Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (42 page)

A thought crossed her mind. I’ll let them know where we’re going so they don’t think I’ve been snatched again.

— Then what?

— We need to check up on someone.

**

—Elize! Elize! We have news for you! Libète called out as they approached the old man’s shack. Though darkness had nearly won the battle for the sky, they could just spy faithful Titid at his post in the doorway.

— It has been a long time since I’ve been here, Jak said, surveying the decrepit home. You say he’s been teaching you?

— That’s right.

— But who is he? If he knows so much, why does he hide out here?

— I stopped asking. Too much drama.

Jak tried to mask his uneasiness as they neared the entrance. The place was still laden with memories, many of them not so good.

They entered, finding it black.

— Elize? Are you here? Are you well? Libète asked.

— M’ la. I’m here, and ill, he replied faintly.

— Bondye! That’s right! Elize, I’m so sorry! I forgot about your malaria!

She cut through the dark to where the lamp was stored and struck a match, bathing the room in a flickering glow. She approached the side of his bed, her hand palming his forehead.

— You’re still warm, but not like before.

—
M’ap vini
. I’m coming along. Ah! My goodness! Jak! Is that you? I didn’t see you there! A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one! Peace has been made between you then?

The children nodded.

— That’s good, that’s good! A cause to celebrate. I have some
bonbon
over there, some sweet biscuits. I’d serve you but it takes quite a bit to lift myself from the bed. Libète, can you help me?

She lifted him so that he rested with his back against the wall.

— If you are together and happy, then something good must have happened. But Libète, I was surprised when you didn’t come again today. Did something bad happen too, something that kept you away?

She looked to Jak who still stood off to the side, and then back at her haggard friend. She nodded gravely.

— Something good and something bad. You’re absolutely right. There’s much to tell.

Libète walks down an alleyway in Anse-à-Galets, careful to conceal the money she counts from the others passing her on the throbbing, full street. Fifteen goud is all that remains. She frowns. Not enough to return to her home in the hills on the other side of the island. She has not requested much from God as of late but whispers a clipped petition and returns to mill about the main street.

It is the middle of the afternoon, but a breeze spills into the lanes, cooling the wide streets. Libète looks about for something to eat, buying two ears of roasted corn from a girl perched on the roadside, probably just a few months older than herself. She leans against the bright turquoise stucco covering a wall, a painted Mickey Mouse keeping her company. She grinds the kernels slowly, thinking on what can be done next.

There are few options. The priority is finding her old neighbor Marie Elise. She was willing to take her in years ago. She might be willing still. Locating Officer Limyè is another item on her list, but she would never hope to stay with him. No, finding him would serve only to get answers, and maybe revenge.

But what about the meantime? She could sleep on the stone street, panhandle until she saves enough, or plead for a ride.

It is no matter. There is excitement and disbelief at being here, enough to keep her fears at bay.

Finishing the second ear of corn, she looks up into the blue sky and at a street sign hanging on a bent pole in a nearby intersection. It directs the traffic: town square, it says, hospital, and, most interesting, port police station.

She smirks. Maybe she’ll find Limyè sooner than expected.

She pushed open the door to the station. It was cramped, a single room, both clean and in order. A lone officer sat at a battered desk reading a day-old newspaper and smoking the nub of a cigarette.

— Bonswa, ofisye.

He looked up from his paper, exhaled a puff of smoke, and shook the new ash directly onto the newsprint.

— Yes? he questioned with complete ambivalence, neither eager to serve nor turn her away. This made it difficult to know how to progress.

— Sir, I’m looking for someone, wondering if you can help. I have not seen him for some time.

— A missing person?

— Ah, no. Well, I don’t think so. He’s one of your own, a police officer, from outside Anse-à-Galets.

— What’s his name, then? I’m sure I’ll know him.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she thought. I guess I don’t know his first name, she said. Only his last.

— Go on.

— It’s Limyè.

The officer became rigid. He smashed his cigarette on the side of his chair and closed up the newspaper. Child, he replied. I don’t know a Limyè.

— Are you a new officer then?

— I have been with the police for nine years.

— Maybe you just don’t know the other police then?

— Girl, I am familiar with
all
the police on this island, and I have never heard of this man. You must be mistaken.

— Everyone where I’m from knew him. He’s my—

She clamped her mouth shut, stopping short of naming Limyè as her father.

— Then go ask them about this ghost you’ve conjured, this phantom. There’s no officer named Limyè, and it would do you well to not steal my time with foolish questions! Now leave.

Libète did, not at all reluctantly.

Sleep that night comes easy to Libète, even though she lays on the hard floor. It is more difficult for Jak, who has grown used to the boarding school’s soft mattresses.

