by Billy Kring
The next day she took him on a different path into the mountains nearer Port Au Prince. As they exited the jeep beside an abandoned hut in a field of bare earth, Malice gestured at the mountain peaks and valleys with a wave of her arm.
She said, “The people do not understand what they are destroying. Everyone makes charcoal from trees they cut in these mountains, and each year, there are fewer trees and more people making charcoal. By the time you are a grown man, there will be nothing but bare land, mudslides, and hunger in this country. There will not be a tree in sight, unless planted by men.”
Marc didn’t reply, but even at his young age, he saw the results of it all around him. Thousands of chunks of white limestone, from an inch to a foot high, jutted out of the bare earth where rains washed away the topsoil down to bare rock. They are exposing the bones of the earth, he thought. White limestone dotted the mountains as far as he could see.
Malice said, “When I was a little girl, this was a great forest with huge trees. Look at it now, and remember my words.”
Malice made several calls the next day, then took Marc to an isolated house near an abandoned cemetery outside Pètionville. The house was low roofed, windowless, and the wooden plank walls were painted red. A large, smoking fire was centered in a ring of river stones in the front unfenced yard, and several chickens pecked and scratched in a small nearby millet field. Beyond the field, in the brush line, goats raised up on their rear legs to eat the new leaves.
The man, bald and very old, tottered out of the house’s dark interior when he heard the jeep pulling in to stop. He wore a threadbare white shirt, filthy khaki pants held up with a piece of rope, and no shoes.
The old man bowed when Malice stepped from the vehicle. She said, “I need two.” She used her hands to show two sizes: one a soccer ball, the other a large orange.
Marc watched from the passenger side of the jeep as the old man shuffled to the fire and used two sticks to push through the loose ash. The stirring released more gray and white smoke, and the stench was terrible. The old man found what he needed in the fire and used the sticks to roll it to the side until it rested against the stones.
It was a human skull.
The skull was black, with wisps of white smoke issuing from the eye sockets and nose cavity in thin, curling strings. The old man said, “This is one. The other is inside.”
“Get it.” Malice said. The old man went in the house and returned seconds later carrying the small white skull of a young child.
Marc went to him and took the small skull as the old man picked up a plastic bucket by the door and carried it to the fire, where he poured it on the skull. Steam and ash whooshed up in a rolling cloud. The old man turned the skull with a stick and put the remaining water on it, with lesser results. Putting the bucket down, the old man rolled the skull outside the ring, handled it to make sure it wasn’t still hot, and carried it to Marc.
He took it, feeling the fire’s remaining heat in the bones warm his hands. Marc placed it beside the little skull. Malice paid the old man and returned to the jeep. They put the skulls in a sack, and Malice drove toward home. She said, “To reverse the magic, I need to bring Ringo from old to young. It is how I was taught. You will help me. It’s easier to learn that way.”
At home, Ringo still stood in the same place they left him, immobile, staring at nothing. Marc thought it was like leaving a statue. They carried the skulls into the workroom and placed them on the long bench attached to the wall, beside all the other items and plants they gathered in the previous days.
Malice said, “Come with me.” She led the tall boy down the hall and stopped in front of the forbidden room, and opened the door with her key. “It’s time you see.”
The room was larger than Marc had imagined. Long and rectangular, with tables along the walls and cabinets filled with jars and vases filled with what Marc could only guess were for vodou. Photos and paintings were placed haphazardly around the room.
A large painting of Papa Doc was centered on the back wall. Photos of Malice were few, and were always with her in the blue denim uniform, straw hat and sunglasses of the Tonton Macoute.
Two large glass aquariums on the floor had snakes in them. Marc checked to make sure the glass lids were secure on both before he ventured closer. He’d read books on snakes, Malice had several, so identifying them was easy. The long, slender cobras were easiest because they flared their hoods when Marc approached. In the second aquarium was a long gray snake, maybe twelve feet long, Marc thought. It aggressively raised its head off the floor and opened its mouth. The inside was black.
