Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  Libète grimaced. At long last, she had found him. She had waited long enough for this moment and would not be intimidated now.

  — Limyè, she shouted. Get up! It’s me, your daughter!

  — We’re never going to find it. Never.

  — Shut up, Jak.

  The two walk side by side, trudging through grasses as Libète sweeps the light back and forth before them. The abandoned warehouse that had been Libète’s prison looms large and black behind them, causing her to shiver every time she looks upon it.

  They have already gone further in the direction than Libète remembers seeing René cast his phone. She doubts her memory but does not tell Jak this.

  — Cité Soleil is about to blow up and we’re digging through grass, Jak mutters.

  Libète does not respond, her eyes fixed on the ground.

  A thought occurs to Jak. Where did you go this afternoon? After you left the hospital?

  — Downtown.

  — Really?

  — Yes.

  He pauses. All the way? With so much going on?

  — Yes.

  — To see Lolo?

  — No.

  — Then why?

  — To look for someone, she said with some irritation. But I didn’t find the one I looked for…I don’t want to talk about it.

  Jak harrumphed. All of these trails to nowhere when we know the path to somewhere—

  — Shut up.

  He bristles. He does not like being ordered. Well, how about I go and find Dimanche while you waste time sifting through dirt and weeds? I’ll be sure to tell you once the two of us have stopped a protest against the police from becoming a war between the police, U.N., and all of Cité Soleil!

  — If you’d just be quiet—

  — I won’t be quiet. You need to respect me, Libète—

  — Listen—

  — I will not!

  She clapped her hand over his mouth, and he scrambled to fling it away.

  — Libète! he barked.

  — There it is again!

  — Huh? There was what?

  They both quieted and heard a faint beeping from about twenty feet behind them. They looked at each other, eyes wide. Libète shot toward the sound, dropping the flashlight as she slid to the ground. She listened closely, patting the ground until she landed on it. Jak arrived behind her, his limp slowing his progress.

  She leapt up, holding the phone like a trophy before lowering it and pressing a few buttons to bring the phone’s display to life. Indeed, the battery was nearly depleted, its icon blinking like a light on an armed time bomb. Jak pushed in so that he could view the screen as well.

  — Check the contacts—no, that’s not right. Press the upper-right button—

  — Jak, I can figure it out!

  — There’s no time! Give it to me.

  — No—I can do it!

  She finally brought up the phone’s contacts, and as expected, there were no saved numbers. The consistent beeping made the pressure even more excruciating. It could take ages to rush back and find someone with a proper charger, made all the more difficult if there was no electricity feeding Bwa Nèf at the moment.

  — Go to call history.

  — I know! I’m doing it. Three numbers appeared. What should I do?

  — Call them, Jak shouted. Call them!

  She dialed the first number.

  — Alo? said the voice on the other end of the line.

  Libète looked at Jak in alarm. Wi? she hazarded, trying to make her voice low like the man’s.

  Unfamiliar words came back speedily. Neither child understood them, but they recognized the tongue.

  — Portuguese! she mouthed to Jak, and he nodded.

  — A Brazilian! A MINUSTAH soldier! he mouthed back. Touss wasn’t lying!

  They could hear the Brazilian’s questioning continue from the phone.

  — Au revoir, Libète said in the same low voice, cutting the call off.

  — Call the next one!

  She dialed, but this message went straight to an anonymous voicemail. She did not leave a message. The phone beeped yet again. She quickly dialed the last number, hoping for some clue, some shred of evidence that could help validate this search.

  — Hello, René? came a man’s voice in Kreyol. There was much noise in the background on the other end and the children strained to hear what he said.

  — Wi? Libète tried her mimicry again.

  — They actually let you go? Look, I can’t talk now. I’m going to find you, you idiot, and if they haven’t knocked out all your teeth already, I’ll take care of the rest.

  The voice is familiar, but neither child can place it.

  — Desolé, Libète says.

  — What do you want? the voice comes back.

  She hesitates, and Jak too. What could they possibly ask to get at his identity?

  They could hear a voice yell in the background on the speaker’s end. Touss! We need you over here!

  Libète felt like an electric shock shot out of the phone. Could it be?

  — Toussaint Laguerre? she said.

  — What?

  — Is that you, Touss? Libète said.

  — René? came the confused reply. Who am I talking to?

  — The devil, Libète shouted. And I’m coming for you! She hung up, nearing hyperventilation. Jak and Libète looked at each other, words now impossible.

  The phone gave two more beeps before cutting out, plunging the children in darkness, except for the dropped flashlight.

  — Now, Libète gasped. We go to Dimanche.

  — Wake up, Limyè! I can see you there in your bed. Get up!

  The blankets pull and rustle before Limyè sits up, cautious and fearful.

  She has steeled herself for whatever she would find, but Libète stands speechless.

  It is Limyè, but it is not.

  She faces a living skeleton. His wide shoulders and stern face have wasted away, a faded picture of the man who has haunted her memory.

  Libète loses all fear. What…has happened to you? she asks, breaking twigs with each step forward. The Nurse follows from behind a tree, making herself seen to Limyè.

