Reunited Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

When I first saw Pierre I felt like hitting him on his head. He was about five-feet-four with a bald head and nasty whiskers that seemed to blink at me from where he was seated, in the sofa beside the entrance to the open kitchen.

He rose and stretched his hand. "You must be Tina," he said smiling, his whiskers sweeping in the air. He was dressed in dark blue suit, blue shirt and a green tie. His brown shoes were clean and shiny.

"Yes," I said with a throaty sound.

The woman snapped at me. "What’s that? Be respectful."

I squeezed my face and by-passed them to my room hitting Pierre with the bag I was carrying. The woman pulled me back by my shirt and yanked me down the chair in front of Pierre. He had moved to the dining table. I wanted to slap her but balled my hand around my bust instead.

"Sam, non--no..." Pierre said shaking his head. "I'll leave you two to sort out things and come tomorrow. I'll be with my brother, make it easy for Tina, cherie." Then he moved to kiss her on each cheek before leaving.

As soon as the door slammed shut, the woman was in my face; yelling, screaming and gesturing. "Your stupid father ran away with my best friend. If not for Pierre, I'd have gone mad. You think I'm going to lock up my life in grief, you must learn to accept him or else you'll go and live with your father in Toronto. I didn't bring you here to make life miserable for me."

I blocked my ears with my fingers and ran out of the apartment. Joining a family in the elevator; a couple and a young child, they looked like Mid-Eastern people; I went down to the lobby. I left the building and went to sit in one of the benches behind the building where there was a small playing ground. And I cried, squeezing my head with both hands on each side to get the torment out. I missed Ghana; I couldn't imagine that life could be so bad. What did I do? I haven't even talked to Mama, what would she be doing at this time? Then I thought about Eric and my tears set loose on me.

"You'll freeze to death, take my jacket," Pierre said with his French-accented English from behind me and handed me his jacket. I didn't want to take it but it was cold and I was already shivering. "It must be difficult for you to be thrown into this place just like that. I'm sure it's never cold like this in Ghana."

I didn't mind him, but I took the jacket, zipped up and put my hands inside the pockets. He searched my face, I looked over his bald head, my chin stiff and neck stretched in defiance. I couldn't believe what's happening. Mama never yelled at me this way. I'd been in this country for just two days and I already hated it; I hated this woman who wants to be my mother and hated Pierre who had taken my father's place.

"Tina, come let's go and talk to Samelia."

"No," I said with force, my tears unbridled.

"Then come with me, you can't stay here, you're cold. Have you eaten?"

I remained quiet; I didn't want to eat although I was hungry. He stretched his hand, I didn't take it but I turned and followed him. After all he was trying to help and he didn't seem like a bad person; he had given me his jacket. I followed him to the apartment and stopped at the entrance, about to turn back to the park.

"Come Tina, it's okay Samelia she gets upset, she is still upset not because of you but many things. You'll understand her with time. She loves you, she only talks about you all the time and she wanted you to be here. I'll talk to her to be gentle with you; it is new for you and for her too." He paused and I joined him on the stairs.

Some of what he was saying sounded strange to me; this woman is not acting like she was looking forward to my coming. But he also said that she's upset about many things. I was scared of staying alone with her; at this point I would even stay with anyone I didn't know than her. And Pierre was beginning to look like a nice person who understood what's happening.

We went inside the building. Pierre pressed a button and spoke into the speaker phone that asked, "Who is it?"

"Open the door for us Sam, it's Pierre and Tina."

The door buzzed, Pierre held it as I reluctantly entered. I didn't care anymore to see the woman and her Pierre but I raised my eyes to Pierre's face and something in it moved me. It was as if he felt sad for me and something soft beyond that. I noticed for the first time that he had the kindest set of eyes I'd ever seen; tender and understanding. I didn't realize when it happened, but by the time we entered the apartment, Pierre was holding my hands like Mama used to do in Ghana and he gently sat me in the sofa.

He gave me the remote control and said, "Tina do you like movies?"

"Yes," I said with a nod stealing glances at the woman beside the window, curling and uncurling my toes in my sneakers. She looked like she was fighting to keep a good face. I think for Pierre, not for me. Then she smiled at me and I let out a sigh of relief, she's not going to hurt me, but I couldn't smile back. I frowned.

"What movie would you like to watch?" Pierre asked, sliding his hand across the collection of DVDs in the shelf near the room divider.

I read across the labels; there were a lot of Ghanaian and Nigerian movies. I had watched all of them back home. There were new American movies I would like to watch. "That," I said pointing to the DVD that Pierre's hand was on and the woman turned to look at me, smiling. Pierre glanced at her, too and smiled.

"Samelia bought it for you," Pierre said. I told her you would like it because all the children like it. I think she likes it as well; it's the love story of the decade. We'll watch vampires then." Pierre put the movie in and went to the kitchen. The woman joined him and he brought me a cup steaming with a hot chocolate drink.

I hesitated. "I don't take Milo in the afternoon."

"No Tina it is to keep you warm," he said smiling. "It's because you sat in the cold, in the park. Drink it, before you eat. I'm going to make food for you...what'll you eat?"

