Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  — Do you know it? Do you know his name?

  — I do. And since I believe you when you say you are his daughter, I will tell you. But if I do, you walk down a road impossible to come back from. You will become Dumas’ newest enemy.

  Libète looked her old, lost friend directly in the eye.

  — Tell me.

  Their minds are burdened with too many things for their few years. Benoit’s culpability mingled with Elize’s truths weigh heavily on Jak and Libète. The weariness of the night before is too much, and Sister Françoise lets them sleep away the day with her in her back office. Jak uses a chair cushion to rest his head against the wall, and Libète uses Jak’s shoulder. The doctor nun sits in an office chair, her head buried in her forearm atop her desk.

  Jak stirs. He is groggy, as if drugged. He rubs his heavy eyes and swallows, his throat a desert. The world outside the small office is mad, and he hears the same tired, anguished moans from the night before, but he also hears new volunteers chattering in English. He is glad he doesn’t know what they say. He could not handle it. He sees the light and shadows streaming in the ward at strong angles—the day has grown long in his sleep.

  He suddenly realizes that Libète is no longer at his side. He looks about, noticing a scrap of paper on the floor with her looping handwriting. He reads it, squinting through eyelids that feel like sandbags:

  Jak—

  I have a question I need answered. I’ll let you know the question once I have found my answer.

  Find Davidson, wherever he’s campaigning. He’ll be unhappy that I disappeared again. Talk to him, convince him of the truth about Benoit. We have little time.

  Wherever you end up, I’ll find you.

  Libète

  He mulled over the paper before crumpling it and putting it in his pocket. He slipped through the office door, careful to not wake the Sister—she was snoring lightly out of the side of her mouth and deserved not to have her sleep disturbed.

  **

  The booming music could be heard all across Cité Soleil. Benoit’s campaign seemed to have waited to blow out its speakers for these final days before the election. The low bass made Jak tremble, the beats representing Benoit’s penetrating reach into every corner and lane of the slum.

  The sad concrete park at the heart of Cité Soleil had become a displaced persons camp after the quake. That fact didn’t stop the campaign from attracting thousands of people there today, flooding the park grounds. Jak noticed some tenants holding improvised weapons, trying to keep the crowds from invading their tents and trampling their families underfoot.

  As Jak approached the stage at the center of it all, chills skipped up and down his spine. He had appreciated the security of having Libète nearby the past day to comfort him as he carried the knowledge of Benoit’s guilt. Now alone, it was like holding a lit stick of dynamite. Whenever the chanting of Benoit’s slogan started again, Jak felt an overwhelming desire to hide. If he made the truth known, it would turn this ecstatic mob into his enemy. The sovereign people, the Pèp la, was a strange thing—the messy heart of democracy, so prone to manipulation.

  He spotted Davidson but knew reaching him would be hopeless until the rally came to an end. Rather than piped-in music from a CD, this time a reputable konpa band was playing, and even Jak was caught up in the music. Benoit stood up to give the same rote speech he had the day before and left the stage in a hurry, leaving his campaign assistants to shower the crowds with photo cards depicting Benoit’s face and party symbol.

  It was late now, and the crowd started to scatter once the music quieted. The young campaigners and their girlfriends formed a nucleus at the center of the stragglers, breaking out beers and tafya for an impromptu after-party. It was strange being out so late—boarding school life had made such excursions impossible. Still, Jak’s sleeping schedule had been cast aside, and the late hour wasn’t affecting him.

  He watched Davidson from behind the stage’s rigging for about fifteen minutes, trying to find the best moment to approach him. He was speaking with another young man unknown to Jak, and they stood off to the side with arms crossed as they nursed bottles of Prestige, trying to appear disinterested in the other young men surrounded by women at the center of the crowd. Davidson, Davidson. Always on the outside, even when on the inside. Jak crept toward him.

  — Psst. Davidson.

  He did not hear him. Davidson! Jak said, more loudly this time.

