Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  All emotion drained from Dimanche’s face, now inscrutable, like a mannequin. It took a moment before he spoke.

  — Magistrate, understand one thing. I’m not doing this for you, nor do I want your slippery fingers trying to hedge me. If I never have to lay eyes on you again it will make what I’m about to do that much more palatable. He took the order in hand. We’ll be leaving now.

  The three exited just as they entered, quickly and quietly.

  When they reached their damaged truck across the street, Dimanche surveyed the magistrate’s home.

  — This is what we fight for, he snarled, shaking his head in disgust.

  **

  They parked the truck at the mouth of Impasse Chavannes and jumped out of it without even cutting the ignition, rushing to the edge of the media storm gathered around Benoit. Their adversary—handsome, calm, sober—stood at its center, the cameras’ lights giving him an aura like in paintings of the beatified.

  The children and Dimanche stood at a safe distance, straining to make out Benoit’s words over the bustling of so many onlookers and the dire gunfire in the distance.

  —…times of crisis require leadership, Benoit said. Why do we let our arguments be made with the shouts of bullets instead of reasoned words? Are we prepared to see Cité Soleil fall to pieces again?

  — But what of the reports of the prostitution of young women and girls?

  Benoit paused to choose his words. At least ten young men, reporters, held tape recorders to capture his every word. Cameramen formed a ring around him too, edging to get a shot of his chiseled face. Even late on a Friday night the media had been stirred to attention, leading one to wonder if this impromptu press conference had been arranged in advance.

  — Don’t get me wrong. I wish I could hold a gun against those responsible in our own police and the U.N. But this is not the way forward. Everyone involved in these crimes—I speak of the sexual enslavement of our citizens—will be punished most severely. You can be sure of it. We will not tolerate such things. As a private citizen I will fight this, and if the polls go my way on Sunday, than I will do so as a senator. I will not be able to rest until the culprits, these traitors to our country, are rooted out.

  Libète shrank at Benoit’s words, his regal air, his conviction. Even knowing the truth about him, she wanted to believe his fiction deep down.

  Jak leaned over to Libète and whispered in her ear. He’s not going to be content being a senator. He wants more. I can see it.

  The crackling of machine gun fire and pistols’ replies reminded Libète of the stakes involved.

  — Dimanche, Libète said. When will you do what needs to be done?

  He looked at Libète’s wide eyes. His feet remained frozen in place, his knees locked and body rigid. The warrant in his left hand was crinkled and wet with sweat. He swallowed, sniffled, and wiped his nose with the back of his right hand.

  — I don’t know if I can do this, Libète. The costs…

  Tears sprang to Libète’s eyes. She reached out and took the man’s hand, tugging him forward slowly toward the center of the storm. It is right, Dimanche. It is right. It must be done…

  He pulled back, his resistance saying what he could not.

  — You are not alone, she coaxed him. You are not alone. It must be your choice.

  — Help me then, Libète. Somehow.

  She dropped Dimanche’s hand, connecting her eyes with his. Suddenly, the thought came to her. She took three steps forward, breathed deeply three times, and then exploded.

  — LIES! This is all lies!

  Benoit, mid-soliloquy, tried to ignore the little girl but she shouted again, finding her voice. The cameras and blinding lights began turning to the small girl, standing alone in the darkness. You are koupab, Benoit! Guilty!

  Benoit’s bodyguards stepped from behind the candidate and moved toward the girl to silence her. Jak stepped forward from behind Dimanche and stood with her, ready for whatever the men would do. As they rushed to pull the children to the side, the officer stepped in front of them.

  — If you touch them I’ll rip your arms out of their sockets! he shouted for all the cameras to capture and tape recorders to hear.

  The thugs paused, clearly unsure of how to proceed with a uniformed policeman standing in the gap.

  — Jean-Pierre Benoit, I have a warrant signed for your arrest! he shouted. For conspiracy to commit murder and prostitution!

