Jason W. 3:05 PM
Okay?
Alaine B. 3:07 PM
...
Alaine B. 3:08 PM
This is my one pass.
Jason W. 3:09 PM
Welp. At least one good thing came out of that.
Alaine B. 3:10 PM
And that is?
Jason W. 3:12 PM
You got to meet me.
Alaine B. 3:13 PM
Very smooth lol
Jason W. 3:15 PM
Thank you, thank you. Besides whatever you did couldn’t have been that bad, right?
Alaine B. 3:16 PM
...
Alaine B. 3:17 PM
...
Alaine B. 3:18 PM
Right
From Alaine Beauparlant
To: Estelle Dubois
Subject: PATRON PALS in Recent VoxPop Article
Hi Tati Estelle!
I’m working on a new marketing initiative with Florence (you have the notes but more on that when you’re in the office) and I wanted to surprise her with this idea that I have. In order to put together my brilliant concept, I have to track down the Pals that were quoted in the VoxPop article.
Thing is, none of them come up when I look for them in the database (screenshot attached). Is there some kind of glitch in the system? You’d almost think that none of them existed or something! I would’ve just emailed Antoine, but he never responds to my messages. I’m sure you’ll have better luck!
See you soon,
Alaine
SCREENSHOT OF PATRON PAL DATABASE SEARCHES
2 results for Micheline
Micheline Pierre, Age 10
Micheline Valbrun, Age 9
1 result for Joseph
Joseph Timothee, Age 12
3 results for Daphne
Daphne Leroy, Age 5
Daphne Jean-Charles, Age 7
Daphne Lubin, Age 10
0 results for Melyssa
From Estelle Dubois
To: Alaine Beauparlant
Subject: Re: PATRON PALS in Recent VoxPop Article
Hi chérie,
Something is wrong with the database. I’ll have to discuss this with Antoine and the rest of the nerds. In the meantime, focus on more fruitful efforts. I’m sure that Florence has something specific for you to work on?
On another note. Tell me—how was your meeting with Roseline? I’m sure she opened your eyes in the way only she can do. I know that you must have a lot of questions. We can talk more when I return.
Bisous,
E
——
Estelle Dubois
Haitian Minister of Tourism
CEO of PATRON PAL
L’Union Fait La Force
Wednesday, February 17
From: Jules Beauparlant
To: Alaine Beauparlant
Subject: Guess What?
Surprise, I’m coming for a visit!
I sent a postcard but I couldn’t wait for you to receive it so here we are. I was sitting at my desk this week, thinking about how I’ve missed you and how it’s been too long since I’ve visited what you call “the Homeland.” Everyone at work really supported the idea of me being away from the office. I’ve decided to not let that hurt my feelings and instead will be spending the next few days getting everything ready for my first time out of the office in God only knows how long.
See you in about a week and a half,
Dad
Wednesday, February 17
From: Tatiana Hippolyte
To: Alaine Beauparlant
Subject: Bad, Bad News
I can only be a second but my stupid little brother Jacobin was using my laptop for homework and went through my email and saw your message about your curse. He told my parents because he’s an idiot and now they’re freaking out about my soul. That said, I can’t email you for a bit. Miss you
Sunday, February 21
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
Letter Mom Left For Me On The Kitchen Table When She And Tati Estelle Went Out For Lunch And A Movie (I Slept In)
Alaine,
I went to the doctor on Friday.
You and I both know I’ve been avoiding discussing my condition with you. I didn’t want to keep you out of the loop so I requested your father tell you when I first found out. But that was it. To be honest, I’ve been avoiding the truth. I usually feel fine, if not completely myself. I keep up with the news okay. I’ve been reading books and cooking to fill up my pitifully free schedule. Following a recipe is good for me.
My missing Thanksgiving to go to Germany had nothing to do with work. I went to see a specialist, hoping he would give me a different diagnosis. I’ve spent the last few months obsessing over my condition. I even flew a renowned neurologist all the way to Au Cap from Massachusetts. Surely this physician’s fifth opinion would reveal something the other four doctors hadn’t. I was convinced she would see something different. Better. She didn’t. I have Alzheimer’s.
To borrow your tendency to lean toward the excessive: I am wallowing in a pool of grievous disillusionment at knowing that my life will not work out the way I’d planned. I am drowning. I saw the score of my latest cognitive test and nearly asphyxiated. The doctor told me to keep moving forward, which leads me to this letter. It is important for me to continue to “work out” my brain. Maybe it will help and maybe it won’t. In the name of efficiency, I’m killing two birds with one stone and have created my own mental exercise to go along with something I should’ve revealed to you years ago. Let’s bake a cake and I’ll tell you a story.
First: grab that white mixing bowl from the pantry and combine two sticks of butter, two cups of sugar, a tiny bit of lemon zest, and three eggs.
