In Darkness (28 page)

Lil’ Wayne said right to Biggie’s face:

—
Boko ba w pwen, li pa di w domi nan kafou
.

It’s an expression everyone uses, and it’s kind of perfect for that moment and for Biggie, I guess, cos it means,
even if the houngan gave you a protective spell, there’s no need to lie down at a crossroad
. Meaning, we were going to get ourselves killed.

Biggie, he just looked long and cold at Lil’ Wayne.

— We’re still alive after this, you come and tell me that again, he said.

So that was it. We talked about it for a bit, and then we were just doing it. We got the car ready, the explosives, the guns, and we did it.

We were at the end of the street that leads to Boston territory. We knew that the Boston leaders were sleeping there tonight, cos we put some shorties on the case. Shorties look the same, running around, playing games. Boston crew can’t tell a Solèy 10 shorty from a Solèy 19 shorty.

I was hoping Marguerite was there, too, and I was hoping I didn’t kill her. I was feeling sick. My whole stomach was tight, like a bag packed with weed. I know I’ve killed people, and you probably think I’m an evil person, but the truth is I only did it to find Marguerite. I only joined Route 9 cos they’re the other power; they’re the only ones who could help me destroy Boston and get her back.

So this, right here, this was the moment I had waited nearly half my life for. This was the moment when I might be reunited with my twin.

Biggie raised a hand to say go.

I leaned down and started the engine. I jammed the brick on the gas pedal, just so.

Tintin pushed past me and adjusted the steering wheel a little.

— Better, he said.

The car rolled forward into the night. It crossed a line that none of us had ever crossed, and then it was in Boston, just like it was nothing at all, even though to us it was in another world. It cruised straight, ghost-riding, smooth like silk.

It passed the shack where the Boston chimères were sleeping, and I gripped the remote in my hand. I pressed the lever forward, and the servo engaged, and the AK in the car fired.

Ghost-ride drive-by.

All hell broke loose.

Guys started spilling out of the shacks and they were unloading at the car. I saw that one of them was limping, blood pouring from his leg. People were screaming. I thought, shit, I did this. Then I lifted up my gun, cos some of them had seen us and they were starting to fire at us. Biggie went down on one knee, his Tec-9 spitting fire.

For a long moment, I was just frozen. I’d never seen or heard so many bullets. The whole street was locked in a full metal jacket; the air was brass casings and steel-tipped; it was on fire. It was fucking crazy. I tried to call out, but bullets are faster than words, and I was just standing there in the middle of all that metal death.

I thought, I’m going to die.

I thought, this was a bad idea.

Then I saw her. Marguerite.

She was running out of a shack, screaming with fear. She had no gun in her hand, and that was good, I thought – that way Tintin or Biggie or Mickey wouldn’t shoot her. Mickey was limping bad, but he was there anyway.

I started to move toward her, but not too close. I had to catch her with my eyes, otherwise this was –

She turned, looked at me. She was heading to the chimères who were shooting at us and the car, but she stopped.

— Run! I screamed. Run! Away from the car!

She stared at me.

— RUN!

Some of the Bostons turned to me and started shooting, and I threw myself to the ground. I thought, shit, they see it now, they see the trick. But they didn’t move.

She
moved, though – I saw her run in the opposite direction, further into Boston.

I thought, oh thank you, oh thank you, oh thank you.

Most of the Bostons, they were shooting the car. That was good. That was what they were meant to do, cos if they kept shooting it, then –

BOOM
.

It was the middle of the night, but suddenly it turned to daytime, and there was a sun burning in the street. Stuff flew in all directions – pieces of car, a seat went over a shack. There was a sound in my ears like that electric tingling you get when you put your head under the water of the sea – the sound of the fish moving, I guess. I put my finger to the side of my head. I felt hot sticky blood on my cheek; it seemed it was coming from my ear. Where the car had been was just black scorches. One of the shacks fell down completely, a crash of sparks and corrugated iron. The air was filled with the smell of burning.

I realized I was doing nothing, so I raised my gun and fired into the storm. I didn’t think it mattered, though, cos there couldn’t be anyone still alive there.

I hoped that Marguerite had got far enough away.

There was dust and smoke everywhere now, and some of the shacks were burning. I walked forward, holding my gun in front of me. A man on fire came stumbling toward me and I shot him without thinking. A moment later, a bullet hit my arm and I screamed, but I kept walking. It was hard to hold the gun in my hand. I held it anyway. I was only half-conscious of people running here and there, of bullets flying. Most of the bullets were ours, I think. The Boston crew wasn’t a crew anymore.

I was through the smoke and in clear air when I found her. She was huddling against a broken bike, watching the flames. She was so beautiful and so vulnerable. She was the only thing pure and uncorrupted in this whole slum.

— Marguerite, I said. Marguerite, it’s OK.

I held out my half of the necklace.

— See? I said. See, I still have it. Where’s yours?

I was looking at her neck to see if she was wearing her necklace.

She stared at me, fear and horror on her face.

— What are you talking about? she said. Who’s Marguerite?

Then

— All France comes to Haiti, said Toussaint. France has been deceived, and she comes to take revenge and enslave the blacks once again.

— You do not know that, said Jean-Christophe. It may be that they come in –

— In peace? In hope of friendship? No.

Toussaint was examining a new French fleet through his spyglass as he spoke. Some fifty vessels were anchored in the bay of Cape Town, their cannon trained on the town, their decks teeming with soldiers. The town itself, on the flanks of the hill, had seen a resurgence, he noted, after its burning not so long ago. More was the pity – it would be unprepared to withstand another fire so soon.

