Dear Haiti, Love Alaine

by Maika Moulite

  Three voices confirmed that they were fine.

  “Tony?” I asked.

  I looked over to where Tony was lying facedown in the wet sand.

  PART VIII

  YON TEMWEN KAPAB PATAJE NAN FOT LA

  (A WITNESS CAN SHARE IN THE BLAME)

  Sunday, March 6

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  Everything moved in a blur: me dragging myself to where a bloody Tony with a gash on his forehead and blue lips lay not breathing, Marc screaming for help, Jason pulling me away while Félicité ran as fast as she could to find someone, anyone who would know what to do. I couldn’t believe this had happened.

  I couldn’t believe Tony was dead.

  I couldn’t believe that it was my fault.

  It was my fault.

  I kept saying this over and over as Jason tried to console me. I hardly noticed when help finally arrived with Félicité, three men yelling that it was Monsieur Tony and how they had to get to the hospital now. Someone lifted me into the bed of a white truck and we bounced around as the driver crashed through traffic at breakneck speed. I don’t know when I passed out, but I awoke for a moment when Tony’s cold, lifeless hand grazed my arm. There was nothing I could do as bile rushed to the top of my throat and I leaned over the side of the truck to vomit and cry.

  At the hospital the emergency workers were organized chaos as they pulled us out of the truck bed. I was quickly placed in a wheelchair and rolled away.

  “...hysterical,” I heard someone say as we neared the front door of the hospital.

  I looked back at the truck to see that the nurses had moved Tony onto a stretcher. A tall man worked diligently to bring him back, pumping his arms up and down over Tony’s chest. And then a short doctor who was standing to the side came up and placed a hand on the shoulder of the man performing CPR. She shook her head and looked down at her watch.

  “18:32,” I heard her say as the doors to the hospital closed behind me.

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  My mother was livid. The details of what happened came trickling out as Jason, Marc, and Félicité were cleared by the doctor and discharged. The doctor wanted to hold me for observation because of all the water I had taken in, so my dad insisted on driving the others home to speak with their parents himself. I wasn’t ready to face my mom and kept my eyes tightly shut as she walked from one end of my hospital room to the other. The shuffling sound of her pacing near my bed stopped for a moment and was replaced with the unzipping of a bag and the clacking of a bottle of pills. I heard the door open slowly, then close. She spun on her heels.

  “What is she doing with this, Estelle?” Mom whispered. I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter.

  “Saving your life, if we’re lucky.”

  “She almost lost hers,” my mom said, her voice rising in anger. “That man hit his head so hard he drowned and did lose his. I told you to leave her alone. I don’t want my daughter traipsing all over Haiti to collect dirt. It’s giving her false hope.”

  My mason jar.

  “You know that Roseline can help you.”

  “Help me? I’m not in the business of wasting my time, or my life.”

  “Is that right? All you’ve done for the past three months has been feel sorry for yourself.”

  “At least I have something to mourn,” Mom spat. “I didn’t spend three-quarters of my existence entangling myself with a man who has no intention of ever moving forward with me. It’s wishful thinking to believe otherwise.”

  “It’s wishful thinking to believe that you’ve just gotten something to mourn, Celeste. You lost your daughter and your husband a long time ago.”

  “I made a choice,” my mom snapped. “I refused to let this foolishness overrun my daughter’s life.”

  “And your solution was to neglect her? Is that not a curse of its own? The thing that you tried so hard to keep from her has been impacting her from the very beginning! I understand that it was your decision to make, sister, and I have not questioned you for it once. Do me the courtesy of not questioning my decisions either. We need Alaine and Roseline’s help. So does Jules and the rest of this family.”

  “And Andres? Like he helped you with PATRON PAL?”

  “Yes. Him too. You despised anyone who chose to spend time with me over you,” my aunt hissed. “Ironic, isn’t it? Since you were the one to turn your back on me for Rose—”

  “Enough!” my mom said, all pretense of keeping her voice down gone. “Maybe you’re the one who needs your head checked. Because this? This has not solved one problem for us.”

