There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery)

by Ted Oswald

  — From that, that – he pauses, trying to find a word – that monster! Maxine!

  Libète watches him.

  —How could you do this to me?

  His mouth gapes. With the words he is pierced.

  — You’re taking me, she says. You’re taking me . . .

  He grabs her head in his hands, and she winces, waiting for the mountain of a man to press his hands together and for her head to give way and collapse. Tears bud in his eyes, and he touches his forehead to hers. Father, forgive me–

  She comprehends nothing.

  — Libète. I swear to you, what I do, I do for you. Jak is in danger, incomprehensible danger.

  — I . . . don’t . . .

  — Where is she then? Where is Maxine?

  Libète wants to believe, wants to hope this apparition can be good. Mustering faith, she says, In the crowd. Searching for Jak.

  — Dear God, he says. He reattaches his mask. The bike speeds forward with Libète inert in the sidecar.

  Words, curious words, spring to her lips:

  Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no danger because you are with me.

  Your rod and your staff–they protect me . . .

  Dimanche pulls up to a small alley and eyes its width. Libète takes him in again, his taught muscles, new scarring on his forearms, a simple green T-shirt, denim jeans, boots. Formidable. Strong. And desperate.

  — You said he was lost in the crowd?

  She simply looks at him. He flicks his wrist, and the bike shoots down the lane. He throws on the brake and skids to a halt before a gush of people stomping past in rapturous rhythm. He jumps up on the seat for a better view and tries to spot the woman or the boy.

  — Uncuff me, she says. He looks at her, his face again expressionless. Please, she says louder. She turns and rattles her wrists. Uncuff me.

  He reaches for the keys in the ignition and undoes the bonds.

  — I need your help, he shouts over bamboo horns’ blaring.

  She nods. For Jak, she says.

  — Wear the scarf around your face. She ties it and resembles a bandit. Good. Now go and keep watch back at the mouth of the street. Keep an eye on the jeep. If they come out, honk the bike’s horn. Right here. You see?

  She nods.

  — Do you know how to ride one of these?

  She nods again. Her cousin had taught her long ago.

  He mutters something and plunges into the crowd. She sees he reaches for something in his waistband: a gun.

  Libète’s mind raced as various possibilities collided, demolishing one another.

  She pulled the bike slowly into position to maintain a vantage over the abandoned jeep, summoning everything within her not to drive off.

  After some minutes–five, ten, fifteen, she couldn’t tell–Maxine and Jak came. Darting across the street as fast as they could shuffle. Maxine had a natural athleticism and struggled to pull Jak along with his defective leg. He looked terrified. Libète watched Maxine’s reaction. On her approach, the woman noticed the first burst tire and then the other. And next the bullet hole through the canopy.

  Her calm veneer vanished. She threw down Jak’s hand and reached for her ankle, pulling up her pant leg and removing something that looked like–no, was certainly–a gun. Libète’s breathing quickened as Jak shrank back from Maxine. Maxine thudded her back against the jeep and sidled along, gun drawn as she reached for the door’s handle. She tugged it open and gasped at the sight of Remus. Jak wanted to peek in, but she held him back. Her face contorted with anger, she pulled out her phone and began speaking in a flurry of French.

  Libète hovered her thumb over the horn’s button, readied to press it, but stopped herself. She instead pulled the bike out from the alley, slowly at first, testing the steering, then sped up, taking the turn too quickly and scraping the sidecar’s finish. She proceeded toward Maxine and Jak.

  — Max! Max! she yelled, waving madly. The woman spun, gun out, ready to fire. Libète ducked. It’s me! she shouted. Don’t shoot! The bike crept up slowly. Maxine lowered her phone.

  — What happened?

  — A man, he came at me. But . . . I got away, took his keys.

  — A man? Maxine was incredulous.

  — Yes, a man.

  — Did you know him?

  — Non. The lie came to her instantly, without deliberation. He had on a mask, Libète said. I couldn’t see who he was.

