There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (19 page)

— Bwa Nèf, Libète said.

He nodded. We drove the streets looking for anyone awake. It was all dead. Quiet. We drove until we saw a fire. A flame.

— I can see the rest. See it clearly. You found Uncle. He told you about Lolo. Knowing–what you kept from me about Lolo–you went searching. But how did you find me in the cinema?

— Your ncle grew suspicious. He didn’t like something about the way Lolo was acting. He followed you and Lolo. Saw where he put you.

Libète punched the car tire from where she sat. Could I really have been so blind–so stupid–not to see the truth about Lolo?

— You believed that he was good. You had faith in him. Those are good traits.

She leaned into her friend, staring straight ahead.

— I think Steffi is right, Jak said. Someone tried to kill you–likely Lolo. If he was moving that much money around it had to be from someone with a lot, likely Benoit. But Didi died instead. Brown had some agenda of his own, but Lolo got to Charles and lured you out. It makes sense. Even better than your public murder, which surely would have reflected back at Benoit, they could tarnish your name with Didi’s death and then kill you behind closed doors.

— If you had just told me about Lolo, Jak–if you’d let me know instead of trying to hide me from reality
. . .

— You’d hurt enough just then. Jak said this with an edge to his voice. Your kidnapping. Those bloody bandages on your arms. Elize nearly gone. In that moment, sitting there in the hospital
. . .
No matter what, I couldn’t see you weighed down the slightest bit more. So I took it on myself. To lighten your load.

She hugged him and he tensed. The embrace had her looking over Jak’s shoulder, and she saw Stephanie and Laurent on the porch, watching over them.

Arms still around him, she whispered.
Tout bagay . . . kraze.
It’s all
. . .
broken. Every little thing
. . .

He pulled himself away, and dug his teeth into his bottom lip. We’re here, he said. You and I, we’re still here.

Libète limps to a finish.

She is tired and the fortress mount is steep. She berates her body for its weakness, lets her panting and aches subside. After collecting her things at the fort, escape is the only option. As she enters under the stone archway, she knows crossing Félix is inevitable. She hears his voice, but there is the sound of another there too. She claps her mouth and tries to cap her breath as she listens around the stone corner. Her prying eyes soon follow.

Magdala.

Félix stood before her, rigid. His mother embraced him, held him, wept over him.

Even Libète, so set on a swift departure, paused. She longed again for the maternal touch that death had stolen from her. She had thoughts of Stephanie’s affection, but that was an imitation with which Libète had been too easily satisfied.

— Please come back to me, Magdala said.

— I asked you. I begged you not to ask me to.

— But the debt, it’s forgiven! You’re a part of Foche again!

His head turned from left to right. My decisions are mine to own.

— But why? her voice faltered. Why live as a villain, to be gossiped about–bringing more shame on a mother who cares for you?

His lips were stitched shut, and his eyes closed to trap his tears.

Libète stepped out quietly, hoping to sneak past, retrieve her things, and be off.
Vanishing will be best. They’ll soon forget about me.
She made it to her room and stowed her things in her tired bag. She slipped it on and pulled its straps tight.

— Sophia. Magdala spoke the name.

Libète stood up straight. Wi? she said nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t a voyeur, as if she wasn’t about to disappear.

— You’re going? Félix came alongside Magdala and gave one of his inscrutable looks.

— I’m
. . .
exploring. The mountain.

— At night? But it’s dangerous.

— That’s right.

Félix walked away abruptly.

— You, too? Magdala sounded frayed. My son entrusted to me by God, and you, entrusted to me by God-knows-who? Leaving in the dark? Without a word?

Libète felt an unexpected shame.

— You may think I’m a know-nothing, Magdala said. But I do know things, even when I don’t. And I know you’re running.

Libète’s cheeks burned.

— You’re someone special. I can tell. I can see such things. The woman sighed. If you run to keep your life, then run. But if you run because you are afraid of the unknown, then stay. I will keep you, Sophia. Just know that.

Libète took a wavering step away. Magdala’s glare was unbearable, and she could feel her heart bonding further to this woman’s. This frightened her. Still, Libète stepped toward Magdala and, with clear eyes, searched Magdala’s own.

— You are a good woman.

Magdala closed her eyes, held her hands up, shook her head. Only God is good. If someone gave you to me, you are mine. It is that simple. I need know nothing else. And I won’t leave you. Just as I won’t leave my son.

Libète’s hand stretched out involuntarily, wanting to feel Magdala, and the woman’s own hand connected with her.

— I will stay. Until I can’t.

— No running off in the night?

— No running off in the night.

— You promise?

— I promise.

Libète folded into Magdala’s arms.

Libète leaves the ground floor and ascends the villa’s stairs to claim one of the empty rooms. It has a queen-size bed, a desk with a closed laptop, a print of one of Jacques-Richard Chery’s paintings, and its own tiled bathroom. She looks out the slatted windows and becomes entranced by the ocean, its undulating waves, its boundless energy. She sighs.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs stirs her. Libète plops on the edge of the bed. She takes stock of herself. Her cheeks are chapped by her drying tears and she uses wrists in an attempt to rub them away. Her hair is matted with sweat. A fine dusting of dirt reaches up to her knees. She smells terrible.

