Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (53 page)

The song came before the light. She stepped out from her cover and sang, voice trembling, the lines that felt most appropriate.

To die is a fine thing!

Our past cries out to us:

Have a strong soul!

To die is a fine thing,

For the flag,

For our country.

Libète turns on the flashlight and waves it in wild circles. She keeps her eyes closed while still singing. Clenching her teeth, she waits for a bullet to strike her while praying it does not.

It takes a few moments to notice that the guns have ceased firing. She stands in the gap between the burning barricade, the U.N., and her cousin. The sound of the flaming tires, of rubber boiling, takes over. She quiets and hears shouting from both sides, rapid Kreyol and Portuguese being thrown at her. Among the words she understands, she hears them telling her to get out of the way.

She does not move.

Starting another verse to her song, she is elated at the momentary peace, a sense of the darkness around her retreating.

It catches her by surprise. A shot rings out, the bullet striking her before its heralding sound travels to her ears. She spins around, making a bloody pirouette before collapsing to the ground, one thought registering before blackness closes in upon her.

Jezi, make this count…

At Cabaret she had found another moto taxi, the only one still out in the late night. Still worried that Dumas’ men could be after her, she told him her destination.

— I will not go.

— I will give you $30 U.S.

The new driver paused.

— I will take you.

She got on the new bike, rest impossible for her rattled mind. It was her first opportunity to think upon Limyè, the shadow of the man he once was, and his story of the heavy oppression lingering over the island she had just seen challenged in a profound and miraculous way.

She would not speak of it yet, could not speak of these heavy, weighty things. She needed to understand them first.

Do the good put before me
. The words reverberated in her head. Her thoughts drifted to Claire and Gaspar, Lolo in prison. She would press on till he was free and the mystery solved. She did not know how, or when, but she would tie these threads together until they were at an end.

The bike dropped her off on the edge of Twa Bebe. It was nearing midnight and she longed to return to the security of her tent’s frail walls. One task still remained.

Libète moved toward the open field, searching for her secret cache in the moonlight. She found the spot and reached under a nearby bush where she stored her pottery shard used for digging.

As she shoveled dirt, the shard snapped into two smaller pieces. Libète did her best to remove the last of it with the larger shard, placing the pottery in her bag once she finished.

It was only two days before when she removed the last of her savings from the pawned watch, never expecting to be back. She took out Limyè’s metal jar and transferred it to the unearthed bag, covering it once again with dirt. The money would not be safe in her tent, especially while she slept. She would return to it soon, maybe very soon.

When she opened the entrance to her tent, her Uncle stirred.

— Who’s there? I have a weapon!

— It’s me, Tonton. She thought about the strangeness of using the title now that she knew he was not her uncle at all, but decided to let the fiction remain.

— Libète? Where have you been?

— I needed to go away for a while.

— But you’re back?

— I am.

— Good. I was worried.

— Thank you, Uncle.

— Don’t go again without telling me first.

— I won’t. Libète took off her purple cap and laid down on her mat, never so happy to have done so before. She faded quickly into sleep, soon dreaming of a sprawling empty cathedral, talking stained glass, and the prodding specter of San Figi.

Tout sa ou pa konnen pi gran pase ou

All that you do not know is greater than you

A beat-up Land Rover rolls to a stop, and a lovely-sandaled foot steps down, gracing the dirt and gravel. The woman is majestic in her brightly patterned dress, her hair tightened into beautiful plaits that flow down to the middle of her back.

She walks to the grizzled doorman and tells him her situation. He looks at her in awe.

— I am here to see someone, she says. A man, and I need help to find him.

— What does he look like? the doorman stammers.

— I do not know, she replies, calm and measured.

He reaches to take her hand to guide her, and she does not pull it away from him.

She does not walk so much as float through the rows of hospital beds, her dress lit brilliantly by the streaming afternoon light. He takes her about, and she searches the faces of the sick, injured, and dying, looking for any glimmer of the man she once knew.

The doorman pauses when he senses subtle resistance. Her eyes water and heart crumbles at cholera’s toll. She sees a child, an infant really, emaciated and listless with an IV in her arm while an exhausted mother keeps watch next to the bed. There are rumors now that the disease was brought to Haiti by MINUSTAH troops from Nepal, a disease spread when their excrement was illegally dumped into the central plateau’s waterways, right into Haiti’s bloodstream.
When will it end
, she prays.
When will it end?

She wipes her eyes with the shoulder of her dress, and he leads her on through the rest of the ward.

She pauses at first, unable to detect the resemblance behind his lidded eyes, layers of age, facial hair, and lost weight.
If I saw the eyes, I’d know for sure.

She signals to her guide that this is who she looks for. He nods and leaves, knowing that remaining would be an intrusion.

— Elize, she nudges him once, touching his shoulder. She looks him up and down, his tall form covered by a yellowed sheet. Elize, I’ve come for you.

