by Ted Oswald
Those assembled each took a handful of dirt and, in turn, tossed it on the coffin buried just deep enough in the ground to satisfy custom. And then the snake of people unwound itself and slipped back toward Foche as orange light gave way to purple.
— Let’s do our part, Libète said.
She headed down alone as the two diggers began undoing their earlier labor. Toes at the precipice, she stooped and picked up a handful of dirt. She hesitated. She thought of bodies of friends laid bare on the ground, to whom she’d never been able to say good-bye. She let the coarse dirt slip from her palm and fall through her fingers’ sieve.
Félix still stood off. She beckoned, wiping her hands off. The diggers looked at him. He shook his head.
— You make no sense, she said.
She walked past him. Félix stared at the hole for a minute longer before turning to follow her back over the hills, back to Foche, back toward his fortress, and into falling night.
— I’m not staying in the same house as him. I don’t care who’s chasing us.
Stephanie spoke. Libète, that’s a foolish thing to say. The girl’s eyes flashed. Please, Stephanie said. Do this for me.
— Do what, Steffi? You’ve not explained a single thing!
— I don’t blame you, Libète, Laurent said. If it helps, I’m just as unhappy to see you.
Libète rolled her eyes. Why are we even here?
— You’re in danger, if it wasn’t obvious. On all sides. We looked the other way for too long.
— Who? Who? Phantoms? Lougawou yo? It’s bad enough you don’t even know from whom we’re running!
— It’s still not clear. Benoit is the obvious threat. But there may be others.
Libète sneered.
— We only know what we know: harm comes to everyone around you. Everyone. So shut your mouth.
Stephanie had never spoken to her like this before. And I’ve never spoken to her like this.
Libète kicked a chair out from under the table, plopped down, and crossed her arms.
— The studio was broken into.
— You told me that.
— But Gerry . . .
Stephanie dabbed at her eyes. He was killed yesterday, she said softly. In his home. Beaten and left to die.
— I’m . . . sorry.
— The knife attack at the station. Didi’s poisoning.
— And your kidnapping by Lolo, Jak added. We can’t forget that.
— Lolo was trying to protect me, she snapped. He left the note warning me.
— Lolo was trying to trap and kill you, Stephanie said.
— How do you know?
— I know.
— So tell me, then!
Stephanie shook her head. I can’t. Not yet.
— Jak, you then. Tell me what she knows.
— I don’t know either. Mwen gen konfyans nan li. I’m trusting what she says.
— You too, Jak?
He looked hurt as he sat at the wooden table. He slumped as he traced the tabletop’s grain with his fingertip.
Stephanie spoke. You can be dead, wanted for murder, or both. It seems they are content every which way.
— So Lolo was trying to kill me, huh? With what? She reached into her bag. Poisoned peanuts?
She held a handful up to her mouth. You tell me what you know, or I’ll eat. I’ll show you this is ridiculous.
Jak touched her shoulder. Please. Stop.
Laurent lunged at Libète and ripped the food from her hands. He threw it out an open window.
— You stupid, stupid girl!
Libète shrieked. How dare you!
He looked at Stephanie dumbstruck. You bring an imbecile like this into my house? I didn’t know I was signing up for a suicide watch!
Libète was aghast. Watch? What’s he talking about? We’re staying here?
— I’m being followed, Stephanie said. I need to leave before–
Libète ran outside.
She walks through the dark ahead of Félix, down slopes, up slopes, on-road and off. He tries to cover the ground between them, to catch up, before slowing, stalling, and dropping back again.
— Sophia, he calls feebly.
But Libète moves faster, the day’s events proving too much for her. I am alone . . . I am alone . . . I am alone, she mutters the words like a mantra.
The road is quiet. Foche is weary. Minds are worn from work, rum, and pushing through the heavy motions of mourning. All know tomorrow will come, so they lay down to prepare for more planting, more cultivating, more cooking, more hunger.
She follows the fork in the road, heads toward the imposing iron gate.
— Why are you going off that way?
— Leave me alone, will you?
She moved to the steep incline and the start of the rock that sat atop the mountain like the regal arch of a crown. She found the crevice.
She would leave. Tonight. She was done with this place. More death. Narrow peasant minds. Endless superstition. This was not the safe haven she was promised, not by a long stretch. She endangered herself every minute she remained and she would not let . . .
It wasn’t there.
She reached in till her arm was consumed, scraping her hands as her desperate fingers ran over every crack.
Her notebook. Her notebook was gone.
A band of light passed over her, the sound of engines’ rumbling following shortly behind. She ducked, breathing hard, breathing fast. If anyone reads that–if anyone sees–
The thought immobilized her for a minute. She then took off toward the fortress.
So preoccupied, she did not give a second thought as to why, with the Sun at rest, a line of three heavy trucks, more than anyone had yet seen come to Foche, would line up at a locked gate at the top of a remote mountain, filing through one by one by one, until all were swallowed, and the barrier slid shut once more.
She dashes into the villa’s courtyard, her tears pouring, the light blinding.
Too, too much. It’s just too much.