  She cursed. We need to get away from here. Let me get my bag. We’ll take the bike.

  Libète nodded. Okay. Whatever you say.

  — Jak, get in the side. He hesitated. Jak! Maxine roared. His head bobbed and he got in. Maxine leaned back into her jeep for something else when they heard the shout.

  — Hey! Hey!

  She pulled herself out of the jeep, her gun already pointing at the source of the bellow. Dimanche! He ducked behind a corner as she fired, the bullet’s collision making a spray of stone erupt near his torso.

  Jak was in.

  — Libète, slide back! Let me on! Maxine shouted. Libète looked at Maxine and sneered.

  Jak and Libète sped off.

  Félix walks ahead, speaking at Libète, not to her. I told you not to go, he says, I told you . . .

  Libète says nothing in return. She cannot fathom what the order to leave means, not at all.

  The safety of Foche was being stripped away like a carpet pulled from beneath her feet. All she would have to leave behind flashed before her: the garden’s produce she would not foster and protect. Delivrans’s first steps, his first words. The common plot’s harvest. Magdala’s maternal care. She would drift unlike ever before. Curiously, she thought of Elize, her mentor, who had for so long floated across the Haitian countryside, unable to find a place to settle his troubled soul. She found herself wanting to embrace Félix in that moment, this on its own an incomprehensible thought.

  Words finally percolated to her mind’s surface. A matter of time, she blurted.

  Félix was still midrant. What? What’s that?

  — This was coming. I can see it now. It was just a matter of time. Whether tonight or tomorrow, a week, a month; it wouldn’t have made a difference. I was never welcome here.

  Félix looked as if he wanted to speak.

  — But why the show? she asked. Why go to all the effort?

  — The Sosyete is the Sosyete. They do as they will.

  — You know them.

  — I do . . . I mean . . . I can’t talk about it.

  — You’ve kept this from me? Why?

  — It is the code. Members can’t speak of it–

  — You’re one of them?

  Félix held his hands in front of himself, his outstretched fingers absorbing all his frustration, forcing his mind to wrap itself around his next words carefully. I was. I was being initiated.

  — So the masks are nothing to you? You know the faces behind them?

  His nod was heavy.

  — Well, tell me then.

  Silence.

  — You won’t? I can keep a secret! Obviously, I can! I’ve done it for months.

  — Not knowing is for your own good.

  — How dare you! You’re just as silly as the rest of them, dancing behind false faces. How can I trust you? Huh?

  — But I told you: I’m not one of them. It’s all konplike.

  — Complicated? Bah!

  — They might kill you, he blurted. If you knew. They’d likely kill me. Just as they did to Dorsinus.

  — Dorsin–what are you saying?

  — They were behind it. I’m almost certain.

  Libète put her hand to her forehead. If you can’t tell me who they are, then what are they?

  — The Sosyete goes back years, generations. To slave days. The mawons, the slaves who took to the hills, formed this. It was them who fought the French in that fort and claimed it for their own.

  — They dance around at night and wear costumes. Hardly greatness.
r />   — Everyone here knows what they are. The drums, they remind everyone. By day you follow the laws and rules of your people. But night, that’s governed by them. The Sosyete only accepts those who will die for it. Do whatever Papa Legba, and the ones above him, order.

  — I’ve heard of Chanpwel before, Libète said.

  — Hearing is not understanding. This is just one body, you see. Of many. All throughout these mountains. Our country. The gouvèneman, it’s divided up all of Haiti into sections, arrondisements, but the sosyetes, they’ve got their own divisions. When you cross from one to the next, you better do what they say. Or they come in the night and you end up like Dorsinus.

  — Why do the people accept this nonsense?

  — Because the Sosyete, they are the people. They do what’s needed for the people. Fight battles. Protect one another. Look after the interests of the community. It’s a good thing. Can be a good thing. I swear.

  — Members living double lives, one by day, one by night? It’s not democratic. It’s rule by fear. By the powerful.

  — I was nearly one of them, he said, pride smattering the words.

