Freeman’s information.

“Marius should be home soon,” my father told her.

Before she hung up, Tante Zi began sobbing again and then added, “Look how they took my boy from me and took everything he owned on top of it.”

Marius had been sending her a few hundred dollars each month, Tante Zi said. There was no way he could have been broke. And he didn’t die of the “bad disease” either. He’d called her once a week, every Sunday, and promised her he’d come back to see her as soon as his papers were in order. During those talks, he was always full of laughter and hope. He never sounded like a sick person.

My father abruptly interrupted Tante Zi’s tearful recollection and told her to calm down, to make sure she had her head on straight so she could face what lay ahead.

“You haven’t seen your son in years,” he reminded her. “He’s coming back to you in a coffin. Met fanm sou ou. Be the strong woman you have to be.”

Tante Zi, who often openly said that she loved my father more than all her other siblings—just as she said of all her other siblings that she loved them more than the others—agreed.

“You’re right, brother,” she said, still sniffling in my ear on the other extension. “I’ll have to pull myself together to face this.”

“I am sorry I can’t come there to be with you,” my father, who was recovering from very early symptoms of the pulmonary fibrosis that would eventually kill him, said to Tante Zi.

“I understand, brother,” she said.

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