Malice said, “Careful with that one.”
“Black mamba?” Marc asked.
“Yes.”
“And these live snakes have uses?”
“Oh yes.”
Marc nodded and continued to explore until Malice said, “We need to find certain items, then go back to the workroom. I will bring you in here again.”
Malice went to one of the cabinets and withdrew two small glass vials filled with brown powder. Corks were in the tops. They left the room and Malice locked it, saying, “You will soon have your own key.”
They worked for the next two days preparing each series in the process, and on the third day, Malice had Ringo sit in a chair as she began the procedure.
Some of it was having the boy take potions in proper order, while the rest was preparing the room with drawings and symbols.
At the end of the day, Ringo lay down by himself in the center of the drawings on the floor and slept. Malice said, “That is good progress. This boy is strong, physically and spiritually.”
“What will we do tomorrow?”
“You will start tonight. I will give you instructions. In the morning we will begin first with blood.”
The next day dawned with Marc finishing his night’s work. He brought a ladder into the workroom to view his efforts from above to make certain it was correct.
Ringo had not moved during the night, but all the symbols and designs were different. Marc erased them during the night and drew new ones according Malice’s orders. The only portion of the old design that was left intact was under Ringo’s body. It was the center of the crossroads. Marc extended the crossed lines away from the sleeping boy and added the intricate designs and symbols until they covered the floor from wall to wall.
He brought in the kid goats next, and tethered them to a table leg. Both were only a few days old, and didn’t fight the ropes, only tugged against them occasionally as they played with each other.
Malice entered the room dressed in long, flowing scarlet robes. Her face was marked with lines and dots of white paint, except for the eye sockets, which were painted black. Two long, red goat horns were attached to her head. Marc sat in the corner as she began chanting and casting small amounts of powders and ground plants as she walked in a circle around Ringo’s body. After the third time, she told Marc to remove Ringo’s clothes. He did, then returned to the corner.
Malice continued to chant and dance, moving to Ringo and using her finger to paint red and black designs on his body. It continued for an hour, then she switched jars and painted a single white stripe from his forehead down to each foot.
The goats lay still, watching, and she caught up one, took off the tether, and chanted as she carried it while circling the boy. One the completion of the third circle, she cut the kid’s throat and let the blood rain down on Ringo. When the goat bled out, she put it down and repeated the ritual with the second kid.
Blood covered Ringo’s body. Malice chanted again, and this time used smooth twigs to dip into jars on the counter and, one at a time, she slipped the twig into Ringo’s mouth, rolling the twig so the potions stayed in him.
When she finished two hours later, she motioned for Marc to follow her, and closed and locked the door with Ringo inside, still on the floor. She said, “Tonight will be the telling of it. He may rant and scream, but in the morning we will know if he has returned.” Sh
e touched Marc’s arm, “That does not mean he will be like he was as a normal one, but that he might be functional, and maybe even almost normal.”
“I understand.”
“I am going to rest now.” Malice said.
Marc decided to stay by the door and sat down with his back against it. He fell asleep in minutes.
Early the next morning, Malice woke him. Marc rubbed his eyes and stood as she put in the key and opened the door.
Ringo stood in the center of the room, touching his chest and stomach. He said, “I feel sticky.”
Malice said, “Other than sticky, how do you feel?”
“Good. I am hungry, though.”
She said to Marc, “Take him to the showers and let him wash it all away. Bring him to eat afterward and we will talk about what is next.”
Marc said “What do you think about him?”
Malice smiled, “He has a good chance. Better than I would have hoped.”
For the next month, Marc worked with Ringo to improve his ability to think and talk. Malice gave him potions she mixed, and although he improved, there was never a time that she felt he was exactly like other people.
She saw him at night, standing outside for hours without moving. It was the same in the home. He preferred to stand rather than sit, but would if Marc or Malice told him to. He ate well, and it did not matter what was served.
