Barnacle Love by Anthony de Sa

up with string, that barked and flung themselves into the air, only to be yanked back, their bodies twisted as they tumbled onto the dirt road. Sweat moistened the new suit Manuel had bought at Eaton’s. As the taxi passed, some men stopped pushing their wooden carts to straighten up and slightly lift their straw hats. Antonio shuffled back onto his father’s lap and Manuel anticipated his son’s question.
    “The children are working in the fields. You’ll see them soon enough.”
    Antonio smiled and slumped back into Manuel’s chest.
    Manuel reached for his handkerchief, dabbed some spit on it and wiped the chocolatey corners of Antonio’s mouth, cleaned the corners of his blue eyes. He then parted his hair, smoothed both sides with his unsteady hands. He cupped his son’s ears and cheeks and tilted his face back—forced Antonio to look at him.
    “Don’t be afraid, be strong,” he whispered.
    The car stopped at the end of a road. Terezinha was the first to step out and unruffle her dress. She squatted quickly to wipe her patent-leather shoes with an open palm. She was followed by Georgina, who knew better and grabbed her daughter’s hand before she could raceup the steps into a house she had never seen. Manuel saw that holding on to the girl was the only thing calming his wife’s nerves. Antonio stepped out before Manuel. They stood and faced the little white house with the same worn indigo blue door and matching windows that Manuel remembered. He turned to look at the houses across the road, the same dried-up well and the expanse of field that disappeared over a cliff into the sea. His trance was broken by Terezinha. She tucked Thumbelina into an armpit, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the people waiting at the front door. Georgina shook her head the way she always did when Terezinha’s boldness took hold of everyone. Surprised at himself, Manuel allowed the tears to roll down his cheeks.
    A cluster of familiar faces had gathered near the front door. Manuel noticed that they too were dressed in their Sunday finery; the men wore shoes and shirts with sleeves that covered their sun-browned arms and the women wore dresses with floral patterns undisturbed by aprons or housecoats. Their hair was pinned back, away from their ruddy faces.
    Manuel’s abrupt beginning in Canada had made it possible to dismiss a difficult past. But for a moment, he admitted to himself that his recollections of life in the Azores, on the tiny island of São Miguel, in the backward village of Lomba da Maia, had been distorted in some way by his failure to fulfill the promise he had set for himself. As quickly as the gloomy thought had entered his mind, it left him.
    Manuel smiled and nodded as his family engulfed him in hugs and hearty sobs hailing his return. Theymoved toward Georgina, who smiled awkwardly at their uncertain shows of affection. Manuel could see Antonio giving in to the fawning women and Terezinha pushing them away as they giggled at the young girl’s incredulity. They made way for the prodigal son, steering him through the house with their close-mouthed smiles and approving nods. They had moved from the morning brightness into the dark cool of his mother’s house.
    Manuel paused at the doorway to his mother’s bedroom. He heard the sounds of insects and the dried cornstalks rustling in the light breeze as he lowered his chin in prayer before slowly opening the door.
    A yellow afterglow stained the lace curtains and filtered into the dusty gloom of the room. She just lay there. Not the strong, towering presence he remembered. She wore a simple black dress. White wisps peeked through her black veil. Candida sat precariously on the bed’s edge. The show of relief was evident. Manuel moved toward her, reaching back to bring his two children in front of him. Antonio shuffled behind his sister and peered through the crook of her arm. Terezinha took a step forward without any urging. She held her Thumbelina doll in