  I opened my eyes just as the crash of broken glass filled the room.

  UPDATED TO-DO LIST FROM ROSELINE’S PLACES TO VISIT

  Bois Caïman

  Sans-Souci Palace

  Labadie (?)

  Citadelle Laferrière

  Saturday, March 12

  PAGE FROM

  TONY JUSTE’S FUNERAL PROGRAM

  In Loving Memory

  Tony Juste

  Obituary

  Antonie Rivière Hérard Juste, 37, was born on Valentine’s Day in Kingston, Jamaica, to Preston and Claudette Juste. His parents were university professors who instilled in him the importance of hard work.

  Above anything, Tony was curious. He grew up learning of his cultural heritage in Haiti from his parents, particularly his mother, who descended from one of the early leaders in the country’s history. When he turned 18, he decided to move to Cap-Haïtien to explore his history and try his luck as a peanut farmer.

  He lit up any room he entered with his easygoing charm and was beloved by his growing number of customers. Tony was a permanent deacon at Cathédrale Notre-Dame for many years. In his spare time, he often conducted planting and grinding workshops for hopeful entrepreneurs. It was while he was on a boat returning from one of these volunteer sessions that he met his untimely end during a storm.

  Tony is survived by Suzette, his wife of 16 years; Brille and Claude, his daughter and son; and his older sister, Neddie.

  Acknowledgments

  The Juste family would like to offer their sincerest gratitude to every single person who has called, prayed, visited, and supported us during this extremely trying time. Thank you.

  Special thanks to Estelle Dubois and family for your consideration and compassion.

  Memorial Service

  Cathédrale Notre-Dame du Cap-Haïtien

  Rue 18, Cap-Haïtien, Haiti

  Sunday, March 13

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  It had been a week since Tony’s death and sleep still did not come easily. Something nagged in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. I spent all night after the funeral thinking of Tony and his family. They were undoubtedly lying confused in their beds, grieving and unable to understand why he was taken from them. The next morning, I got up with only one goal. Today would be the day that I put this whole ordeal to rest. I’d spoken with Roseline on the phone the night before, and we’d agreed to meet at Citadelle Laferrière at 7:00 a.m. My mom and dad were still asleep, and I didn’t even let myself worry about whether my aunt would get in the way. She had made herself scarce of late, probably feeling unwelcome in her own home. I still couldn’t bring myself to look at her, let alone speak about whatever was going on with PATRON PAL and Andres or, more important, her conversation with my mom at the hospital.

  The house was silent as I finished gathering up my jars and prepared to head to the Citadelle. I couldn’t help but think about the Labadie collection. I had gotten on my hands and knees in the middle of that hospital room to collect as much of the dirt as I could. My mom hadn’t tried to fight me when I’d leaped out of my bed after she’d slammed the jar to the floor. She’d only looked on as I’d tried my ha
rdest to move as much of the dirt as I could to an empty box of gloves. Even now, the glass shards glimmered through the new jar that I had transferred the dirt into when I got home. I prayed that the glass wouldn’t interfere. I had debated finding a way back to Labadie, but after what happened to Tony, I knew that my parents would never let me go...and I couldn’t stomach the idea of returning there either. In the last few days, they had become closer than I ever remembered seeing them. A true unit. They were all smiles and lingering touches, even with all the craziness that had been happening. Just as I made my way to go out the back door, wondering what it would be like to have them together again once this was all said and done, I heard someone clear their throat. I turned to find my mom standing behind me, her arms crossed.

  “Going somewhere without me?” she said.

  “Uh...what are you doing up?” I answered with a question of my own.

  “No need for the charade, Alaine. I could practically see the wheels spinning in your head all week. That...and Estelle told me you were meeting with Roseline this morning.”

  “Trying to earn back your loyalty,” I said, crossing my own arms.

