There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (29 page)

But it is
familiar
. This very spot. She’s come here to retrieve wood to smoke and render into charcoal. But the clearing in the trees had been so unassuming by day.

There are at least twelve caught up in the dancing, a pair of drummers, and a hunched figure off to the side. These men and women were surely from these hills, some most certainly her neighbors. She thought she had begun to know this place. But that there was some hidden, Vodou-infused secret society here in Foche,
Chanpwel,
as similar groups were known across Haiti, turns her blood to ice.

Félix knew about this. As did Magdala. Their reluctance to speak about the source of the drums told it all. But why not explain? How could this group inspire so much fear?

She slips behind a tree and moves nearer toward the flames. An incense’s sweet aroma mingles with the smoke’s char, and the scents climb high, high, high.

The figures are otherworldly, some moving as if possessed–
maybe because they are
, Libète thinks. The hidden faces bring to mind Carnival in Cité Soleil, in Jacmel, but these are not for adornment or for scaring children. They are practical, meant to be worn again and again.

Her eyes latch onto the stooped man who sits to the side on a rock. A brimmed hat disguises his features. He holds an ornamental cane and taps it obediently to the dull rhythm. Libète does not know the Vodou pantheon well, but this god she knows.
Papa
Legba. The Keeper of the Crossroads.
At his feet and undisturbed are intricate
vèvè
, designs drawn on the ground with powdered cornmeal to summon the spirits.

The drummers’ hands fly. The leader pounds the
tanbou
in his hands, speaking an enticing and dangerous language she cannot understand.

He hands the drum over to a woman who takes it dutifully. As the beat resumes, he steps forward. His dancing is a marvel. Unlike anything Libète has seen. The dancer is caught up in a thrall, and the others pause to pay him respect.

Papa Legba raises his hands.

The rhythm stops. The dancing stops.

The master dancer rushes to Legba’s side and gives him a bracing arm. He inclines his ear to capture Legba’s whispered words and acts as a megaphone, shouting them out to all.

— I call you to order!

The voice is unfamiliar.

— You’ve all heard by now. About the malefactors trespassing in our community.

— What can we do? answered one of the masked.

— We wait. Not because we support them, but because we must. Because these fools have been granted license to be here by one higher.

— We can’t defer forever to some secret
houngan
elsewhere, said another of the assembled. No one in this zone should have more authority than you, Legba. We’ve let these fools stay long enough. Any good they’ve done for us isn’t worth the insult of their presence.

There is a silence; the crackling of twigs rising from the fire can be heard.

Legba whispered, and was amplified. This balance of authority has served us well for a long, long while. We will let it carry us further. But I agree. Our waiting will not be idle.

The old man stood despite the apparent exertion it posed. The dancer tried to help but saw his hand batted away. Legba whispered further. We’ll prepare by night, in case we’re needed by day.

There is more said, but the words, Libète does not hear them. Her attention is pulled to her left as a wisp of a breath plays across her bare shoulder.

Félix
, she is certain,
finally caught up with me
. She turns to scold him with a silent finger.

She instead faces a demon.

She cannot think of her name!

The crowd pushes her, and they pull apart before they’re swept back together.

What was it?

The digger! The investigator! The truth-seeker!

Her mind’s tumblers spin until they
click click click
. The lock pops open.

Maxine!

The woman smiles broadly, and her expression radiates joy. She hugs Libète, kisses her, once, twice, three times. I’ve found you, my dear! I’ve found you! Maxine’s eyes are wet, and Libète can’t help but reflect back the woman’s relief. She hugs her back, not understanding why she does so.

— Come with me, my dear. I can get you out of here before Benoit’s thugs close in. They’ve been on the prowl, scouring Jacmel the past few days. I’m just glad I found you in time!

Libète is confused: the noise, the movement, the smells, her fear. Each pushes her beyond herself.

Maxine pulls her arm as they thread through observers still reluctant to join the Parade. They reach a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

—
Where . . . where are we going? Libète asks.

— To safety. You’re staying at the Martinettes’, I assume?

Libète nodded.

— I’m surprised they didn’t steal you already! It’s all so very obvious. Just shows you the quality of Benoit’s hired help. I’d have come to the Martinettes’ right away if I wasn’t so tied up with other clients. This timing–

Jak!
The thought pops like a bubble. Libète tugs hard. He’s here, Max! Jak’s with me. I just lost him, in the crowd. We can’t go anywhere! Not yet! Not without him!

Maxine looked back down the long alley, into the crowd. She sighed through gritted teeth.

