by Ted Oswald
Elize exited the car and bellowed, It’s alright! I bring a friend. The owner gave a short nod and Elize moved to the back of his car, sliding his key in and opening the boot door. Martin sprang out, waving to the men with a smile before stretching and yawning as he looked about.
— I’m glad those checkpoints were nothing, Martin whispered.
— Me too, Elize replied.
Martin’s face crumpled into a scowl and he made a clicking sound with his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He often did this when thinking. Elize eyed Martin with worry. What’s wrong?
— It’s foolish, Martin sighed. But I hoped word might have made it back to my father. He lives close.
— I’m sure you’ll see each other before long, Elize said, not sure he believed his own words.
— I have a letter I was hoping you could take to him, in case this happened.
Elize looked uneasy. How would I find him? He had promised Fleur he’d arrive home before daylight and didn’t want to renege.
— He lives in Project Drouillard, along the road we came in on. Ask anyone for Boukman. He’s a big man around here.
— A priest? Or businessman?
— Neither. A boko.
Elize couldn’t help but chuckle. Martin, I didn’t know you had such strong Voudou in your blood!
The student shrugged. It is what it is.
— Well, I’ll try. I suppose I should be off. You’re set? Got your things?
— I do. Thank you, Professor—thank you, Elize. For everything.
The teacher nodded.
— Do well for yourself, Martin. Safe travels to the other side, and I hope to see you back soon to aid in building our new Haiti.
— Don’t worry, Martin said with a grin. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried!
He bid the youth adieu and got back in his car, watching out of his rearview mirror as Martin waved goodbye and moved toward the dinghy. Elize had much hope riding on the young man’s shoulders. He looked to the letter he had tossed onto the passenger seat.
Now, to find this “Boukman.”
The morning sellers in Project had started to stir, and he stopped to ask if a pair setting up their stall knew Boukman.
— Heh? said one.
— We don’t know anyone by that name, said the other.
Elize doubted them, though he couldn’t blame them. A stranger asking about someone in the early morning was a universal bad sign.
— Are you sure? Elize played along. You see, Boukman’s son, Martin, has given me a letter for him. He has fled.
— Oh, did you say Boukman? Of course, we know Boukman. He’s not far from here at all.
Elize smiled. Of course. He followed their directions and arrived outside a compound, unique considering the many small homes that surrounded it. He banged on the metal gate until a young girl opened it. She looked groggy.
— I have something for Boukman. Martin sent me to give it.
The girl hesitated. He will not like me waking him up.
— That’s fine. Just make sure he sees it. Tell him that Martin just went lòt bò dlo, to the other side of the water. I saw him off this morning.
— He’s gone?
— Yes. For a while.
— I will do as you ask.
Elize walked back to his car and began the long trek home. Whatever happens, Martin is safe.
The drive back was similarly uneventful, though the checkpoint guards searched his trunk this time. He was happy they had nothing to find. As he drove up the length of Delmas road, his spirits buoyed at his good fortune. Of all the things that could have gone wrong, none had. He took his rosary from his pocket and hung it from the rearview, restoring it to its usual resting place. It served its purpose.
The suburban streets surrounding his home in Lalue were still quiet as he drove up to his home and past a stray dog wandering from trash pile to trash pile, looking for something to salvage. He opened the front metal gate to his compound and drove up his driveway. He was surprised to find his garage’s bay door open. Strange. He sometimes left it that way on accident on his way out, and easily could have done so with everything going on. He parked and eased the door closed, hearing a distinct clanging sound inside the house, followed by a crash.
Dread overtook him.
He rushed to a cabinet on the side of the garage, sifting through small boxes until he came upon the one he sought. Opening it, he pulled out a six-chambered revolver, noting that five of the chambers were full. This was one of three pistols spread throughout the home, and up until now, he had never had to retrieve them. He moved toward the front of the garage, poking his head through the door that led back inside. It was mostly dark, but he could see possessions pulled out of place, strewn about the floor. Many of the valuables from their living room shelves had been looted.
He began muttering prayers, trembling as he stepped further inside. He could hear no sounds but the faint ticking of a clock, which turned to the dull resounding chimes heralding the six o’clock hour. He shot around each corner with his pistol pointed forward, breathing heavily as he went. Still hearing nothing, he called out.
— Fleur? Fleur? Are you there? Steffi? Are you alright?
The dull silence that greeted him was the worst thing he could imagine.
He rushed up the stairs and down a hallway littered with destroyed art and sculptures taken from their resting places till he reached the master bedroom. As soon as he stepped in, he recoiled, dropping the pistol and covering his mouth with his left hand.
Fleur lay upon the bed. Mutilated. Dead. Blood spilled from great gashes on her body, soaking into the sheets. He turned back into the hallway and shook uncontrollably.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at the sight again. Reeling, he ran back down the hall to see what had become of his daughter. Please God, please God, please God…
Entering her room, he expected another body but saw nothing. No corpse, no sign of a struggle. His eyes settled upon the chest in the corner.