It was his stillness that unnerved her the most.
One morning after breakfast, Marc hugged her and said he and Ringo were going into the city. When Ringo attempted to hug Malice as Marc had done, Malice pushed him away with a firm hand on his chest. Marc looked at her, frowning. Malice felt unsettled, almost jittery at Ringo’s attempt at emotion.
She said, “Ringo, I cannot do that. You were too long in the coffin, and I am a sòsyè. To do it would harm my spirit.”
Ringo stood where she pushed him. He looked at her, not blinking, and as still as a stone. She couldn’t feel if he was angry, or sad, or anything.
Marc’s eyes bored into her. He was angry. She would feel that even if she weren’t a witch. For Marc’s benefit, she said to Ringo, “I like you, Ringo, and maybe, in time, we will become closer. And you may stay here with Marc and I as long as you wish.”
Marc seemed to bring down his anger at her words. He tapped Ringo on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go to town.” Ringo didn’t nod at Malice or acknowledge her in any way. He turned and followed Marc out of the house.
Malice went to the liquor cabinet even though it wasn’t yet noon. She poured a large tumbler of Jack Daniels and tossed it back, then refilled the glass again and sat at the table, thinking about this new, troubling turn of events. After drinking the second and starting on the third, Malice knew that it might eventually come down to disposing of Marc’s newfound friend. The more she drank, the better that decision sounded.
During the next several years, their relationships improved, primarily because Ringo never again overstepped his place in Malice’s home. Things were running smoothly for everyone. Marc took Ringo with him for interrogations, and they began to share, then alternate questioning subjects.
Malice heard, and thought it was time for the young men to elevate their status. She talked to Papa Doc in private about the special situation, and Duvalier agreed. Both young men were to become Tonton Macoute, but as special officers. They would not wear the blue denim uniforms, and would perform special duties as needed.
The boys were so adept at it that Malice was personally commended by Duvalier and promoted to Commandante over all of Port Au Prince.
Marc and Ringo recruited and worked a ring of homeless youths as spies, and received a great deal of information ranging from nothing to highly valuable. To pay the boys, Ringo and Marc used information from them to steal money and jewels.
Ringo and Marc continued to grow. Both were well over six feet and two hundred pounds. If anyone gave them trouble, Ringo and Marc were swift and vicious, and always under the protective umbrella of Malice’s power.
Marc knew money was power, and he began a small smuggling operation across the shallow Massacre River into The town of Dajabon in the Dominican Republic. Using the same orphans who worked for him, he sent Ringo to the border to oversee the simple operation of wading the river carrying goods and returning with money.
Profits grew steadily, and Marc had the operation change to vehicles. Ringo went across and befriended the Customs officials, offering hefty payment to allow them to send vehicles through Customs at the bridge.
Before long, Marc and Ringo bought boats and used the seas to ferry even larger loads of people and drugs across the border. They increased to taking weapons as well, and for a price, almost anything someone wanted.
Marc often watched world events, and he felt they should learn English, so he and Ringo took private lessons, and even travelled to Miami, Florida, where they immersed themselves in the language for six months before returning to Haiti.
The end of it was when Papa Doc Duvalier died. A power struggle began before the white-haired dictator’s corpse was cold. Papa’s wife, Simone, and her nineteen year-old son, Baby Doc Duvalier, took control. Baby Doc assumed the title, Dictator for Life. Simone outmaneuvered the powerful heads of the Tonton Macoute to wrest power from them. She had Luckner Cambronne exiled to Florida. As for Malice, Simone always resented the close relationship between her and Papa Doc.
Malice was demoted back to head the prison, away from those in power who had helped her in the past. Malice became embittered, started drinking heavily, and began using drugs. She also worked spells and prepared vodou rituals to get back at anyone who she felt harmed her.