Roseline was our restavek, which is essentially child slavery. I’m certainly not proud that this is a part of our culture, and at the time, I didn’t have the knowledge or resources to fight such a thing. I had that series on my show a couple of years ago because of her.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Throw in a dash of salt.
She was abused by my father. I internalized my feeling of powerlessness into anger. Estelle carefully ignored it. Roseline lost herself in the mythos of her mother’s magic to cope, which I can understand.
Pour in a respectable amount of rum. And then a little bit more. Stir gently to keep the batter light and airy.
I don’t know what you and Estelle are up to but I’m not so far gone that I haven’t noticed the whispers and notes.
Add a tablespoon of almond extract. Two tablespoons of baking powder.
Oh yes, my diary entries. I’m not mad. Those were my real feelings in there and it’s time you knew. My father was a terrible man whom I do not miss. I am happy that Roseline didn’t allow him to break her. But whatever she or Estelle may have suggested to you, I beg you to use your common sense.
A tablespoon of vanilla extract.
We’re all trying to carry on but I don’t want you to become obsessed with this curse business. For a long time, my life was spent resenting a family superstition that I decided I didn’t even believe in. Part of me didn’t want you to come here, to be enveloped in the same insanity.
Final stir.
Unexplainable things happen in this country. I knew that whatever occurred that day in that shack, I’d never tell a soul. I wanted to leave Au Cap and be on my own, someplace far away, because I was convinced I needed more out of life. Not the most noble reason perhaps...but that’s where I was at seventeen years old.
Butter the pan thoroughly and pour the batter into the pan. Bake for 35 minutes.
You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t let anything stifle your
ability to move on.
COPY OF MOM’S COGNITIVE ASSESSMENT TEST
EXAMPLE OF QUESTIONS TO USE SCORE TOTAL POSSIBLE SCORE
ORIENTATION TO TIME
WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY?
WHAT YEAR IS IT?
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GET HOME? 8 10
ORIENTATION TO PLACE
WHERE ARE WE?
WHERE DO YOU LIVE?
HOW DO YOU GET HOME? 8 10
ORIENTATION TO SELF
HOW OLD ARE YOU?
WHAT DO YOU DO?
DO YOU HAVE ANY CHILDREN? 9 10
DRAW A CLOCK SHOWING 5 PAST 8
NOTES: The cognitive assessment sheet was additional qualitative confirmation of MRI and CT results suggesting notable changes in hippocampus and entorhinal cortex volumes. Patient refused to conduct the clock-drawing test, a common marker of inability to do so successfully. Patient scored 25 points on questionnaire, indicating early signs of mild dementia.
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
I watched Mom through my sunglasses as she stood at the edge of the pool while I floated on my back in lazy circles.
What? Baking is hard work.
She waited for me to swim over to her.
“Let’s check on that cake,” she said, then spun on her heels and marched toward the house without waiting for a response. I dried off, slipped on my cover-up, and met her in the kitchen. She inhaled deeply.
“This smells delicious.”
“You sound shocked, Mother.”
“We both know you’re not the best at taking directions.”
“That’s...fair.” The timer went off. I sent a silent prayer to the baking gods, realizing then that I would have never heard the tiny beep from outside and might’ve burned down the kitchen. (Not that I would ever tell my mom or Jacques that.)
We sat at the table, staring at the now-cooling cake in silence. I was also pleasantly surprised that it had turned out so well.
“So Estelle tells me there’s a boy at PATRON PAL who you’re getting...close with.”
My mouth gaped open as I stared at her. “Are you trying to have the birds and the bees talk with me? Because Dad’s already covered that. And he paid special attention to the highly contagious sexually transmitted diseases section.”
She chuckled. “If Jules is anything, he’s thorough.”
“Too thorough.”
“I know that part is covered,” she said. I grabbed her hands.
“Mom. Believe me when I say it absolutely pains me to change the subject, but let’s not tiptoe around the more pressing issue.”
She sighed.
“As the cake demonstrates,” I began, “I read your letter. Twice. I’ve heard your arguments and absorbed them into my psyche and... No.”
“No.”
“I am not going to just accept Alzheimer’s as Celeste canon.”
“Wha—Canon?”
“Born in Haiti, Ivy League grad, award-winning hard-hitting journalist, mother of one, sassy divorcée, has Alzheimer’s. No.”
“I understand that this is hard to take, but it’s not healthy to ignore reality. It would be more productive to acknowledge that our remaining time is unknown and extremely limited...and get on with the rest of our lives.”
That did it.
“I was barely a part of your life until the rest of your obligations evaporated,” I sputtered. “I’ve spent my entire childhood and adolescence pining for you, wishing I’d be good enough, interesting enough to hold your attention for more than a five-minute phone call. It’s your literal job to speak to people for a living, and you couldn’t do that with me!”
“Alaine,” she said with tears in her eyes. “That’s the whole point. I want to get to know you more before I have no choice in forgetting you.”
