There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (12 page)

— Thank you, Madanm Prezidan. Dorsinus staggered down and out of his row. You cede control of the land to these crooks, these outsiders, you give away yourself. If you turn over the land, even for a thousand
billion
goud, you sacrifice your souls! Your very souls!

Libète felt her heart thumping anew.
Dorsinus is right!
This was nothing to rush. That plot producing as it was–it was an undeniable achievement, a real marvel.

Jeune called after him. Listen to yourself, Dorsinus. Sober up and then we might tolerate you.

Now Libète’s blood boiled.
Just because he’s voicing dissent.

Dorsinus gave a wave of his hand. Shut up, Jeune.

— You’re disgracing yourself.

— I am a man. I have a voice. I will use it!

— Maybe, Rodriguez said, we can have a subsequent meeting soon, maybe in a week? After you all can reflect on this offer and ask further questions?

— Yes.

— That sounds good.

—
Absoliman
.

Dorsinus swore. You are fools if you listen to this one. They want the
land
. The land!

Janel stood. Maybe, Mesye Dorsinus, you might save your further remarks for the following meeting?

Dorsinus ran his tongue over his front teeth, bit his lip. He harrumphed and left the church, bumping shoulders with one of the uniformed men standing at the entrance.

Libète felt possessed: all her thought proceeded down a single channel, compelling her to stand.
What am I doing! Stop it! Stop it!

— Madanm Prezidan, may I speak? All of the assembly’s eyes snapped to Libète.

— And who are you?

Libète’s eyes bounced from face to face. I’m called . . . Sophia. And I’m Magdala’s niece.

— Ah! More Dieudonné stock? I should have known! Get her out!

— Silence, Jeune! Janel’s eyes flashed. Go on, Sophia.

— It seems to me–as an outsider–that the crops there are a miracle. Her heart pounded as blood thumped in her ears. Any sharing of the land, even to God himself, would have to come with the certainty the future is ensured. That you all are protected.

— Who are you two to speak? Jeune said. These two know nothing of our suffering! Others agreed with Jeune’s sentiment.

— We are merely discussing the situation, Janel said. I know feelings run deep, but I also know that a conclusion can be reached. Just as the decision to bring the land together was shared, the decision to lease the land must be. She turned to Libète. But for the time being, maybe it would be best if the discussion was left to members of the community?

Libète felt like her legs would give way. She lowered her eyes, patted down her capris, and walked out the door.
Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

— Are there others who wish to share? Janel asked. Clamoring broke out. Prosper leaped from his seat after Libète. She walked at a furious pace, tensing as she slipped out the door and past the waiting dog.

— Sophia! Prosper called as he reached the doorway. He held out his hand, inviting her back.

Libète looked over her shoulder, then looked away, continuing in the same direction as the old, drunk, blind man.

The Dieudonné household was not a happy place.

Dorsinus finished his whittling and his rooster figurine sat there on a stone. Like an assembled puzzle, there was no wonder left in the completed thing. Finality, he muttered, the ultimate bore. He cast the shavings into the fire Libète built in preparation for cooking the evening meal, cornmeal porridge and bean sauce. The two watched the grated slivers of wood char and turn to ash. Dorsinus took a conspicuous drag on an opaque plastic bottle. Medication, he slurred. For my gout. Libète turned away and noticed Magdala coming close, returning from the direction of the fort.

— Ah, Magdala! Dorsinus said. You’ve returned!

She nodded, sadly.

— What of the boy? Did he relent?

She turned her face away and pushed through the knotted lavender sheet to enter her shack. When she did not emerge, Dorsinus rose to inquire further.

— Leave her be, Libète said bluntly. Her pain is a kind that doesn’t desire comfort.

Dorsinus scrunched his face, sniffed deeply, took another sip. What is this place becoming? he asked the open air. He lifted up his figurine, admiring his work.

— Very good, Libète commented. For a blind man.

— It’s nothing. A travesty. My worst work. He cast it into the flames.

— Ay! What are you thinking? She grabbed a stick to salvage it. Dorsinus walked away.

— Get back here! Libète called.

But he was gone. Though he staggered, he had a set direction, as if possessed. To part with the land, the wealth of us all! he hollered. What a thing!
Yon peche
, he shouted for all, and for no one.
A sin!

None listened but Libète.

He went up, down, walked footpaths among the golden weeds till the Sun abandoned the land. The few people he saw along the way he cursed. His mind was addled, weighted, his fingers frantically rubbing what hung around his neck.

He emptied his bottle and dropped it to the ground. Reaching for his chest, his hand clutched something beneath his shirt, a talisman, his source of security.

Darkness reigned.

An hour or hours later–he did not know–he came down the mountain. What had been around his neck was there no longer. He stumbled to the community plot and was reduced to tears. The Moon was hollow, as if embarrassed by his show. He cursed, he pissed, he sank to the ground, he wept.

And then one was upon him, an arm around Dorsinus’ neck, a hand over his mouth. The old man’s eyes were wide with fear–terrible and uncomprehending–and with a flash of strength he was able to tear the hand away and let his voice cry out in wonder:
My eyes!
I can see!

Libète stirs.