— Walk down this alley and take a left, she said. You’ll see a blue jeep. You know what a jeep looks like? Libète nodded. Max reached into her pocket and removed a key and what looked like a biscuit in the shape of a bone. She put both into Libète’s open hand.

— Give this to Remus and you’ll be fine, Maxine said. She pointed to the bone.

— Remus?

— My jeep’s security system.

— Where–where are you going?

— Up, I think. This café’s balcony. I’ll see if I can spot Jak. She handed Libète her mask, a narrow purple one that one would wear to a masquerade party. Put it on, she ordered. Libète did. And take this. Maxine reached again into her bag to withdraw a small knife in a black sheath. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve got him.

Libète, having regained some of her senses, suddenly glared at Maxine. The woman’s tight expression broke like a cracked facade.

— Libète. They have been trying to catch you, and kill you, and if you do not do everything I tell you,
every single thing
, they will succeed. Now
go
! It was a feral command, that of a protective lioness for her cub.

— I’ll do it, Max.

Libète ran, down the alley until reaching a street that was nearly deserted. See scanned the cars and trucks and motorcycles.
There it is
. Parked at an angle to the curb, the jeep looked like it was left in a hurry. Its window was cracked. Libète looked in warily. Re-Remus? She held the sheathed knife in one hand and the biscuit in the other.

The dog’s bark was powerful. In an instant he leaped from the back of the cab to its front, rearing his teeth. Libète yelped and took two stumbling steps back, landing hard on the cobblestone ground.

— Dumb mutt! She unsheathed the knife and held it in her right hand, popping the biscuit–now broken in two–between the window’s lip and frame’s edge. The black dog devoured the morsels and wagged his nub of a tail with abandon. After finishing, he righted himself and looked at her contentedly. His jowls sagged and tongue bobbed, panting in what had to be a sweltering box.

— Are you gonna be good? She waved the knife in the dog’s face and he looked pleased, as if it was a bauble with which to play. He sat before opening and closing his heavy chops.

She took this as a “yes.”

With the key turned in the door, her left hand reached out and tugged at the door handle. She kept the knife drawn. The door opened a crack. Remus simply cocked his head.

She opened it farther, and he shifted seats to sit in front of the steering column. Libète had never seen a breed quite like him: ugly, and yet entirely at ease with his looks. She took a seat of her own, letting the door stay open and her feet dangle out the machin’s side. She hazarded scratching Remus on the back of his neck. He let out a pleased
grumpf
.

She looked up and down the road, but traffic–foot and otherwise–was nearly nonexistent. A song ended and cheers shot up from the Barranquilla.

— With you, Remus, I think I’ll be safe.

He didn’t answer back.

She smiled faintly.

Bondye

We’ve not spoken much lately. For good reason.

But if you’re there–if you’re love–if you’re capable, protect me.

Protect us all. No more of this death. No more.

I can’t promise you anything. Can’t promise I’ll be better. That I’ll be able to serve you better.

But deliver us. If you can.

Am–

Pop
. Remus’s ears perked up. The back left side of the jeep dropped, quickly. The dog shot to the back window. Libète gasped.

Pop
. The same sound, but on the other side of the jeep. Libète’s side. The dog barked madly, until a gun exploded and a bullet tore through the black canvas canopy, silencing the animal.

Libète screamed. While she was scrambling to draw the knife and flip the lock, a dark presence swooped forward and ripped the door open. The knife shook in her grasp as her wide, trembling eyes filled with the face of a beast of an entirely different kind.

Crossroads

Fòk ou bat tanbou a pou tande son li.

You must beat the drum to hear its sound.

She is tugged from shadow into firelight by a tense hand. Escorted to the flames at the heart of the circle, she wonders if she’ll be cast inside. The fear climbs her throat and makes her choke. She channels the feelings, swallows them, forces them down into the pit of her clenched stomach. The memory of the small girl casting away the chaloskas comes to her:

I’m not afraid of you! You’re just human beings!

She breathes deep, feels the folded page in her skirt’s waistband, and breathes again.
The invitation
.
I was summoned
, she reminds herself.

She takes the fear, makes it do her bidding.
You all have the benefit of masks. I might as well take mine off.

Libète pulls off Sophia’s timidity–her brow tightens. She unfastens Sophia’s suffocating deference–her fingers become fists. Libète is Libète: all gristle, all coiled rage, and fury.

She rips her escort’s hand from her shoulder, and he raises it as if to hit her. She sneers, daring him. Those assembled gasp. The hand stalls.

Legba, the bent old man, lifts his cane. He whispers again in the drummer’s ear.