Malice had to be careful, for everyone knew that Simone was also a sòsyè, and had spies and informants throughout the country, especially near those she perceived as threats.
Marc and Ringo were little bothered by the changes at the top. The only trouble they had was when Malice took her anger out on them.
The hostility increased on her part, and she was infuriated at how prosperous the two young men were becoming while she was now little more than a jailer. One day as Ringo walked past her and she staggered into him, Malice shoved him away and hissed, “Don’t touch me, undead filth!”
Ringo moved away without a word, but Marc witnessed it. He filed the incident in his mind, but did not forget. Over the next decade, Marc and Ringo grew increasingly wealthy as they expanded their smuggling to incorporate all the Caribbean. They moved out of Malice’s home to a palatial estate in Pètionville, high in the hills overlooking Port au Prince. With Malice removed, Marc and Ringo developed casual, but good relations with Baby Doc, and especially his mother, Simone.
As Haiti continued its downward spiral, everyone knew something had to give. And it did, with Baby Doc, his wife, and Simone being ousted in a popular rebellion, causing them to flee to France for their own safety.
Marc and Ringo saw the power vacuum as an opportunity and extended their reach to South America, Mexico, and the United States. They traveled to those locations, forming networks and friendships that were advantageous. A chance meeting with a mustached, heavyset Columbian named Pablo Escobar changed everything.
Marc only met once with him face to face, and thereafter went through intermediaries, preferring to keep his name out of anything associated with Escobar because he saw from the very first that the Columbian was smart but reckless. Marc knew that every law enforcement agency in the world would have people listening and watching Medellìn, Columbia.
When Aristide regained power after being ousted the first time, Marc realized things could not continue the way they had been. The U.S. Military supported the new President, and Haiti was crawling with people from the CIA and DEA, all working clandestinely.
It was also the time that Malice came back into their lives. She was no longer employed, Aristide having personally ordered the firing. When the knock came and Ringo opened the door, Malice fell into the foyer, drunk and almost incoherent.
They nursed her for the next month, attempting to dry her out and break her dependence on narcotics.
She seemed to come around and acted more normal, even once patting Ringo on the shoulder.
It was short-lived. The two men were gone all day, and they returned to a Malice who had started drinking at breakfast and snorting lines of cocaine every twenty minutes throughout the day. She confronted them as Marc and Ringo walked into the living room.
Malice screamed in her adopted son’s face, spewing spittle and rank breath, “You yellow-eyed bastard, you cost me everything, you stole all my wealth! I’m going to turn you both in!”
Ringo grabbed her by the throat with both hands and broke her neck.
He let her body drop and said, “She threatened you. I will not allow that.”
Marc looked at the dead woman and felt…nothing. He said, “It was needed.”
Ringo said, “I will take care of the body. I want no one else to know.” He picked Malice up under one arm and went through the kitchen, stopping to get a long sharp knife. He walked into the back yard, disappearing behind the shrubbery shielding a small plot of fruit trees.
Marc poured himself a drink and thought about everything. When he finished the second drink, he poured a third, and one for Ringo. Taking both drinks, he walked into the back yard and noticed the thread of smoke beyond the shrubs, the area where they burned tree limbs and landscaping refuse. When he walked around the shrubbery, he saw the fire and Ringo nearby, sitting crossed-legged under a tree laden with green oranges.
Ringo held Malice’s cooked arm in both hands, eating the meat from it like one eats an ear of corn. The knife was beside him on the grass, and Marc saw the rest of Malice’s dismembered body cooking over the flames.
Marc put Ringo’s drink beside his friend, and then sat down under the orange tree. He said, “No one will ever find out what happened to her.”
Ringo chewed, swallowed, and said, “No one. I will eat all of our mother. If I throw up, it will be in a hole in the ground that I will cover, and then I will eat more, until it is all gone. Her bones I will burn until black and brittle. I will break those bones to small pieces and mix them with feed for the swine across town.