Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  There is the woman’s odor, too. Libète is grabbed by the smell of the living corpse’s waste, soaking the bottom of the barrow. Why am I even here? she asks herself, feeling discomfort in spying upon the misery of others.

  She knows the answer to her question.

  She touches the woman’s upper arm, careful to avoid contact with her choleric hands. At the touch, the woman lets out a low moan.

  Libète whispers into the woman’s ear in her softest voice. My friend, you are not alone. The doctors, they are very good, and they will help you, with God’s help. Be at peace, my friend, be comforted. She closes her eyes and begins murmuring a prayer.

  — Libète! Come away from her! The words are sharp, too sharp, and they cut into Libète. Her eyes bolt open as she is snapped out of prayer. Sister Françoise accompanies the worried man.

  — Dokte, I was simply praying for—

  — Not now. She is stern, and pushes Libète away with her hip, careful not to touch the girl with her gloved hands. The doctor leans in close to the woman and checks her vital signs.

  — Dokte, I am sorry to interrupt…but I came hoping that I might help once more.

  The Sister held up one hand to quiet the girl. This was not the friendly doctor who is in control, but the one Libète first met after the quake, the one who works as if death lurks around every corner.

  — Nurse, the Sister calls. Get this woman a bed and an IV immediately!

  Where there is question as to the other patients’ afflictions, there is none here.

  Libète tugs at the doctor’s white coat.

  — Sister Françoise, please hear me. I am sorry for my absence. For not explaining. I should have told you why I left. But I want to help, as I did before. Please, I need to—

  — Not now! she yells. I don’t need children running about the hospital!

  Libète looks away. She bites her lip. The Sister is afraid, no doubt, and overwhelmed. But there is something else in her words, and Libète understands what is left unsaid.

  It is a sense of abandonment.

  Libète walked away saddened.

  **

  The doctor nun’s words stung, more than she realized. Libète went and sat on the roadside as the Sun set. She watched the taptaps and buses leave Cité Soleil, shooting out and away from Port-au-Prince and into the country, away from the problems and difficulties plaguing life there. That’s not the way—you know escaping is not the way.

  She offered a short prayer for herself and ailing Elize.

  Bondye, you are a difficult God to follow. You know that, don’t you?

  Every answer I seek, you know.

  But you stay silent.

  You don’t speak to fill the empty spaces.

  You let the innocent suffer and bad people get away.

  I don’t understand you or your ways, not at all.

  But help me to understand, or else I might die.

  Amen.

  The activity along the roads was quieting down as people prepared to start the work week anew the following morning. Her stomach clamored for food, and Libète stood, wiped the dirt from the back of her white dress, and began the walk home. The Moon turned its face away from the world, so her path was lit only by the high beams of the rare truck lumbering past.

  There was a mercifully cool breeze, so at least sleep would come more easily in her suffocating tent. Even before the Sun departed, the clouds were heavy and it was evident there would be more rain. Lances of lightning flashed brilliantly out over the sea, and Libète kept looking over her shoulder in hopes she’d get to see the fleeting bolts before they departed and left behind menacing thunder.

  By the time she reached the tent city, few people were out. With no electricity to power lights and the Sun’s early rising, there was little reason to fight sleep once darkness fell. She approached her tent and pulled the zipper open to enter. Once inside, Libète tried to find anything edible—old rice or hardened bread would do.

  There was nothing. Tonight, her only company would be her grumbling stomach.

  She lay down on her mat and tried to calm her busy mind, breathing slowly, deeply, and regularly. There was the rumble of an idling truck not too far off, noticed only because such a thing was uncommon at this time of night and in this part of the encampment. Sometimes taptaps were engaged by groups of drunken men to bring them home after a gagè, a cock fight. On nights when sleep was elusive, her Uncle’s return was often announced by the coming and going of such trucks.

  Sweat started to bead on her forehead and she swatted at a mosquito buzzing about her ear. She laid upon her side before returning once more to her back. Trying to conjure images of blackness and vacant space in her mind was a constant struggle. The day’s worries and hurt feelings were like thieves, trying every which way to break and enter her quiet.

  She heard the sound of footsteps on gravel outside growing closer. Uncle, probably. Coming back from pissing away our money. The deliberate steps did indeed stop outside her tent. She heard the flap pull open slowly. She decided to feign sleep.

  Closing her eyes tightly, she listened. Strange. His breath wasn’t the same phlegm-filled heaving so common after a round of binging. He was moving with more dexterity than usual, avoiding collisions with pots, pans, and the center pole of the tent.

  A dreadful realization shot through her mind.

  This man is not Uncle.

  She cracked her eyes to see if she could make out who had invaded her tent. Her pulse quickened, a wash of adrenaline coursing through her system that made her head swim and clear thought impossible. She could tell that the man was watching her in the dark. There was no possibility of escape.

  She tried the one thing that was still possible, opening her mouth and breathing deep to scream.