A thought occurred.
— Steffi! he called out. Steffi? It’s me, your papa. Are you here?
He opened the chest and rifled through the clothing. Mon dieu, did they take her?
Finally, his hands touched the young girl buried beneath the clothes.
— Steffi? Steffi! Are you alright? Are you okay? He pulled her out of the chest and looked upon her, dressed in the large T-shirt she slept in.
He hugged her and began weeping with great, heaving sobs. The small girl stood listless as he rocked her, knowing that something horrible had happened, something that could never be undone.
The three are silent even though the hospital is alive with new activity.
— They followed me. Whoever killed her followed me back from Bel Air when I had Martin in my car. She warned me, she warned me…
He chokes back a new sob. Libète understands, but does not understand. She puts her hand on the man’s shoulder to comfort him, and he looks away, the shame too great. A thousand questions rest on the tip of her tongue.
— It is a bad thing when doing good leads to more bad things, Jak said.
— What happened next, Elize?
— I left. Everything.
— Your daughter?
— I gave her to friends. Said I was leaving for a while—I left for a long while.
— What does that mean?
— I had to get away. The university, my home, politics, everything. I was done. Compelled. Possessed to purge myself of it all. When I left I didn’t know for how long. My wife and I, we had our savings inside the house, hidden well. I took most all and put it in Steffi’s bags. I kept some for myself to start on my way, but swore not to use it for myself. It was my wife’s money anyway. I would give it away, I decided. I packed a knapsack with a few things and simply left the house as it was.
— But what happened to your house? Did you sell it?
— I do not know what happened, and do not care.
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�� How—but where did you go? I mean, what did you do all that time?
— I went all over. Traveled. Worked the land. There is hardly a corner of this country where I have not walked or talked with the people. I suffered much in these travels. Hunger. Thirst. My body is what it is because of this time. But the learning—what I knew in my head finally connected to the world with all its decay, and beauty.
Libète still struggled. But your daughter, Elize! Steffi? Is she alive? Where are the friends you left her with?
He hesitated. I do not know anymore.
— You must! How could you just leave her—
Jak silenced her, and Libète relented.
— What about Martin? Jak asked. Did he make it lót bò dlo, to the other side of the water?
Elize bit his lip to keep his tears at bay, but could not stop them. That is one of the cruelest parts. It was for nothing. He was never heard from. Like many of those who escaped on boats, he was lost to the sea, we think.
— We?
— His father and I. The boko.
— You mean—
— Boukman Ketna? The same. He is the reason I finally settled in Bwa Nèf. I came to him with a failing body. Because I helped his son those years before, he said he would always be a help to me.
He continued. But I refused to live with him in Cité Simone—what’s now called Cité Soleil. No, I needed the solace of the marshes. I do not deserve the companionship, you see. Boukman gave me my first pigs. Libète, you saw once that he brings me my food. He sells my pigs. Even buys my medicines. My body has ailed me for a long while, but the cancer, that is new. Though I had meant to give the money away, I never could. I used a little here or there at first. It was my wife’s, the last tangible thing that was ours besides that photograph, and I didn’t want to see it disappear. But I also couldn’t use it for myself. I had sworn off wealth. Possessions and the pursuit of money had only clouded my judgment, made me worry. Made me feel like a hypocrite, calling others to sacrifice when I had done so little myself. But, at long last, I had to begin using the money for my medication.
— Why? Why all this hardship? All the lies? The hiding…
— I know it does not make sense to you. At first I chose this path because of guilt and fear. And then for penance. For my mistakes, my arrogance, my politics. And finally for discipline, and truth. Like a monk initiated into the monastic life. When I found my body failing and my ability to change the world around me dwindling, I committed myself to contemplation and prayer. And once you came along, to teaching once more.
— You surely have repented enough, Libète said under her breath.
Elize swallowed hard.
— When I was consumed with hope to change the whole world, my ambitions did great harm. I learned contentment along the way, to understand my limits, to be faithful in small ways to few things.
— But to stop teaching? Cutting yourself off from all others?
— I…couldn’t return to life as it was before. I had committed so much to my new way of living. I thought I didn’t deserve companionship. I was mistaken, I see that now. You showed me that, starting that day you crashed into me on the edge of the reeds and this all began. Though it was born from sorrow, from another murdered mother and child, it gave me new life. That’s how life is—how God works with the tragedies we create.
She shook her head. I have no words for this, Elize, no words at all.
— You have known loss, Libète, but not my loss. Please don’t judge me too harshly.
— Don’t you recognize me? Libète steps closer to Marie Elise and pulls off her cap, hoping the old woman will now see her for who she is.
There is silence.
— It’s me, Libète murmurs. Your old neighbor. Sophia’s daughter.
The silence lingers.
— You are troubling me, girl. Be off.
Libète can fathom none of this.
— But—I’ve come so far, she stammers.
