There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (11 page)

Libète’s brow arched.

— I don’t usually disclose my clients. But I know I can trust you. Remember the Bellerive family’s kidnapped daughter?

— Who was taken and tortured?

Maxine nodded. Remember how she was mysteriously reclaimed and restored to the family?

Libète nodded. Maxine smiled. Many cases are less dramatic. Unfaithful husbands. Unfaithful wives. My business runs on all types of unfaithfulness.

— There’s no lack of faith in my situation.

— But this is not business, my dear. I’m here talking to you for another reason.

— Oh?

— For justice.

— And that means trying to find out who did this to Didi?

Maxine nodded again. Libète’s eyes were hollow. Maxine clasped Libète’s wrist. I want to
help
. I’ve followed you. Your work.

Libète pulled away.

— The story behind your uncovering of Benoit’s crimes. Your skills at detection. Fine eyes for clues and reasoning to match. Your persistence is exemplary; a model for all in my field. Myself included. But more than this, you’re a voice worth listening to in a world of
blah blah blah
. Maxine smiled, reaching into a leather purse to withdraw a notepad and pen. She crossed her legs. The tension in Libète’s shoulders eased.

This
is
a special woman.

— I’ve spoken with Jak already. But I need more details. Everything you can give me to help me get started. The police, as you well know, are worthless creatures. Dogs chasing their own tails. No, I’m here to find out who did this to your friend, she paused. Who wanted to kill you and Jak. She scribbled on her pad, her face darkening. And to make sure they pay.

Libète liked the sound of this. She moved to the edge of the bed. It’s obvious who it was, Libète whispered. Benoit.

— Supposition is proof of nothing. Even if you’re right–which, I agree, is a very real possibility–supposition cannot stand in court. That’s partly why Benoit has skirted the law so far. Well, that and the bribes he’s paid. We need incontrovertible
evidence
.

— There were two deliveries last night: a card in a nice envelope, and the sweets, dous makous.

— Jak’s told me as much. You have them?

— The card is in my bag. The dous, I don’t know what happened to them. At the football pitches, probably.

Maxine patted her purse. I’ve already recovered them. They’ll be studied. Why do these ‘gifts’ get left for you?

— People like me, I suppose. What I say. What I – she looked upward for some ephemeral word – represent. Ever since Benoit was arrested, since I started going on the radio and getting interviewed, similar gifts have flowed. Probably a few times a month. Mostly by
ti machann
, street vendors, from Cité Soleil. The occasional admiring boy. Véus, the guard, said two women dropped them off. But I’m sure now they were doing it for someone else.

— Surely. Maxine scribbled furiously. Have you done anything recently that could make you a target?

— Nothing out of the ordinary. Planning the rally, I suppose? Our community organizing? But there’s no obvious difference between this time a year ago and today. I’ve thought Benoit might take aim at us, but he’s under close watch by the press, many of whom are my friends. It would be too obvious if something happened to me. We always assumed that was my shield.

— And the card? Maxine read its message aloud.
Stay away from the rally. Enemies are close.
Odd.

— It could have been a threat as easily as a warning. From friend or enemy, I don’t know.

— Do you know anyone else who might target you?

Libète shrugged. The former headmaster and teacher we got dismissed? Loan sharks we’ve outwitted in Bwa Nèf? René, the man who kidnapped me who went to prison? Different gangsters? She sighed. It’s a long list. But there’s no one I’ve been a threat to as much as Benoit.

Maxine’s eyebrow peaked. And what of this radio program?

— I don’t see how these things are related. The items came during the show, maybe even beforehand, from what Véus said.

— I wasn’t able to listen to the program. But it sounded like some–
interesting
–things happened.

Libète shook her head. I’d almost forgotten. There was a man. Who called in. He . . . he was killed. At least it sounded like it over the air. And he told us these . . . Numbers. Some men broke into the station afterward, roughed up the host, ruined the equipment while looking for a recording.

— Jak mentioned the Numbers too. Any idea what they could be?

— I don’t.

— Do you know the digits?

— No.

— None at all?

— I didn’t care last night. I had a lot on my mind. Jak knew – she stopped herself, not entirely sure why –
some
. Said he couldn’t remember them all. Maxine looked at her pad as she wrote. Libète shifted on her mattress, locking her arms in place.