  He does not answer at first. It looks as if tears stain his cheeks. My God! he murmurs. Libète? Is it you? You look just like her.

  Libète remembers herself and stops where she is. Don’t mention my mother!

  He is dumbstruck. How are you here? How did you make it? I heard Estelle died and that was the last of things—no further word about you.

  — I am here. That’s what you need to know.

  — Then why?

  She had imagined this question but not prepared for it.

  — I had hoped to return home, she ventured, but found that my home is no more. Like everything else, it’s been taken from me.

  He nodded, his sad, sallow cheeks sliding over his teeth as he tried to speak but could not find words.

  — And who is this with you? he finally says as he wipes his eyes.

  — A nurse who travels to the settlements and through the hills.

  — May I help you, mesye? I have some special food in my bag I could give you, and maybe some medicine?

  — I would take it.

  The Nurse floated past Libète and moved close to his side while Libète watched. What is your condition? she asked him. Do you even know? She removed a stethoscope and placed it on Limyè’s chest, reaching into his wrinkled and unwashed shirt, opened down the front.

  — AIDS. The AIDS has caught up with me.

  Libète sneered.

  He looked at her. It is not what you think.

  — You suffer from the same sickness you gave my mother when you raped her? she growled. Don’t give me some story, Limyè. I don’t care if Marie Elise says you’re a good man now. I’ve seen enough to know what’s true.

  — I tried my best, child. There is much you don’t know. Too much.

  — Oh? Then tell me. But by God, don’t you
lie to me.

  The Nurse gave him some food in a foil wrapper, and he opened it with his feeble, trembling fingers and began to nibble, offering a small, “mèsi.” Libète could see he was collecting his thoughts.

  — I could tell you a very long story, but you must leave here soon. Before it’s late and Dumas’ men take to the roads.

  — Tell. We’ll see if I have the patience to sit through even the short version.

  His rubbed his sunken face. He chose his words carefully.

  — This is as much Dumas’ story as my own. I grew up knowing him. We come from the same place, not far from here, but him from a rich family, me from a poor one. He came and went often as a child, staying with family in the U.S. before returning home. He thought he was better than all of us. He was a very cruel boy.

  When he got older, he would drive about in his trucks, creating trouble. Small things, nothing really criminal. But he went away to study at university in the U.S. and made so, so much money. Some say in banking, others say in drugs. He started to make his presence felt on the island, buying homes, hiring men to be his “security.”

  I moved to Anse-à-Galets and became a police officer but was assigned to this part of the island. It was then I met Sophia. She sold at the weekly market I patrolled. She was so gracious, so good. Beautiful. Dark. A buried treasure in this island’s forests. I would greet her, and she would greet me, and we would say goodbye until the next market. We became friends.

  Things were darkening in this area. Dumas, always acting through his agents, began to create trouble, forcing people off their lands to consolidate his own. They began to charge merchants a seller’s tax that went straight into Dumas’ pocket. People who opposed him disappeared, or died mysteriously. None of the police did anything, knowing to do so would mean a loss of bribes at best, or death at worst.

  I tried my best to contain his men but could do little by myself. Sophia and I became closer. We both believed we would someday marry—

  Libète scoffed at this and Limyè looked away ashamed. The Nurse, seated next to Limyè, glowered at the girl. She bit her tongue.

  Limyè swallowed hard.

  — Sophia was nearly assaulted—raped—by Dumas’ men. I intervened. Things got worse. I watched out for her, but we did not tell anyone of our relationship. I feared she might become more of a target. Her father, your grandfather, was in poor health and would not leave his land. Your mother was raised by your grandfather, a good man I hear, though I did not know him. We hoped that after he passed, she and I could marry and move away. I was willing to wait, watching as things all over the countryside got worse and worse under Dumas.

  One day, at the market when I was not there, Dumas passed through in his vehicle. He laid eyes on Sophia — Limyè paused, and took a deep, long breath while wiping a tear before he could continue. She never said exactly what happened; it was too painful to tell. But it was obvious. She was pregnant.

  Libète interrupted again. My mother was pregnant before me?

  Limyè shook his head, his eyes so very weary, so very sad. No, Libète.

  — You mean—

  He offered a slow, horrible nod.

  — That means you’re not my—and my aunt—my uncle and cousin…

  — They are not your own.

  All sat in silence.

  — But–but why? Libète asked. Why did you let me—let everyone—believe you were my father? Even Marie Elise thought so.

  — I thought it best. Sophia still met with me, but very quietly, and these meetings became rarer as she feared for herself and the little girl growing inside her. I offered to marry her and take you as my own, Libète, but she said no. I became angry on one visit, and stormed off. Marie Elise heard the argument along with other neighbors. They knew we were seeing each other. It made sense that they thought I was the father—and I was fine with this. Better for you to be mine than Dumas’. Still, Sophia was under his eye through his informants. Your grandfather died shortly before you were born, and Marie Elise helped deliver you, helped care for your mother. Though I tried to come close to her, Sophia withdrew from me. Even though I knew it was for my safety, it made me hate Dumas all the more.