— You came, the drummer says boldly, still serving as a mouthpiece.

— I did, she answers. She withdraws the paper, forcing it in the escort’s hidden eyes. I was told to. I don’t know by whom, but I was told.

The old man whispers again:

There is a Land.

And in that Land, there is a Girl.

And that Girl, she is on Fire.

Libète spoke. Are you . . . are you the one who wrote those words? You took my notebook?

The old man neither nodded nor shook his head. His slit eyes simply bore into her, pass through her.

— I see what others do not, the drummer echoed. I see all things. For I’m the Lord of the Crossroads. All coming, all going, it all passes before my eyes. No one stays who I say goes, and no one goes whom I order to stay. And you have been placed under my jurisdiction.

— Under your jurisdiction? Ha!

Her derision sent a shock through those gathered. You stole from me, Libète said. You took my secrets. And I’m supposed to thank you for returning what’s mine? I don’t know what this little club is, but–

The captor cuffed her, hard, and she fell to the ground. She rose, possessed anew.

— You have no authority over me! I won’t cower before fools who hide behind masks!

— Who are you to speak of masks, ‘Sophia?’

— Sophia!
Sophia!
Félix rushes in, breaking past a band of men. He leaps between Libète and the old man.

— You! Legba trembles, speaking for himself. You were told not to come again!
You were told!

Félix dropped to his knee and bowed, raising his hands. I mean no disrespect! I didn’t want her to intrude on the
Sosyete
’s meeting. I knew she had no place here, but if I spoke of the Sosyete, if I stopped her, I would have broken its code.

— You’re the only one unwelcome here, said the escort. His eyes flashed from behind his mask. Félix strained to check his anger.

— Quiet! Legba commanded. Sophia, you’ve been brought here for a reason. There is no need for further delay. By order of the Sosyete, you are to leave Foche.

Libète buckled. Her eyes bounced between all of the empty stares. Her teeth began rattling, and her heart descended low inside her.

— Leave? she murmured.

— We’ve sheltered you from whatever you escaped. Foche will bear your presence no longer. You are a threat.

Her mind reeled. Are you–do you mean–what happened today? With those fools Cinéus and Wilnor?

The mask bobbed.

— Why would I be cast out when I helped save one of you? She turned to the others. Why, when all I’ve done is work the fields, eat with you, share life with you, would I be–

— You were granted a license from on high. It has been revoked. That is all that will be said.

— But, I–I have nowhere. No one!

Félix looked up at her from the ground. Their eyes connected before hers again swept the circle’s unsympathetic faces.

— You have taken more than you have given. You will leave tomorrow.

— So soon?

— Please, Félix spoke, give her more time. Just a little. It’s a cruelty, an unnecessary–

—
How dare the thief ask for a special dispensation!
You were told if you ever returned you would not live.

— I’ve abided by your other rules. I have done everything in accordance with the Sosyete’s laws. Everything! I stayed in that fortress all by myself each day, I–

— You are on a precipice, Félix. Soon to be forced from Foche for good. If not for your mother, not for the old drunk, you would already be on the path down the mountain, or worse. Tread lightly, son of Foche, or you will be no more.

The cruelty of the thought convulsed Félix, and he fell facedown to the ground. I would choose death over leaving! Please, I take it back. Please.

Legba looked at Libète. She had shrunk. She fixed her eyes on the flames. We needn’t be too harsh, Legba said. After what you did today, tomorrow would be a cruelty. You have one week. Simply . . . disappear. If you breathe a word of this to others, you won’t even be permitted that much time.

The escort took her arm and leaned in. He whispered,
It will be all right
.

She saw his eyes up close, heard his voice, but with her mind afloat could not connect them to a known person. Félix pulled the unknown speaker from Libète’s side and led Libète away.

As they crossed the circle’s threshold into the wood, the drummer gave his strength to Legba’s words once more.

— Papa Legba has a final question for you.

She turned to look at him as a profound heaviness made her person sag.

— Who is your fable about?

Libète inclined her head, unsure.

— Who is the boy you wrote of in your journal? Legba clarified. The one who had within him a seed?

She looked into the field of masked faces, one by one by one. No one, she replied to them all. A ghost. She turned away. No one at all, she murmured.

Libète screams again, until the hand of this masked man, this beast, clamps over her mouth. She jabs reflexively with her knife and inflicts a cut on his forearm. He bellows, slamming her wrist into the dashboard. She yelps and drops the blade, but is quick to bite his hand, kick at his groin. He is a determined blur, and before she knows it she is pulled out of the jeep and onto the street.