  — Then you’re a fool too. She left him standing there, though a thought soon dawned on her. If you still think they’re so good, why didn’t you become one of them?

  — I crossed them. And paid for it. They nearly forced me to leave the land, just as they threatened tonight. But that, that would end me, Sophia. I begged. I cried, like some pitiful kid. They showed me mercy. By day I had to stay at the fortress. I couldn’t leave it or they’d order me killed.

  — But you’re walking with me now.

  — Dorsinus. He paid the debt.

  — The debt from the stolen money?

  Félix nodded. The banbòch that happens each year. The big celebration. I was the Sosyete’s temporary treasurer, entrusted with the money. And I spent it.

  — On what?

  He searched her eyes, looking deeply into them, like he’d never permitted himself before. You–you can’t ever tell. Not a soul. She’d pay for it. They’d hurt her somehow, I’m sure.

  — Who?

  — Délira. Her baby.

  Libète took this in, trying to weigh the words’ meaning.

  — Délira, she has a sickness. Her baby, in her belly, was making her sick. The first time she was pregnant, she almost died.

  — What are you saying?

  His words came fast now, like one wanting a confession to be over.

  — She saw a doctor. Down the mountain. Who told her she needed medicine. A very expensive medicine. And that she, and the baby, might die without it. The Sosyete refused to help. It was a bad decision. Délira’s father is an evil man and they weren’t going to help him, even if she and her baby were the victims. There was nothing, nothing that anyone would do, besides pray, maybe pay the local houngan to make some remedies. She was just waiting, getting so very sick. All while I sat on that pile of money. So I used it.

  Libète gasped. You did that, for them? On your own?

  — I was nearly inducted into the Sosyete. Because of her father, I knew they wouldn’t go for the idea, even if it was a cruelty. I just couldn’t let them make a decision like that. So I went down the mountain, and I bought that medicine . . .

  — Is . . . the child yours? Is that why?

  He gave her a scolding look. Does it even matter? His look softened. No. Her father is the father, at least that’s what we all think. He looked away into the rustling trees and breathed slowly, in and out, like a porter whose burden had finally slipped off his shoulders. Libète looked at him, differently than she had ever before. His sacrifice spoke to her.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing air out in a huff. Even they take their orders from one higher, he said. One is over all this land. One with even more authority than Legba. The Sosyete is accountable. Word is that the one higher is a great man, a powerful sorcerer. The Sosyete was ready to kill me. But this one, whoever he is, ordered a different punishment. ‘House arrest,’ it was said. I was worried I would be snuffed out in my sleep, but just as they can murder, they can protect. Their strictness saved me.

  — This is . . . this is unbelievable.

  — But true.

  — Why not tell everyone? Tell everyone what took place? That you did a good thing, and not evil? Wouldn’t that change things? Restore you?

  — As I said, I fear they would take it out on her. On the child. So it’s a secret between me and her. And now you.

  — They are cruel. Dangerous.

  Félix didn’t attempt to refute this.

  Libète and Félix approached Magdala’s shack. Light emanated from inside through the gaps in the walls, only to be swallowed up whole by the dark.

  — She’s waiting up for you.

  Libète nodded. Your mother is good to me. He took his turn to nod.

  — What will you tell her? he asked.

  — Not a thing. Her voice cracked. I can’t tell her I have to leave. I can’t believe this is happening . . .

  Her words failed.

  — It was worth it, Sophia. Even with all that’s happened, I would help Délira again.

  She turned and smiled sadly. My name isn’t Sophia. It’s Libète.

  And she strode from darkness into light.

  They pull away in a blur, threading up the street, swerving to avoid late-coming revelers and oncoming traffic. Libète pushes the bike hard but fears losing control, and it is this alone that moderates her speed.

  — Was that Dimanche? Jak shouts. Well, was it?

  — It was! she shouts back.

  Jak’s color drains. What did he want?

  She tries to piece together an understanding of the last half hour, but the competing versions were irreconcilable.

