Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (20 page)

No! It–it can’t be! We never touched—

— I thought she’d be the last one to get knocked up.

— Right? Things must have gotten
tough
once she moved. She’s not even telling who the father is, not yet at least. Violette says her mom’s going to beat it out of her if she doesn’t talk soon.

Lolo vomited on the floor.

**

Claire named the child Gaspar, after her father. He arrived full-term, but small, weighing a mere four pounds. She had tried to will him away it seemed, to starve herself to stifle his growth. After the birth, friends heard her whisper that she had prayed God would take the child—she could not end the life growing inside her by herself.

A seeming miracle, she had been able to hide the pregnancy from nearly everyone, including her employers. The baby had been hidden under looser dresses and tight cinching, morning sickness overcome by force of will. To explain her absence when giving birth, she told her bosses she had a difficult bout of malaria. Not three days later, she was back in the office, floating along the catwalks above the factory floor and appearing, on the outside, as if nothing at all had occurred. Her mother took over the day-to-day care of the child.

Claire would not talk to Lolo after Gaspar’s arrival, and this ate at him. He was not alone, though. She ceased speaking with most of her friends, Lolo discovered, and focused her full attention on her work. He plummeted into a taciturn depression. His friends had no idea why.

Gaspar represented a betrayal of the greatest order to Lolo. Looking back nine months, he could see that as the child grew inside her so did her aloofness. Still, the unanswered questions surrounding the birth troubled him most. Why did she keep a secret from her family? Why had she betrayed him? And chiefly, who was the one she was willing to sleep with when she had rejected all others? People marveled at the light reddish tone of the child’s skin, so different from his mother’s. Speculation as to who the father might be rippled throughout Lolo’s circle.

—
She was spending more time away from home
, some said.
You saw the clothes she wore. She’s probably some big-time prostitute downtown
.

—
There are mulattos at that church of hers. I bet one of them did it.

—
No way. She was raped, I’m sure. That’s why she won’t talk to anyone.

—
She’s just embarrassed she drew the short straw and got pregnant.

—
Probably wooed by some rich blan who’s gone back to the other side. Maybe the U.S., maybe France. Who can know?

It was maddening, especially because he couldn’t figure out the mystery himself. There were moments when he wished to tell of his relationship with Claire, for his friends to understand his great sadness and side with him against the wrong she had done him. But he couldn’t. He persevered at heart, hoping for a future with Claire, even with the child. Disclosing their secret love, or what had seemed like love, made this future seem like it might evaporate completely.

He continued to watch her from afar at work, longing to speak with her, knowing that she would not speak with him. Before long, another Christmas neared, bringing to mind the past one, the silver cross, and her unexplained tears.

He decided to call her. He knew she would not answer, but thought she would listen to his message. That was all that mattered. He had to
talk
to her, to put this sad history behind him.

He dialed her the day after Christmas.

— Claire…I wish I could see you and say this to your face. You need to know that I’ve forgiven you. For everything. And I am ready to say goodbye, because I know that you have already done so to me.

He sighed. He had to steel himself to utter the next part.

— But Claire, this does not have to be a goodbye. I would still have you as my wife, if you would have me as your husband. I want you to know that I would take care of Ti Gaspar as if he was my own, forgetting he’s not. This difficult past could be washed away and we could have a new start raising him together. Claire, I love you. I—

The phone cut him off. He sighed, satisfied with his words. This was good, because these would be the last he spoke to Claire while she was still alive.

— For the last week, I’ve just been here, caught up in my memories, thinking of her and the baby.

Lolo sits on the sofa, closing his story. Jak is cross-legged on the floor, and Libète has since pulled up a chair. She cradles the gun in her lap, forgetting it is there. Lolo speaks as a penitent. He knows these children can do little to help, but he tells all to vindicate himself, and because he needs allies in his suffering, even if only half his age.

— Did she call you again? About your message? Libète asks, still engrossed and forgetting that half an hour ago she had believed Lolo a killer.

— The morning she was killed, I received a call. Early, but I missed it because my phone was off. She said she had something to tell me. That was all she said. She wanted to meet me at six in the morning, out in the grasses. I didn’t think anything of it because we always met in lonely places. I was so excited—so hopeful. I knew she was going to tell me yes or no. The stakes were high, high, high.