  He and his companion turned.

  — Davidson, I need to talk to you.

  — Jak? Jezi Marie Joseph, is that you? I haven’t seen you in months! His smile put Jak at ease. You look good! Healthy. Clean!

  Jak smiled in return. I’m a new person, he said bashfully.

  — You were here for the Senator’s rally? For the concert?

  — I was here for the candidate’s rally, yes. And the music was good. He bit his lip for a moment before blurting out, Can I talk to you, Davidson. Just the two of us?

  Davidson looked to his friend, who shrugged. Davidson signaled to a quiet side of the stage, away from the din.

  — What is it Jak? Is it Libète? Have you seen her? She ran off again.

  — She’s fine. It’s about Claire and Gaspar. And Lolo.

  Davidson rolled his eyes. Shit. This again?

  — We know who had them killed and framed Lolo.

  — Do you now? he huffed.

  — Yes.

  — Well, tell me then. Davidson acted impatient, but Jak knew he was interested.

  — I don’t know how to say it, but…you’re working for him.

  Davidson’s eyebrows shot up. Touss?

  — Not Touss. Higher up.

  He didn’t follow. Jak completed the thought.

  — Benoit, Davidson. He was behind it. We’re almost positive.

  Davidson let out an incredulous snort. That’s bullshit, Jak. How can yo—he would never—how could you say something like that? I mean, what proof could you have?

  — Circumstance only. But it fits too well.

  Get out of here, Davidson fumed, speaking quickly. I don’t even want to hear your stupid theories. Libète put you up to this, I bet. Just stop, Jak.

  — Claire worked in Benoit’s office, was one of his secretaries. He’s Gaspar’s father! Jak blurted out. And Lolo is wasting away in prison because of it.

  — Shut up! Davidson shouted, shoving Jak backwards. Because of his weak leg, he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Jak glowered but said nothing, shaming the young man with a stare.

  — Davidson! came a familiar shout. What the hell are you doing?

  Both turned in surprise. Libète was running over to them, and she was angry.

  — What are you doing, Libète? Davidson shouted back. Running around, making up things, trying to hurt others who have nothing to do with you? I offer to help you, give you a safe place to live and you spit in my face, running away again?

  — I had things to do.

  — You’re ridiculous. You and Jak, conspiring over here, treating this like one of your stupid made-up games.

  — It wasn’t a game when a hired murderer ruined his leg and tried to kill me, she said derisively. Don’t talk down to us, Davidson. We’re the only people who care about Lolo anymore—the only people willing to stand up and make the truth known.

  — Just stop. No one’s going to listen to your stories.

  — I’m sorry you won’t help us, Davidson.

  — I am trying to help you! For your own good, let the dead bury the dead. Benoit is hope for Cité Soleil. A chance at someone who will finally do good. I know your accusations are shit, but you do him harm dragging his name through the street.

  Libète watched Davidson carefully, trying to think of what retort she could give, but was interrupted by the sound of feedback ushering from the nearby speakers. They turned to see Touss taking the stage, a bedraggled young woman at his side not recognized by any of them.

  Libète could see that
Touss wore a fierce scowl on his face, one she had not seen for a very long time.

  — My people! Touss shouted, spewing anger into the microphone. Eyes all over the park shot to the stage.

  — We all know our sisters have fallen prey to these past kidnappings and abductions. But we didn’t know a thing about the criminals behind these acts. We sat in fear, our women wondering if they would be next, our parents wondering if their daughters would be next, our husbands wondering if their wives would be next. There have been more victims, and we all felt helpless seeing the law do nothing to protect us, the powerful do nothing to protect the weak. But now we have our answers!

  Many in the crowd gasped. Tell us! shouted a woman not far from the stage. Touss acknowledged her with a nod. I have with me a brave sister. Some of you know her, others don’t. But you all know the name Patricia—she is one of the stolen! She escaped her masters, those who prostituted her. She has not been made a victim by just anyone, but by those occupiers, those MINUSTAH pigs!

