by Ted Oswald
The man grumbles to himself as he pulls out his phone. He takes a few steps away and they hear a muted conversation.
He steps back toward the gate. He will be here before long. Now leave me alone.
Libète and Jak leaned against the wall, breathing hard from their long run, fidgeting as their minds raced with heavy thoughts about what may be in store.
— What’s Touss’ game? Libète asked. Why is he staging all this?
— He’s trying to get people on the campaign’s side? Jak ventured. Or maybe to his own?
— The SUV that pulled up to try to take me away was real expensive, maybe a Mercedes. Touss doesn’t have that kind of money. It’s still got to be Benoit at the top.
— But why? Why would he be involved in this? Kidnappings and selling girls to MINUSTAH troops?
Libète thought on this, but had few ideas to offer. Money?
— Maybe. Things always start and end with different motivations.
— Oh dear God—do you think this was what Claire discovered? The secret that got her killed?
The weight of the thought was immense and they stood reflecting upon it in silence.
A truck soon careened around the corner of the police station, bearing down on them.
— It’s him. Jak nodded in agreement.
The white police pickup skidded from its breakneck speed to a halt in front of the children. They covered their mouths and nostrils to keep from inhaling the flurry of dust flooding the air.
A shout came from inside the truck’s cab, its passenger window down.
— What’s going on? What is it? Dimanche said.
Libète looked nervously to Jak, and then back to Dimanche.
— Cité Soleil is in trouble, more than you know.
Libète clings to the Nurse once more. She pushes the motorbike, driving fast and reckless to reach Anse-à-Galets before the Sun departs, the Moon takes the nightwatch, and the last ferry out of La Gonâve makes its way across the waters. Libète has Limyè’s tin and other possessions pressed between her belly and the Nurse’s back. The hair on her arms and neck stands on end, feelings of dread following like a phantom on her trail.
— Thank you, Libète says out of nowhere, as loud as she can without shouting. For everything.
The Nurse acknowledges her through her own weariness and fear. It’s nothing, she says. It’s nothing.
The truck pulls up and into the concrete park. This is very bad, Dimanche says.
It is quiet now. The angry marching has come to an end. The tent dwellers remain but are inside their homes.
— There were supposed to be police present tonight, watching over things. Maybe they fled, Dimanche says. Or maybe they were paid off. I’ll go ask someone what happened. Stay here. Libète and Jak nod, happy to obey.
He opened the truck door and put his foot to earth. Something imperceptible made him stop, a keen sense that something was amiss.
A loud pop and flash from the opposite end of the park pierced the dark. Before Dimanche could react, the side mirror of the truck exploded in a spray of glass and black plastic molding. Dimanche threw himself back into the truck, releasing a long string of profanities while forcing Libète’s head down. A second quick shot broke the open door’s window. Jak ducked beneath the dash. Dimanche clamored for the gear selector and threw the truck into reverse. More shots could be heard, puncturing the side fenders and engine or flying wide and missing the truck.
Libète risked a peek above the dash to see at least three young assailants running after them, firing pistols. She flinched when one bullet crashed through the windshield just above her head and exited through the back window, leaving a web of cracks shooting from the bullet hole.
Jak uttered prayers next to her. She decided this might not be such a bad idea.
The truck roared and fought as it careened backward, never meant to do so with such speed and abandon.
Once at a safe distance on the main road, Dimanche ripped out his phone and made two quick calls, one to another police officer and another to a MINUSTAH commander. If those bastards want to fight, he said. They can put their pop guns up against MINUSTAH’s machine guns!
— Maybe that’s what Touss wants! Jak remarked.
— Innocents will die if that happens, Dimanche—they always do! Touss and Benoit, they’re playing with the situation, trying to make things explode just like they are. I don’t know why, but they want there to be a battle!
— So what do you want me to do?
— The right thing. All the evidence may not be there, but we have enough. Make arrests!
— What are you talking about? You told me about Touss riling things up, being involved in the prostitution ring.
— Dimanche, there is more. Too much more for us to handle on our own.
— Tell me then!
— Claire and Gaspar. Jak figured it out. Lolo is innocent, just like I told you all along. Benoit was behind their deaths! He hired the killer who did them in, had Simeon killed, broke Jak, and came after me. We’ve got it all figured out!
Dimanche looked away, his face clouded. He stopped the truck, unable to look at the children. You say you have proof?
She explained everything as quickly as the words came to her.
— It’s enough, don’t you think? The Truth is crying out, desperate for us to listen.
Dimanche said nothing. He seemed caught up in private thoughts.
Jak cocked his head and looked at the officer.
— You know something, he said evenly to Dimanche. This is too important for you to keep secrets from us.
— Shut up! he roared. Know your place!
Jak bristled, sitting up straight. I…will…not! I have sacrificed too much! Endured too much! Any respect we have for you goes to nothing if you hide something from us now!
Libète beamed with pride at Jak.
— Then let it go to nothing. I don’t deserve it anyway.
— What are you saying? Libète snapped.
— I did not know for certain, but I already believed Benoit to be behind the murders.