— What happened? Jak asked.

— Well, I arrived. At the spot. And found them—Claire and Gaspar. Slaughtered. I couldn’t look at first. I just wept and wept, for so long. And no one heard. I kissed her dead lips, lips I had not touched before—I’m not ashamed to say it. I finally searched her. Everything was gone. No phone, no purse. I guess she could have been raped by the killer too, but thank God—she wasn’t.

His observation gave him pause. But that silver cross was still there. I took it—I carry it in my pocket. Lolo took it out and showed them. And there was this note, written by a man’s hand. I found it in her clenched fist. I wouldn’t believe what it said unless I still had it.

Jak’s mind flashed to the red knapsack. “Run Lolo,” Jak murmured.

— Right—you saw it already. Well I did. And I told Wadner everything. The whole story. He’s the only one who knows where I am. Well, he probably told Davidson and Yves.

— And us, too. Kind of. That’s how we found you.

Lolo seethed. What a fool!

— Don’t blame him! Libète sputtered. We…kind of…stole his phone. And read your messages.

— You found me on your own? Saw through the code? Shit, he muttered. I’m done for if two kids can get to me.

— What about the gun? And money? Where did those come from? Jak asked, his voice weighted with suspicion.

— My uncle, the one who owns this place. He’s ex-military. An old
tonton macoute
who lives in the States most of the time. He gave them to me in case I needed to get across the border.

— Why haven’t you gone?

— I’ve got to find the killer! Whoever left that note, he’s the one I’ve got to get. But I can’t ask around if anyone saw anything because I’m stuck here—leaving it to Wadner, Davidson, and Yves to piece together. I just step out when I need a little food, a little drink, or a smoke.

— Why not tell the police?

— They’re going to have it in for me, I just know it! No one’s going to believe what I have to say. And I’m sure they’re already looking for me—because of that damned note. Someone is trying to get me, set me up. And that old man, the one that lives out at the end of the bog, he saw me all bloody and messed up.

— We talked to him, Libète said. He hasn’t told the police anything. We don’t really know why; he just doesn’t like them. So I don’t think the police know. But they’ll probably find out soon. Other people are starting to notice you’re gone, too. She omitted the fact it was her who had pointed this out to a crowd.

— Really? Well, at least things are moving slower than I thought. But the bastard that killed them is still out there. And he could have killed me, too. Waiting in the grasses. I don’t know what his game is. But if I show my face anywhere, it’s trouble. So I’m going to go to the Dominican Republic soon. I don’t have a choice.

His voice wavered and he started to cry.

— I see her in my sleep, you know. Jezi, I see her all sliced up. She tells me things, and then I wake up. Even Gaspar speaks to me—I don’t know what it means. He shuddered. It’s horrible.

Libète stood from her chair and put the gun on the floor. She moved to Lolo and placed a hand on his trembling shoulders. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to quell the tears.

— Let’s go, Jak. We need to get back to Bwa Nèf. Before we’re missed.

— Look, you two. I’m sorry for earlier. Please forgive me. And whatever you do, don’t let
anyone
know I’m here. They’ll find me, arrest me, kill me—who knows.

Libète looked Lolo directly in the eye.

— I believe your story, Lolo. And I promise, on my mother’s grave, that no one, not one single person, will know you’re here who doesn’t already.

Avan ou monte bwa, gade si ou ka desann li

Before you climb a tree, look to see if you can climb down

Pousyè pa leve san van

Dust doesn’t rise without wind

— So that’s how it happened. How I know. That’s why Lolo is hiding downtown.

Libète stands outside the walls of the Commisariat de Police. It is another day, but the Sun has already started its slow descent and Libète is finished with school. Jak is not with her, and does not know the promise she has just broken.

— He’s innocent, she says. You’ve got to know that, and make sure he’s not arrested. Or worse.

Officer Simeon raises an eyebrow. He has listened to Libète’s story, asking few questions. All has been told: stealing Wadner’s phone, finding the apartment, the struggle as Lolo entered, his love and woe, and her own solemn promise to tell no one.

Simeon grimaces.

— This is a story, Libète. A big one. But I don’t understand why you’re telling me. If you swore—

— Because, she interjected. I know I can
trust you
Simeon, trust you to help us. To help him. You’re good, not like the other officers.
You
can protect him from the one who did all this, and from being arrested for the crime!