  We stood that way for a while, staring at one another. Finally, my mother sighed, “Well, if you’re going to go through with this, I’m coming.”

  And so we went out the back door together. Fernand was there, waiting with the car just as I had asked him. When he noticed my mom coming with me, the smile dropped from his face. He knew that my visit to Roseline was supposed to be a secret.

  “Uh...Ms. Beauparlant...I’m here to...uh...”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “She knows.”

  Fernand gave a sigh of relief and opened the car door with an exaggerated bow. The drive to the Citadelle was uneventful, the world a silent fog as we twisted and turned through the streets. When we arrived, I thanked Fernand and told him that he didn’t have to stick around, since my mom was with me.

  “We have a ride back home with Roseline. We’ll be fine, I promise,” I told him.

  He seemed reluctant to leave, even mumbling something about safety, but finally agreed after I glared at him in what was my best seriously-just-take-the-day-already face.

  We watched as he drove away, then began the walk up the mountain, quietly taking in the sprawling views of the countryside. Green hills rolled as far as the eye could see, white clouds kissing their peaks. There were very few people milling about the Citadelle when we arrived at the fortress. One man caressed a jagged stone wall in admiration, while a girl about thirteen took selfies in front of a wide pyramid of stockpiled cannonballs. The sole tour guide at this hour watched her grimly, shouting, “Get off the pyramid!” when the girl handed her phone to a friend and made moves to climb the arrangement.

  The fortress was breathtaking. Seeing it in person was nothing like reading about it in Mom’s journals or searching online. There was no giant flashing sign anywhere that would lead us to the exact spot my mom, aunt, dad, and Andres had met all those years ago. And I didn’t want to ask my mom for fear that she wouldn’t remember and would spiral into another outburst. We walked around silently, moving farther and farther away from the most populated areas of the Citadelle. I was just about to tell my mom that we could check out another part of the site when I tripped over a gnarled tree trunk and my eyes fell on (eye-roll-inducing) gold.

  ED+AV=<3

  Tati Estelle’s trunk engraving. If that wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was. I bent down and quickly filled my final jar. My mom still didn’t speak, but as she watched me, I knew that all she wanted to tell me was to not get my hopes up. We continued on to find Roseline and before long we saw her already at work. Her back was to us, and she was staring intently at the Citadelle. She stood as still as a statue cursed to gaze upon the culmination of the paranoid thoughts of a self-proclaimed king. I cleared my throat, and Roseline turned around. One hand rested over her stomach, a slight breeze pushing back the flowy folds of her polka-dot maxi dress like the wings of an enormous butterfly.

  “Celeste?” Roseline asked apprehensively. I could tell that she was worried my mom had come to put a stop to the final ceremony.

  “Hi, Roseline,” Mom answered. “I’m here to help see this through. No matter the outcome.”

  Roseline simply nodded and asked, “Do you have the collections?”

  As she stepped toward us, I noticed the items placed in a circle that she had dug into the ground behind her. A pile of small logs sat in the middle, and a bottle of rum rested outside the circle with a small jar and box of matches.

  “Yes,” I said and pulled out the four small jars that were each filled with earth from Bois Caïman, Sans-Souci Palace, Labadie, and now Citadelle Laferrière. The jar from Labadie held markedly less than the others. Even now, my mom’s gaze lingered on that partly filled jar, the shards of glass that I couldn’t get rid of from the old container twinkling in the sunlight. She didn’t apologize for what she had done.

  Roseline took the jars from me carefully and placed them beside the small box. “It is time.”

  My stomach did a little flip as I looked at my mom. As resistant as she had been throughout this entire process, I couldn’t ignore the hopefulness in her gaze as she watched Roseline. If my mom (ever the pragmatic journalist and refuter of the supernatural) could allow herself the moment to believe, then who was I to think that all of this couldn’t work?