They talked with Elize for a long while, telling him of Libète’s near abduction, their reconciliation, and the incredible truth Jak had reasoned out that could change the course of the imminent election.

Elize cared most about the news that Libète had almost been stolen. He shook for a few moments, repeating at turns, “my dear child, my dear, dear child.” She patted him on the shoulder. I’m still here, she said. Don’t worry, I’m here…

By the time they told him about Benoit and the murders, he was overwhelmed.

— These are serious matters, too serious for you two alone. Too much danger, simply too much. I led you into harm before. I won’t do it again. There are times you must stop, and children, this is one of those times.

A heavy silence settled after his words.

— You speak out of fear, Libète said with some reluctance. Saying things I know that you do not believe because you care for us. Discovering these truths has cost us much, but if we don’t use what we’ve learned, all of the horrible things we’ve known…they lose their value. To suffer for nothing is worse than suffering for something of value, no?

— But you are both so young! You aren’t meant to know such things!

She wiped his head down with a newly-dipped rag. Her words came in slow strands as she thought them through. Elize…we’ve opened a book. And we’ve been reading along and following the story all this time. I feel like we’re nearing its end, when we can finally close it, put it behind us, place it back on the shelf.

Libète choked back fresh tears.

— When I felt I was all alone last night, in the truck, in the warehouse, I was ready to die—to kill myself rather than become a victim like Marie Rose. I can’t even think about it anymore. But I was pulled out of it, gras a dieu, saved once more at the last instant. If this all rested on me, I’d be finished. I’d give in. But I’m not alone. I have you, and Jak. Davidson…even Dimanche. And we have the
Truth
, a right cause. Alone, I’d be crushed. But with us all…we can see this through.

Elize’s hollow, fearful face made clear he remained unconvinced. The children helped lay him to rest and took their places on the uncompromising floor.

The following morning Libète awoke first and stepped outside, relieving herself at the back of the home before downing a small cup of Elize’s clean water. The ocean was visible from the back of the shack, wide, blue, and beautiful. It had rained during the night, and the sky was now clear, the air fresh. Titid stirred too, and the pig had followed her outside, offering fast, low grunts.

— Calm down, you silly pig.

He began to nudge her with its snout, and she patted his downy black hair, smiling at his unusual friendliness. He continued pushing into her.

As soon as she began moving back toward the shack’s entrance, he sped ahead of her. It was not affection he sought.

Entering the doorway once more, she saw why the pig had rushed to Elize. Titid now pushed his snout into the sleeping man’s hand. She cocked her head, confused, before realizing a staggering truth.

Elize was not moving.

Libète treads through the dense forest, leaving the woods momentarily and stepping out into a clearing. The trees are resplendent and grand, and standing among them again reminds her of how much she has missed this place, its greenery, its life. The dull greys and taupes of Cité Soleil, punctuated only by splashes of artificial paints, could never compete with nature in all its vibrancy.

She is starving and pulls canapé from low branches, popping off their skins, pulling the gummy fruit away from the pit with her teeth, and spitting the remains on the ground. The taste brings memories of her past life, their clarity making her tingle with anticipation as each step carries her toward home.

She was fortunate to be where she was. Earlier, Libète had flagged down a youngish woman on a dirt bike at the edge of Anse-à-Galets, where the road ceased being level and became messes of bumpy ridges and pools of mud. Libète had been trying to catch a ride all morning. Two trucks stopped, though neither was willing to take her on as a passenger.

The woman wore a uniform, faded green, like a surgeon’s. If Libète spoke plainly, she thought the woman was far from pretty. Her hair was kept in a tight bun and her eyes were strangely asymmetrical. There was a rack on the back of her bike to which a black case was strapped, and ample space for a small passenger between the woman and case.

Tired of the truth failing her, Libète spun a quick story about a sick aunt up in the hills, begging the not-so-pretty woman to take her as far as she could.

— You are lucky, she replied coolly. I am going that way. Get on.

Libète was elated, but the lie made her feel a twinge of guilt. They did not talk much along the way, though Libète asked a few questions over the moto’s whining, puttering engine.

— Why are you going this way?

— I am a nurse. I go this way often.

— What do you do when you go this way?

— I walk through the hills. I visit people, sick people, and see how they are.

— Do you know the hills well?

— I do.

— Do you know La Gonâve well?

— I think I do.

— Where are you from?

— You would not know the place. From Port-au-Prince.

— Oh?

— Yes. From a part called Delmas.

— Se vre? So far from home! Why are you here, on La Gonâve?

— I found work. And so I came.

— Do you like it here?

— I miss my home. I miss my people there.