December 19, 1915
Come listen to me, Sweetie. Listen. Let me tell you the story of The Midwife and The Frenchman.
One day after many long days and a terrible night, The Frenchman travels from a far-away place to the land of Swift Rivers, what she calls home. He comes from a land with more people than you ever seen, living up in tall houses, on streets full of motor cars and giant poles with telephone wires. He shows her on a map and his finger trace a line down, across rivers and lakes, through mountains and towns, to her town. She puts her finger on that map and trace a line way down south, to a land called Georgia, where she say her heart live now. The Frenchman say she is en deuil, in mourning. She know the English word, it means a time of sadness after you lose someone you love. She like that it also sounds like the other kind of morning, the start of a day, the end of a long night. He say they sisters, these words. One comes after the other. He teach her French and she give him Latin, her new language. Latin helps describe the body and what happens to it in a life, how to mend it. They play with words together, like splashing around in water.
The Frenchman try to court The Midwife in a proper way, but there were no porches to sit on or elders to keep watch so’s no parts touched that weren’t supposed to be touching. And they couldn’t much be seen together because they the only two that look like each other, and the town scared that two together bring trouble. So they meet in secret in a cold, empty stable every Sunday afternoon, making a table and chairs out of bales of hay. The Frenchman say he wish The Midwife had a Mama and Daddy alive to ask for permission to come calling. Instead he ask their Spirits, I would like to spend time with your beautiful daughter, would that be alright? and wait for a sign that they approve. They decide that when an Old Black Rooster wander into the stable, staring and chuck chucking at them, that means yes.
The Midwife tell The Frenchman how The Moon and The Stars had been stolen from her by evil men who threatened her very life if she was seen after The Sun went down. Can you imagine, taking the night from a person? The Frenchman say that’s like taking air, or fire—it can’t never belong to people. The Moon belong to The Sun. He tell her a story his father tell him, about where he come from in Africa. There, The Moon is called Mawu and is married to Liza, The Sun. Mawu bring the night and coolness. Coolness bring wisdom. Liza bring day and heat and strength. Together they are the creators of everything, like God, but cut in two. You can’t have one without the other or everything die. When they come together and make love, that is when you can see The Moon cover The Sun. It look like a perfect black circle with a ring of fire behind it.
One Saturday afternoon, The Frenchman comes in a buggy to The Midwife’s house and tells her boss, The Doctor, that a young French gal from his land was losing an early baby, and can he take The Midwife fast to help save the girl. He give the boss ten dollars, and so even though the boss don’t like the idea of his help riding off with this Negro dressed up like a white man, he let her go. Anyway, he don’t much care for French people, and was too sad and drunk to go himself. Be off the road by nightfall, the boss say, and The Frenchman tells him they will.
It was the first big snow of the year, and The Frenchman place a blanket over The Midwife’s lap to keep her warm. They ride for a few hours and end up in a faraway town, where they stop off at a small white house in the woods at the end of a narrow road. He tell her this place belong to his friend, a white man. He and the man both come from the same land Up North. He say the house is empty and they can use it to get warm, the stable just fine for the horse to feed and rest. The Midwife worry about the mama in trouble and say can’t they keep on going a little ways more? The Frenchman say he have to confess, there ain’t no mama, no early baby, and do she trust him? At first The Midwife was mad as the Devil that the lie would get them in trouble. But she do trust him, and she do like the fire he build. Her fingertips were icicles by then. She was scared and excited at the same time, and glad for the cold to use as a reason for her shaking.
She unpack the chicken, greens, and cornbread she made for the journey and heat them up on the cookstove. They eat proper, at a table with silverware and a candle in the middle. He bring out a bottle of brandy and she have her first taste. It was sweet and strong, it warmed her belly and made her giggle.
Come, he say, I have something to show you outside. It was dark, and the outside was forbidden to them. Nobody around here for miles, he say, it is just us. They bundle up and step into the cold. The snow had stopped and their frosty breath was like night clouds hanging all around them. They walk up the road to a clearing in the trees.
Look, he say and point. La Lune.
There was The Moon, her old friend she hadn’t seen like this in so very long. The branches on the trees around them, heavy with snow, bent toward the light, like knights bowing down to their king. She was safe with The Frenchman. Right there they have their first kiss. His lips were soft and sweet with brandy fruit. He hold her head in his big hands.
When she look up, the snowflakes come down from nowhere, from everywhere. The white was lit up against the darkness, and it look like The Moon was breaking itself into little twinkles of light, or maybe giving them The Stars as a gift. They open their whole faces and swallow all of it. She look over at his wide, gap-tooth smile and white frosted eyelashes, and it feel like the first snow of her life.
See, Sweetie, I’m telling you a love story, just the way you like. ’Cept for it’s my story. Can you believe it? But also, it’s the story of moonlight and starlight. How they came back to me.