He tries to say something. She is wild, a beast herself.

—
Motherf
–

—
Take your
–

—
I’ll kill
–

She spews venom, each sentence aborted by a new effort to fight him. His own curses are muffled and alien, lost behind his mask.

Pressed facedown into the stones, her arms pinned behind her back, there’s the ratcheted clicking of something clasping onto her wrists. Cuffs, she realizes. Her foot catches a seatbelt and she tugs with all her strength as he drags her off, but her attempt is futile. He’s yelling as he grabs at her headscarf and jams it in her mouth to shut her up. He pulls his elbow back as if he might hit her. She winces. He stays his punch.

In this pause, she takes in the beast anew.

His mask has loosened, falls, but the face is drowned by the Sun that drenches him in brightness. There are only hints of the face. A large beard, hard-edged cheekbones, and a broad, shaved head. Finally, the curvature of the head eclipses the light.

Dimanche!

In such moments, the mind seizes.

Dimanche? Here? But why does he lift me? And his talking? Words? What can they mean?

He huffs. Her head splits into sharp-edged thoughts.
Too little air.
Fire at my wrists. The light! The light. The light . . .

She lands gently, her body wedged
V
-like into a strange pod.

Her eyes don’t blink. They can’t. They lock on him and the remorse on his face as he sits down on–what?–a motorcycle?

— Where is Jak? he says with blunt urgency. He kicks down, bringing the machine to life.

Libète watches him with fixed eyes. He curses and pulls the scarf from her mouth and looks anxiously over his shoulder.

— It’s you. It’s you, oh God, it’s been you all along! she says in an accusing refrain.

— There is no time! Where is he?

— But why?

— Tell me where he is!

He pleads, does not demand.

— I’m here for you.

People are coming out to see what were first believed to be fireworks, not bullets.

— To save you! he adds.

— Who?

— Who what?

— From who?

It dawns on him: all her fierce resistance finally adding up to something fathomable.

— From that, that – he pauses, trying to find a word – that
monster!
Maxine!

Libète watches him.

—How could you do this to me?

His mouth gapes. With the words he is pierced.

— You’re taking me, she says. You’re taking me . . .

He grabs her head in his hands, and she winces, waiting for the mountain of a man to press his hands together and for her head to give way and collapse. Tears bud in his eyes, and he touches his forehead to hers. Father, forgive me–

She comprehends nothing.

— Libète. I swear to you, what I do, I do for you. Jak is in danger, incomprehensible danger.

— I . . . don’t . . .

— Where is
she
then? Where is Maxine?

Libète wants to believe, wants to hope this apparition can be good. Mustering faith, she says, In the crowd. Searching for Jak.

— Dear God, he says. He reattaches his mask. The bike speeds forward with Libète inert in the sidecar.

Words, curious words, spring to her lips:

Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no danger because you are with me.

Your rod and your staff–they protect me
. . .

Dimanche pulls up to a small alley and eyes its width. Libète takes him in again, his taught muscles, new scarring on his forearms, a simple green T-shirt, denim jeans, boots. Formidable. Strong.
And desperate.

— You said he was lost in the crowd?

She simply looks at him. He flicks his wrist, and the bike shoots down the lane. He throws on the brake and skids to a halt before a gush of people stomping past in rapturous rhythm. He jumps up on the seat for a better view and tries to spot the woman or the boy.

— Uncuff me, she says. He looks at her, his face again expressionless. Please, she says louder. She turns and rattles her wrists. Uncuff me.

He reaches for the keys in the ignition and undoes the bonds.

— I need your help, he shouts over bamboo horns’ blaring.

She nods. For Jak, she says.

— Wear the scarf around your face. She ties it and resembles a bandit. Good. Now go and keep watch back at the mouth of the street. Keep an eye on the jeep. If they come out, honk the bike’s horn. Right here. You see?

She nods.

— Do you know how to ride one of these?

She nods again. Her cousin had taught her long ago.

He mutters something and plunges into the crowd. She sees he reaches for something in his waistband: a gun.

Libète’s mind raced as various possibilities collided, demolishing one another.

She pulled the bike slowly into position to maintain a vantage over the abandoned jeep, summoning everything within her not to drive off.

After some minutes–five, ten, fifteen, she couldn’t tell–Maxine and Jak came. Darting across the street as fast as they could shuffle. Maxine had a natural athleticism and struggled to pull Jak along with his defective leg. He looked terrified. Libète watched Maxine’s reaction. On her approach, the woman noticed the first burst tire and then the other. And next the bullet hole through the canopy.