  The invader lunged and placed his heavy hand over her mouth and nose, forcing her head back hard and pinning her body with his left knee across her chest. She tried to thrash about, tried to loosen his grip and bite the man’s hand, but the more she fought the harder he pressed. The fear of great harm was unbearable, and whether from a lack of oxygen or the overwhelming sense of helplessness, she fell into unconsciousness.

  HELL ON EARTH

  Bèl dan pa di zanmi pou sa

  Beautiful teeth do not mean friendship

  Menm nan lanfè gen moun pa

  Even in hell there are friends

  Libète comes around with a blindfold covering her eyes, a kerchief tied about her mouth, and rope binding her hands behind her back. She lay face down, her body resonating with the dull vibrations and sharp bumps coming from the floor.

  I’m in a truck.

  The thought startles her, and she thrashes about like a fish on land. The space is tight and she quickly bumps into strange posts that extend from the truck bed.

  Stop, Libète, she tries to calm herself. Stop. She slows her movement and breathes through her nose. Trying to collect her thoughts, she realizes nothing prevents her from sitting upright. She does so and hits her head on some unseen ceiling. It occurs to her that the posts and low ceiling are in fact a bench’s legs. You’re so stupid, Libète—this is a taptap! And not just any taptap, but the one she had heard near her tent. Someone was waiting for me.

  She tries to scoot her backside toward what would be the tail end of the truck, wondering if she might be able to fling herself to the road. The thought brought dread, but whatever was awaiting her had to be worse than scrapes, broken bones, or possible death.

  Laying on her back again, she probes about with her feet and discovers the tailgate of the taptap is raised. Her haphazard escape is impossible.

  It is too late, anyway. The truck slows before halting. Fearing what might happen if she is discovered conscious, she returns to her original position and attempts to control her breathing.

  She listens to everything carefully. The engine cuts. An indistinct voice gives harsh commands to another man. He gets out of the truck and slams his door shut. Something must be go
ing wrong.

  The sound of footsteps on gravel followed, moving toward the taptap’s rear, punctuated by the loud crash of the tailgate dropping and booming thunder in the distance. The man dragged her out of the truck feet first, and she let her body go limp, playing the part of a rag doll.

  The taptap’s engine sputtered back to life, and it sped away. She was alone with her captor.

  He struggled to carry her, placing one arm under the bend of her knees and the other under her shoulder blades. She could tell he was a tall man, but his heaving proved he was not a strong one. It required her full measure of self-control to keep from writhing madly as his hot breath played across her face and chest.

  The man, after nearly a minute of walking, laid her gingerly on the ground with her back resting upon a wall. The sound of a metal door scraping against concrete gave little clue to where she was being secreted. Up and down, again she went, her next resting place being hard, cold cement. Her landing kicked up dust like when a speeding truck passes on the open road, the whipped-up dirt climbing up her nostrils—she wretched and coughed despite herself. A beam of light flooded her face, lighting the edges of her blindfold.

  — So you are not as unconscious as you look? her captor asked in a low, mumbling voice.

  Libète trembled before steeling herself, trying to show no other movement. The light faded as she heard him place the flashlight upon the ground. Fear took hold like a murderous hand around her throat.

  — Don’t worry. All will be well. Just cooperate, will you?

  She felt the man’s hand upon her ankle, crawling up her leg.

  — You see, just give what is asked, and no harm will come.

  He seemed to be testing her, to see how pliant she was. His hand now rested upon her belly, continuing its sickening climb to rest upon her chest. The horror of the situation, of a new future about to be birthed by an act of abuse, was too much to bear. She tensed and gagged.

  The lecherous hand left her chest and she sighed again, praying the sickening act might be finished. She heard the man fumble with a belt and zipper as he crouched over her, trying to sooth her with perverse words.

  — Good, that’s good. See there’s no reason to fight. None at all.

  No reason to fight? Her mind seized and started again with a torrent of thoughts. Maybe this is my punishment for failing so many, for hurting so many. She had wanted to protect others from victimization. Maybe she was meant to be a victim herself.

  No.

  I will not.

  I will die first.

  She began to scream and holler as best she could through her gag. She kicked furiously, aiming at where she thought she might connect with her captor’s genitals. Caught by surprise, the man tried to move away, but her bare foot connected with its target and he howled in pain. Falling backwards, he yelled at her, and she heaped muffled slurs on him.

  Crack!

  Not unexpectedly, he retaliated with a sharp and poorly aimed punch that caught her cheekbone and ear. She felt one of her back teeth chip and break as her head fogged with a swell of pain and surprise. She was in a fury herself, and began hollering again. I don’t care if I die! Do what you will!

  Her head suddenly shot forward as his fingers crawled behind the blindfold and yanked hard. She waited for what she thought would be another blow, but was surprised to find the fold pulled away and her head dropped back on the ground.

  — Bitch, her captor said, and he spit in her face.

  Preoccupied with wiping it away with her shoulder, it took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the tight space around her, a utility shed by all appearances. The man stood over her, striking a pose meant to intimidate. He was backlit by his upturned flashlight left upright in the corner of the room, and she struggled to make out his face. The sudden recognition of her assailant crashed in upon her like a flash flood pushing through a slot canyon. She wretched once more.