  The assembly erupted in boos and jeers.

  — That’s right! This is only the newest injustice these foreigners heap on us! This whole time, they have been taking us away, using our women’s bodies to pleasure themselves!

  The crowd continued its cursing.

  — But MINUSTAH is not alone, we’ve discovered. Isn’t that right, Patricia?

  Libète and Jak could see the woman hated the attention. She offered a small nod, not lifting her gaze from her bare feet.

  — It is even worse, my friends. MINUSTAH, they are the users, but not the suppliers. No, that’s another set of villains, an even worse betrayal. Why? Because they are us! Our own people!

  Ki moun? came the shouts from the crowd. Who?

  — This prostitution ring is run by none other than those sworn to protect us! Our own police!

  — Lies! Libète blurted out before she could restrain herself.

  Several around her turned to see who had yelled out, but she shirked back and hid, watching sheepishly as Touss continued. She looked to her cousin and could see that he was trembling. Nathalie! Oh no! He’s thinking the police took her!

  — Something has to be done! The People, in all their strength, will not tolerate an affront like this, will we?

  The crowd’s resounding “non” shook the whole park.

  — What then can we do? Touss asked.

  — Defend ourselves! came a reply.

  — Not let them get away with it! said another.

  — Fight them!

  Libète was close enough to Touss to see the corner of his mouth curl into a subtle smile.

  — Then join me, up at the stage, all of you who are willing to stand up and defend our home, our people!

  Young men and women began filing toward the stage, slowly at first. Out of nowhere, the loud bellowing of rara music exploded with horns blowing and drums sounding, as if the musicians had been waiting on cue. Those approaching the stage began to move in rhythm with the thumping music, shaking and chanting.

  — My campaigners, Touss shouted. Come to the stage and start taking volunteers’ names! The People are not to be messed with! The People are more powerful than our enemies and we will show them!

  Libète saw Davidson’s anger was about to overpower him, and she darted to his side as he took his first tentative steps toward the stage.

  — Don’t listen to this, she begged, tugging at his sleeve. It’s a lie. I wasn’t kidnapped by the police—they’re who rescued me!

  — Get out of my way.

  — This is foolishness. Touss is manipulating everything! I don’t know why, but you can’t—

  Davidson slapped Libète, harder than he meant to. She looked at him in horror. Shame registered on his face, but only for a moment before he turned and continued toward the stage.

  — This won’t bring her back, Libète said loud enough for him to hear over the thumping music. It won’t bring Nathalie back!

  He didn’t turn around again and was soon lost in the burgeoning crowd.

  — He’s gone, Jak said, now standing at her side. We’ve lost him.

  — He’s in too deep. It’s a protest march now but it will become much more than that.

  — Especially if Touss is at the head. We need to figure out a way to stop this before it explodes. That’s the best way to protect Davidson and these others.

  She watched the crowd growing more wild.

  — We’ve been so busy with Elize and Benoit that I didn’t even think of this till now. Jak, we need proof, proof of who is really behind these abductions. Then we can convince others and keep the peace.

  — What can there be that no one has uncovered? René was the best link, but the police interrogation came to nothing.

  — René. Hmmm. Libète bit her lip, deep in thought. He may not have given the police anything useful…but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t holding something useful in his hands!

  — What do you mean?

  — I remember now, when I was drugged and the police arrived. I saw him throw something into the grasses—it must have been his phone! He tried to get rid of it! Stupid, stupid, stupid! she said, berating herself. Why didn’t I think of it till now? He was talking to the traffickers before the police came! Their numbers—they might still be in his phone!

  — You think he’d have their numbers saved?

  — At least in his call history.

  — This sounds like a stretch. We don’t have time, Libète. We should go to the police now, go to Dimanche. They need to know what’s happening here.

  — But Jak, I’m telling you—we need that phone!

