“It’s a grand gesture, Tory, but you can’t do this.”
“I’m doing it. Get that straight. I’m doing it. I’m not going back.”
“What the fuck are we going tell them?” he said.
“I don’t know. You and Mannino are pretty bright. I’m sure you’ll think of something. But I’ll be gone about two seconds after you are, and I’m going to stay gone for a while, until I know no one’s coming back to get me.”
He wasn’t even listening anymore, just staring at the floor. When he looked back up at her he said, “I don’t think it’s a good way to go out, Tory. This is not how you want to go out.” She said nothing to that, just held his eyes. Finally, he said, “You’ve got to get on a treatment program, whatever you call it. Can they do that for you here?”
She shrugged, then nodded.
Then she walked over and hugged him, as best she could, with the gear and clothes piled in his arms and the poncho liner around her body. She hugged him, held him tight with all her gear between them, and then he turned and walked out the door.
Wrapped in the poncho liner she found the cot again, and then it was time to cry again and she did a little of that.This is ridiculous, she thought.I don’t cry.
Tory lay for five minutes, regret growing stronger and stronger in her until finally she jumped up and stuck her head out of the hut and called after him but he was gone, long gone, the Humvee gone.
Brinia Avril came to the hut later, waking her from sleep, and when she saw Tory’s condition she left again and returned with a simple red and blue dress. Tory slipped it over her head, smoothing it out. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a dress.
“We’ll have to get you some sandals,” the doctor said, pointing at Tory’s feet. “You can’t walk around like that. You’ll get a tapeworm.”
Tory ate and then slept and it was later, much later in the day, when the hospital director knocked on her door. She opened it. In his arms was her gear. All of it. Rucksack, helmet, clothes, boots, rifle. He held it out to her.
“I was out, all day. In the camp. This was on my desk. Yours?”
She nodded and thanked him, taking it all from him. There was a note in the front pocket of her uniform pants, in Dick Wags’s scrawl. It read:You may need this more than you think. If not, bury it. See you around, either way. Your friend.
Jacmel, Morning
Chapter
36
McBride stood on the pier at the bottom of his ship’s gangway. The skippers of the two commercial tugs were waiting for him, but he’d insisted on checking one more time. Finally, he realized he wasn’t going to find her onboard. His radio buzzed.
“We can’t wait anymore, Skipper,” the radio said.
“Piss off,” he answered without pressing the button. He looked down the pier, into the glare of morning. There were palm trees down there, on the black sand beach, and maybe she’d gone there to read and had fallen asleep. Except, he’d gone down and looked. Twice.
“Where are you?” he said, and then before he could change his mind raised the radio to his lips and said, “Okay then. Let’s go.”
He walked up the gangway stairs. As he stepped onto the deck he looked across the pier to the Army LSV, to the skipper there standing, leaning on a rail. The man raised a hand, and McBride raised a hand back.
“Good luck,” Mannino yelled, and McBride nodded and stepped inside the house of his ship.
The morning outside was bright but the blind drawn and the cabin dark. They’d slept like the dead, then woke, then slept again.
Lorraine hadn’t said anything to him yet. Nothing. Just moved her stuff in without a word. It was so odd, so strange, he said nothing in return and didn’t question it. If she wants to be here, Junior Davis thought, I won’t stand in her way. It wasn’t until after they’d slept the first time, in that dreamy, dozy place in between naps, that she spoke. They’d ended up with their arms around each other, and made no move to unwrap on waking. It was warm. When she did speak, she had one simple question.
“What is it that you have,” she asked.
He told her.
“I thought so,” she said. She kissed his chest, and they both went back to sleep. He woke later, alone, and slipped from the bed. He pushed the shade aside a little, and saw they were under way. The silent passage of a towed ship, a dead ship. He could see the mast of one of the commercial tugs, and the clouds and sky beyond. In his desk he found an unopened bottle of whiskey.Our last sail, he thought.What better reason for a toast.
Junior Davis crawled back into bed with the bottle and an empty glass and poured himself a drink.
