Behold the Dreamers(39)

“Eh?”

“Is it true that we’re going back to Cameroon?”

Jende stopped chewing. He put down the ball of attiéké he had in his right hand. “Who told you we’re going back to Cameroon?” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to pull attention but widening his eyes to show Liomi how much he had aroused his anger.

“No one, Papa,” Liomi replied, averting his eyes.

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Nothing, Papa,” he replied. “I only heard Mama saying it on the phone.”

“Mama said it, eh? To who?”

“I don’t know, Papa.”

“When did she say it?”

“Papa, I don’t—”

“You don’t what? Why were you listening to your mother’s conversation?”

The boy went mute, his small mouth covered with the white granules of attiéké. Beside them, the bald man eating thiebou djeun had paused eating to watch the father, fists clenched on the table, and seven-year-old boy who appeared ready to run in terror.

“We’re not going back to Cameroon, you hear me?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“You’re never going back to Cameroon, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Papa.”

“Finish your food.”

Back at the apartment, Jende called Neni and, without asking questions, mercilessly scolded her for exposing Liomi to their pain. “How dare you mention it in front of him?”

“I didn’t know he was listening.”

“You don’t need to know anything, Neni. You don’t have to know who is listening to what you’re saying. You only need to learn how to shut your mouth sometimes.”

“But what if he knows? If the immigration judge decides to send us back home are we going to shut his eyes so he doesn’t know we’re taking him back to Cameroon?”

Jende slapped the frame of the bed and stood up, unable to believe his wife’s words. “Eh, Neni!” he shouted. “Is that what you think? You think we should tell a child his father might be deported? You want Liomi to know what’s happening to me?”

Neni did not respond. It was the first time he had screamed at her so loudly, the first time in almost twenty years, from when they were teenagers at National Comprehensive.

“Bubakar has promised us that we will be here for years even if things don’t end up the way we want them to. You know that! You know we still have many years in this country. Don’t you know that?”

“I know what he said.”

“Then why are you going around talking as if we’re leaving next month?”

“No one knows the future. Anything can happen. You know that.”

Jende sat down and closed his eyes, shaking his head. For a moment he didn’t know what to say to his wife. “Are you saying this because you think I’ll be deported?” he said. His voice was low and woeful, saturated with anguish. “Eh, Neni? Is that why you’re talking to me like this?”

“No, bébé, please,” Neni said, embarrassment at the misery she was mindlessly causing him suddenly obvious in her voice. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything, bébé. I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I was trying to say.”

“Why are you making me feel so bad?”

“I’m really sorry, bébé. You know what is best for us. I won’t talk about it when Liomi is home anymore.”

“Just stop talking about it! There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll get a green card!”

“You will, bébé,” Neni responded, her voice cracking. “It’s just that I’m so afraid sometimes, and I want to talk about it with my sister. I don’t want to go back to Limbe, bébé. I don’t even want to imagine what is going to happen if …”

“I’m afraid, too, Neni. You think I’m not afraid? But what has fear ever done for anyone? We have to be strong and protect Liomi.”

“You’re right.”

“We cannot go around worrying about what the judge is going to decide. We just have to keep living.”

“Yes. And we’re doing that, aren’t we?”

“So what’s your problem then?”

“Nothing … nothing. I will remember not to talk anymore. We will be fine. I’m sorry I angered you, bébé. Please cool your temper and rest. And please, let’s not talk about it over the phone. You know what Bubakar said about the government listening.”

Jende went to bed that night bitter in spite of Neni’s apologies, angry at her for recklessly exposing their child to harmful untruths and angrier at himself for all the failures of his life. He made Liomi sleep alone in his cot that night, wanting nothing of cuddling with a child he might one day disappoint. But the next morning, when he awoke, Liomi was at his side, his small hands on his father’s belly. Jende looked at the round sweat-covered face and knew he had no choice but to snuggle close to his child and enjoy the rest of their father-and-son summer.

That evening they attended a classical music concert in St. Nicholas Park and listened as a blind pianist performed a piece so sorrowful it briefly clouded Jende’s eyes. The next afternoon, eager to experience more of what a New York City summer had to offer those unable or unwilling to leave the city, he ditched the money he could be making in the Bronx and took his son for a swim at the public pool in East Harlem.