He opens his eyes, struggling to focus upon the face that lingers above him. He wonders if an angel has come to take him away, but then recognizes her for who she is.

— Steffi! he gasps. He reels, straining in his bed, trying to hide from the shame that immediately washes over him.

Stephanie Martinette, at one time long ago Steffi Jean-Baptiste, places her hand on her father. Stop, she says evenly. The beautiful pity in her voice, so familiar from the radio, stuns him. He cannot look at her face. Tears stream and fall and he cannot speak, only moan in short, uneven sobs.

— I did not come to scorn. You hurt me, Elize — she does not call him father — and your flight from my life was a sword of sorrow, straight to my heart.

— How did you — he shuddered — find me?

— The girl—Libète. She came to me four days ago, at the radio station before the show. She told me that you were ill, near death.

She noticed the doorman behind her. He had brought a stool, the type worried relatives all over the ward sat on. She took it and sat, nodding graciously. He nodded back and retreated once again.

— I wrestled with coming. I’ve been angry with you for so, so long. But I thought it a sign. She smiled faintly. After all these years of bitterness shredding my soul, a girl named “liberty” shows up and offers to free me from this heaviness with a chance to reconcile.

Her shoulders lifted, and she too began to cry. She took his frail hand in her own. She told me about you, Elize, trying so hard to convince me to come. I told her I couldn’t. That I never could. She told me about you exiling yourself and all you had done for her, all you had taught her. She told me of how you listened to my words from afar. And I saw myself in her, and knew that you must as well. Maybe her education was your penance? God brought you two together to restore one another. I saw that you love her—knowing this, somehow, in small part, made it easier to come.

— My dear girl, Elize was able to say. I’ve wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Of my regret and shame. The guilt—the guilt is too much—

She leaned in close and whispered in Elize’s ear. The pain is still there, but I have found it in me to forgive you. My parents gave me a good life, a good upbringing. Let’s not dwell upon past hurt with the time that remains.

He offered short, sharp nods and said weakly, but with great gratitude, “
mèsi, mèsi anpil
.” You have freed me at long last, Steffi. You’re the only one who could.

She took out a kerchief from a small purse, offering it to the man to dry his eyes. Even subtle movements brought him great pain now. It would not be long.

Leaning back, she realized a small boy watched them. He had large, sad eyes and wore a dirtied school uniform.

— Yes? Stephanie said kindly.

The boy could not look at her directly, her beauty too much for him. You’re Elize’s daughter?

— I am.

It dawned on her.

— And you’re…Jak, is it?

He nodded, his own sadness claiming him. So Libète went to find you? The other day?

— She did.

— And you came?

— I did. She craned her neck, looking for the girl. Is she here, Jak?

The boy struggled to find words.

— The night she came to you — he swallowed hard — there was great fighting in Cité Soleil. Benoit was arrested.

— I heard. That he has since been released, but looks to lose the election. I do not know the details of the fighting.

— It was bad. Very, very bad. And Libète put herself between the different sides and their guns—

Stephanie gasped, realizing his horrible implication. She’s—dead?

Jak looked stunned, and shook his head. Oh no—no, no! Sorry for making you think it! She is here, now, recovering. She was shot in the shoulder and is weak, very weak. After she was hit, the young men simply gave up their fighting. Almost all fled and got away. People say they’re all in hiding. But she stopped it, with herself, by herself.

She turned to Elize who had listened to all this. I will go to her, Elize, and then return.

— Don’t stay away too long. She squeezed his shoulder and followed after the boy.

Libète lay immobilized wearing an oversized shirt with the right sleeve torn off, showing off a bandage cobbled together from large antiseptic pads and medical tape. A white woman loomed over her, a doctor by the look of things, and a gaunt young man sat at her side. On locking eyes, Libète’s face lit up without saying a word.

— Bonswa, Stephanie said, greeting the others.

— Bonswa, they all said, greeting her in turn.

— This is Sister Françoise, Jak offered. She is the one who operated on Libète—the one who saved her. Each woman nodded to the other. And this is Lolo, someone Libète has helped very, very much. Lolo offered a small, pained smile and looked away from the beautiful woman. And this is Stephanie Martinette, a poet, teacher and…friend of mesye Elize.

— I was just checking on Libète and must be going, Sister Françoise said. But it’s nice to meet you, madam.

— And you as well.

Stephanie came close to the girl as the doctor moved away. Jak and Lolo both pulled back to let them speak.

— You came, Libète said weakly, smiling.

— I came.

— What changed?

— I had missed him long enough.

— I’m glad to see it.

— Are you recovering, cherie?

— M’la. My shoulder may not work well, but everything else does.

Stephanie grinned. I’ll return to you, Libète. I must speak with Elize some more, and maybe the doctor.

Sadness crossed Libète’s face, her bottom lip twitching.