— You’re sure? Maxine asked.

—
I’m sure
, Libète snapped.

— Libète, I’m just trying to help. Maxine laid her pad down. You haven’t heard, then?

Libète looked at her warily.

— I . . . don’t think you understand exactly what’s happening here. Your story–and I believe every word you’ve said–is one version. But there’s another. One that’s already been picked up by some of the press. Maxine took a deep breath. Libète–you’re being . . .
accused
. . . of killing Didi.

— But . . . how could
anyone
. . . She could not summon words.

Maxine remained composed, her professional steeliness keeping her from comforting the girl. You have friends in the press, but so does Benoit. They say that the sweets were yours, given to Didi.

— But why?

— That she had taken too much of the limelight. Was starting to overshadow you. That you wanted to make yourself look vulnerable and frame Benoit. These are the sorts of things they’re saying. Maxine overcame her inhibitions and laid a hand upon Libète’s shoulder. I’ll do everything I can to discredit the story. It doesn’t seem like it will be too difficult once your side gets out. That’s why I’m here. But as you know, tar sticks in Haiti. Empty accusations can travel far before there’s time to rebut them. For now, this is the safest place. If police come tomorrow to question you, ask them to at least hide you and keep you safe. I’m going to make some calls.

Libète didn’t acknowledge a single one of Maxine’s words. She buried her head in her hands.

— I’ll be back in touch tomorrow. Get some rest. There’s nothing to be done now, and there are difficult things in store.

When Libète still didn’t respond, Maxine grimaced, rose, lowered the light, and closed the door, locking it behind her.

New Life, New Death

Vòlè pa wont, men lafanmi wont.

The thief has no shame, but the family is ashamed.

Pitit se richès malere.

Children are the riches of the poor.

There is an economy of light in the church where all of Foche assembles. It is as if the light peers ahead to the grim proceedings to follow and knows to retreat.

Libète and Magdala enter, their eyes trading the deep brown earth and brilliant blue skies of the outdoors for the glum little building’s brick and shadow. The hum and murmur of low conversation drops out.

— Sit, Magdala whispers. I sit at the front.

Libète searches furtively for a vacant spot on the benches made from boards nailed into amputated tree trunk bases.

— Over here! Dorsinus says, breaking the quiet. He signals to Libète with a wave.

Against the crowd’s curious stares, Libète floats toward the man. His presence is a surprising comfort. Magdala moves intently and seats herself on the left side of a table that doubles as the church’s altar. A man dressed in slacks and a pink button-down shirt is opposite her. He jots and scribbles in the notebook before him.

Libète glances at Prosper, seated among other young men: some strong, some weak, some handsome, some plain. He stands out, and her eyes linger on him a second longer than she intends. Their eyes hook. She reels hers away with a bashful turn of the head and they land on the tin roof trussed with limbs of kayimet, and then on a sad, slanted chalkboard dusted with white fingerprints and a solitary, ghostly
w
.

— Where have you been? Dorsinus says, shielding his mouth with his hand.

— I could ask you the same.

He tumbles his hand through the air. His eyes do a dance. About, he says, before clearing his throat. Libète’s nostrils curl. She knows the scent of breath laced with
kleren
from days gone by; her Uncle, his drinking, the dark days of living with him in Camp Capvaa after the earthquake. She shifts in her seat, away from the man.

Conversations resume, but they are hushed, more reserved than before.

— What is this meeting? Libète whispers. Is it the one-who-is-lost’s sentencing? Magdala told me nothing.

— Yes, but first a gathering of Kè Ini Gwoupman Peyizan La
.

Libète nodded, taking in the name. The Hearts United Peasant Group
.

Her brow lifted. Some kind of solidarity group?

Dorsinus nods with his whole body. Yes, and a notable one! Hearts United is known today all through these hills. A real model for development. The words are an echo of Prosper’s, and she shrinks. She looks to the boy again, ashamed for dismissing his account earlier.

— You’re a member?

— When my wandering brings me here, I’m a member.

And suddenly, she walked in.

— All rise! shouted the man with the notebook and the busy pen.

