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business, you see? This petit restaurant pays for everything. Work must be done for food, and you, cherie, have not yet worked.
    — Yes, Auntie. Libète looked up from the ground, somehow surprised anew at her Aunt’s intimidating size.
    — Good. I’m glad you understand. Now give this to your cousin. You must be tired, so ask him to show you to your mat and you can rest for a few hours. I need to finish my cooking.
    Libète did as asked, carrying one plate in each hand. Her cousin was laying down and reading a school book while half-heartedly listening to all that happened outside. He took the plate from Libète’s hands, and Libète sat down on the floor. She offered a silent prayer and began devouring her rice in shoveled spoonfuls. Davidson glimpsed her bony frame and small portion.
    — Don’t let her see, but take some of my food. He pushed some from his plate to hers with his spoon. She accepted gratefully.
    — Thank you, my cousin.
    — It’s nothing, he whispered, smiling at her.
    **
    Libète slept unlike any other time in her life. After packing her stomach full, there was almost nothing that could prevent her eyes from sealing shut.
    When she awoke, low light crept into her dark room. Her head was clouded as densely as the sky before a hurricane. Music blared from speakers somewhere in the distance, and strange whirring sounds came from outside. She lifted herself off her mat in the home’s second room, a thin curtain segregating her space from the third chamber where her Aunt and Uncle slept. Davidson slept in the front room, painted the color of peaches, on an improvised sofa made from a small mattress elevated on cinder blocks and covered with a floral bed sheet. She noticed for the first time that the walls of her room were covered with old newspaper clippings and scenes from magazines, plastered in place using a paste derived from limestone and manioc. The light came from one electric lamp in the front room.
God is giving electricity!
    She staggered into the entryway to find her Aunt plopped on her reinforced stool. Her uncle and cousin were not present.
    — Aww, my little
zombi
, someone must have salted you! Libète squinted and cocked her head in confusion before remembering the taste of salt is the sole way to stir one of the enslaved dead. Salt had not been used. She still felt dead.
    — You are lucky, her Aunt said. I was going to rouse you hours ago to help me clean but Davidson took care of the dishes.
    — He is a good cousin.
    — But only an alright son. Lazy most of the time. You should thank him later.
    — I will.
    — I’m glad you’re awake.
    — Oh?
    — I need help.
    — I see.
    — It’s been a long day and I wish to rest my feet. We’re out of water in the barrel, so I need you to fill a bucket.
    Libète felt anxiety lunge the distance from her heart to her fingertips.
    — I…I don’t know where to find a bucket. And I don’t know where to find water. And it is dark now.
    — Don’t make excuses, her Aunt snapped. Simply go back out to the main road, the one you rode in on with your cousin. There’s a water kiosk.
    — I don’t know what that means.
    — Don’t be stupid! It’s a big tank where the water is stored. There’s a room in front and a man is inside. Here’s a
goud
, and there’s the bucket in the corner. Pay the attendant and he’ll fill it up.
    Libète took the coin and picked up the bucket. It was bigger than any she used back home and didn’t have a lid to keep it from spilling.
    — How full do I fill it?
    — The whole bucket, of course! One goud, one bucket.
    — But it’s very big and I’m very small.
    — I see they raise insolent children out on that island you washed up from! her Aunt bristled.
    Libète knew better than to ask more questions. She grasped the coin tightly in her closed palm and held the bucket in her other. She hurried out into the dark.
    Remembering how to get to the end of the row of homes was easy—that was only a few