  It was René.

  — Libète, is that you? Are you home?

  Libète lays upon the floor of her tent in the midafternoon, sweating as she writes an assignment for Elize. While it is hot inside, the beating Sun makes it feel even hotter outside. She compromises by laying near the tent’s entrance, feeling the slightest trace of a breeze visit before it saunters on to see the next neighbor.

  Her professeur has given her one sheet of paper to summarize her experience at the hospital the previous day. She writes with a pencil sharpened down to a nub in the smallest of print. There is much to share and only one page with which to share it.

  The voice causes her to look up from her writing. Wi, she replies. I am here.

  — Come and greet me then.

  — As you wish, uncle.

  She rises from the ground and goes to the visitor-who-is-not-her-uncle and gives him a customary kiss upon the cheek. Tonton René, she says. What are you doing here?

  — I have come to see your Uncle.

  — Ah, but he is not here.

  — Is that so?

  — You can sit inside and wait, though it’s hot. He may return before long.

  — I will do that.

  Libète re-entered the tent, and René followed, ducking to avoid knocking off his wicker hat. He sat on the stool in the corner, took a kerchief from his pocket, and lifted it to his damp brow. Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you, my niece. He reached inside his pocket and removed a package of cheese crackers, partly crumbled. Libète’s eyes widened.

  — Thank you! She took the package, ripped it open, and sat on the floor. She wished to devour them, but ate only a small piece at a time. This is very kind, she said.

  — You’re welcome, you’re welcome. But come up from there, won’t you? He smiled. You shouldn’t eat off the floor.

  — But we only have one chair, and you are in it.

  — That is no problem. Come, he patted his knee. Sit here while you eat.

  Not wanting to offend René, she did so, offering a false half smile before returning to her crackers. She ate them more quickly now.

  — Libète, you are a beautiful girl, you know? A little thin, but with some more food you would be a very beautiful girl.

  She replied with a murmur, Mèsi.

  — It’s too bad you are stuck in this tent with so little food, so few things. Maybe I could ask your Uncle to lend you to me, to help about my family’s shop? I could reward you in return.

  — Maybe, mesye.

  — And if you wanted, you could also clean my home.

  — Maybe, mesye.

  Libète upended the package into her mouth and chewed quickly. She swallowed and lifted herself from his knee. He grasped her wrist.

  — No need to move so quickly, my niece. The ground is so dirty, no place for a girl, he cooed.

  — I must continue my homework. She said this in a monotone, unable to meet his eyes and struggling against his grip. His breathing was heavy and she did not like the way he looked upon her.

  — Stay a little longer, and give another kiss, will you?

  — I cannot do that.

  — I said sit. There was a flash of anger in the words before he recovered his previous easy air. Why won’t you sit? There’s nothing wrong here.

  — I will not. She tore herself away from his hands, and moved quickly to the opposite end of the tent. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you’re getting at?

  He laughed. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Libète. All I did was give a friend’s hungry niece some food. Nothing more.

  — Get out. You’ll regret it if you ever touch me again.

  His nonchalance evaporated.

  — And you’ll regret it if you ever tell anyone about this! Maybe you’ll find yourself falling into an accident. Or maybe someone else you know will. Maybe the one to whom you’re entrusted?

  She had enough. She lifted up the closest thing to her, a tea kettle, and flung it across the room. He shielded himself with outstretched hands and cursed her. Watch
out! he shouted as he sprung from his chair. Libète reached for a frying pan to prepare for an attack, but he stormed out the tent.

  She dropped the pan and collapsed to the floor, her tears soon following.

  No matter what she did to better herself, no matter what she did to care for others, misery was never far off.

  René laughs at Libète, still bound upon the floor.

  He reaches into his pocket and removes a small plastic bag, taking from it something small, possibly a pill.

  — You little bitch, he said again, his mocking tone making her blood boil. How does it feel to be muzzled, huh? I didn’t have to choose you for this. They wanted others. I mean—look at you! Wasting away. But I still chose you above them.

  She thrashed about, and he put his foot to her chest to pin her.

  — No, this is revenge. You could have had my protection…

  He took away his foot and replaced it with his knee, using one hand to loosen the kerchief that made it impossible to talk. He then took what was in his hand, bit off half and forced the other remaining piece into her mouth.

  — Swallow it, or I’ll crush your throat.

  She tried to fight him, but he covered her mouth and nose so she couldn’t draw breath. She felt it pass down her gullet.

  — That’s it. No need to fight anymore.

  He re-tightened the kerchief, and she retreated into her body, gradually registering the effects of the small pill as it dissolved into her bloodstream. She felt a soaring sensation take over, gradually at first, clouding her thoughts in a pleasant haze.

  René slumped against a nearby wall and watched, slipping into his own drug-addled stupor.

  — Now we wait, Libète, he says. Now we wait.

  — Marie Rose, I need you.

  Libète stood before her friend’s tent. Small tears were in her eyes. She had tried to return to her essay for Elize, but her whole being was so stirred by René’s actions that she hovered near illness.