Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

Do you remember when Jesus says, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.” God has decided to use you—each of you, my friends—to spread his good news. To heal. To feed. To do works of justice, mercy, and peace that he has established in advance for you. So though you suffer, do not neglect this responsibility he has placed upon you!

  Remember: Nou sove, n’ ap sèvi. Do not turn your backs on one another.

  **

  Since her rapprochement with Elize three weeks prior, Libète had resumed her practice of stopping in on Elize after church. Because she looked her best on Sunday, she felt better about walking the streets of Bwa Nèf without fear of an old neighbor commenting on how scrawny she had become.

  Moving down Impasse Sara, it was impossible to miss the posters proving that elections were growing closer. Even more walls were covered with politicians, their stupid grins or put-on seriousness at every turn. But these were not alone now. Posters warning about cholera had sprung up too, almost overnight.

  She looked closely at one of the most prevalent. It featured a smiling boy as he went about the process of washing his hands alongside his father, complete with written instructions. Do they think we’re stupid? That we can’t figure out how to wash our hands? Give us clean water to wash with and drink and the problem would disappear. She saw that the U.N. and several other prominent charities had sponsored the information campaign. She huffed. Typical.

  She continued on through the streets until they gave way and she reached the familiar, empty field leading to Elize’s shack.

  — Elize! she called when outside. I’m here! She pulled aside the curtain and was surprised to see him laid flat upon his bed, shirtless, even though it was midday. Elize? Are you alright?

  — Libète! he rasped weakly. I’m glad to see you.

  — My God! Do you have the kolera? She rushed to his side, pushing aside faithful Titid who had been keeping watch over his master. Elize was dripping sweat.

  — No, no. I am sure it’s just my old acquaintance malaria paying a visit. I have been here, just as you see me, since yesterday afternoon. There is much pain this time though, in my back especially. That is a new thing.

  — Poor man! Let me get you a towel for your head. Libète moved to an old bucket, half-filled with cloudy water, and dipped a rag in it. Better than nothing. She wrung it out before returning to him and wiping his brow.

  — We should turn this into a lesson. Why don’t you tell me about today’s sermon?

  Libète sighed. As you wish. The pastor spoke about our respons—

  — In French, Libète.

  — Oui, professeur, Libète saluted. She told him all about the sermon, of being saved to serve. This took some time, and she picked up and left off as she milled about, preparing rice or wetting a towel to cool his burning head.

  When she finished, the man, now curled up in a tawny blanket, had a question for her.

  — So what do you make of your pastor’s challenge? Elize asked through chattering teeth.

  — I suppose I’m saddened by it.

  — Oh?

  — This is a lesson I have learned before but turned my back on. Like I never learned it in the first place. Her thoughts drifted to poor Marie Rose, Lolo, Jak, and of course, Claire and Gaspar. I disappoint everyone I try to help.

  — Do not be too sad. We learn and unlearn as life takes us through challenges. And life is long. You may have failed, or merely attempted the impossible. But Libète, you are already very wise to struggle with such things at so young an age. He paused and took a labored breath. The difficulty, for all of us, is to return to the lessons we’ve learned, to exercise the muscles of compassion and sacrifice over and over, especially when out of practice. It’s like an old and fat footballer returning to the game—once he steps upon the field again, he finds he hasn’t forgotten so much as he thought.

  — I don’t know. There’s so much need around me. And now these girls have been stolen. She shook her head. I want to help them, to help everyone, Elize, but don’t know how.

  — As I said, you can’t be too disappointed when what’s impossible to grab eludes your grasp. Have you thought about the hospital?

  — What about it?

  — Maybe you should return to it.

  — I don’t know if they would have me back.

  — This is what I’ve told you, Libète! You are too quick to read an ending where it is not yet written! Broken things can be fixed, old things made new, dead things resurrected. But you must persist. He convulsed, again the fever taking hold. She grasped his hand and he patted hers to calm her. Remember your pastor’s advice and think of all that you have survived, Libète. And remember to serve.