  — How will we find the thing at night? It’ll come to nothing.

  — I remember the direction he threw it. I can remember it all so clearly now! We just need a light.

  She looked around the stage area and saw exactly what she was hoping for: a flashlight near some sound equipment, left unattended.

  — Come on, Jak. We’re stealing that light.

  As each person gave their name and number to the campaign workers, they joined an ever-growing line, marching in beat to the music and snaking around the park grounds. The commotion gave the children the cover they needed, and moments later they had their light in hand, rushing to the main road to hire a moto that could take them back to the site of her captivity, a place Libète thought she’d never visit again.

  CONFRONTING THE POWERS

  Pa manyen nèg ki benyen nan gwo dlo

  Don’t touch a man who bathes in deep water

  Piti deyò toujou sanble papa

  A bastard always looks like her father

  Libète rides upon the back of the Nurse’s moto, wondering what she will find at their destination.

  Marie Elise provided them Limyè’s codename, and in doing so, provided the key to everything: Kache, hidden.

  Because Limyè had opposed Dumas and lived, he was an underground hero to the aggrieved and villain to Dumas’ people. There were many who knew Limyè’s new identity: it was a poorly kept secret among those booted out of their homes and made to struggle in the most infertile part of La Gonâve. The settlement was thick with those who hated Dumas. While Limyè’s new moniker lacked subtlety, it was an easy code word his friends could work into conversation. But if they only knew what Limyè did to me, to my mother, they wouldn’t think so highly of him.

  Libète had bid Marie Elise farewell. The fogbank inside the old woman’s mind had descended back in place, her wise eyes again clouded and distant. The girl kissed the woman on the cheek and stroked her face, shedding three tears before leaving her for good.

  — What are you going to do? the Nurse asked Libète as she walked away.

  — Only what I can. I need to try to find him.

  — You must be careful.

  — I will. Libète walked away, leaving the Nurse behind. But the Nurse did not let her leave. She followed at a distance at first, but soon caught up. The girl did not tell her to go.

  Lib
ète began asking around. Invoking the name Kache in hushed tones made whole conversations stop. There was fear at first, but Libète wasted no time. She told them that she was Limyè’s child, and the boldness of this claim was enough to secure their trust. One inquiry led to another individual who could shed more light on Limyè’s location, and before long, a picture emerged.

  The line of inquiry came to an end when she was finally taken to a thirteen-year-old boy who had stumbled on Limyè’s shack in the forests while harvesting coconuts. He saw the man, he was certain of it, but he was not as he once was. He looked thin and unwell. The boy told them that the shack was far, but not hard to find if you knew where to look. As he gave directions, the Nurse interrupted.

  — I will take you, Libète. We can travel faster by my bike.

  — What of your work?

  — I am seeing more and more that you are placed in my path for a reason. The sick, they’ll stay with me, but I feel you will not. If I don’t help you reach the end of your path, I’ll regret it.

  — It is a dangerous thing to pursue Lim—I mean, Kache. Dumas and his men may get word.

  — Then we must be sure they do not. I know the road and turnoff our young friend here has described. If we leave now, we may find him before it’s too dark.

  They soon sped along the craggy roads, the Nurse driving the bike much faster than earlier that day.

  The boy had not lied. Following his instructions, it took no more than a fifteen minute hike from the road to find the shack.

  It was improvised, a hovel really, covered with a tarp and comprised of thick tree branches used as poles, enclosed on only three sides by long sticks that allowed them to view its interior from the front. It reminded Libète of the homes she saw in the camps, those that materialized in the days after the quake.

  The two approached with great care, watching to see if there was any movement. They imagined Limyè like a hunted animal, ready to pounce on intruders. Who knew if he had a weapon?

  They heard a rustling from inside that made them stop in place. What appeared to be an empty cot was not empty at all. Libète looked to the Nurse to decide how to proceed, but she was too on edge to offer any help.