  — I don’t know! Us? The same as her!

  — But I don’t unders–

  — Just be quiet and let me think!

  The sounds of partying, horns, and booming music died down. They were on the edge of downtown Jacmel and approaching the villa.

  Bondye, please . . .

  But the prayer, it did not flow. She and Jak were alone. She felt it. Completely and utterly so.

  — Why are we going back to the villa? Jak asked. These villains, they could be waiting!

  — We have to warn Laurent and Madanm Manno! Besides, all of our clothes and things are still there.

  Jak sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the sidecar. He nodded gravely.

  They turned onto the lane at the corner restaurant, rattling down the road and coming to a halt in front of the familiar wrought-iron gate. It was quiet, thankfully, but then Libète noticed the twin gates–which should have been locked shut–were ajar.

  Libète killed the bike’s engine and jumped off, rushing to poke her head through the iron. There was no movement, no sign of trouble. She noticed a pair of deep ruts recently worn in the gravel, certainly from vehicles peeling out. The Land Rover was still sitting there inside, close to the front door.

  Jak was behind her now. We need to go in, she mouthed. He buried his disagreement and slipped a stone he had scooped up from the ground into her hand. Her fingers tightened, accepting the meager weapon.

  They slipped inside, and she dashed toward the front door as Jak lagged behind. The door was splintered around the handle–a sign of a forced entry. They tested it, and its hinges gave a mournful croak.

  Libète inclined her ear. There was sound inside, a person. She drew up her rock.

  She pushed the door harder, and a shrill scream let out, a woman’s.

  — They’re gone! He’s gone, you dogs, you sons of bitches! Just leave us be!

  It was Madanm Manno, whimpering from where she sat on a living room chair. On seeing the children, she grasped her chest and collapsed to the ground with a yelp.

  Jak moved to her and patted the woman’s back, whispering comfort.

  Libète had other concerns. Is anyone else here? Libète barked. Madanm Manno shook her head with a cr
y.

  Libète began walking through the different rooms, inspecting the damage. Paintings ripped, chair cushions slashed, tables upended. Everything was in disarray. Where’s Laurent? she asked.

  Eyes clenched, Madanm Manno opened her mouth, but nothing could escape. She sobbed instead of spoke.

  — Where is he? Jak said softly. Do you know what happened to him?

  — He ra-an, she slurred. Ran. Into the water. They tried, they tried to get him. The three men, those who came, and they shot at him, but he swam out, swam away, swam off. I don’t know if . . . I think that he’s . . .

  — What?

  — Dead! she sobbed.

  — You saw it all?

  — I did. I did!

  Libète clouded. And how did ‘they’ get inside?

  The mere asking of the question made the woman burst into new plaintive sobs. She let her hands open, and a few thousand gourdes notes fell from them.

  Jak stood up, repulsed. Libète shook her head, a sneer on her face. We get our things, she said to him, and we go.

  They rushed up the stairs. More damage: vases shattered, cabinets ajar, drawers pulled out. What were they looking for? She entered her room, seeing her clothes littering the floor. The computer was gone.

  — They ripped up my notebook, Jak hollered. Most of my pictures! And Mesye Lizard’s home is broken!

  A minute later they reentered the hallway at the same time.

  — Do you have your pack? Jak nodded. The open door to Laurent’s room caught Libète’s eye, and she went down the hall to inspect it.

  It was the most lived in, and the most upended. The desk lock was busted, and Stephanie’s portrait was just a broken frame in a mess of glass. His manuscript papered the floor again. His phone was gone, but who knew if it was stolen or was with him when he dove into the sea? All other trinkets and knickknacks, everything of value, had been taken as well. What were you after?

  She stepped back into the hall. Jak stepped out from the stairwell that led to the roof. His shoulders slumped.

  — What did you see up there?

  He just shook his head, eyes watering. It’s not good. I found this among all the bread crumbs and feathers. A small note. I think they missed it.

  I’ll meet you where the old Martinettes rest best.