Simeon averted his eyes, looking down the road and rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. I’m happy to hear you trust me.

This lack of reassurance put Libète on edge. But Simeon, she said while wagging her finger. You must promise not to tell Dimanche! This is not for him!

The officer sighed. Libète, I’ve worked with him for a long time. He’s a good man, but a hard one. He’s seen many things that can spoil a soul.

— I don’t care! I gave this to
you
. Promise me—

— Libète, I can’t do that.

— You must! She stomped her foot, eyes widening, face contorted. You have to!

He forced an uneasy laugh and held up his hands, relenting. Fine. It will be kept silent. No one will know while I investigate, including Dimanche. If need be, I’ll question Lolo, but only informally.

— What’s that mean? she snapped. “Informally”?

— We won’t arrest him. Unless we have to. That’s what it means.

Libète nearly burst in frustration but Simeon cut her off.

—
Listen!
I have promised I will do all I can to protect him and will do as I say.

She crossed her arms. You sound like
w’ap pale franse
, like you’re speaking French.

Simeon frowned, his eyes rolling upward as he searched for words. He replied in a measured tone.

— You think I’m deceiving you, but I’m not.  I’ll make sure harm doesn’t come to Lolo. That’s my final word.

— That’s what I needed to hear.

— Now go, Libète. I need to get back to work.

She gave a wordless nod and turned to walk away.

— And thank you, Libète, he said. For trusting me.

She gave a faint smile before continuing to cross Route 9, back toward Bwa Nèf, back toward home. A slight drizzle began to fall from the heavy, sagging clouds above. Part way, she changed direction.

There was another she needed to speak with before returning home.

Little Libète runs to Project Drouillard in the dark, a bag in her hand, a container with food in the bag, and a message in the container.

Peace, Touss said. It will mean peace
, she remembered.

And I’ll be a hero
.

In her other hand she clenches the 500 goud note, a talisman to ensure good fortune on this delivery.

Upon leaving Touss’ hideout, she sent Jak away. His nerves were frayed and he’d only slow her down. When they parted for good near Jak’s hovel, he blurted out, “Don’t trust him.” Libète saw little choice in the matter: she could smuggle the message Touss had scribbled and placed in the styrofoam container, keep the money, and hope for some small measure of peace, or find her life at an early end.

An old and rotund man with wiry hair and a grizzled beard was still out on Route 9, a seller of small snacks and candies. Everyone in their right senses was already inside in the event of another night raid.

The seller’s display, a large wooden suitcase of sorts seated on a low table, was lit by a candle stuck in place by its melting wax. She situated herself close to the candle, pulled the food container from the bag, and unwrapped Touss’ folded message from its clear plastic sachet.

— What is that? What are you doing?

— None of your business! Libète sneered.

— Accursed child! Get away from my light! It’s mine!

Libète made an obscene gesture she had used many times since learning it in Cité Soleil. The seller, mumbling slurs, relented. She squinted to interpret Touss’ script. It was simple enough for Libète’s rudimentary reading skills to slowly spell out and understand:

“We must talk
fas-a-fas
. MINUSTAH on the move next week. Need to plan our response. Better to fight them than each other, no? Meet at the edge of Bwa Nèf and Wharf Jeremie. Lone two-story house, at 2am, this Friday. No weapons. It will mean peace between Belony and Evens. My word.”

He had signed it “Toussaint Laguerre,” his full name. It was everything he had said to Libète—an overture of peace, at least between two of the gangs running Cité Soleil. She returned the note to its sachet and, cursing the seller once more, ran further into Project Drouillard.

She continued through the streets, trying to follow Touss’ less-than-clear directions to her point of delivery. As Touss had explained, he sent her because one of his men would be summarily shot. No such thing would happen to a small girl, he had said. So far he was right.

She plowed down a small turn-off and stumbled onto a main road directly into the path of a white armored U.N. vehicle lumbering down the road. The behemoth’s searchlight immediately flashed upon her and she thrust up her hands, blinded.

—
Não atire!
she shouted in the Portuguese tongue the Brazilian U.N. troops spoke, “Don’t shoot!” She had heard this uttered by youth many times before when searched by the troops at gunpoint.

—
Ale, ale!
the response came, a hurried reply telling her to be off.