  It is a regular routine now. Libète digs up her tin, removes money for travel, begs food, and makes the long trip by taptap to visit Lolo.

  Her first trip, two weeks after the quake, was the hardest. She feared how she might be received by him. She braced herself for his anger, though it never came. He was despondent, moving like the undead. He accepted her presence with indifference, asking about everyone on the outside. He wondered if anything had been discovered about Claire, but Libète had to tell him no, that the earthquake had scuttled any investigation.

  Libète had intended to explain her fault that very day, if he didn’t know already. But she did not. She remained quiet, suffering the weight of hidden truth.

  She approaches the gates of the prison, drenched from an August rain. A long line of waiting family members shelter under an outcrop, but there is no cover for those at the end. She takes her place. It seems like half her life is lived in lines these days, waiting for water, food, and medical care.

  Because her guilt was still fresh after that first visit, and because Lolo did not despise her, Libète made the trip weekly out of faithful obligation. This took an unexpected toll.

  Seeing him waste away each week was like adding a new sketch to a morbid flipbook. His cheeks became hollow and eyes sunken, his skin took an unhealthy pallor, and a sorry unkempt beard sprouted on his face. His clothes, the same he had worn the day she confronted him in the downtown apartment, were frayed and soiled. Seeing his wrists bound together while the two stood divided by a wall of iron bars made her guilt intolerable. So she did what was easy. Libète, like all the others, began to visit less.

  Libète lifts her soaked bag of cobbled-together food for the guard to inspect. He looks in, nods, and calls over another guard to escort her into the visiting room.

  Her last trip to the prison was a month ago, and the one before that two weeks prior. She was unnerved more now by his manner rather than his creeping deterioration—that had seemed to stabilize. His despondency and slow speech had been replaced by near hyperactivity. Where he was solemn before, resigned to life in prison, he fidgeted now, made melancholic jokes, antagonized the guards, and was more flippant than she had seen him before. He asked if she had learned anything about Claire’s murder and she replied with her customary answer. They exchanged small talk for a bit, and then Libète left.

  She taps upon the iron bars as she waits today, nervous about how she will find Lolo. Manic? Dispirited? She listens to the quiet conversations of children visiting their fathers, wives their husbands, and parents their sons. She disguises her interest, wondering what it would be like to have a loved one visit her and seek out her well-being. She pushes these thoughts aside.

  It was Elize’s coaxing that brought her here today. There was little else that could have done it. She felt the weight of responsibility, knowing that it was in her power to aid Lolo, even if only in small part, and that if she did not, few others would. Elize also impressed upon her that she should disclose her role in his imprisonment. Otherwise her guilt would bind her like shackles.

  The door opens and the guard comes out, but without Lolo in tow.

  — He is sick and unable to see visitors.

&nbs
p; — Sick? What do you mean? With what?

  — I can’t say.

  — But, I need to see him—you see, I brought him food. It will help him with his sickness.

  — Not today. I can take him the food.

  She grimaces, knowing it is more likely to end up in the guard’s belly rather than Lolo’s. She hands it over anyway and leaves, her invisible chains trailing behind.

  **

  By the time Libète returned to Twa Bebe, the rains had abated and the Sun pierced through the sullen, grey sky. She was about to step into her tent before spotting Marie Rose’s. She resolved to check on her friend.

  She moved tentatively, trying to spot any sign of Lionel.

  — Don’t worry about him, Libète, called Marjorie, a heavyset woman who lived next to the unhappy couple. He’s been gone all day. The woman was doing the wash in front of her tent and intuited who Libète was trying to avoid.

  — Thanks, Marjorie. Is Marie Rose about?

  — She is. Just inside, I think.

  — I’m coming! Libète heard Marie Rose’s voice sound from inside the tent. A moment later the flap pulled aside and she appeared.

