Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (54 page)
Lolo looks down and away.
— Be careful what you say, Jak. You may get your other leg broken in the night. Or worse.
— If you say another word, another syllable, everyone here will know what you did. And you’ll be necklaced in the street in minutes, a tire burning round your neck!
Lolo is silenced. You wouldn’t do that.
— I will have Libète protected, Lolo. She’s seen enough, been hurt enough. Go and I’ll not speak a word of what you’ve done. Stay and you’ll see what I can do.
Lolo’s eyes darted furtively. He cursed the boy under his breath, and much to Jak’s surprise, did exactly as commanded. He left.
Jak’s head floated and spun like a balloon set free to roam the sky. He braced himself against the compound wall, eyes still upon him. He took four long breaths to calm himself and his nerves before slowly stumbling back into the ward.
As he moved toward Libète’s bed, bobbing with each uneven step, he watched Elize and Stephanie talk, even laugh.
Shall I tell them?
Elize had days to live, Sister Françoise had said in hushed tones, and Jak did not want to darken their time together.
No. No one can know.
He rubbed his nose and exhaled again.
When he reached Libète, her head was to the side and eyes closed, her breath soft, slow. Jak moved the stool without making a sound and sat, setting his chin on the edge of the bed a few inches from her own face. He could feel Libète’s breath coming in and out through pursed lips, her face tranquil and at rest.
At long last, she was at peace and unafraid.
He would not see that change.
A year and a day later
Jak steps up on the borrowed chair, using the full strength of his arms to pull himself up and onto the top of the brick wall. He rights himself and looks around for prying eyes before brushing off the new dust covering the front of his uniform, taking in the brilliant pinks and oranges of the darkening sky.
He stands, balancing himself by reaching for the trunk of a tall palm next to the wall, and walks carefully with the caution of a first-time gymnast. He goes to where the wall stops and the building starts, scaling it with the same difficulty as the wall required. Now on the rooftop, he grimaces.
— What happened back there? he calls.
Libète sits on the other end of the roof, legs dangling over the side, dressed in her own uniform. She turns at his voice and offers a smile. The teacher needed telling off, she calls back.
Jak walks toward her and sits at her side. And why was that?
— Because Thierry was stealing. Every shift he served in the kitchen, food was disappearing. So I decided to follow him, to watch him. Stupid me, I knocked over a broom and made a sound. He saw me and reported me to Maitre Latour before I had a chance to tell the headmaster. Well, Latour got to me. She told me to mop all the floors.
— And what did you do?
Libète shifted uncomfortably, banging her heels against the wall and looking away from Jak. I may have told her to mop them herself.
Jak nodded. And that didn’t go over well?
— I lectured her about the wrongness of it all, that I was falsely accused. She wouldn’t have it.
— So you’re hiding up here?
— Yes. No—it’s not just that. It’s…
— I know. It was a year ago, no? That he passed.
— Yes.
— Stephanie will be by tomorrow, no?
Libète’s brilliant smile showed again. She said she would, to take us to the cemetery, and for ice cream.
Jak nodded, quietly taking in the view.
Turning to one side of the boarding school, their vantage point let them see the vastness of Cité Soleil and Port-au-Prince. On the other side lay the even greater sea.
— It’s all so big. So very big, Libète remarked. Countless wrongs, pains, losses, sicknesses, and deaths. Just here in Cité Soleil alone. What do you think it’s like to be God, Jak? Seeing this all, experiencing all of it, all around the world, all the time?
Jak looked at Libète and shrugged. Who can know? That’s why God is God and we’re not, I suppose. We couldn’t bear it all.
— I suppose not…
She trailed off as her eyes remained fixed on the streets below. Jak looked at his friend with fresh concern.
— We have a responsibility, Jak. This—all of this—it’s ours. We can’t let it slip further away. We’ve got to do what we can so that all that’s wrong doesn’t overtake us…
He reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him and blinked twice, pulled from her musing.
— We will, Libète. The boy smiled, patting her on the back. We will. But let’s first go play cards with Laurent and Maxine, before it’s too dark to see. We’ll hide from Latour, and if we get caught along the way, I’ll help you with the mopping.
Libète smiled back.
She stood first, brushing off the seat of her school uniform and peering out at Cité Soleil one more time before the Sun settled low beneath the horizon.
The girl turned and offered her hand to help the boy up.
— Let’s go to it.
Any book is born out of community, and though I’ve authored this story, so many have contributed to its shape, its small moments, the sweep of its narrative and any truth it might contain. They deserve my greatest thanks.
At the top of that list are the residents of Bwa Nèf who befriended me: Guemps, Ti Rennel, Blackenlove, Emmanuel, Serge, Sadrack, Jean Mark, Louis, Monsieur Denis as well as the various children whose playfulness and resolve provided the templates for Libète and Jak. Other friends who guided me include Myrlene “Mimi” Dominique, Junior Abellard, Pastor Walliere Pierre, Emmanuel Jeanitte, Frankel Formétus, Alcégaire Piard, Pastor Simeon Jean, Petit and Darlene Lafleur, Pastor Manasse and Claire Pierre Louis, Moza Flaure-Alcius, Pastor Jacques Metier and the Maitre family among many, many others. Pastor Sadrack Nelson is owed a great debt for aiding with the French and Kreyol throughout the book—any outstanding errors are my own.
On this side of the water, I have to thank Tom Griffin, Regine Theodat, Brian Concannon, Sarah Johnson, Gilda Jean-Louis and Desiree Wayne. I am deeply grateful to the administration at the Earle Mack School of Law at Drexel University and the Lamp for Haiti’s board and staff for the opportunity to learn and serve in Bwa Nèf.
Michael Benson’s sure hand and keen eye guided my innumerable revisions, and much thanks goes to Greg Ash, Justin Wright, and Tim Fryett who helped shape the crowdfunding campaign that birthed it. To Wally Turnbull, I give special thanks for his permission to reproduce the majority of Haitian proverbs employed in the text, collected in his volume Hidden Meanings: Truth and Secret in Haiti’s Creole Proverbs.
In a literal sense, this was a community effort as this book stands as a testament to the potential of crowdfunding to support the arts. A great many went above and beyond with their contributions to
Because We Are
and deserve mention: P.J. and Erica Oswald, Phil and LeeAnn Oswald, Stephen and Janice Daulton, Rachael Hoffman, Sarah Greenblatt, Stephen and Whitney Johnson, Daniel and Jamie Colbert, Gina Hayman, Pita Oxholm, Francis Quigley, Sarah Adeyinka, Mark and Patty Wright, and Lisa Parrott. To you and all of the others supporters who made this nonprofit novel possible, I hope I haven’t disappointed!
Lastly, to my great love Katharine: I thank you for the countless hours you’ve permitted me to spend breathing life into these characters and this story, supporting me all the way. You’re a blessing, and God-sent.
Discerning a call to work for peace and justice has changed Ted’s life and taken him from the suburbs of Sacramento to living with Sudanese refugees in Cairo and on to his current home in North Philadelphia. He and his wife Katharine live there, seeking to be faithful to their community, bringing people and causes at the margins of society to the center, and finding comfort in the knowledge that another world is possible.
Written while living in Haiti, after taking the bar exam and before his new job as a public interest lawyer,
Because We Are
is Ted’s first foray into fiction.
You can connect with Ted by email at [email protected], and on any of the following websites:
Copyright © 2012 by Ted Oswald
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information, email [email protected].
ISBN 978-0-9886005-0-8 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-9886005-1-5 (ebook)
Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by Greg Ash (
designedbyable.com
)