  — What? What is the meaning of this? Benoit shouted back. Dimanche? Is that you?

  — It is, Benoit, and I’ve come for you! he yelled, spittle spraying from his mouth.

  The thugs moved in. Dimanche punched one while the other tried to tackle him. The law will be respected! Dimanche shouted for all to hear. It will be respected! He freed himself of one man’s grasp and moved with a steady intensity straight through the crowd of reporters.

  — Look how I’m maligned by my enemies, Benoit shouted. Surely this is Bienamié’s doing!

  Dimanche had lost control, pulling his handcuffs from behind his back and moving toward the candidate. The proof is against you, Jean-Pierre. You tried to bribe me to put another in prison in your place for murdering your own son and his mother! You have organized this violence so that you can play the peacemaker! You have caused the very abuse of women you now denounce!

  Some tried to come to Benoit’s defense, trying to keep Dimanche from advancing closer, but he plowed on with unstoppable force. The lives taken tonight are on you, Benoit! he shouted. They are innocents caught in your game, and I tell you the law will be respected!

  Benoit froze, waiting for someone to stop him for good, but the reporters were more interested in capturing the scene, a wild policeman arresting a sure-to-be Senator. Dimanche reached Benoit and took him to the ground before the pair fell out of view of Libète and Jak.

  — Should we try to help? Jak asked.

  Libète shook her head. We need to do something about the shooting in Bwa Nèf. Benoit is stopped but that won’t stop the fighting!

  — But what can we do?

  Libète looked around and settled on the still-running police truck. Without a word, she ran toward the vehicle.

  — Wait up, Jak called, limping as fast as he could to catch her.

  She jumped into the driver’s seat and locked both doors before Jak could get inside.

  — What are you doing, Libète? He began pounding on the window. Let me come with you!

  She shook her head and mouthed “I’m sorry” over the rumbling engine. She stretched and pushed the accelerator down hard before Jak could put himself between the truck and the heart of Bwa Nèf where Libète now headed so recklessly.

  — Don’t leave me! he shouted as she sped away. Don’t leave me!

  Libète walks halfway up the gangway to get a better view, looking about wildly for the Nurse in the faces of the crowd gathered at the dock. Still nowhere.

  Like a clap of thunder come the words: Run, Libète! They’re coming! Her eyes dart to find the speaker, and she sees a man cupping his hand over the Nurse’s mouth, dragging her away behind a small shipping container with his other arm. Another man from near the struggle breaks from the pair and runs toward the ship, toward Libète. They’re after me!

  All eyes on the dock turned to the woman being pulled away. From the sellers to the linemen and sailors on nearby boats, all simply stood watching this abduction play out. They know what’s happening. They’ve seen this happen before.

  Libète was torn herself, frozen in her indecision. She could rush onto the ferry to evade her pursuer, or run to aid the Nurse. Both were bad choices.

  — Someone do something! she screamed. Someone help her!

  The Nurse fought, and fought hard, but was soon overcome by her abductor. Still no one moved.

  Libète ran onto the ship and wove in and out of the passengers. Her pursuer shouted after her, telling her to stop and ordering those on board to halt her, to take her, to hold her.

&
nbsp; None did. They simply stood, gawking as the scene played out before them.

  Libète tried to watch while gaining ground, running along the wide deck till she reached an iron stairwell to the upper level. Her pursuer grew closer but struggled to pass through the deck’s crowded spectators. It looked like some purposely obstructed the path.

  Once on the top deck, Libète spared several seconds to look out and see what had become of the Nurse. The captor continued to hit her, beating her into the ground.

  — Do something, someone, Libète entreated. Please!

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, one of the machann women who sold food to travelers from her stall. Libète turned back to see her pursuer closing in, about to scale the stairs himself.