  — Why are you stuck in your tent? Libète asked.

  Marie Rose offered a wide smile and Libète gave one in return. It was a rarity to see Marie Rose smile, especially since the incident those few weeks before. Marie Rose’s condition had improved dramatically since Lionel had beaten her, and her face was restored to its perfect, beautiful symmetry. More important than beauty, her vision had returned, just as the blan doctor had predicted.

  — I stepped inside for a few minutes, to sit and rest. I have two things to give you, Libète. The child’s eyes widened. One is a piece of news—

  — And the second? Libète interjected.

  — A gift, for you. To thank you for your help. I’ve had to hide it from Lionel these past few weeks. Libète noticed she was holding something behind her back.

  — A gift? Really? Show me!

  She revealed the present. It’s a cap I knit for you, Marie Rose said.

  Libète tried to hide her disappointment but failed.

  Marie Rose, saddened by the reception, hid her emotions. Well, I know it’s getting too hot to wear for now, but I thought it would be good later, when it cools. You could wear it to keep your head warm and hair dry.

  Libète took the deep purple cap in hand. She softened a bit.

  — Thank you, Marie Rose. Really. It’s beautiful, a work of art. You’re kind to do this for me. It will be so good when cold. Libète hugged the woman around her waist and Marie Rose patted her sweetly on the back.

  — Pssst! Psssst!

  Marjorie was trying to signal them. They turned to look at her and saw her pointing down the lane. They peered down, shielding their eyes from the Sun and saw Lionel buying some fruit from the Queen of Spain.

  Libète slipped down the tight passage between tents without a word, and Marie Rose called out.

  — The news! I forgot to tell you the news! Later, Libète, later!

  **

  With plans scuttled twice in one day, Libète was still determined to use her free afternoon well. She had been thinking about who she might be able to help, and a place rather than a person sprang to mind.

  She arrived at the hospital after the morning clinic was closed. Libète stood in the doorway for a few moments, touching the chipped paint of the wall, surveying the convalescing bodies at rest, and listening to the staff’s quiet murmuring before stepping inside.

  She moved like a knowing trespasser, having neither medical need nor a patient to visit to justify her presence. She looked about for someone with authority to explain herself, but seeing none, started to look upon the faces of the sick.

  An older man lay to her left, his vacant expression grabbing her attention. He stared toward the ceiling without blinking, and she watched him closely.

  — Mesye, she whispered. Are you alright? Are your eyes working? I don’t see them closing.

  He gave no response. She reached out and touched his hand, and he blinked before looking at her out of the corner of his eyes.

  — I am alright.

  — And what is on the ceiling that you are watching so closely, mesye?

  — Hmm? I suppose I’m waiting for God to show his face, waiting for him to take me.

  — I don’t know that you’ll find him there, but I hear he shows up in strange places. Maybe I can wait and keep watch with you?

  — Eskize’m, manmzèl. What are you doing here? Is this man your family? The feminine voice was stern, and the accent sounded irregular. She turned to see its owner.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was the blan doctor. A gold cross dangled about her neck that Libète hadn’t noticed before.

  — No, dokte, I do not know him.

  — Then why are you here? Are you sick?

  Libète sighed. Yet again, this doctor did not remember her.

  — I am not sick. I came hoping to give treatment.

  — Excuse me? The doctor slanted her head while her eyes, enlarged because of her thick lenses, registered confusion.

  — I am here to help. If you’ll have me help.

  The doctor was slow to respond.

  — But we don’t need you. We have a staff here, you see.

  — Please. I wish to help. I have time. My teacher has challenged me to learn compassion, to do what I can to lift the burdens of others.

  The doctor did not know how to respond to Libète’s sincerity.

  — Yours is an interesting teacher. What’s your name? You look familiar.

  — I’m called Libète. And I’ve been here before. I brought my friend some weeks ago, the one with the bloody eye who was beaten by her husband.