A knock at the door. Another, weaker.

— Aren’t you leaving? Libète asks without looking.

Stephanie hovers in the doorway, unsure whether the question is an invitation. Not yet, she says. Libète walks to the bathroom and begins to wash her face and arms. Where were you yesterday?

— I received more news early in the morning. They followed Gerry home, and . . . A few of us gathered at his house to comfort his wife. They killed him there, with his wife in the other room. Remi and I went together and–

— You were with Remi?

— Is that a problem?

Libète stepped into the bathroom’s doorway. Her look was fierce.

— I
needed
you.

Stephanie looked out at the same sea.
A never-ending give and take
, she muttered. She faced Libète and spoke. I’m not strong. Not intrepid. Not who I want to be. Libète could barely hear her words.

— Don’t give me excuses.

— I’m not you, Libète.

— I thought you loved us.

Stephanie sat down on the bed. You can be cruel. Saying something like that.

— And you can be selfish.

Stephanie rose. I am going away. For a few weeks.

— Running away? While my world falls apart? Back into Remi’s arms?

Stephanie slapped Libète. She let the offending hand hover in the air, and looked at it in shock.

Libète was stunned too. She stepped back and into the bathroom. She slammed the door.

— I’m sorry, Libète. I shouldn’t have–I don’t know what came over–

— Just go.

— Let’s not part this way, Libète. Let’s not. Please, come out. Stephanie put her flat palm against the door. I don’t know what’s happening, and . . . She started to cry.

Libète turned on the shower and drowned out her pleas.

“I needed you.”

“I’m not you.”

To each hearer, the judgment in the words echoed like gavel strikes.

Stephanie left.

Libète and Magdala head down the slope toward home with their arms linked. Magdala speaks.

— If you are staying, Sophia, if you’re really here, there is one thing.

— Yes?

— You cannot be so apart.

— What do you mean?

— The tongues will stop their wagging in time. But you mustn’t give these gossips more fodder.

— I never tried, Libète said glumly.

Magdala nodded, rolling the thought around in her head. You . . . you need to be a performer. You need to be who you aren’t. Can you do that? Can you slow down and play a part, Sophia?

The question’s irony made Libète cringe. I think I can, she said.

— Be as one of us. Magdala rubbed the words into Libète’s back like a salve. Be one of us. Set yourself apart, and you’ll be so. Come into the fold, and you’ll be safe.

Libète thinks on what this means. An acceptance. A defeat. A loss. She pushes the thoughts aside. For now, it is a relief to take herself off, fold up the old skin, make sure the creases are smoothed out, and put herself safely into storage.

Until they come for me
.
Just until they come.

Part II

Good, as it ripens, becomes continually more different not only from evil but from other good.

—C.S. Lewis,
The Great Divorce

There was a Land.

And in that Land was a Boy.

And in that Boy was a Seed.

Long before the Boy was the Land.

Full of crafted spires and flowing rivers.

The Land was blessed, and planted with Goodness.

This Good, it grew out of the ground in budding green.

The people tended it, knowing their lives depended on the Good.

And then the Good was harvested, plucked from the trees.

They took it and beat it and crushed it and cooked it.

And the Good entered them, passed through them.

It gave them life.

And all that came with living.

No one told the people how to live.

No one took what was not theirs.

And this is how they lived in that Land.

Years and years passed.

And with them came more blessing and more heartache than can be known.

It was in this same Land the Seed was planted in the Boy.

And He grew.

Into a strong tree.

A tragedy befell Him and his family.

And the Good was no longer enough for Him.

With great effort, He pulled up his roots.

He left the Land and all that it was.

He sought the opposite of the Good.

And He withered.

On his long journey He found darkened places.

Places that seemed to have never known the Good.

He passed from such place to such place.

Never to lay down roots.

His branches became gnarled and His body warped.

And He thought this was His destiny.

One day in such a place, He came upon a Girl, curiously on fire.

She laid on the ground, and Her burning never ceased.

Her fingers of flame kept Her from ever planting herself in the ground.

All others of good sense had fled far from Her.

Because to approach was to risk catching her Fire.

Please, She cried out to Him.

Help me quit this flame!

For I am tired of it.

So very tired.

And there is no one who will help!

Like the others, He passed her by.

He knew what fire would mean to Him.

And His wooden limbs.

But Her cries moved Him.

They stirred something He had lost long ago.

And He returned.

He came close.

He touched the flame.

He took the flame.

And He burned till he was consumed.

In Her new freedom, She rose.

And She wept.

His burned trunk and limbs lay before Her.

She found the air was filled, but not with ash.

The Fire had done a wonder!

Long
-
absent fruit on his boughs flourished and opened.

More Seeds were freed!

And the Girl
-
Who
-
Had
-
Burned gathered them up.

The Girl knew what She should do with the Seeds.

She should plant one.

She should plant many.

In thanks for what He had done.

And what He had given.

But the Girl stood there, looking into the Land She did not know.

She saw Her life stretch out before Her.

And a heavy question rested on Her lips.

She knew that which She
should
do.

But
could
She?