  She looked about for a weapon and tore into a nearby bag of onions left unattended. She took them in turn, taking careful aim at the man as he ascended the stairs, missing with her first volley. He was nearing the top, and she re-armed herself frantically. She threw again, this time connecting hard with the man’s head, and he struggled to keep his balance. She wasted no time. Rushing over before he had time to react, she kicked his face, sending him crashing back to the bottom of the staircase where he hit his head hard.

  She checked on her friend. To her surprise, she saw the vendor berating the captor as he wailed upon the Nurse, cursing him and spitting at him.

  — She is a healer, the lone vendor yelled. And you beat her! That woman has treated me! She has cared for me! Don’t you hit her again! Don’t you do it, you dog!

  The man kept pummeling the poor nurse, who still struggled valiantly to resist. Other women dropped what they were doing, overcoming their spectator’s inhibition to join their friend in opposing the abuse.

  — Help her! Libète shouted. Help her! Don’t let them do this!

  Others joined, men too, shouting at the man until he realized that an angry mob had surrounded him. A sudden lurch shook all the passengers. The ferry had begun moving, pulling away from the dock in order to escape the gathering storm.

  Similar things now befell Libète’s own pursuer. Passengers had encircled the man, still reeling from his fall. They lifted him up and tossed him overboard, cheering as they did so. Others all over the ferry erupted in cheers at the move before everyone shuffled and moved throughout the boat, hoping none of Dumas’ loyal spies noted their defiance.

  Shocked, Libète turned again to watch as the crowd on land led entirely by women began to assail the dock-side attacker. They pulled at his clothes and yanked his hair until he fell to the ground, struck down by their blows.

  Moments later, the ship still pulling away, she saw some of the crowd had extricated the battered nurse from the mess and moved her to a white speedboat used for passage between La Gonâve and the mainland. She moved to the back of the ferry to watch more closely, wondering what they were doing with her.

  — They’re taking her away, getting her out of here, one of the passengers standing next to her remarked.

  A few men on the dock began pooling their money, emptying their pockets.

  — What are they doing? Libète asked.

  — They’re paying her way! said another, a middle-aged woman. That’s wise. She’ll have no place on the island now. Dumas would get her anywhere she’d go, that’s for sure.

  — That won’t work. Dumas has his men on the other side, too. They’ll be waiting.

  — The coast is long. They won’t be so stupid as to drop her at the pier, the woman retorted. The first passenger gave an acquiescing nod.

  — But that leaves you, said the woman, looking warily at Libète. You’re going to have to get off this boat without them catching you.

  Libète looked up and then around at the others on the upper deck. She noticed for the first time that all their eyes now lay nervously upon her.

  The truck shoots down the narrow road toward the gunfire. She is driving fast, too fast for one who has never before sat in the driver’s seat.

  Bondye, protect me, she says aloud. Jezi, help me to stop this before another life is taken. Bondye, protect me…she says again, over and over.

  Tires set ablaze form a line blocking the road ahead, and muzzle flashes illuminate two listless bodies upon the ground. She slows, swerving to avoid them. Looming large and with sweeping floodlights, she sees two of MINUSTAH’s hulking armored vehicles stationed around the bend. Soldiers peek out of the top, firing machine guns indiscriminately into the hastily constructed roadblock and houses, the two sources of opposing fire.

  A bullet collides with the front end of the truck with a deadening thump. More soon follow and Libète ducks. They think I’m more police coming to fight!

  She slams the brakes down. Without a seat belt, she’s thrown forward into the steering wheel and reels for a moment as the truck screeches and veers to the right. Dazed, a thought shoots through her mind, cutting through her immobilizing fear. Get out!

  She pops the lock on the door and rolls out of the truck and onto the ground. Even though stopped, the vehicle’s transmission makes it creep forward at a lurch, drawing more fire from the youth on its slow advance. She crawls away as it presses weakly against the wall of a nearby house, its engine sputtering and whining before finally succumbing to the damage.

  Libète had already pulled herself up from the ground and dashed behind a wall, hearing at least two shots narrowly miss her. She peeked out from behind her cover to survey the scene.