— Ah, the
animatris
! Dorsinus whispered. The one behind all of this–Madanm Janel!

Prosper’s mother
. Libète recognized her right away.

Elders filling the pews and youth lining the walls jolted. All who were not standing rose. A polite but strong applause broke out, and Janel looked genuinely embarrassed. She signaled for it to stop with a modest flick of her head as she sat at the center of the altar. She brought a pair of ill-fitting reading glasses to her face. Shall we begin? she asked, full of solemn intent.

Libète measured this “animatris.” She skewed closer to pretty than ugly; mother and son shared the same intense eyes, subtle nose, and muscular build. Dressed humbly, the leader’s head was covered in a light red wrap, her body in a breezy patterned dress, and her feet adorned with orange sandals.

Libète cupped her hand and leaned toward the old man’s ear. She’s really the head of all this? They let a woman lead? In Libète’s experience, community groups were often dominated by men, usually the loudest, sometimes the most dense. Dorsinus winked.

— I must thank everyone for coming out today, Janel said. I know some of you have traveled from far, and I want to say that we appreciate your presence here. Her gaze seemed to settle on Libète. Madanm Magdala, will you open our time?

Magdala had particular trouble looking into Janel’s eyes. Yes, Madanm Prezidan. She stood. My friends–her voice faltered. Magdala clenched her eyes shut and began to sing.

I must give the good Lord thanks; thank you . . .

The assembly joined in, though Libète did not know the lyrics.

. . . For all that He has done for me

Many uncovered their heads, closed their eyes, lifted their hands, or covered their hearts. Libète snuck a glance around the room as the melody lifted high, bringing a new and unexpected brightness to the place. She glimpsed many hunched forms, bare feet, and gnarled joints–the toll of a hard life in a desperate place.

It’s in the way that I live

That I daily thank Him

Dorsinus was looking straight up with his eyes wide and mouth stretching into a smile that crossed his face. The “blind” man apparently saw a marvel where Libète saw the church’s roof.

I had gotten discouraged with life

Because of the hardships I was going through

But when I called out to God

He listened to me, He took my needs to heart

The words, sung passionately by Magdala, bounced off Libète like pebbles against a wall. Tears ran down both Magdala’s cheeks. She finished the song and breathed deep again. She returned to her seat, refusing to wipe her face.

The song had lightened the air but tinged it with melancholy and relief, if such things had scents.

— The agenda for our gathering is very simple, Janel declared. The first item is the land. Namely what is to be done with the community plot.

Grumbling broke out among all the members. Libète gave a questioning glance to Dorsinus, who merely shrugged.

— The second item is to determine our response to the grand larceny by Félix Dieudonné.

— Madanm Prezidan, said a man with peppercorn hair who stood from his seat, his index finger pointing up, a hat held in his other hand. A word on the subject?

Libète recognized him immediately–the older man with the sugar cane, who had spoken when she had slid her hand into the crevice. Janel bobbed an assent.

— With respect to the offender, I have reflected much on the situation.

— And what are the results of your reflection, Mesye Jeune?

— He should hang.

Clapping broke out among the row of young men, followed by cheers and jeers in the rest of the audience.

— Jeune, Jeune, Jeune. Janel clicked her tongue. We’ve been through this. A violent reaction to a nonviolent crime is an affront to God.

— Then bring in the police!

— If we involve them, he will be taken and beaten and tortured.

— So be it! shouted a woman from the front row. She turned to Magdala. He
should
be locked away!

Magdala shook with small, silent sobs. Janel put a bracing hand to her thigh. Libète felt indignity well up inside her.
Magdala’s hurt no one. They shouldn’t treat her like this!

— We’re all fingers of the same hand here! protested a man from across the room. Surely a noose is the wrong response.

— He should work till he pays off the debt! offered another.

— Sell those goats of his! They’d pay for our losses!

— Those goats are his mother’s property.

— The mother is responsible for the child! shouted the woman from the front again. Raising a son that steals from his community! This theft is like reaching into our bellies and pulling out the food we’ve already eaten. From our
children’s
bellies! Bah!

Janel stood, raising her hands. The room immediately quieted.