Chapter
37
When you go, you go for real. It’s just not worth doing any other way.
The soldier walked with helmet off, hanging it on one of the canteens strapped to the back of her web belt. She’d retrieved her soft cap from her cargo pocket, shook it out and put it on, pulling the curved brim low, two fingers off her nose. Her rucksack straps were tight, the load on her back and shoulders almost imperceptible. She held her rifle at an easy port arms with both hands, the reversed strap around her neck taking most of the weight.
In this way, on her terms, the soldier everyone called New Jersey stepped along the road from the hospital through jungle then lighter woods and walked out. Going for real.
She’d left the boat—two days before—in her old, original-issue black combat boots. The soft leather was dust-covered now, small sprays of dried mud on the sides and road dirt across the toes. It pleased her, to look down on them, moving forward on the march—working boots, stepping out.
Her mind clicked to sergeants’ cadences.
Left, left, your military left
She watched her dusty boots.
Your mama was home when you left! You’re right!
Your sister was home when you left! You’re right!
Your mama your sister your uncle your aunt! / Aren’t you glad you left?
You’re right!
It was good to move, good to walk. She breathed deep the thick tropical air.
I wanna be an Airborne Ranger / I wanna life of sex and danger
She kept eyes front, looking neither left nor right, stepping it out.
Hey there soldier, you forgot to duck / was it friendly fire or just bad luck?
She remembered then the silver friendly fire tabs they’d taped to the sleeves of their uniforms and the tops of their helmets. She stopped walking, pausing only long enough to rip them off, crumple them in her hand, and throw them to the side of the road.Worthless, she thought.Bad omens. Then she walked on.
It was her last road march, and she stepped it out with purpose.
A mile from the hospital little Henri and his tagalong sister with her wide silver eyes appeared from the bushes. He waved and Tory waved back then he fell into step with her, pulling his little sister along. She stopped and tried to tell him to go back, back to the hospital, but he was having none of it. He found a long stick on the side of the road and laid it over his shoulder like a proper soldier and kept her pace for more than an hour. The two disappeared as Tory neared Jacmel, then were back—as if they’d never been gone—as she walked down a cobblestone street near an old hotel. She was passing people regularly now, her uniform and weapon drawing stares.
Around the next bend was a woman, a white woman, and Tory stopped abruptly—the sight so strange, so out of place. She realized the woman, too, had stopped abruptly, with probably very similar thoughts about the female soldier who’d just come into her view. They stood, twenty feet apart, staring at each other.
The woman was small, Tory’s height almost exactly, but round. Her hair, too, was round, an almost bowl cut and straight across the forehead. She wore a long khaki skirt and blouse, sturdy black shoes, and what looked like an old sea bag—but white, knit cloth—over her shoulders. She carried a walking stick, and even from twenty feet Tory could see the older woman was suffering from the heat.
Sweat tracks lined the soft creases of her face, dark stains visible on her blouse.
The boy ducked behind Tory, pulling his sister with him.
Down the road, the woman was breathing hard, unused to walking.
Tory wanted to say something but felt herself tongue-tied. She opened her mouth to yell hello and what came out was, “I’m an American.”
“So I gathered,” the woman said.
Tory smiled, feeling stupid. “The uniform.”
“The uniform.” The woman answered her smile, strained as it was through heat exhaustion.
Surprise over, the two women approached each other.
“I’m sorry,” Tory said, “you looked out of place.”
“I was about to say the same. I’ve seen soldiers before, but a single woman and two children is a funny patrol.”
“I guess it is.” Tory’s left hand dropped to the girl’s head.
“Perhaps there should be more patrols like yours.”
“This is kind of an accident,” Tory said. “But maybe you’re right.” She removed one of her canteens then and offered it to the woman, who thanked her and drank deeply. Tory realized suddenly she’d offered this woman water without a second thought but hadn’t even considered the two Haitian children, walking with her for more than an hour now. She removed her helmet from where it hung on her second canteen, pulled the canteen free from her belt and unscrewed the top, then handed it to the boy. He put it into his sister’s hands, whispering to her then watching as she drank.
