There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (4 page)

Then there is the rhythmic
bump, bump, bump,
and her body’s rise and fall. All of these sensations are noted before her final faculty slots back into its proper place: her speech.

— What are you doing to me? she mutters.

The singing stopped, the bumping stopped, they stopped.

— Ah! So you’re alive? the man said, a genuine question. He stepped close, but she only saw oversized work boots and frayed trousers, dirt embedded in their seams.

He was curiously upside down. Or rather, Libète finally realized, she was.

— Release me! she rasped, her voice’s volume unable to match her command’s desired strength. She tugged against the ropes that held her folded in half, over–
what is this thing
?

A tail whipped her face like she was a trespassing fly.

A donkey
. The beast was spurred by her thrashing, and her kidnapper tugged hard at a sisal harness to keep the ass in place.

— Calm down! Calm down, you idiot!

— Don’t call me that!

— I speak to the
bourik
, you silly girl!

— Why am I tied? What are you doing with me? Adrenaline coursed through her, inflaming her senses, cutting through the fog. Untie me, you pig!

He punched the donkey’s front quarter hard, and it finally settled. She still had not seen the man’s face.

— Fine.
Fine!
he shouted. But I won’t let you ruin me! I won’t let you steal my peace! He slipped his fingers to a top knot that secured her body to the beast.
What rudeness . . . what ingratitude
, he grumbled.

With one final pull at the knot, she was free. She slid off and hit the ground, hard. The road’s dust went everywhere, into her hair, eyes, and mouth. Rolling, she pulled herself away from her captor and the beast’s indiscriminate hoofs. Her limbs proved unresponsive, but she tried to stand nonetheless.

I must escape. I must get away.

She stood and staggered one step, another, before crashing again on the ground. Her broken toes brought her sharp pain.

— Be careful, be careful, you stupid girl! Slow down!

— Don’t you touch me! she snapped. Don’t you come near!

Her vision blurred, from the heat or exertion she did not know. The floating forms before her soon coalesced into the singular vision of an old ass and an old man.

The various fragmented details finally came together. He stood there with a straw hat. His pursed lips were surrounded by budding stubble and a growth under his chin that was so wild and uneven it could hardly count as a beard. His tank top was soiled and stretched and ripped, and displayed his ribs and the tight skin of lean arms. His donkey was weighed down with large packs strung together. The beast gave a little kick, like it was relieved to be rid of Libète’s dead weight.

The man clicked his tongue. You’re not well.

— Where . . . where are my things?

— Your bag?

— My bag.

— You know, you’re rude. He said this as he rummaged through a pack on the donkey’s back and withdrew her book bag. Here I am with Saint-Pierre and we take you from the edge of the abyss and trouble ourselves to carry you up this mountain.

— I didn’t ask for your help, she barked. I didn’t ask for–

She paused.
Did he say mountain?

Turning her head, she gasped. Before her was a vast panorama she had not yet glimpsed. They had left the river and valley and were on a mountain road, and she saw only a vast range of patchwork green and brown mountains.

He threw the bag to her, and she failed to catch it thanks to her unresponsive arms. She tried again, picked it up, and undid the zipper.

— What’s . . . uh . . . in the bag? the man asked, as innocently as he could manage.

Libète’s features curled together. Don’t act like you didn’t open it. She looked inside. Her face softened and a tear crept to her eye. The bird, she said. What happened to him?

The old man slit his throat with his finger. Libète stiffened. Have any water? she asked.

— A little.

— Give me some.

He
tsked
but did not refuse her. He handed her a corked glass Coke bottle. She reached into her bag and extracted the sheet of pills, popped one of the bulky things into her throat, and swallowed with a gulp. She threw the bottle back to him from where she sat. Rising, she took a moment to test her legs and lungs.

— Which way to Dieudonné? Libète said.

He pointed up the mountain. Where did you think I was taking you?

Her mouth twisted, trying not to let her confusion show. I didn’t know Dieudonné was up on a mountain. I thought it was somewhere below. Near the ocean.

— I know these mountains well, the families in them well, and the only Dieudonné I know lives that way, higher up.

— What? What do you mean? Families? No, no, you don’t understand. I’m looking for a
town
, a place called Dieudonné.

— And I’m telling you, in this part of Haiti, there is no such town. Only people. Dieudonné, it’s the name of a family, I tell you, a
family
. The one to which Saint-Pierre and I were carrying you.

With this, her eyes widened. Her mind seized.

Libète collapsed again, for with this new blow, hope died.

She stays in bed late, only pulled from the undreaming void of sleep by a blunt prodding on her arm.

Libète shields her eyes and squints, blocking out the light of the risen Sun.

— Happy birthday, Libète, Didi says with a smile.

— Ugghh. She rolls over, forces her head beneath her pillow. What time is it?