She shot to the safety of shadows.
This is where they told me to go, but I don’t see anyone!
She lurked about, heart thumping, looking for the watchmen she was told to find. A hand thrust out from black shadows and lay upon her shoulder, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

— What are you doing out? the stern voice bellowed. Evens’ ordered everyone indoors for their safety. The sentry, his features impossible to see in the dark, brandished a pistol, the sheen of which was now altogether visible.

— You’re one of Evens’ guys? she said, swallowing her fear.

— Yes.

— I need to find the Dominikèn. I have a message to give him.

— A message? You can give it to me. I’ll give it to him.

— I can’t and won’t. Her tone was brash, maybe too much so. Look, I was given instructions, exact ones, and I’ll be in trouble if I do it wrong.

The sentry thought this over. Come on then. But be quiet.

The two proceeded further up the road before halting at the entrance to an alley marked with an archway made from fused scrapmetal. He made a bird call, and Libète heard a similar call echo back from the other end of the alley. A minute later, a squat runner materialized out of nowhere, and the sentry whispered a hushed explanation. The runner listened and ran back the way he had come.

Two long minutes later, a hulking form emerged from the shadows. He eyed Libète with great displeasure.

— Are you the Dominikèn? Libète questioned timidly.

— I am. He held a flashlight in his hand, the ambient light outlining his frame and face. He was nearly three times Libète’s height, or at least it seemed that way, his sinewy muscles the largest Libète had ever seen.

— I’m from Touss. He wanted me to give you this. He said it would mean peace for Cité Soleil. She opened her bag and handed the man the container.

He eyed it suspiciously. Food?

— There’s a message inside.

He opened the box and took the message, dropping the container to the ground. He brought the paper close to his eyes, using the flashlight to read the looping cursive.

— Hmm. Mmhmm, he grunted to himself, as if an oral argument was going on inside his head. Libète waited anxiously for the magistrate inside to render his decision.

— Tell Touss that I’ll run this by Evens. But I think he’ll be interested. Yes, tell Touss we’ll be there. If not, we’ll let him know.

Libète exhaled deeply, words starting to tumble from her lips. That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear—

— Go, the Dominikèn growled, cutting her off.

Libète shut up, for once not hesitating to do as told.

The former devil known as Elize Jean-Baptiste stirred at the sound of a faint rapping on the side of his door. He had drifted into sleep as the rain began
tip-a-tapping
against his shack’s anodized aluminum sheeting. At first he didn’t hear the sound over the plunking rain, but Titid did. The pig roused, notifying Elize someone was outside.

— Who’s there? he called with some alarm, sitting upright.

— It’s me, Mesye Elize. Libète.

— Just a moment.

Because of the worsening weather, he kept his mat elevated upon a sheet of salvaged plywood and several cinderblocks. His shack often flooded, leaving behind unsightly green sludge. He knew as the season’s heavy rains came and went he could expect the sludge to do the same.

He looked about for his cane, picking up the golf club and bracing himself on Titid’s back. Getting up was a great struggle with his arthritic joints. He breathed out, pushing himself up, bones creaking and cracking. He stood for a moment, collecting himself before pulling the curtain aside.

Libète stood before him in full school uniform, sopping wet. Her legs were covered in mud from her walk through the marshes. Can I come in?

— Of course, Libète. Please. You can wipe off first. He signaled to an old scrap of a T-shirt near the doorway.

— Forgive me for sitting, he said as he moved back toward his stool and collapsed. I’m in some pain lately. I wish I had another chair to offer.

— It’s OK, she said as she ran the rag over her legs. I’m used to the floor.

Elize cleared his throat, coughing twice. I’m surprised to see you again, me being a “dyab” and all.

She looked away bashfully.

— I wanted to update you. That’s all, she replied. We tried to find out more about the young man you saw. And we did. His name is Lolo, and he didn’t do anything wrong. We found him, downtown, and he told us everything. He was lured to the place after the thing was done. The killer wanted him to look guilty.

Elize pondered this slowly. Is that so? he said. You’ve discovered much. He looked at her with a penetrating stare. But again, why did you return to tell me?

— I felt like you should know.

— But why?

— Because…because you trusted us, Jak and I. You thought we could do something to help and told us to continue. She shrugged. No one else did.