Not because of the subtle slide of a note under the door, but because the door–the one to her cell, the one formerly locked–is cracked open. A band of light sweeps into the room and rests on the wall, easing her out of her dreaming.

She rubs at her eyes, squinting. Now she sees the note, white paper leaping out against the polished concrete floor. She stretches and moves toward the door. Wary at first, she tests to see if it is truly ajar. The door’s hinges creak as she rocks it back and forth. The paper now in hand, she unfolds it and holds it up to the light. The scribbled cursive is rushed and ugly.

Ou bezwen soti. Kounye a.

Moun ki touye Didi ap vini pou ou.

—
You need to get out
, she reads aloud.
Now
.
Didi’s killer is coming for you.

Hand shooting to her mouth, she nearly drops the paper, but notices a final appended sentence.
Go
to the
back
wall
.

Could she trust the message? The card the night before was too obscure a warning to do her, Didi, and Jak any good.

Jak. He’ll know what to do.
She retrieved her shoes and book bag from the foot of the bed. In another moment, she was down the hall. She knocked on the door where Jak had been deposited. The lock was gone. No answer came. She tried the door and, surprisingly, it opened. No one was inside.

She cursed, worry scaling her stomach’s walls.
What is going on?
Her mind revisited the note.
The back wall.

Viewed from above, the school’s layout was U-shaped. Her room was at its left peak on the second story. The entry gate crossed the divide between the two peaks, and Brown’s office was at its trough. There was roof access where she could reach the school’s back wall–she and Jak regularly snuck up to look out over Cité Soleil–but this was crazy. She would have no way to get to the ground, no way but hanging off and letting go. She’d certainly break her leg if she dropped from that height . . .

She needed to try. Maybe Maxine had left the note? Or Véus? How many could even be on the school grounds at this hour?

She slipped to the end of the open-air corridor, running fast and keeping low. Though it was late, the light in Brown’s office remained on. Holding her breath, she spied through his window, its slats cranked wide open. Brown sat at his computer, clicking away as he typed. Charles stood at his side, and the interpreter’s head kept drifting to the left, as if he were about to fall asleep. She ducked and slipped under the windows, pausing when she heard Brown speak.

— This is shaping up poorly. Max left a while ago. She didn’t come up with anything.

A moment later, Charles spoke. Maybe there wasn’t much to share. He paused. Or maybe Madanm Maxine didn’t want to tell you. You say she’s a–what’s the word–confidante? But is she really worthy of trust?

— Her fee–her
exorbitant
fee, if you ask me–makes her trustworthy. The boy is still sitting tight?

Charles said nothing, and Libète couldn’t see him.

— Good, Brown said.

Libète was perplexed. Jak wasn’t in his room.
Why would Charles lie?

— Get ready to move him first thing tomorrow. If she’s alone it will keep her off-kilter when the police come around.

— Off what?

— Dammit, you’d better learn your English if you’re going to stay my interpreter.

Libète wanted to scream at them both but kept quiet and slinked away from the office. When she reached the wall she and Jak used to reach the roof, a conspicuous chair sat at its foot.
Left for me . . .

She hopped atop it and pulled herself up and onto the cinder-block wall. She stood and walked across the short span as if it was a balance beam. She reached the classroom roofs and scaled them.
Where could they have moved Jak?
The question still dogged her. She wondered if she should abandon this plan and instead seek out Véus. He could surely help. Maybe he had delivered the note but didn’t want to indicate his involvement in her escape? Adrenaline forced her forward.

She sprinted along the roof’s margins, looking for anything else that might have been left for her. There were huge black cylinders to one side, used for storing water, and the tips of naked rebar poking from the edge of the wall. She flipped an upturned bucket at one corner, but there was nothing there that would let her safely rappel down the wall.

Reaching the back end of the roof, she looked down.

Bondye! What is that?

There was a cart down below, adjacent to the wall. It wasn’t abandoned–it was strapped to a mule.

— Psst!
A person, a man on closer inspection, stepped out from an awning on the opposite side of Route 9, the long road bisecting Cité Soleil. She squinted. He used hand gestures to direct her to jump down.

She paused. This was a dangerous game. Why would she jump? Why not climb off this roof, head back down the wall, close the door to her room, and return to bed? This was surely the more sensible course–but much at the school was not right. She trusted Maxine, felt sure she was playing Brown, but then what was motivating Brown? And where was Stephanie in all this? Had something befallen her?

She thought back to the note. The one left for her last night had been benevolent, a warning. She wasn’t perfectly settled about this new one, but the handwriting seemed the same. Or was this a trick of her memory, borne from her desire to have them match? If she had heeded the original warning and been more cautious, Didi might still be fine and life unchanged.

Libète wanted to shout at the man across the street to show himself, but knew she couldn’t without likely alerting others. He kept repeating his pantomime for her to jump.

She looked down again and realized the cart was stacked with mattresses.

A prayer escaped her lips, along with a curse. She lowered herself and hanged from the lip of the wall.

She let go.

She landed with a thud on the mattresses, and her legs broke her fall.

The man slinked across the road with his face still obscured.

—
Eske ou byen
? Came the worried question. Are you all right?