  — Ah, the little neighbor! I remember, now. Yes…I remember. The white woman’s demeanor changed in an instant, softening. I’m Sister Françoise, of the Sisters of Mercy.

  — A Catholic Sister? But aren’t you a doctor? Where are, you know — she hovered her hand over her head — your coverings?

  — Ah, but I’m a nun and a doctor. And my order doesn’t require me to wear the habit.

  — I’ve never met a doctor nun before. Today is a special day!

  The doctor nun smiled. Maybe you can help, Libète. A janitor is out for the day, sick. You could do his job? Collect rubbish from the bins around the room? We take it to the back of the compound, set it in a pile, and light it on fire.

  Libète nodded excitedly. I can do that.

  — Good. Be careful to look out for sharp things, metal things. They shouldn’t be in there but sometimes are. Do you think you can do that, empty the rubbish and not touch sharp things?

  — If it is a way to show solidarity with the sick, then yes, I can do that, Sister Françoise.

  Libète set to proving herself to the doctor nun. She didn’t want her thinking a Protestant child would do a worse job than a Catholic one and worked quickly. She made her rounds to the bins like a dutiful physician, visiting each one and adding its contents to a large black bag the doctor nun had given her. At each stop she spoke with the closest patient regardless of whether they were an aged woman, a girl her junior, or a middle-aged man. She introduced herself and wished each one well and moved on if this didn’t lead to conversation.

  After piling the trash, the doorman, a man named Charles, came around and held a lit match to it. Libète watched the flames slowly overtake the waste. She imagined the rubbish to be her own pain and relished seeing it reduced to black ash and smoke. She waited for the flames to die before stepping back into the ward to leave, returning to the old man with the empty face as she made for the door. She bid him farewell, and he offered a grin in return and lifted his resting hand in a small wave.

  — Libète! Sister Françoise called right before she exited. I want to speak with you.

  Libète moved to the nun’s office at the back of the ward. She was bent over and looking through the bottom drawer of a low filing cabin
et.

  — Where are you living, Libète?

  — Twa Bebe. In the tents.

  The nun looked up. Ah, the camp. She stood and placed what she had sought in the drawer into Libète’s hand, some foreign food in silver wrappers. This was done without a word of explanation, neither asking if the child wanted them nor for a show of gratitude.

  — Thank you for your good work, Libète. I was greatly pleased. I would like it if you might come again. Not to empty the rubbish, as that is the job of another, but simply to speak with the patients, to…”show solidarity with the sick?”

  Libète smiled for the second time that day.

  — I can do that.

  Cholera spreads in Cité Soleil.

  The hospital, normally quiet in the late hours of a Sunday afternoon, is bustling. Libète, after leaving Elize in his malarial state, comes upon the gates flung wide open as volunteers are covering the yard with tarpaulins in anticipation of new patients. Diagnostic tests are being run on those believed to be the first to contract the disease in the slum.

  St. Sebastian’s is close to Route 9 and Route 9 can be taken to the Artibonite River and the Central Plateau, the source of the outbreak. The infection is not often detected after contamination, so the contaminated unwittingly carry the virus with them from the countryside, like the burgeoning suitcases they bring back from their travels.

  There are already many here who fear that they have been infected, staggering into line while tended by nurses. As Libète approaches, one man has brought an old woman in a wheelbarrow, bringing to mind the nights and days following the quake. Libète shudders.

  The man goes about in a frantic rush to find help and leaves the old woman to sit as the Sun finishes its day labor and starts its evening commute. She overhears the worried man say that she came from her home in the Artibonite, and many of her people there have since become infected. It is almost certainly cholera, and they must help her, he says. They must help her now!

  Libète comes close to the poor woman and looks at her closely. Her eyes are half closed and mouth agape, her body shrunken. She looks like a desiccated corpse left in the open air. Only the Devil can conceive a more undignified way to die. You drink water to survive and then shit the life right out of you.