The woman stroked the girl’s face with the back of her fingers. Cherie, m’la. I’m here. Here now, and in the future.

She floated away back toward Elize’s bed just as she had come, leaving Jak and Lolo flanking Libète.

The girl’s attention turned back toward the young man. He looked exhausted and broken.
Surely his illness
, Jak thought.
And stress
.

— When did they let you go? Libète asked.

— Yesterday. He took a deep, labored breath. I thought they were just taking me out to see another visitor, maybe my mother, or you two again. When I got to the visitor’s room, they took off my handcuffs. Just like that. No paperwork. No explanation. They just said “go.” He cracked a small smile, a glimmer of the old Lolo the children both knew. So I did.

Jak and Libète chuckled.

— And you’re here! Libète said. Now, right in front of us. No bars in between!

— How does freedom feel? Jak asked.

Lolo’s shoulders bobbed with indifference. Good. It just feels…good. The answer seemed perfunctory, striking Jak as odd. Being with family, Lolo continued. Sitting at home, eating real food…it’s all, well, good.

Libète sensed something amiss too. What is it, Lolo? What’s wrong?

He sighed. I went to the spot.

— You mean—

He nodded. Where they died. To say goodbye. To lay them to rest. Her final words to me that morning bouncing around my head…

His gaze floated away just as his words had.

— From her voicemail? Jak asked.

— Voicemail? Lolo shook his head. No, when we spoke. When she told me to come meet her.

Jak withdrew into his thoughts while Libète spoke up.

— It’s good you could do that. Say goodbye the right way. She smiled, changing the subject to less heavy things. I’m glad you’re getting treatment for your sickness. It’s like I’m free too, for the first time in a long while.

— I’m glad. He took another hard breath, and stood. I’m going now.

— Oh? Already? Where?

— Not sure. I need to think some things through. Everyone, all the guys, they’re all scattered.

— You’ll come again? Soon?

— Before long.

— Good. She moved her injured shoulder. It feels better since you’ve come. You’re good medicine. Lolo patted her head and exhaled.

— I’ll go out with you, Jak said. To see you off. He turned to Libète. I’ll be back.

She smiled smugly, closing her eyes and offering a yawn. I may be asleep. All these visitors! They make one so
tired
…

Lolo walked with a slow swagger ahead of Jak, each step looking heavy and difficult. Jak limped behind, catching up outside in the courtyard.

— You spoke with Claire? The morning she died?

Lolo turned, looking chagrined. Yes.

— Then you lied before.

— Wha—what are you talking about?

— You told us she had left you a message that morning, telling you to come meet her.

He scowled. So what? he said icily.

— I had always wondered about that. Why the middle of the reeds? Why so far from everything and everyone?

— Shut up, Jak.

— It’s because you told her to be there. Isn’t it?

— Shut
up!
he growls, his clenched hand springing toward Jak’s collar and lifting him up.

Jak doesn’t flinch.

Others seated around the courtyard look at the pair, both the boy and man acutely aware they are watched. He releases Jak, who stares at him with such intensity that Lolo cannot meet his eyes.

— The money.
It all makes sense
. The killer bought you! Jak hissed.

Lolo, livid now, trembles as he moves to the street.

— Stop! Jak calls. You talk to me or I’ll call for the police.

Lolo signals toward one of the walls, still in view of the others but out of their earshot.

— I didn’t know—I didn’t know he’d kill her! She hurt
me,
Jak. She was treating me like trash. I didn’t know what he had planned for her. All I wanted was for her to hurt as she’d hurt me!

— Good God, Lolo! She was trying to protect you the whole time! From Benoit! From the killer!

— I didn’t know who was behind it, not until you figured it out! I couldn’t know! Claire never said anything!

— So you set her and her baby up to die.

— Yes—no! When I got paid later that day, the killer told me they’d kill me if I left. I knew I had to hide. I didn’t know what else to do. I was at their mercy. So I bought a gun, contacted my uncle, and kept quiet in his apartment.

— They were going to set you up to be arrested all along, but couldn’t find you after you’d run away.

Lolo nods grimly.

— But why did you stay behind? Why didn’t you flee when you could?

— I loved her—love her still. Even after realizing what I’d done. It felt wrong to go.

Jak stares at the young man, tortured by his own sins and selfishness.
He suffered in prison already—he’d die there if returned.
He mulls it over, and thinks of Libète.

— Listen to me, Lolo. You will leave Cité Soleil. You are going to go far from here, so that we never see you again. You’ll disappear. And Libète, your family, they will never know the truth of what you’ve done because it will crush them—it will crush her.

— If I disappear, her work and sacrifice—it will seem like it was for nothing!
That
will crush her!

Jak’s nostrils flair, anger overtaking him. If you
don’t
disappear I will call the law down on you once again and there will be no release for you this time! To lie, to hide the truth—you deserved everything you got!