Tory slung her helmet off one of her ammo pouches and turned back to the older woman, who seemed to be catching her breath.
“My name is Sergeant Harris.”
Pastor held out her hand, shaking. “It is a happy pleasure to meet you, Sergeant. Thank you.” She held the canteen out but Tory indicated she should drink more. The older woman raised the green plastic to her lips, swallowed, then said, “I may be lost.” She laughed. “Actually, no, not lost. Lost would indicate I’d any idea today where I was going. But I didn’t, and don’t. So, not so much lost as—”
“Where are you going?” Tory said, but Pastor continued without answering.
“I’ve lost my ship, you see,” she said.
“Lost it?”
“Well, it’s left and I wasn’t on it.”
“Are you with the missionaries?”
“Yes,” Pastor said, “I was,” and didn’t elaborate further. “I think, though, I might be of more use here.”
“I don’t know enough around here to know of any churches,” Tory said.
“No, I’m not looking for a church. But I understand there’s a hospital here, an AIDS hospital, somewhere on the mountain?”
Tory blinked, looking at the woman. Finally she said, “I know the place. They suffered quite a bit of damage in the last tropical storm. Mudslides.”
“That’s what I heard,” Pastor said. “I thought I might be of help.”
Tory started to say something but Pastor cut her off. “I grew up on a farm,” she said. “I’m not much afraid of mud.”
“There’s no shortage of mud there.”
“I have no shortage of time.”
Tory looked away then, turning around completely, facing the other way, away from the woman, biting her lip hard. She stood there a moment. Then, without turning back around, unbuttoned a rear pocket and pulled out her wallet. She found a five-dollar bill, put the wallet away, and crouched down to the boy. She held the bill in front of his face and—talking slow, using her hands to make sure he understood—told him what she wanted him to do. She pointed and talked and pointed again, the boy nodding. When she was sure it was clear, she gave the boy the money, stood, and turned back to the older woman.
“These two will take you there, to the hospital,” she said. “Their names are Henri and Christina.”
“Bless you,” Pastor said, almost more of a question than a statement, curious and wondering at the strangeness of it all.
Tory said, “Hold the blessing until this little guy actually gets you there.”
Pastor looked down at the two children. “The girl is blind?” she said.
“I think so, yes. And I think they’re orphaned.”
“Well,” Pastor said, then said it again: “Well.”
The older woman held the canteen out but Tory shook her head. “Keep it,” she said. “And theirs, too. I don’t need them. I’m almost home.” And this was true; she could see the gray antennas of the LSV’s bridge through the trees. One more hill to go down and she’d be there.
“Thank you,” Pastor said.
“I have to go,” Tory said, raised her arm in goodbye, and walked on. When she looked up again a few minutes later she could see the whole ship, aft to bow, ass to Voodoo Lounge—her starting point and now her destination. An arc turned on itself. After such a walk she had a moment of regret, pure and true, just like yesterday but reversed. After such a walk Tory thought maybe she’d like to just keep on walking. But, then, maybe she’d walked far enough. For now, anyway.
When you go—when you finally go—you go for real. It’s not always so clear, though, how or when you should leave, or what happens in between. There’s a decision there, and she’d made hers. She was going out now, but going out the way she’d come in.
Author’s Note
The United States military entered Haiti on the morning of September 20, 1994, a planned violent invasion that in the last hours beforehand became instead a mostly unresisted occupation; America’s second occupation of Haiti in the twentieth century, a much shorter and less sadistic stay than the earlier visit (1915–1934). This novel is set against the backdrop of these days and based in part on events that unfolded in this oddest of little wars, but remains entirely a work of fiction.
The words of Paul Farmer in the epigraph are from Tracy Kidder’s biography of him,Mountains Beyond Mountains. The Alan Furst quote is from his novelThe World at Night. Van Morrison’s song “Beside You” is from his albumAstral Weeks. Greg Brown’s song “Lord, I Have Made You a Place in My Heart (But I Don’t Reckon You’re Gonna Come)” is from his albumThe Poet Game. “Life By the Drop” is the only acoustic recording Stevie Ray Vaughn ever made; it’s on his posthumousThe Sky Is Crying .
