Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (29 page)

— You shouldn’t have come, Libète. I told you not to come.

She stands amid a field of the sick and dying. Fear, that dark creature, tries to break out of the recesses of her heart where she keeps it chained. She resolves to beat back that darkness, at least until she knows more.

She looks for Jak at St. Sebastian’s hospital. It is only five days since the earth first shook.

The bloody and broken spill out of the hospital doors, flooding every corner of the compound. The drama is high as children and adults hear that amputations are necessary, and there are rumors that medical supplies run low. Strung up grey, white, and blue tarps form a patchwork roof over the yard, shielding the ailing and injured from the Sun. Several rest in the shade dazed, newly wrapped stubs where an arm or foot once was.

She first looks for Jak where she had last seen him, inside one of the hospital beds recovering from the wounds given by the murderer’s hands. She fails to find him.

She goes outside and searches each miserable face in the yard, hoping to find the small boy with the large cast.

He is not there. Busy orderlies, nurses, and doctors move about, rationing water, changing bandages, conducting triage assessments, and sometimes, noting that death has claimed another victim.

— What the hell just happened here? Libète hears a woman yell.

It comes from an older blan woman with short grey hair and large glasses. She goes into a tirade directed at a nearby male nurse. A lone child, a small girl, is dead at her feet.

Is she a doctor? An American maybe?
But the woman spoke French and Kreyol interchangeably. Of the Americans Libète had seen in Haiti, it was rare they spoke Kreyol.
Or is she French?
Libète caught herself, surprised at her callousness, that the woman’s nationality concerned her more than a child her own age dead not more than ten feet away. She offered up a short prayer for the little girl’s soul.

The woman slumped and took a deep breath, lifting her glasses with her thumb and index finger at the bridge of her nose, rubbing her eyes. Nearly all watched the white woman and the nurse. Feeling the burden of their stares, she spoke.

— I’m sorry for my outburst. I was wrong to shout. You’re doing a good job. It’s the stress, you understand? The nurse nodded, eyes still wide. Can you take care of this little one’s body? He gave another nod. She left him and returned to her rounds.

Libète knew she risked much approaching the angry white woman, but she had to—fear of having lost Jak took hold. Libète stepped in her path.

—
Dokte
, I have a question for you.

— What’s that? she shot in impatient Kreyol.

Libète swallowed.

— It’s about a small boy. I’ve lost him, and I think you might know what happened to him.

— There are many small boys here. Why don’t you look some more for him?

— I have, dokte, but he’s not here. He came before the quake. His name is Jak, and his leg was broken badly. He had a big cast on it.

The blan woman searched her memory. To her, those five days felt like a year.

— Yes, I remember him.

— Is he…is he dead? Libète couldn’t keep back tears at the thought. The doctor softened, summoning new warmth.

— Dead? No, no, no. He’s well. We had him moved, after the quake, to free up another bed. They took him in at the St. Francis boarding school, I think. Check for him there.

— Mèsi, mèsi anpil, Libète said, sniffing back the tears.

— You’re welcome. Now go, my dear, with God.

**

She stumbled through the entrance into the boarding school. Its yard was filled with squatters come to seek a safe place to sleep in the open and tap the school’s water supply. A crowd congregated outside trying to force its way in, but an armed policeman, shotgun in hand, controlled the narrow entryway. Libète pushed and wiggled her way up to the front of the crowd and shouted to get the officer’s attention.

— Sir, my brother is there alone! Please you must let me in, you must!

He gave her a slight nod, and she passed through the doorway, much to the gathered crowd’s dismay.

It took some time to navigate the people inside and find someone who could help her. She was fortunate to find an elder groundskeeper, still dutifully sweeping the cement pavement despite the unprecedented disaster. He was able to take her to her friend.

Jak lay upon a bunk bed within the student dormitory, his leg elevated by a rope that ran from the barred window to his ankle. He appeared listless as he stared out the window, its soft afternoon light bathing the stuffy room in a dim glow.

— Hello, Jak.

He turned to face her. His brow furrowed.

— I’m glad to see you’re OK, she continued. I thought you were dead. When you weren’t at the hospital.

—
M’ la toujou
. I’m still here.

— I see. I have a lot to tell you. So much I can’t keep it in—

— I don’t want to hear it.

— But you need to. You must. It’s your grandmother…I checked on her, after the quake, and I don’t know how to tell you, but…she’s gone.

There was a long silence, one Libète refused to intrude upon.

— How…did she die? Jak asked, his voice wavering.

— I don’t know. She was just dead. In your home. Nothing had fallen on her. She was just laying there. She’s been taken away now, with the others.

He was silent again.

— Then I’m alone, he said.

— M’ la toujou, she whispered.

No response came. She stifled a tear.

— There’s more, Jak. So much has happened.

She looked away from his unbearable stare.

— Aunt Estelle is dead. My house is ruined. We don’t know what we’re doing now. And the man, Jak, the one who hurt you so—he came after me. Tears began streaming from her eyes and she choked. But he died when the earth shook. The fort, Jak, our fort. It fell, and he was buried under it. It’s in a million pieces.

He rotated his head away from her. Thank you for telling me about my grandmother.

She could tell he was crying too.