— It’s
late
o’clock. We let you sleep in, but we’re running behind. The others have been knocking on the gate all morning, waiting for your instructions.

Libète slept the night before, but fitfully. Her perverse birthday card and the night’s events had left her mind uneasy as she scaled suppositions and rappelled conclusions. Funnily enough, among the horror of threats and mysterious numbers and the dead man at the other end of the phone line, it was Laurent’s condescending words that continued to trouble her the most. Exhaustion had finally descended like a fog on the mountains of her mind and claimed her.

— Come on, come on, come on, Didi said. There’s not time for this. We need to get ready. Besides, I have something you’ll enjoy. She brought a bowl from behind her back, the scent of its steaming contents filling the air.

— That’s – Libète pulled the pillow from her face and squealed –
joumou
! She claimed the squash soup, a New Year’s standard forever linked in Libète’s mind with her birthday, and used the spoon wading in the bowl to scoop up her first bite. You made this?

Didi smiled. Jak did. Got special permission to use the kitchen.

— Mmm. He’s a saint.

— He is. Didi sat on the bed, the mattress sagging under her added weight. Eat as you go, Libète. There’s much to do.

Libète slipped in spoonfuls as she flitted about the wing getting ready. In the bathroom, she stood behind a plastic curtain, taking a bucket shower while Didi rattled off updates.

— The banners are all finished and up on site. Tomas told Adonis and Adonis told Gesner. Pastor Formètus has the sound system set up at the stage. They’ve already got the music playing, and each section’s runner is knocking on doors, getting their people out. MINUSTAH is there, along with some police, but staying inside the law enforcement section as requested.

Libète poured cool water over herself, watching it splash around her feet on the orange tile floor. Any problems besides those gun-toting idiots being there?

— Eh. Well, Garcelle is complaining. Again. She wants ten minutes for her speech rather than five.

— She would, the little
demagog
. We agreed on five. She doesn’t get a minute more.

— I told her you’d say as much. Leaving out the demagogue part.

Libète smiled. She and Didi had a bond that had little to do with the mere fact their beds were welded together. Both were originally from far away, Libète from remote La Gonâve and Didi from Hinche, the capital of the
Centre département
. The year prior, when Didi arrived at the school, she had been teased mercilessly for both her weight and, unexpectedly, for her keen intelligence. Libète put a stop to that, and they became fast friends.

— Hey . . . how do you know all these updates already? Libète asked. I thought you hadn’t been outside the school yet.

Hearing the
boop boop
of a cell phone’s buttons being pressed answered her question.

— Have you been texting with
my
phone? Hide that! Libète said. Student phones were considered contraband.

— Don’t
worry
. Everybody’s been out of here for ages.

Another splash. I can’t believe you let me sleep so long.

— Jak told me about last night. You needed the rest.

— Towel,
s’il-vous plaît
. Libète reached from behind the curtain. Didi obliged, putting the rag in her hand. I’ve still got to decide what to wear!

— Cheri, why all this worrying? Didi said. I picked out an outfit and had Claudette iron it. Your gray suit, blue top.

Libète poked her head out from the stall’s curtain with a megawatt smile. Kè mwen, you’re simply the best.

Stomach full, deodorant applied, hair up, makeup on, jewelry in place.

Libète sighed, looking herself over in the wing’s one full-length mirror. She was composed. She was lovely. She was ready.

— We’re late, Libète! Even for you!

— I’m coming! Libète rushed to her bed and reached into a locker beneath. She pulled out her red book bag and stuffed her notebook with her talk’s notes inside it. She grimaced at the sight of the cryptic birthday card and put it in to show Jak. The gifted sweets went in too.
Just in case
.

She took a fleeting glance in the mirror as she walked past and paused.
I look so old
. Her eyes were the same, though. She tripped back through time to worse days, hungry and lonely ones, passed under a tent with a body in revolt against puberty.
Look at me now.
She spun around. Libète’s wardrobe had benefited from Stephanie’s tasteful eye and open wallet.
But the eyes, they’re the same no matter what.
She saw Didi’s reflection join her own. Her friend wore her church clothes, but couldn’t hide their restitched seams and crooked hem.

— You look good, Libète said, meaning it. Didi looked away. You do too, she replied. Aw, don’t forget! Your pill.

Libète nodded soberly. She took the capsule from Didi’s hand, popped it in her mouth, and took a gulp of water from Didi’s proffered glass. They did not speak of it further.

As they stepped into the yard, they spotted Jak sitting on a planter under the shade of a moringa tree, absentmindedly tapping his heels on the ground. He was dressed in navy slacks, a pristine white shirt, and a striped tie–the same ensemble from the night before.

— Let’s go, Jak! Libète shouted, signaling with grand, sweeping motions as if he were the reason they were late. He hurried over as best he could, hobbled by his leg.