— You mean—
— Lolo did not do it. I suspected that to be the case, but now know.
— And yet you arrested him? Let him waste away in jail all this time?
— As I said, you have no reason to respect me.
— But what did you do, Dimanche? What did you do?
He looked at them with a searing stare, clenching his jaw.
— To do justice, you must be just. He sighed heavily. And I am not.
They reach Anse-à-Galets, speeding down the road to the dock, maneuvering around potholes and ridges.
The Nurse stopped the bike prematurely.
— I have to pull over here, she says. Dumas will have eyes at the dock. If they see us together and know we’re coming, there will be trouble for the both of us.
She turned down a narrow side street a few blocks from the bustling dock and parked the bike. Libète hopped down and pulled money from her tin, enough for the passage. She hid the tin deep in her black plastic bag.
A long, low horn bellowed in the distance. Both looked toward the dock.
— The ferry is leaving soon. Walk ahead of me, and I’ll follow behind at a distance. Put your cap on again, the purple one, and try not to look anyone in the face.
Libète did as told. She started down the road until it broadened and the full dock came into view. She tried to avoid looking at anyone, her eyes settling on the dwindling queue for tickets.
She counted under her breath as she had once counted houses at the end of her long journeys home.
En. She stepped forward, off the dirt road and onto the pavement stones.
De. Many vendors, men and women of all ages, watched the passengers buy their tickets, bid family farewell, and embark.
Twa. She felt as if all eyes were now upon her, but the hovering presence of the Nurse close-by reassured her.
Kat. She paid the ticket sell
er, and he placed a ticket in her hand.
— A little one, heading across all alone? the seller asked. She nodded, not meeting his stare. Well, bon vwayaj, he offered. He began to whistle a curious tune.
Senk. She paused at the foot of the gangplank, letting other passengers pass her by and board. She looked over her shoulder to see where the Nurse had settled, to wave to her, to thank her.
Scanning the faces in the quickly-fading light sent chills through her.
The Nurse was not there.
— Tell us what you mean, Dimanche. Tell us!
His guilt kept him silent.
Libète filled the gap, her lip trembling and body shaking.
— You told me a long time ago that if I wanted justice I had to go find it myself. I have tried, Dimanche, oh, I’ve tried. But I can’t do it alone. Neither can Jak. We are two children the world cares nothing for, and will pay no attention to. But us, together, we three are something different. Whatever you did, whatever lies you’ve spread, we can stand up now and be heard. We can stop Benoit before he enters office and corrupts Haiti even more!
— I can’t do that. It would be the end of me. He’s powerful. He has connections. No matter what we do, he’ll escape the law.
— I’ve seen you fight, Dimanche! Don’t back down. Fight now, against all that’s wrong in Haiti. Against impunity!
— You and your big words.
— It’s not just Benoit. It’s for Claire and Gaspar and Simeon, for Lolo, to save my cousin and all the others who have been taken in and chewed up by these monsters, to protect all of Cité Soleil!
— Another corrupt man will take his place. Bienamié is no saint either.
— But is he a murderer?
Dimanche hit the steering wheel hard. You don’t know what I’ve done!
— Tell us then! Jak urged again. Then we can choose to condemn or acquit.
He looked out through the broken driver’s side window and swore.
— After the murders, Benoit contacted me, invited me to his office, asked for updates on the investigation. He said Claire was a valued employee, and that there would be a reward for finding the murderer.
— Go on, Libète prodded.
— I was certain Lolo was the killer. When Simeon told me your story, where Lolo was, I was certain Lolo had taken you in with lies and that he was really guilty. I could feel it. I called Benoit and told him we’d found the killer. He put it very plainly to me, telling me that if I arrested the boy, I’d be paid a large sum.
The children were silent. Libète spoke. And?
— I believed I was right. I sold myself. I prostituted justice. After Simeon was killed, after the quake, I got word that another had attacked you. I doubted everything I had been so sure of. I called Benoit again and said that Lolo was the wrong man, that I needed to return the money and get the boy free. He became furious. He said Lolo was responsible and that he would pay for his crimes. He said if I questioned this, he would see me lose my rank. So I stayed quiet.
Libète moved her hand toward him, but couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She finally placed it on his shoulder and the boulder of a man shirked from it.
— That’s a hard story, Dimanche. You’ve hurt us by not telling the truth till now. But you can make it right. There’s still a chance to do the good that’s been put before us, she said, her thoughts drifting to ailing Limyè on La Gonâve, now surely dead.
— Even if I wanted to roll this back, how could it be done? Lolo has suffered in prison. Even you two were beaten and broken by Benoit’s assassin. I see no way forward.
— Tolerate his injustices no more! said Jak. That’s how.
— He’s too powerful! I’d lose my job, maybe get killed, and you two would be in danger once again. There’s no one who will stand up to him, no judge who would order his arrest and Lolo’s release.
— That’s not true.
Both Dimanche and Libète looked at Jak in surprise.
— There’s an obvious one who could do all these things.
— Who, Jak?
— Bienamié, of course. He’s a magistrate. And I’m sure there is no other person he would rather issue an arrest warrant for then Benoit!
