Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (21 page)

He gave a small smile and nod before a grim expression overtook his face. So this—Lolo, you said his name is?—didn’t kill them. And you’re convinced of this?

— That’s right.

— Hmm. Yes. That makes me more nervous.

— What?

— It means someone—someone else—someone who we know is very dangerous still prowls about. The danger is not over.

— Why say that? What if he just wanted Claire and Gaspar dead?

— Ah, but we don’t know why the killer killed. This is the big question, and it leads to many more. The woman and child were targeted. That is clear. And the killer wanted others to believe this Lolo was behind the crime. If Lolo was not guilty—

— Yes?

— And he was framed—

— Yes?

— And if others, such as yourself, show he’s not responsible—

— Yes?

— Then it will ruin the killer’s plans, whatever they may be. It draws attention to those who ruined those plans—potentially to you and Jak.

— This–this is bad. Very bad.

— And I’m to blame. I see now that by pushing you on, I may have pushed you into danger.

A long silence overcame them and they sat for some moments, the sound of rain falling to fill the gap.

— What should I do? What can I do?

Elize sighed heavily. Be more careful than before. Tell no one else about Lolo. Doing so now, until we know more, is like spreading a sickness. Sharing with others endangers them—you, Jak, even myself, I suppose.

Crestfallen, Libète spoke. I’ve already told another.

— Who?

— A policeman.

Elize’s expression hardened like graven stone.

Libète tried to explain further. A trusted one! she added quickly. He can protect Lolo when no one else can.

This vouching did nothing to change Elize’s spirits. They are the same as they always were and are, Libète—not to be trusted.

— I kept you a secret, Elize. I promise. The officer knows nothing about you seeing Lolo in the marshes.

A sudden sadness overcame him.

— I appreciate it, Libète, but that’s not my concern. I fear for this young man. Without knowing more about this officer and the killer, I fear for Lolo. I hope yours was the right choice, my friend, I truly do.

The familiar sound of bullets ricocheting and ripping through walls opens the day. At first there are a few shots, and little Libète does not even wake up. But the gunfire, coming in short, individual explosions and then sustained automatic bursts, grows closer.

Her eyes shoot open. She breathes fast and deep in the dark, orienting herself. It is Friday morning, and she is confused. Today was supposed to be the early morning when the gangs would meet, the day of peace.

Worried shouting echoes close by, and the rumble of heavy vehicles can also be heard. There are strange metallic sounds when the bullets collide with the vehicles’ steel plating. Libète’s Aunt and Uncle leap from their bed to cower on the floor. Her Aunt prays to Jesus, and God, and the Holy Spirit for them to protect her and her business. Her Uncle stays silent in his fear.

Since making her delivery to the Dominikèn, she had counted down the days with much anticipation. She dreamed of awakening to the sound of joyous celebration in Bwa Nèf, to news the gangs had reached a truce, imagining being lifted high on the shoulders of friends and cheered as word of the surprise peace spread, lavished with ice cream and Coca-Cola, and loved by all, even her enemies Gracita, Rit, and Therese. The sound of each new bullet steadily chipped away at these dreams.

She told no one of her delivery, lying successfully to her aunt about her extraordinary delay (difficulty in finding the customer, she had said). She tried to tell Jak, and while he was glad she came away unscathed, he looked on the entire experience with Touss as a nightmare. He didn’t want to talk about it any further.

Libète huffs and puffs on her sleeping mat, staring at her ceiling in the dark. She hears cursing right outside her door. Two men’s voices warn of soldiers and police on the move. She reaches under her ratty, discolored pillow, and clasps Touss’ money in her palm. Her hand trembles, wrapped around the false promise.

Aunt Estelle’s ejaculatory prayers grow in fervor and volume before she is quieted by weapons’ fire so close it shakes her soul. Libète sees muzzle flashes illuminate the main room and forces her face into her pillow.

What sounds like hundreds of bullets tear down the row in their scattered search for the two men. One is hit. Libète can tell because he screams. The other mindless shots miss their mark and pour into the homes, tearing through wall after flimsy wall with their bullish velocity. The wall above Libète’s body erupts in a spray of concrete and stucco that rains down on her.

She cries out.

The gunfire ceases.

There is silence.

Libète’s Aunt lets out a plaintive moan. Libète breathes fast, short, and hard, consumed by a single, reverberating question.

Where is the peace?

It thrashes around her crowded mind.

Where did it go?

Libète sits inside her doorway the morning after telling Simeon and Elize what she promised Lolo she would not.

She watches as rain falls in torrential waves upon her row of homes, hard then soft, soft then hard. Her Aunt has made her responsible for three buckets positioned around the living room, catching water from leaks in their roof. She empties them every hour or so, always returning to her spot in the doorway to fret and watch the grim grey sky.

Jak rounds the corner, running up the lane. He is shirtless, and each barefooted step sends water splashing everywhere.

— Libète! he hollers. Are you free? Can you play?

The house is clean, and her Aunt is not cooking because the rain dampens morning business. She nods, emptying the buckets again before locking the door behind her.

Jak leads her to the concrete disco, and as Libète suspected, they come upon nearly thirty kids of all ages and various states of undress, running, diving, and sliding on the ground.