She sits in the white gravel against Tòti, burying her face in her hands. There is a timid crunch crunch crunch from behind, but she doesn’t look up, she doesn’t care.
— Can I join you?
Jak.
Another step toward her.
— Can I sit?
She says nothing.
— I thought he wouldn’t return. Jak sat. When we were moved to the separate rooms last night, I was numb. My mind . . . it just stopped working. I couldn’t–can’t–believe Didi’s gone.
Libète let out a rueful moan.
— And then Madanm Maxine came. With her questions. She asked me about the Numbers, what I knew of the note, if I had seen him.
— Who?
— Lolo. She knew about Lolo. Said that she had seen him.
— She said nothing about him to me.
— She warned me that if I didn’t tell her all I knew, she couldn’t protect me from him, from Benoit. That Brown would boot me out. That the police would take you away.
— She’s just after the truth. Investigating. Like we should be doing instead of hiding away like . . . like . . . criminals. Did you tell her about the Numbers?
— I told her I knew nothing. And she left. Orevwa. I waited. Thought things over. I eventually banged on the door. Yelled for Charles to let me get to a phone, to call Stephanie. When he didn’t come, I did what I had to.
Libète looked at Jak with anticipation.
— It took me a while, but I took the sheet, tied it to the window bars, climbed out.
She clicked her tongue. I missed that in my hurry, she said.
— The drop hurt. She noticed his knee was swollen and a bit bruised. I saw her leave in a car, out the front gate, Jak said. And I went as fast as I could for Véus. Told him we had to check on you. That we were being held prisoner. We rushed up to your room, but you were already gone.
She shook her head. The pieces weren’t falling into place. Then how–how
did you find me?
— Besides Véus, Brown and Charles had keys to our rooms. Véus nearly woke up all of Cité Soleil shouting for Charles–shouting, shouting, shouting. We found Charles trembling in the kitchen, in the walk-in freezer. Chattering, saying he was sorry, he was sorry. Jak was wide-eyed, recounting it all into the open air. Véus started to hit Charles with the butt of his shotgun. It wasn’t pretty.
— A good man, that Véus.
— Charles had been paid to unlock the door and leave the note. Paid off. By a ‘hollow man,’ he said. Someone thin, someone young. That’s all he knew. Véus cursed him, spat on him, and jammed a broom in the door’s handle, locking him in the freezer. Libète–Charles was paid a thousand dollars.
— A thousand Haitian?
— American.
— To leave a note?
— And open a door.
— Bondye! And you knew it was Lolo?
— I feared it then. Had a vague idea. But it didn’t make sense.
— What then?
— We called Steffi. We were so, so scared. Thought you were gone for good.
She braced his shoulder. Thanks, Jak. He nodded sadly.
— Over the wall, the note said. So I went looking for clues, for anything really. Véus was raising a storm inside still, shouting at Brown, cursing the whole school. I noticed the grass and reeds at the back of the school. No one goes back there, no one at all. But even in the moonlight, I could see they’d been trampled on. Some broken. It was clear a set of wheels had passed through, too narrow for a car. But a cart? It could be a cart. I wanted to run after the trail then and there, but I finally reached Steffi. When she arrived, we drove straight through the fields, bounding and getting mud on Tòti, hitting a rock so hard I thought our axle would break. The trail led right back to–
— Bwa Nèf, Libète said.
He nodded. We drove the streets looking for anyone awake. It was all dead. Quiet. We drove until we saw a fire. A flame.
— I can see the rest. See it clearly. You found Uncle. He told you about Lolo. Knowing–what you kept from me about Lolo–you went searching. But how did you find me in the cinema?
— Your ncle grew suspicious. He didn’t like something about the way Lolo was acting. He followed you and Lolo. Saw where he put you.
Libète punched the car tire from where she sat. Could I really have been so blind–so stupid–not to see the truth about Lolo?
— You believed that he was good. You had faith in him. Those are good traits.
She leaned into her friend, staring straight ahead.
— I think Steffi is right, Jak said. Someone tried to kill you–likely Lolo. If he was moving that much money around it had to be from someone with a lot, likely Benoit. But Didi died instead. Brown had some agenda of his own, but Lolo got to Charles and lured you out. It makes sense. Even better than your public murder, which surely would have reflected back at Benoit, they could tarnish your name with Didi’s death and then kill you behind closed doors.
— If you had just told me about Lolo, Jak–if you’d let me know instead of trying to hide me from reality . . .
— You’d hurt enough just then. Jak said this with an edge to his voice. Your kidnapping. Those bloody bandages on your arms. Elize nearly gone. In that moment, sitting there in the hospital . . . No matter what, I couldn’t see you weighed down the slightest bit more. So I took it on myself. To lighten your load.
She hugged him and he tensed. The embrace had her looking over Jak’s shoulder, and she saw Stephanie and Laurent on the porch, watching over them.
Arms still around him, she whispered. Tout bagay . . . kraze. It’s all . . . broken. Every little thing . . .
He pulled himself away, and dug his teeth into his bottom lip. We’re here, he said. You and I, we’re still here.
Libète limps to a finish.