  The other police truck, the one she had heard was ambushed, had been repositioned in the middle of the road. Other debris and tires, lit and burning brilliantly with their ebony smoke billowing sky high, were packed tight with the shot-up truck, creating a bottleneck that the two U.N. vehicles could not easily navigate away from. By crashing her own truck, Libète had inadvertently blocked the road from the other direction and the foreign troops were effectively corralled.

  Libète tried to gather what MINUSTAH’s targets were. The main one seemed the barricade itself. The machine-gunners were high enough up on the vehicles that they could shoot at and over the improvised wall so that anyone trying to retreat would surely be shot in the back. Their other target was a nearby house that Libète saw gunfire spray from in spurts, peppering the broadsides of the trapped vehicles. Troops fired back through narrow slots in the side of the vehicles’ armor, just wide enough for their guns’ barrels to protrude.

  Libète cursed to herself. How to stop this? She ran around the house she hid behind, passing through back alleyways until she worked her way to the house in which the young fighters were holed up. She could hear guns firing from inside and knocked hard on a locked back door.

  — Open up! she called. I need protection!

  The door popped open an inch. What are you doing here? said the voice coming from the inside floor. Libète squinted, looking down and trying to make out the speaker. The room was faintly lit by a flashlight pointing upward in the corner of the room.

  — Bondye! Davidson? Is that you?

  She already knew the answer to her question. Unbelievably, her cousin lay prone on the floor, cowering in his stained and torn campaign clothes. There were two others also on the ground at the front of the house, taking turns putting their guns up to the iron barred windows and firing blindly at MINUSTAH without exposing themselves. The high-caliber bullets had ripped through the brick and plaster at the front of the house, filling the room with a haze of thick dust.

  The door opened a little more. We were hoping for more men! Davidson shouted, more guns, more ammo! Touss was supposed to—

  A bullet ricocheted and made him flinch, prompting Libète to drop to the ground herself.

  — You’ve got to listen to me!

  — I don’t have time for this!

  — It’s all a fraud! You’ve all been set up by Touss and Benoit, sacrificed for their sake.

  — What? I told you I can’t listen to your shit now!

  — Shut up! she shouted. You are going to die for nothing i
f you don’t leave now. Tell the others, this is your chance to escape.

  — We can’t! We’ve got to draw their fire away from the barricade or else those guys are dead!

  — How many are back there?

  — Living? I don’t know. It started out with twenty but as soon as they saw what they were up against, most deserted. Probably just a few now.

  Libète let out a string of profanities.

  — It was going well until Touss got hit.

  — Touss is dead?

  — I don’t know. More bullets tearing into the house interrupted them. Maybe. He was running around, like a crazy man, like he was invincible. He’s bleeding out there. We can see him from the front.

  — Davidson, I’m begging you. This has to stop, and you can help end it by leaving.

  She could see in her cousin’s eyes that he wanted to flee. But what can we do? Our friends are trapped back there—Yves even! He and I—we were assigned to be point men for this ambush because we knew Bwa Nèf best.

  — You two are idiots! You lured the cops here and brought this to our home?

  — I know, but—

  More bullets pierced the walls, breaking through the cement brick like it was cardboard.

  — Shit, shit, shit! one of the gunmen shouted from the front of the house. I’m shot!

  — This has to stop, Davidson. Before any more die!

  — What are we going to do with you? says the middle-aged woman, the words falling slowly like water dripping from a faucet.

  All who watch the girl are quiet, the dull rumbling of the ferry’s engines filling the gap. No one else on the boat speaks—Dumas’ eyes and ears could be anywhere.

  — Turn her over to them, said one voice. We don’t need this trouble.

  — How can you say that? said a man in rounded glasses and a sport coat. She’s a small girl. Would you give over your daughter to them?

  — She’s not my daughter, sneered the first.

  Libète clung to her black plastic bag, holding it tight.

  — Hide her, said another, someone unseen from the nearby staircase. Sneak her off the ferry.