Without a word, Dimanche turned the key in the ignition and steered the truck in a wide U-turn.
— Where will we find him? Libète asked.
— I know exactly where he’ll be, Dimanche replied. He has an event tonight. Spending the meager money left in his campaign to celebrate his coming loss. Libète looked to Jak wide-eyed.
Dimanche’s shrill ringtone filled the cab, making them all jump. He answered his phone. Wi? What is it?
The children could hear the tinny, worried voice come blaring through.
— Sir, it’s Castel and Bourgoin. They were on patrol through Bwa Nèf and got attacked by a mob. It…doesn’t look good for them.
Dimanche swore through clenched teeth.
— MINUSTAH is starting to move in. Can you come, sir?
He looked to Libète and Jak. Soon, he replied. As soon as I can.
BAT TENÈB
Lè w’ mouri ou pa konnen, lè w’ konnen ou mouri
When you die, you don’t know. When you know, you die.
Fizi tire; nanpwen aranjman
Shots are fired; there is no more negotiating
The lights are beautiful in the courtyard, strung high and emanating a white glow that washes the party below in softness. A three-piece jazz band mixes drums, saxophone, and keyboard, producing music that is sedate, fitting the guests’ mood well. A few are people of repute, some good, some ill, but most are nobodies. What brings them together is an open secret that all know but none are willing to voice: that their candidate, Bienamié, will certainly lose the senatorial election in the next few days.
There had been high hopes this time. The previous senator for Cité Soleil was one of the many crushed in the quake’s unexpected tremors, opening up the seat. Bienamié, a three-time candidate and three-time loser, had hoped fate would smile upon him and grant him his wish of leaving behind the thankless job of a magistrate in Cité Soleil. Benoit’s entrance into the race had ensured fate’s frown once more.
The odd trio stand along a wall near the courtyard entrance. Two dirty, poor children and a police officer are not welcome at this soiree, confirmed by guests’ sideway glances as they sip warm champagne, cheap wine, and lukewarm Prestige. The children have never been in a place as foreign as this, among bona fide members of the middle and upper classes. They might as well have stepped into a king’s court.
Dimanche flips his phone in his hand impatiently, a grimace on his face and sweat on his brow. He knows that his absence in the slums has a high cost and hopes this errand is worth it.
The house man, an older fellow in an ill-fitting suit, signals the trio from across the courtyard. Dimanche swallows hard and the three walk in a procession through the mirthless crowd.
Bienamié sits in a faux-leather chair in an office that was once a laundry room. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, along with a TV that Bienamié rages at even in the midst of his own party.
— You see this? he says to his visitors. Film crews are already down there!
The office is lined with French books on a variety of subjects, more likely to have been cast off from the motherland as donations Bienamié hoarded rather than purchased. His desk furniture—several metal balls hung by wire, a business card holder and a snow globe paper weight—appear to be strategically placed to hide the damaged surface of the desk.
— On a late Wednesday night! I’ve been hearing on the radio that he’s down there trying to broker peace or some such nonsense.
— Who are you talking about? Dimanche asked.
Bienamié shifted in his chair, his wide gut on display. He raised an eyebrow. Benoit, he said. That bastard.
He looked the three up and down for the first time, his face registering a look of distaste. Why are you here? You better have a g
ood reason to invade my party, my home, on the cusp of the election.
The children were accustomed to being spoken down to and looked to the floor. Dimanche was not.
— I think we have something you might be interested in, mesye majistra, he spat derisively. We came to hand you the election, but if you want us to go I have more important—
— Cut your bluster, officer. I apologize. You have my attention.
— Libète, Jak, Dimanche grumbled. Tell the magistrate what you know.
**
— So you’re telling me that Benoit had his little girlfriend killed to spare his reputation and keep secret his involvement in a prostitution ring that pimped out young girls from Cité Soleil to foreign troops?
— That’s right.
— And these—these children are the ones who discovered all this?
Dimanche nodded.
— This shit is better than fiction! Bienamié sprang up out of his chair and did a gleeful dance, knocking over a champagne flute and letting it spill to the floor.
— Don’t forget about Lolo, Libète interrupted the magistrate.
He turned to look at the girl. My dear, if all you want in return for this is the release of some nèg from the National Penitentiary, that’s a price I’m willing to pay! Ha ha! Even if he was guilty! Ha! I’ll complete the paperwork now. This is too fantastic—God, this is just fantastic.
He reached into his desk and rifled through forms, pulling out a single sheet along with a pen and seal. He completed it in a flurry, signing the arrest order with a grand flourish.
Libète felt worry creep in. This is who we’re making a senator?
— Who is going to execute my order? Bienamié asked.
Dimanche swallowed hard. That responsibility is mine and mine alone.
Bienamié nodded, making a clicking sound as he processed this. Well, good man! Go with God, he offered. You’ll need protection, that’s for sure! Ah! He held up a hand before another word could be spoken. What am I saying? I’ll be a senateur! You’ll have my protection now! To thank you for your loyalty, how about I make you my chief of security? That would be a good reward, no?