— I regret my words, Libète. Some of them. Right before the quake, I told you something.

— Yes?

— I told you it wasn’t your fault. And I thought it then.

Her heart leapt, hopeful that forgiveness might soon come. She moved closer to her friend.

— But I was wrong.

She recoiled.

— Please don’t blame me, Jak. I see you’re blaming me, but please don’t put this on me.

— Over and over and over, I asked you to stop with these
games
. I begged you to let the dead bury each other, that we leave the truth to the police. But you wouldn’t. You were so, so
stupid
.

— Jak, please—

— And now, I’ll say something else I said to you before, and this time, you will listen.
Go
. Leave.

— But—but when can we talk again? I
need
to talk to you, Jak.

Silence.

— When will you be able to look at me?

More silence.

She left.

The air in the yard is heavy with tension.

— I’m happy to see you’re walking, Libète says.

— But not running. I can’t run anymore.
And you’re to blame, he left out.

He picked up a pebble and tossed it away. They sit in a covered walkway, not too far removed from where the other children, those who are happy, play.

— Things aren’t so good for me, you know.

— Oh? Jak replied.

— I’m in Twa Bebe, living in a tent with Davidson’s father. No friends. No food.

— I’m sorry it’s bad.

— Jak, I need your help. Things are happening. I can’t believe them.

He crossed his arms. She continued undaunted.

— Touss is back. You know he fled, right? Well, he got deported and cleaned himself up. He’s pushing some candidate and my cousin is working for him. And I saw Lolo the other day.

— Still rotting in prison?

— Yes…but he had a new thought. It’s the father, Jak. Claire never could say who it was. We always thought it was shame that closed her mouth, but what if it was fear? If we know who he is then I think we can figure out who killed her. He’s guilty for all this mess, for Simeon, for hurting you, for trying to kill me.

— I’m not going to help you lift the blame off yourself.

Libète bristled.
If you only knew what I’ve been through, Jak. If you only knew.

She took a deep breath.

— There’s something else. Something new and horrible. Women from Cité Soleil, they’re being taken.

— What? He met her eyes. What do you mean?

— Just that. Three have been stolen in the last few weeks. These are
our
people, from Bwa Nèf even. Something’s got to be done about it.

Jak mulled over the news. As Libète hoped, it troubled him.

— And you’re going to be the one do it?

She was disappointed by his reaction. She nodded.

— This is what I hate about you, Libète. You can’t let things that don’t concern you
rest
.

— What am I supposed to do? All it takes for evil to win is us not doing the good put before us. She heard this said recently, and committed it to memory. I need your help, Jak. I need your
mind
, your intelligence. But more, I need a partner to help me, a friend to stand by me. You could leave the school, just for a little while—

He chortled. Why would I leave, Libète? To stop kidnappers and murderers? You’re crazy!

Libète fumed, breathing deep to contain her temper.

— In here, the world is safe, Jak said. Comfortable. It makes
sense
. I have a scholarship, food, friends. I’m at the top of my class. I have
nothing
outside these walls. No family. No status. Nobody—

— You have me, Jak! I’m still your friend! she shot back.

— Libète, I wish you well. And I can say that part of me is happy to see you. But I can’t do what you ask. There’s too much to lose. For me at least. I swam in deep waters long enough, and I’ve found an island here. I won’t leave.

Libète bit her tongue and dammed her tears, looking at the grim sky and its heavy clouds.

She had said all there was to say, done all she could do.

She left.

**

The night came quickly, as it does in the autumn months. Libète spent the balance of the day walking through Bwa Nèf, imagining it was the time before the quake when life had a familiar rhythm, one she could follow. Her life was like jazz now, rarely resolved. She thought of La Gonâve while she walked, of the emerald isle, of her mother and true father and all of the hard things learned there. She resolved to push on despite the obstacles presenting themselves, feeling San Figi’s presence in the cool breeze encouraging her on.

Having been away from the camp for hours, she knew her Uncle would be waiting. She was upset to remember he was not alone.

— Ah, Libète, my daughter, how are you tonight? These words came not from her Uncle, but rather his regular guest, Tonton René, “Uncle” René.

The tall, gangly visitor was seated with her Uncle.
Probably flapping their lips about the same nonsense as usual
.

— Hello, she said brusquely, walking directly in between the two middle-aged men and into the tent.

— Libète, come out here, her Uncle said. Don’t disrespect our guest.

She pulled back the tent flap. Good evening, she said curtly, dropping the flap again.

— Strange girl, said her Uncle. Always in some mood.

René whispered in her Uncle’s ear. Maybe she’s—
you know
—hitting that
time
.

Libète overheard this and rolled her eyes.

— Libète, make us some rice. I’m starving. René brought us some.

Back two days and I’m his servant again.
Yes, Uncle.

She took the stove and moved it outside, knowing the sooner she finished the job, René would be gone. She lit the charcoal, filled a pot a third full with water from the jerry cans, and tossed in the rice, bringing the mix to a boil. She could feel René’s gaze upon her body as she crouched over the stove. It sickened her.

— Did you hear about what happened just a few hours ago? René asked her Uncle. Another girl was taken—in broad daylight even! People saw it happen this time.