  — Why didn’t you leave? After she died?

  — I could have. I could have gotten out of this place. But I felt a responsibility to Dumas’ victims—past, current, and future—to do what I could. I have not done much good in my life. I was too quiet for too long, too selfish, too hard. But where good was put before me to do, I had to do it.

  He sighed.

  — After Sophia died and I sent you away, I started to oppose him, though in secret. I would vandalize his cars, hold his men up at checkpoints. It was gradual, and I became a target. He smeared my name among the communities. I was blamed for abuses and crimes that I had nothing to do with. I became feared. But that was a mistake on his part—I used that fear to fight him.

  It was no surprise when my superiors pushed me out. I left and went into hiding. Dumas went after me full force, along with my fellow officers. It was only the people, the regular people who were sick of being pressed under Dumas’ heel, who fed me, nursed me when I was sick, gave me space to sleep. Sophia’s home was one of my favorite places to hide. Marie Elise had taken it over, and no one disputed her claim. She had cared for Sophia and you like no other. She deserved it.

  Libète did not accept the story, her resentment more acidic as Limyè continued. Everyone is a saint in their own stories, she sneered.

  He was taken aback. You don’t believe me?

  — I’ve been told many things in my few years, and I know not to believe most of them.

  — This is all truth. Every word of it. I swear.

  — Then explain this. You suffer from what killed my mother, the sickness you gave her. I remember her empty eyes, her body going to nothing but bone and skin.

  — You…still don’t understand? Do you? He shook his head in frustration before trying another explanation. Even though Dumas hunted me all this time and was unable to kill me, he will still be the one to do me in.

  Libète’s confusion showed on her face, though the Nurse understood.

  — Dumas passed it to Sophia, she murmured. And Sophia passed it to you.

  Limyè nodded.

  All were quiet.

  He spoke again, this time in a whisper. She did not know she was sick at that time. I’ve stayed well for many, many years. But I’m near the end. I’m done fighting Dumas, and this disease.

  Libète felt pangs of sympathy, but suppressed them. But why did you send me away? Why were you so cruel? Marie Elise would have taken me. My aunt, your sister—whatever she is—she abused me, treated me like a slave!

  Remorse tugged at his features. I had not seen Estelle for many years—we were connected only by phone. All I knew was that she had done well for herself, that she had a stable home. I thought you would be best off there, far from Dumas and the shadow he casts over everything on this island.

  — It is hell there! Libète spat. We are turned to nothing since she died, living in a tent. There’s no justice. No peace. I’m still a slave, you know. To my hunger and thirst. To my fears and memory.

  — All I can do is apologize. I did not know.

  The Sun was now low, the sky’s color changing. Libète ruminated on everything.

  — What will you do here? What will become of you?

  He shrugged. I’ll die. I’ve done what I can. That’s all that’s required of me.

  The words settled on Libète like new weights. Would she be able to say the same?

  — You must go back, Libète. La Gonâve is no place for you, especially if it’s suspected you’re my child. Dumas doesn’t know the truth. He’ll kill you to get at me.

  — But I have no way to leave. I spent all I had to get away from Cité Soleil forever.

  He looked grave before his eyes sprung to life. Ah, but you have an inheritance from me you can claim!

  He bent low and reached am
ong his few belongings, rattling around some tins. I stole from one of Dumas’ drug runners long ago and have lived off this money ever since. Take what’s left. It’s not much, but it’s more than the passage back to Cité Soleil. Use it for whatever you need.

  His hand wavered as she moved to take it from him.

  — Libète, though you’re struggling with all I’ve told, your coming has made me happy. I never thought you’d know the truth. Now, you must go, before it is dark, before Dumas’ eyes watch the road and his ears listen for your coming. I am sure his people know you are here already. Nurse, will you be able to get her away from here? Down to the docks? You can take some of the money—

  — I don’t want it.

  Limyè’s face sunk, his hopes dashed.

  — Don’t misunderstand! the Nurse blurted. I will take her to the dock because it is right. As you said, we must do the good that’s put before us.

  — Thank you.

  — Are you in pain? she asked. Are you still hungry? Can I give you anything else to help?

  — I am fine. Others pass through to care for me. It may not look it, but I am not so alone here.

  Libète rose up from the ground.

  — I don’t know what to say, Limyè. Except that I am sorry. I — she choked, tears budding — I have hated you for so, so long…it is hard for me to wipe away those feelings. It is hard to—I can’t believe what I’m about to say—but I wish now you had been my father. She embraced him lightly so as to not break him, and he wrapped his wasted arms around her.

  — It is good to have hate replaced by something else. Thank you for finding me. Now go.

  — Dimanche! DI-MANCHE!

  The children pound on the gates of the quiet police station, the white fortress on Route 9. Open up! they shout. We need to talk to Dimanche!

  The nightwatchman answers, looking through the small square cut in the iron gate.

  — Go away! He’s not here.

  — Then call him, Jak shouts. It’s an emergency!

  — I will do no such thing.

  — Old man, I swear he’ll kill you when he finds that you didn’t take half a minute to dial him and tell him we’re here.