She is tired and the fortress mount is steep. She berates her body for its weakness, lets her panting and aches subside. After collecting her things at the fort, escape is the only option. As she enters under the stone archway, she knows crossing Félix is inevitable. She hears his voice, but there is the sound of another there too. She claps her mouth and tries to cap her breath as she listens around the stone corner. Her prying eyes soon follow.
Magdala.
Félix stood before her, rigid. His mother embraced him, held him, wept over him.
Even Libète, so set on a swift departure, paused. She longed again for the maternal touch that death had stolen from her. She had thoughts of Stephanie’s affection, but that was an imitation with which Libète had been too easily satisfied.
— Please come back to me, Magdala said.
— I asked you. I begged you not to ask me to.
— But the debt, it’s forgiven! You’re a part of Foche again!
His head turned from left to right. My decisions are mine to own.
— But why? her voice faltered. Why live as a villain, to be gossiped about–bringing more shame on a mother who cares for you?
His lips were stitched shut, and his eyes closed to trap his tears.
Libète stepped out quietly, hoping to sneak past, retrieve her things, and be off. Vanishing will be best. They’ll soon forget about me. She made it to her room and stowed her things in her tired bag. She slipped it on and pulled its straps tight.
— Sophia. Magdala spoke the name.
Libète stood up straight. Wi? she said nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t a voyeur, as if she wasn’t about to disappear.
— You’re going? Félix came alongside Magdala and gave one of his inscrutable looks.
— I’m . . . exploring. The mountain.
— At night? But it’s dangerous.
— That’s right.
Félix walked away abruptly.
— You, too? Magdala sounded frayed. My son entrusted to me by God, and you, entrusted to me by God-knows-who? Leaving in the dark? Without a word?
Libète felt an unexpected shame.
— You may think I’m a know-nothing, Magdala said. But I do know things, even when I don’t. And I know you’re running.
Libète’s cheeks burned.
— You’re someone special. I can tell. I can see such things. The woman sighed. If you run to keep your life, then run. But if you run because you are afraid of the unknown, then stay. I will keep you, Sophia. Just know that.
Libète took a wavering step away. Magdala’s glare was unbearable, and she could feel her heart bonding further to this woman’s. This frightened her. Still, Libète stepped toward Magdala and, with clear eyes, searched Magdala’s own.
— You are a good woman.
Magdala closed her eyes, held her hands up, shook her head. Only God is good. If someone gave you to me, you are mine. It is that simple. I need know nothing else. And I won’t leave you. Just as I won’t leave my son.
Libète’s hand stretched out involuntarily, wanting to feel Magdala, and the woman’s own hand connected with her.
— I will stay. Until I can’t.
— No running off in the night?
— No running off in the night.
— You promise?
— I promise.
Libète folded into Magdala’s arms.
Libète leaves the ground floor and ascends the villa’s stairs to claim one of the empty rooms. It has a queen-size bed, a desk with a closed laptop, a print of one of Jacques-Richard Chery’s paintings, and its own tiled bathroom. She looks out the slatted windows and becomes entranced by the ocean, its undulating waves, its boundless energy. She sighs.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs stirs her. Libète plops on the edge of the bed. She takes stock of herself. Her cheeks are chapped by her drying tears and she uses wrists in an attempt to rub them away. Her hair is matted with sweat. A fine dusting of dirt reaches up to her knees. She smells terrible.
A knock at the door. Another, weaker.
— Aren’t you leaving? Libète asks without looking.
Stephanie hovers in the doorway, unsure whether the question is an invitation. Not yet, she says. Libète walks to the bathroom and begins to wash her face and arms. Where were you yesterday?
— I received more news early in the morning. They followed Gerry home, and . . . A few of us gathered at his house to comfort his wife. They killed him there, with his wife in the other room. Remi and I went together and–
— You were with Remi?
— Is that a problem?
Libète stepped into the bathroom’s doorway. Her look was fierce.
— I needed you.
Stephanie looked out at the same sea. A never-ending give and take, she muttered. She faced Libète and spoke. I’m not strong. Not intrepid. Not who I want to be. Libète could barely hear her words.
— Don’t give me excuses.
— I’m not you, Libète.
— I thought you loved us.
Stephanie sat down on the bed. You can be cruel. Saying something like that.
— And you can be selfish.
Stephanie rose. I am going away. For a few weeks.
— Running away? While my world falls apart? Back into Remi’s arms?
Stephanie slapped Libète. She let the offending hand hover in the air, and looked at it in shock.
Libète was stunned too. She stepped back and into the bathroom. She slammed the door.
— I’m sorry, Libète. I shouldn’t have–I don’t know what came over–
— Just go.
— Let’s not part this way, Libète. Let’s not. Please, come out. Stephanie put her flat palm against the door. I don’t know what’s happening, and . . . She started to cry.
Libète turned on the shower and drowned out her pleas.
“I needed you.”
“I’m not you.”
To each hearer, the judgment in the words echoed like gavel strikes.
Stephanie left.
Libète and Magdala head down the slope toward home with their arms linked. Magdala speaks.
— If you are staying, Sophia, if you’re really here, there is one thing.