Joy permeates the place. Met by the others’ laughter, Libète tears off her wet clothes down to her underpants while Jak disrobes entirely, just like the other small children. In that moment, all of Libète’s cares—about Claire and Gaspar, Lolo and her loose lips, and the lingering murderer—mercifully slip out of her head.

Libète was surprised when Wadner crashed through the open-air disco some minutes later, nearly stepping on a boy in mid-slide. She had tried to avoid him since breaking into his home those few nights before. Wadner saw her as he rushed by, grimacing without stopping. Libète looked to Jak in alarm. Something was very, very wrong.

The other children continued their play while Libète and Jak moved to the walls to reclaim their clothes and follow Wadner. They ran through passageways, leapt over shallow, flooded channels of sewage, and avoided sharp rocks to reach Impasse Chavannes and FFPOP’s tarp-covered meeting place.

Just as they arrived, Libète’s cousin rounded a corner. Yves was already there, pacing back and forth while Wadner sat in a chair, head in hands.

— I can’t believe this! Wadner shouted to the sky, lifting his head.

— What are you talking about? Davidson asked. All I heard was that I needed to come. I didn’t hear why.

— Lolo! Damn! Yves thundered. It’s Lolo! More people began to peek out of their homes at the commotion. They arrested him, Yves cried out, those pigs arrested him for the murders!

Time stops.

Dread, thick and heavy, descends on Libète.

Davidson’s expression is vacant. Yves kicks a glass bottle sitting on the ground, sending it spinning in the air until it meets an explosive end, shattering against the wall of a nearby house. He turns and notices Libète standing there for the first time.

— You! This is your fault! he roars. You’re the only one who knew where he was!

She turns to Jak, her cousin, and those assembled with a pleading look, one equal parts horror and shame.

Indifference and wrath greet her.

Her lower lip trembles. Her words fail her. She runs, as quickly and as far as she can.

— Get out of here, Jak! You’re just as much to blame!

The boy is stunned. But we didn’t tell anyone—I didn’t—

— I don’t want to see your face around here again!

Jak stumbles away, his steps bewildered.

He runs to the closest place Libète could be expected to be found, the cement cemetery, and finds her huddled in a corner made by two sad walls. She rocks herself, pathetic in the falling rain. Tears stream from eyes that gaze on the open air before her, as if fixed on some invisible person.

— What did you do, Libète? Jak pleads. What did you do?

— I told, Jak, she sobs. I told!

He collapses.

Away from the children, the young men growl and groan, debating what can be done to help their betrayed friend. While those sheltered from the falling rain in their homes watch this drama unfold, there is one man, not well known, not far off, watching with especially keen interest. Where others are confused, he understands exactly what has happened, and smiles.

**

She is running now, her shock turned to anger. The rain falls lightly like salt from a shaker, the darkened clouds giving way to encroaching blue. She thinks of one overriding concern: finding Simeon.

Dutiful Jak follows, struggling to keep her furious pace. He does so because he wishes to see what is said, but also because he is afraid of being left alone.

They leave the marshes and run parallel to Route 9 and its slow traffic, down toward the police station. She arrives at the closed gate.

— Simeon!
Si-me-on!
she yells, banging upon the iron barrier.

— Quiet! yells a voice from behind. An old man slides a small opening back. What is this noise about? I said, be quiet!

— I must see Simeon. Now.

— He’s not here.

Libète is furious. Jak has finally caught up and stands next to her, fidgeting.

— Dimanche then. Get me Officer Dimanche!

— You can’t barge in and give—

— DI-MANCHE! she screams, using the full force of her shrill pipes, pounding with both fists on the gate.

— Go away! the old man shouts.

She hears the sound of boots on gravel.

— What’s going on? she hears.

That’s Dimanche’s voice!

— What’s this noise? he says to the old man, still standing out of view.

— Nothing, sir. It’s just a girl, demanding to see Officer Simeon.

— Open the gate.

— Sir, I don’t—

—
Open it
.

The old man does not like this. The children hear a lock click and a chain falling to the ground. The gate opens two feet, enough for Dimanche to stand on one side and Libète on the other. Jak is a few feet off, afraid of the man in intimidating black.

— What do you want? he says gruffly.

— I want Lolo. Simeon arrested the wrong person. You have to let him go. He’s innocent.

— Simeon didn’t arrest him. I did. And he’s completely guilty.

The words are a dagger in Libète’s chest, uttered so cavalierly, so cruelly.

— Thank you for giving us his location, Dimanche continues. We had no success finding him until you told Simeon his whereabouts.

— You…
fool!
Libète spits. She balls her fists, ready to pummel the man, mustering all her self-control to rely on her words. He told us his story. He loved Claire—he wouldn’t hurt them! He’s been made to look guilty by the true murderer!

— Girl, didn’t you think he could be telling you a big story? We have enough evidence to prove he killed them.

— What is it, then? Tell me! You steal a secret I give Simeon, you have to tell me the evidence! It goes both ways!

— I do not. It’s privileged. I thanked you for your help. And now, you and Jak must go.

— No. No, no,
no!
Release him.
Release him!
  She slams her open palm against the gate, ignoring the sharp pain.

— The world is a cruel place. People you trust and think are good do things you can’t imagine. When you have as many years as me, you’ll und—

— Shut
up!
she shouted. You betrayed me! We’re enemies now, Dimanche. You hear me?