"I was thinking of poutine for tonight," the woman said with a nice voice. I glanced at her she was beaming with a smile.

"Non, non--no,no--Samelia. Give Tina something Ghanaian, rice and chicken or peanutbutter sauce then you take your time to introduce her to Quebec cuisine. See how long it took you to like poutine...non, non..." He continued shaking his head in disagreement. "I know what to make for you Tina, I know..."

I glanced up at the woman and then Pierre and I smiled. It was a smile of appreciation to Pierre and he nodded. "Bon, vite, vite drink your chocolat-chaud--good, fast, fast, drink your hot chocolate--," he patted me on the shoulder.

Then the woman smiled and said, “Tina, in Montreal, they always mix French with English so you'll have to get used to it." I didn't want to smile with her, she's a monster. I didn't know what my father did to her apart from running away with another woman but that shouldn't give her the liberty to be mean to me. I was beginning to rather like Pierre.

Pierre kept opening the fridge, the oven and turning on the stove. I heard pans clanking, spoons scratching and then:

"Voila! a table, mademoiselle Tina," Pierre said amidst laughter as he held my hand and seated me at the table like a "Maitre d'hôtel". His napkin tucked in the apron over his blue shirt. It was the first time that I saw a man cooking and serving a woman at home. I never saw any married man in Ghana do that in their homes.

That night I had three slices of boiled yam, a slab of roasted meat and brown gravy (Pierre called it 'roti de porc', the woman said it's pork roast) and green salad with tomatoes and raisins. I ate all the food on my plate and Pierre served me two more slices of the yam and the 'roti de porc'.

"Tina, if chaque jour--each day--you learn to eat one Quebec food, by next week you'll be a Quebecoise," Pierre said amidst laughter. We joined in and laughed for some time.

"I thought you said she should start with Ghana food." The woman smiled at Pierre, obviously enjoying his presence. Her eyes were dilated and she seemed to be eating out of his hand.

"Mais, oui--but yes--I made yam and roti, on va mélanger comme ca--we'll mix them like that," Pierre said, sweeping his hand over the dishes on the dining table.

After the meal I helped Pierre clean the table, I did the dishes and he dried and packed them. The woman sat in the sofa watching TV. Pierre asked me to sit down with her but Mama always let me do the dishes when we finished eating so I wanted to continue with my chore.

When we finished with the dishes Pierre asked if I had talked to Mama.

"No," I said.

"Why?" He asked and turned to the woman. 'Samelia when are you going to call your sister?" I detected an accusing tone in his voice.

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. Give me my bag Tina, I bought a calling card."

Pierre shook his head as he scratched the card and called out the numbers for the woman. "That is why Tina was sad, you should have called for her to talk to the people she has left behind..."

"I can't reach her..." she said in frustration after several attempts.

"Then call another relative, or a neighbour to let her know that Tina is here..." Pierre said.

The woman got my uncle's wife and left a message with her to tell Mama that I'd arrived safely but we're finding it difficult to reach Mama.

'Tina, do you want to call any of your friends?" Pierre asked but I just smiled and shook my head. He also smiled as if he understood my reluctance. I didn't want to talk to Eric before this woman. I will send him a letter or email once I get hold of a computer.

I went to sleep after the movie finished and Pierre said we'd go to look at some schools the next day. In my room, I began to think about where to put Pierre since he seemed to be the only likable person I'd met so far in Canada. I still harbored some dislike towards him for replacing my father but he appeared to be concerned for me.

He gave me some tips about how to get around: "You should learn the language fast, try to mix with other children from different cultures and learn to eat the food," he kept saying. I sighed with relief as I picked up the Samsonite.

Then I heard them from the sitting room just as I moved my Samsonite on top of the wardrobe and changed into my nightie.

"Sam, I wanted to leave you for some time so that you would bond with your daughter..."

"No, Pierre, I can't be by myself," the woman interrupted.

“Mais, c'est ça! Combien temps...how long now since you last saw her?"

"Thirteen."

"That's a long time...Sam; you need time to get to know her. Try to make her like you before you expect her to see you as mother. Right now I don't think she sees you as her mother."

"But I am her mother."

"Mais you were not there when she was sick, you didn't go to school meetings with her, you don't even know the food she likes?"

"But Pierre..."

"Attend--listen, in my work, many children, les immigrant, come to care because the parents don't know how to help them adapt into the Canadian society..."

"Pierre, I'm not your client..."

"C'est ça, you're 'Ma chérie' but the way you behaved today, you were on your way to becoming my client."

"What would you've done?"

"I would've called DPJ--'Directeur de la Protection de la Jeunesse' (the Director of Youth Protection)."

"Truly?"

"Mais oui, les enfant besoin des protection...children need protection. Tina, she has nowhere to go and what did you expect, she could have ended up on the street. Don't do that to her again...or I'll call DPJ for you."

They laughed for some time and I heard the smacking sound as if they were kissing, I covered my head with the comforter and layed on the pillow. Pierre's voice came up again, “Sam, I'll stay and help you so you don't get in trouble with the law, okay..."

"Thank you...Merci beaucoup...thank you, merci...," I heard the woman say and went on and on.

And I thanked God for Pierre.