All morning they had watched the maneuvers of the French ships. At first, Toussaint had taken their movements for hesitation, but Jean-Christophe explained how the ships had to tack against the wind, and employ other such maritime tactics, in order to get into position and land.

However they viewed it, there were many men with guns on board. They intended to invade.

— If Bonaparte wanted peace, he would not have sent this fleet against us, Toussaint said. I fear he means to take the country by force.

He had thought the island rid of the French, but now a new commander had taken over the Republic, a man named Bonaparte, martial by inclination, a genius on the battlefield, according to rumors. It seemed that Bonaparte wished to reclaim Haiti.

— The new French ambassador, Leclerc, says he brings you gifts, said Jean-Christophe.

Toussaint laughed. These French seemed to think that the free blacks had no notion of classical antiquity. Did they believe he had never heard of Troy, of the giant horse given as a gift to the Trojans, its wooden belly full of enemy soldiers? He had used this stratagem himself, or tantamount to such, when he took Guildive from the English.

— Leclerc lies, he said.

When the news of the fleet’s arrival had reached him, Toussaint had immediately ordered the withdrawal of his key advisors, and most of the army, to Dondon. The French could only be sending ships for one reason.

He had sent Jean-Christophe to take charge of Cape Town, with just enough troops to discourage the French from landing, even if they couldn’t hold them long when they did. Leclerc had landed in a small rowing boat, reminding Toussaint of the previous time the French had tried this chicanery. He had asked Jean-Christophe for permission to land the ships, saying that he bore a proclamation from Bonaparte declaring Haiti free, and offering troops to help maintain the peace, as well as rich gifts as a mark of their friendship.

On receiving the envoy, Jean-Christophe did exactly what Toussaint had told him to. He told Leclerc that Toussaint had retired to the interior, that he could not allow the ships to land, and that the soldiers defending Cape Town had been instructed to defend their liberty with their lives.

Leclerc had not been pleased. He had arranged for his proclamation to be published covertly, and many of the whites had been impressed by its assurance of their continued liberty. They had beset Jean-Christophe, supplicating him, urging him to allow the French to land, to accept their help and friendship.

They would have sent a single envoy if they meant friendship, Toussaint knew. They would not have sent an army, they would not have sent a fleet.

He knew they must go to war again, and now it looked as if the French had grown tired of waiting and were going to land. Already, he heard shots being fired, distant detonations down there in the bay.

Such are the gifts they bring
, he thought.

In truth, Toussaint had a very good idea of what France wanted. He had spies in Paris, too, and he knew what was said there. Some months before, he had published a Constitution of Haiti, naming himself as Governor-General for a term of three years. He had thought this politic, and done humbly enough. There were many who had pressed him to take up office as king or dictator in all but name. Even the whites had supported him, having been pleased when he restored to them a portion of their former lands. He was respected by all: by the soldiers, who appreciated his fairness and even, to his surprise, his harsh justice; by the whites; by the mulats. In his view, the constitution should not have been controversial. He had been careful to strip it of recriminations and demands. He had acknowledged the audacity of their rebellion, writing,
we dared to be free when we were not free.

One item, perhaps, might have given offense. He had included a clause on freedom of trade, but surely that could not explain this new French invasion? It could not possibly be the case, could it, that profit should override the republican principle of the freedom of man?

He had not been importunate. Neither had he insulted the consul’s person, Toussaint felt certain. He had written to Bonaparte himself several months ago, addressing him with all his pomp and titles, and enclosing a copy of the Haitian Constitution. The man was merely a king by another name, it seemed to Toussaint, but he was prepared to accord him his dues.

Toussaint’s son, Isaac, who was now studying in Paris, had informed him of Bonaparte’s apparent response on receipt of Toussaint’s constitution. It was said that the consul had thrown down the paper and declared:

— France is outraged by this presumption. Toussaint is a revolted slave who must be punished.

Toussaint himself thought that a rather unlikely claim. After all, what had he done apart from declare the freedom of the slaves, which France herself had subsequently confirmed? His constitution made it clear that Haiti would remain under French suzerainty, excepting only its freedom to trade, and its freedom from slavery.

He had heard another story that was whispered in the salons of Paris, and this one struck his ears as far more likely.

According to this version, Bonaparte had barely even inspected the constitution. What had interested him more was a ledger that his master of accounts had prepared for him.

This ledger showed two columns:

The profit from Haiti’s plantations, assuming slavery.

The profit from those same plantations, assuming a free populace.

Toussaint remembered these two figures as related to him by Brandicourt.

Nine hundred million francs
, he thought.
That’s what our lives cost. That’s the reward for which the brave Republic of France, the champion of liberty, throws away our freedom.

The game of diplomacy had ended. The French were disembarking and invading. Toussaint had been fighting them and then the English for years. He was weary to think that the battle must recommence, that more of his men must die. But still,
still
, he would not give up the country that his people had spilled their blood for.

The previous day, Jean-Christophe had brought him a letter from Leclerc, and it clearly showed the thorny path that lay ahead.

I learn with indignation, Citizen-General, that you refuse to receive the French squadron and army which I command.

France has made peace with England, and her government sends to Haiti forces able to subdue rebels, if rebels are to be found in Haiti. As to you, Citizen-General, I avow that it would give me pain to reckon you amongst rebels. I warn you that if this very day you do not put into my possession the forts Picolet, Belair, and all the batteries of the coast, tomorrow at dawn fifteen thousand men shall be disembarked. Four thousand at this moment are landing at Fort Liberté, eight thousand at Port Républican. You will find my proclamation joined to this communication; it expresses the intentions of the French government, but, remember, despite the esteem your conduct in the colony has inspired in me, I hold you responsible for whatever may take place.