  Roseline crouched before the circle she had arranged, more nimble than should be possible with a belly that size. She picked one of the matches from the box and scratched the head along the container’s gritty side, then dropped the new flame onto the pile of wood. The fire crackled softly as she poked it from different angles to coax the heat and smoke to grow. She took the bottle of rum and poured an ample splash on the fire, followed by two more for good measure. The flames rocketed up with a roar, and I took another step back. Roseline was unafraid.

  She unscrewed the first jar and looked at me and my mom. “The relationship between a mother and child is like none other. As a mother, you are a vessel to the spirit world, guiding a new life into the physical realm. It is no coincidence that you both are here. We are asking the ancestors to end this curse that has plagued your family for generations, and your connection will help us with our offering. You must complete this final step together.”

  Mom stepped forward and I followed, praying my eyebrows wouldn’t be singed off from the licks of the fire.

  “Repeat after me and scatter the contents of each jar as you do so,” Roseline said, handing the first jar over to us after she had unscrewed it.

  Mom and I crouched beside Roseline, holding the jar between us. As I inspected the dirt from Bois Caïman, the same something that had been haunting my thoughts all last night and this morning tugged at me. My apprehension must have shown.

  “We’ve come this far,” Roseline said, placing a hand on her bulging middle.

  Mom smiled encouragingly at me and I nodded for Roseline to continue.

  “Ancestors and spirits, we are here before you with our plea to lift the curse that has plagued our family for so long,” Roseline began.

  My mom poured a handful of dirt into her palm from the opened container. I scooped out the rest. We repeated after Roseline and each threw the contents into the flames. The fire hissed.

  “We’ve come to uphold the agreement that Marie-Louise Coidavid made all those years ago,” we continued, adding the dried mud from Sans-Souci Palace.

  “We know that there is always a price to pay when seeking your aid. We accept the consequences of our inaction.” My mom gingerly scooped out a handful of the Labadie mixture of dirt and sand and glass. I poured in the rest of the contents after her.

  “And we come to you again, in the very place where the course of our family history was forever altered after the death of Henri Christophe.” I tried not to cough from the dust of
Citadelle Laferrière.

  “But now we have the chance to amend our sins. We beg for your mercy and agreement in ending this curse once and for all.”

  Together, my mother and I each held one side of the small jar that Roseline had placed on the outside of the circle. We tossed the soil inside over the fire, the dirt rushing to meet the flames like iron filings to a magnet. An acrid smell rose up from the blaze and black smoke hovered in the air. Roseline said nothing as she splashed some Florida water into the fire, followed by a handful of dried leaves that she removed from her pockets.

  “One last thing.” Roseline reached into the neckline of her dress and handed me a folded piece of paper. “And we understand the sacrifice that was made for this chapter to come to a close.”

  “And we understand the sacrifice that was made for this chapter to come to a close...” I don’t know why I looked down at the paper in my hands. Maybe because I’m nosy and like knowing what I’m setting on fire. But when I did, I saw the smiling, twinkling eyes of Tony Juste boring into mine.

  I shrieked and rushed to my feet, throwing the obituary from my hands as if it were poison. A gust of wind swept through the heavy curtain of smoke, guiding the pamphlet into the pit. I reached for it in vain, trying to prevent it from landing in the fire. The flames surged forward in a grand show of light and sparks, and swallowed the paper in one burning gulp. Just as suddenly, the fire died.

  “What have you done?” I roared at Roseline. “How could you do this? Why didn’t you tell me this would happen?”

  Roseline stood from her spot beside the circle. “What did you think would happen? You’re a smart girl, Alaine. You read those letters. You saw for yourself that Marie-Louise didn’t keep her promise. She was weak.”

  The creeping dread I’d sensed since we’d begun flooded my body. I remembered. Marie-Madeleine Lachenais’s words had made me shudder even then, but I’d written her admonishment off, distracted by everything else that had happened since my arrival in Haiti. I had barely considered what all this collecting was leading to. That was Roseline’s job.