— Félix has done wrong. There must be a consequence. But he
is
one of our own. If a child of ours wrongs us, we don’t abandon the child. We don’t turn our back on him. Why turn to the law when the law has failed us time and again? She nodded to herself. Mesye Secretary, was Félix summoned here?

— He was summoned.

Janel frowned. I had hoped he would come to answer for himself. Madanm Magdala, will you approach your son and invite him once more? Before a final decision is taken?

Magdala nodded.

— He is apart from us, Janel added. He is alone. That is a type of punishment already.

— This is nonsense! Jeune cried.

Many in the church-cum-courtroom seemed to share the sentiment. Libète saw Prosper sitting low in his chair, his whole body a scowl.

— And to all of you who would try to become the law yourself – Libète thought Janel’s eyes flicked to her son – remember that God judges you by the standard you use to judge another! If Félix does what he can to make restitution, he should be invited back into the fold. That is my view of things. He is a good boy, a good young man. And I love him, as if he were my own. As you all should.

The room was silenced, but for the sound of the secretary’s pen scratching. Magdala stood and excused herself, finally wiping away the tears. Janel returned to her seat and replaced her glasses. Now, let us turn our attention to the question of the land.

Libète sat in awe of the woman.

— We have a guest with us. Mesye Rodriguez, you may address the assembly. All turned to take in a group of four men standing, backlit, in the entrance to the church. Two stepped forward: one black, the other fair-skinned, maybe Dominican or Cuban. Libète’s gaze lingered on the other two men in dark uniforms who remained at the back, dressed like the guard she had glimpsed at the mountain gate earlier. A huge dog sat obediently, panting just outside the church door.

The delegate, Rodriguez, wore a light linen suit that had browned a bit with dust. He wiped his brow and smiled. He was young, handsome even.

— Hello, he said. In English. The man at his side, dressed in a collared shirt and slacks interpreted. I greet you from the University of Jackson.

The crowd muttered a greeting in return.

— It’s good to see you all again. I’ve not been with you since we first reached the agreement for our archeological team to excavate the other side of the ridge. I’ve missed your hospitality. He smiled while the interpreter finished his greeting.

— Well – he cleared his throat – this has proven a fruitful partnership. A model of academic and community collaboration. We have been happy to provide you with new water sources, seed, fertilizer for the common plot and your farms, and new tools in exchange for that care and hospitality and patience. We see Foche is thriving, and we are pleased.

The town watched him, not betraying their feelings.

He continued, dabbing his brow. We’re coming today with another proposal. An offer for further collaboration. We would like to expand our excavation–temporarily–into what you call the common plot. Evidence shows that on that land we will likely find artifacts of much greater historical significance.

A hand rose, and Rodriguez acknowledged him. Jeune stood again.

— Sir, this is a different situation. Those are our fields. The other side of the ridge was terrible soil, little-used. Those crops on the common plot are thriving.

— We understand the cost involved. We’re willing to give every member of Foche a generous farm grant.

— How much are we talking about? asked another man.

— Fifteen hundred US per head of household, lump sum. As the interpreter finished, gasps broke out.

— That much!

— Think of all of the livestock that could be purchased!

Rodriguez smiled. We would need to begin our dig in the next several months, after the harvest, to keep within our project funding.

— And how long would this dig last?

— Up to one year.

— Only a year? a woman said. This, this is a miracle! I can pay for my son’s medicines.

— I can pay off my debts to that grandon down the mountain who squishes us tenants under his heel!

— I could repair my house–build a
new
house!

Rodriguez was getting excited now. After one year, the plot would be returned to the community’s control. Foche is fortunate Madanm Janel had the foresight to bring you together in sharing the land. Reaching separate agreements with each landowner would have made this opportunity impossible.

There was applause and Janel gave a humble nod.

Dorsinus stood. I have held my tongue, he roared.

— You ought to keep it that way! someone called out.

— This is
madness
. Dorsinus slurred the final word.

— Aw, shut your mouth! What right do you have to speak?

— How
dare
you! Am I not a child of these hills? I go and come. But I have the privilege to speak. I will speak!

— Let him. Janel said this, her words rising above the competing voices. This is a chance to debate. Agreeing to this proposal, or rejecting it, is a democratic matter and worthy of serious deliberation.