The writing of this novel began with scribbles in the ports of Cap-Haitien, Jacmel, and Guantanamo Bay in late 1994, six years before I had any idea what I was writing. The bulk of the novel ended up being written—eight years and much other writing later—in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Thanks to Chuck Miles for building a solid room for me to work in there, and Kristina Bauman for sharing her occasional home with my notes, maps, and books. Thanks most of all to Brenda, Krissy, and Fiona for being here. I’m breathing now—better late than never. Another thank you to Brenda for editorial reality checks and the push for perfection.
I remain indebted to Diana Finch(agentus extremus) and Amanda Patten(editrix) —thank you. Many thanks to the real Kevin Riddle, whose perfect name I borrowed for this book. Many thanks also, for many different reasons, to Pierre and Emily Henry, Matt Walker(et tu, Zombi?) , Kimberly Brissenden, Chris Hedges, Trish Todd, Nick DiGiovanni, Margaret Harris, Barry Raine, Bill Wright, Neal Pollack, Dick Wertime, Joel Turnipseed, Foster Winans, Martha Wexler, Connie Sharar, and Brian Wheeler.
—C.B.
STONEHAM-ET-TEWKESBURY,QUEBEC
FEBRUARY 2005
Touchstone
Reading Group Guide
Voodoo Lounge
1. Both the natural environment and the political climate of Haiti are described throughout the novel. How does the contrast between the two contribute to the story? Are there any aspects of the natural world in Haiti that reflect the characters?
2. Discuss Tory’s character. What motivates her to join the Army? Do you think she is a good soldier? Why or why not? Why do you think she chooses, unlike the other female soldiers in the book, to cut her hair short? How does Tory differ from the civilian women in the novel, such as Lorraine and
Pastor?
3. How is the dynamic between male and female soldiers explored within the novel? Discuss the relationship between Tory and her fellow male soldiers, in particular Dick Wags. Examine the sexual energy between Tory and Marc Hall. What is it that draws them to each other, and do you think the war-zone setting has an effect on their attraction?
4. Discuss the incident in basic training that happened between Drill Sergeant Hoya and the trainee from Tory’s platoon named Smith. What effect does this have on Tory and the other female soldiers? What do you think of the platoon’s ostracism of Smith? What do you think of Drill Sergeant Chase’s reaction to it?
5. Bauman describes Tory’s relationship with Junior Davis this way:
“Their drunk was a lot like their relationship in that way; it matched their relationship, followed the same track. Same as when you’re drunk and you don’t notice things have started to change, or you think maybe you see a change and you don’t know why or how long it’s been that way and you shake your head to clear it but you’re drunk now and nothing is very clear.”
What does this passage illustrate about their relationship? How much of an impact do you think their alcohol use had on their overall relationship and its eventual demise?
6. Marc Hall is a unique character, an American officer of Haitian descent deployed to occupy Haiti. Do you think there is an inherent conflict in that, and if so, how does he deal with it? Do you think his misinterpretation of the American mission in Haiti is inevitable, given his ancestry, or simply naive? The novel hints at divorce and a problem with depression; how do these affect Hall’s interpretations and actions?
7. Discuss Pastor’s character. Do you think she is in love with McBride, or has she simply come to rely on him? What motivates her to continue with her maritime ministry? Why do you think she chooses to stay in Haiti at the end of the novel?
8.He took a drag on his cigarette, then poked his finger at Scaboo. “My little roomdog, you’re a hired gun. Nothing noble about it.” He spread his arms. “We’re noble, mind you. We’re the goods…We’re American soldiers.” He hissed the word, drawing it out. The group was silent now, drunk and holding its breath. “But don’t think what we do is noble. You’re drawing a paycheck, is all. Taking a bullet.” He stubbed out his smoke on a cold piece of pizza. “You’re an offensive tool of the United States government. You ain’t defending nothing.”
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