“That’s not going to happen. I’ve already met with Roseline and I’m not going to let her, and especially you, down.”
She shook her head.
“I have to lie down, so I won’t press this anymore today. But you’re going to have to let this go.”
“Remind me to bring this conversation up when you’re eighty years old and complaining that I never do anything nice for you,” I said, sticking a fork into the slice of cake I’d cut for her.
“Look at the holes.” She pointed at the large craters in her piece of cake. “I didn’t remember to tell you to use room-temperature butter. And it’s naked because I couldn’t recall my frosting recipe, or where I wrote it down, no matter how hard I tried. This is happening.”
Like a coward, I grabbed my own plate and mumbled that I was going to eat in my room.
Monday, February 22
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
For the record: I haven’t been ignoring the glow-in-the-dark neon-pink cheetah-print elephant in the room regarding my time with Roseline. I’ve just needed to process what I went through before putting my thoughts to paper—er, keyboard. It’s not every day that someone is given a drink that alters their perception of time and reality (unless ayahuasca is your beverage of choice). I would argue that it’s a feat that I’m able to even write about it now.
When I awoke, I was lying on the flimsy sleeping mat that was off to the side of the room. I could tell that I had been out for quite some time, not only because it was dark out, but because my body was aching from what I guess had been hours of restless movement.
“You’re back,” Roseline said as she reached out toward me, a cup in her hand.
I must’ve looked at that cup like it was the devil himself, because she simply said, “Water.” I tentatively took it from her and sniffed it a few times before taking a long gulp to quench my thirst. My throat felt lined with cement, but I welcomed the painful scrape of the cool water.
“What happened?” I asked when I had finished drinking.
Roseline gave what I could only describe as a bitter smile and then it was gone. “You’ve experienced my gift. It’s much easier for you to let it take you, than for me to describe it in advance. It’s not exactly pleasant.”
“Who are you telling?”
“What did you see?”
“I—I think I saw the world through the eyes of Marie-Louise,” I said and explained all that I had witnessed. Experienced.
Roseline gave me another cup of water. “Then it has begun. You wouldn’t have been able to tap into her memories without the spirits’ permission.”
I started lifting myself from the mat and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Even though I wasn’t feeling well, I had to get out. This was getting a little too weird for me. Even with all that I had read and now observed with my own eyes, there was still a part of me that didn’t want to believe that this was true. How much of my life was from my own free will? How much of it was simply this warped version of fate? Everything that had happened in the last few weeks all seemed to be leading me to this point. And I didn’t know how to deal.
Roseline reached out to help me straighten up and I flinched away.
She nodded her head as though she understood exactly what I was feeling, which didn’t help to calm my nerves. “The next step is for you to complete the circle and pick up where your mother and aunt left off. You must go to Bois Caïman, Sans-Souci Palace, Labadie, and Citadelle Laferrière and collect the soil from each place, as discussed. The soil is essential and you are the one who is to gather it. I’ve written each location in a note for you.”
“Thank you for your help,” I said, trying to hide my uneasiness as I took the small slip of paper from her, careful not to graze my fingers against hers. “Is Fernand still waiting for me?”
“Yes,” Roseline said. “He’s right outside.”
I walked as quickly as I could to the front
door. I kept my back to Roseline as she spoke.
“There’s no stopping what we’ve set in motion. If we don’t finish what we’ve started, there’s no telling what the consequences will be. For all of us. Your family, yourself, and my unborn baby.”
I left without another word.
PART VI
PRESKE LA PA LA
(ALMOST THERE ISN’T THERE)
Friday, February 26
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
My father is very in tune with his feelings. He isn’t afraid to cry, even if it’s just in response to a particularly sappy jewelry store commercial.
“She didn’t expect the ring!” he’d say, wiping his eyes as I rolled mine.
But the tears he shed years ago on January 12 and the days following were different, marked by the swollen ring of red around his eyes that refused to fade. We watched a special edition of Sunday Politicos on location in Port-au-Prince the day we were set to fly back to Miami from our unintentional DC daddy-daughter vacation. My mother stood solemnly in the midst of cloudy dust and mounds of destroyed concrete. The leader of a high-profile Wisconsin church that had donated thousands of dollars to relief efforts was on the air. I had been only half listening when the sound of my dad sucking his teeth jerked my head to the screen.
“...everything that we can to improve the quality of life in Haiti,” the talking head said. “But this catastrophic earthquake was not altogether unforeseen. Some religious scholars pinpoint the start of Haiti’s misfortune after the Bois Caïman voodoo ceremony.”
My mom tapped her pen on the desk of her makeshift outdoor set.
“Sir, are you aware you’re not the first person to make this claim?”
“No, many religious scholars also believe that—”
“And these...scholars, they state this idea as though it were fact?”
“It is fact. Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere. Just let that sink in.”
Dear Haiti, Love Alaine Page 20