— Who are you?
— I told you! I’m Libète. Marie Elise, you helped raise me—you were there when my mother died!
— I don’t remember such things.
Libète notices how boney the woman is, how gaunt she has become. She tries again.
— I am Limyè’s daughter—the police officer’s.
— Ah, I know a Limyè. He’s a good man.
— How…how can you say that? She stepped toward the woman, making her flinch and look away.
— He came and took me away! Made my mother sick. The memories came in a flood. He pushed you down! A good man? He’s a devil!
— Shut your mouth! Don’t speak ill of others. God hears all, you know.
— You’re…you’re crazy! You hear me? Gone! Out of your head! She is in Marie Elise’s face, screaming the words. Hope is dead, and the tears fall in bitter tracks down her cheeks.
— What are you doing? a familiar, feminine voice rebukes Libète. Leave her be!
Libète spins around and wipes her face, shocked to see the nurse she left on the road a few hours before.
She too is surprised to see Libète.
The two spoke simultaneously.
— Is she your patient?
— Is this your aunt?
— Yes, replied the Nurse.
— No, replied Libète.
The Nurse moved to the distraught woman’s side, placing a bracing arm around her and lifting her to her feet. You should not be in the Sun like this, the Nurse whispered sweetly to the woman. We have talked about this before, no?
— Is that so? I…I don’t remember.
She moved her to sit on an upside-down bucket under her shelter’s overhang.
Libète followed at a distance, unsure of her feelings. The Nurse returned to the girl, a scowl darkening her face.
— Why are you here? she said, her harsh tone returned.
Libète winced. I lied to you earlier. I had hoped to find this woman, who was a good woman, who once knew me well.
— She is sick, but still good. Her mind is fleeting, coming and going. I visit her once a week when I come to this settlement.
— Then she is gone, Libète lamented. And I have no one.
The Nurse took a deep breath. She doesn’t understand what she says much of the time.
— Then she understands sometimes? Libète moved to Marie Elise and dropped to her knees, taking the woman’s frail hand. She recoiled but Libète held on, pleading. You were so strong, my friend, so very strong. Please come back to me, she cried. I need you, this very minute.
The woman looked at Libète, saying nothing though her demeanor relaxed.
A question donned on Libète. Where is your husband?
— My husband? Why, he is dead.
— I’m…sorry to hear it.
— The men. They came and killed him.
Libète looked to the nurse. Wha–what is she saying? What men?
She shrugged in return.
— Marie Elise, who were these men?
— Dumas’ vagabonds! They came from the hills.
The Nurse suddenly tensed. We can’t talk about this, she hissed. Not here, not now.
— You can’t silence me! hollered Marie Elise with a newfound fierceness, pulling her hand from Libète’s. Dumas is a brute! A devil! He can kill me too! I don’t care!
— Dumas? Libète asked, looking to the Nurse again. I don’t know this name.
— Shh!
— One of the Haitians gone abroad, Marie Elise spit. A villain from the other side. He controls this part of La Gonâve. It got worse after Sophia left us. Everything got so much worse.
Libète shot up at the mention of her mother. Marie, you remember Sophia now?
— Of course I remember her.
— But I told you, that is my mother!
— But I don’t know you!
Libète grimaced. That doesn’t matter. What got worse? What do you mean?
— Dumas controls the whole zone. He grew up here but went
to America. He became a big man, lots of money, and brought it back to push people around. In America there are laws, here there are not. You do what you want—no consequences. He sent his men to scare people, push them off their land, steal their livestock. You tell the police, they do nothing. Dumas’ men come in the night, take you, kill you. That’s what happened to my man.
— We need to stop talking about this—now! the Nurse hissed.
— I need to hear it. I need to understand. Please, just a little more. Marie, why did you leave your home? What happened to Sophia’s home?
— The earthquake! The earthquake happened, child! People came back to La Gonâve from Port-au-Prince, those who had lost their homes there. The big organizations wanted to build shelters and needed a place to spend their money. Dumas had this forsaken land. What did he do? Pushed us out! Made us refugees with the rest! Gave his own people our homes and land!
— Mon dieu!
— We complain, our world ends.
— Was Limyè in Dumas’ pockets then?
— What? Limyè? Watch what you say, child. No, of course not. I told you! He is a good man.
— You’re confused, Libète corrected her.
— No. No! Marie Elise shot up. He stood up to them. You asked about Sophia’s home? That was his place! Burnt to the ground.
— Limyè stole my home?
— No, child! He protected it! He fought Dumas and had to hide. They tried to sneak up on him, burn him to death where he slept, but he made it out, gras a dieu!
This tale was too unbelievable, too unfathomable. Libète felt as if the ground was shaking again, that her world was going through another seismic shock greater than the quake itself. My father? Capable of good? Could it be?
— Where is he then, Marie? Where is Limyè now? I must know.
She pulled the child close and whispered in her ear. He is in hiding, not far I hear, and going by a different name.