There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (46 page)

Read There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) Online

Authors: Ted Oswald

BOOK: There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery)

3.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Libète approached him. Laid her hand on his. Lifted the gun so it pointed into the air. She pulled on his trigger finger, until the gun offered up its terrible report. Félix let her take the weapon from him and fell to the ground. He buried his face in his hands and grieved for his mother, the land, his home.

— Maxine of Léogâne, who has done great evil, who has stolen more than you can ever repay. We’ve killed you. The two of us. And now we release you.

— Some trick? the broken woman whispered.

Libète shook her head, the ethereal music playing loudly in her ears. Go, Libète commanded as her own tears fell.
Go
.

Maxine rose and looked at her freed hands, withdrew the rope from her neck. She ran, as best as her battered body allowed, and ran far, from what had nearly claimed her, from what she could not understand.

Libète fell at Félix’s side and joined him in mourning all that was gone, counting the high cost of the humanity they retained and staring into the pit before them as noonday light pierced the dark and wrestled it for control.

And that is the story

Of the Boy’s Seeds that were planted

And the Girl’s Fire that was extinguished

Who left the Land

And found it again

For the Land

It is here

It is coming

It is where we stand

And nothing can hold it back

Epilogue

Lespwa fè viv.

Hope gives life.

Eleven months later

Dusk arrives in Deschapelles, and Gervilen Marcelin rushes along the rutted road with a board tucked under his arms as he tries to beat the Sun’s disappearance. It had been a very bad day.

Firstly, his wife was caught out in the rains the night before and fell ill with a fever. Her care and all of today’s domestic work fell to him. He got to work in the fields in the blazing afternoon Sun, and everything took a turn for the worse when his trusty pickaxe snapped as he tried to remove tree roots. His mule that normally would have aided in such work had died not a week before. His best friend Dorsainvil thought the creature’s abrupt end was due to a disliked neighbor’s nefarious act, but Gervilen knew better: the creature had been ancient. Without another axe, Gervilen had to begin the half-hour walk home, and his rheumatism clamored for attention every step of the way. When he returned home he found the neighbor’s goat had broken into his yard and ate all of their budding
pwa chouk.
This despite his cacti fencing
and
the goat’s wooden A-frame collar
and
that the beast had been tied to a spike! The hellion had apparently eaten the rope. As he pulled the goat from his yard, he was certain the beast’s bleating was some kind of taunting laughter.

— This day, Gervilen muttered to himself as the sky’s color began to drain away. He sighed.

Their only daughter had died several years back–the damned cholera at work–and he and his wife were left to age into oblivion alone. At least that’s how he felt. They were already in their forties, and the girl had been a welcome, late surprise. His treasure. Whip-smart, she had finished first in her school in Verettes in the national Philo examinations. She even had a scholarship lined up to study business administration in Port-au-Prince. What a future she had in store! He wiped away a tear. Oh, how he missed his girl!

With dinner complete, dishes washed, and his sick wife placated, the one thing left for him was to sit and sip and play dominoes with Dorsainvil.

He found the man in his usual spot along the road. Dorsainvil was rocking back on his stool, his can of dominoes sitting at his feet. Dorsainvil ran a
boutik
out of his house, and they’d while away the hours sitting by a solar-charged light while talking, usually reminiscing, interrupted only occasionally as someone arrived to buy a pack of crackers or cigarettes or a bit of rum or Bongú milk to be added to tomorrow morning’s coffee.

— I thought you weren’t coming.

— This day, Gervilen said. This day . . .

— What happen–

Gervilen held up a silencing finger. We can talk about any subject–politics, lost loves, regrets, or sins–but what we will
not
do is talk of this day.

Dorsainvil shrugged and unscrewed the cap to a fresh bottle of rum taken from his display. He handed it to his friend. Gervilen took a sizable draught before handing back the bottle. Pulling up his own stool, he sat and unfolded the hinged table he carried and locked it in place. They laid the table on their laps, spilled the dominoes, and began their first of many games.

It was not long before a young man approached, leading a donkey. When he lingered without speaking, Dorsainvil spoke.

— Take what you want and put the money in that container. I’m busy.

The boy was unsure how to proceed.

— I’m not buying. I’m selling.

— And what would you have that I might be interested in?

— This donkey.

Both men looked up from their game.

Dorsainvil squinted, trying to assess the beast in the low light. That, son, is a sorry bourik. It’s older than me.

— He’s faithful.

— He’s ancient.

— He’s faithful, the boy repeated.

— Fidelity isn’t everything.

— It’s enough.

Gervilen spoke. Then why sell him?

The boy paused. That’s my business.

Gervilen raised an eyebrow, sipped from the rum again. He needed another beast of burden for planting, but he could always rent one rather than buy again. That was the only way to go with how his luck had been running.

— Sorry, son, Dorsainvil said.

— Not interested, Gervilen said, laying down his second-to-last domino.

A girl stepped from behind the wall. Out of the corner of Gervilen’s eye, the way she caught the wash of light made her seem otherworldly, maybe elemental.

— Please, monsieurs, she said. We’ve been struggling these last months. This creature has carried us through every difficulty we’ve faced. We’ve worked hard, but no matter what, we’ve struggled. And now we need to travel, to the city. Urgently. We’re unable to scrape the money together to pay the way back home, and we need money when we arrive.

Dorsainvil turned back to the game and gave a perfunctory apology. Gervilen kept looking at the girl, burrowing into her eyes. There was something so very familiar there.

— How much? Gervilen asked suddenly.

The boy stood up straight. Seven thousand goud.

After a moment’s consideration, Gervilen upended the board and their game.

Dorsainvil cursed. What the hell are you doing?

But Gervilen was off, lost in the dark. Within ten minutes he’d returned. He forced the money into the boy’s hand. He went to the girl, took both her hands in his, and searched her eyes once more. They teared up, and she pulled her hands away to wipe at her eyes and smiled. He smiled back.

— Where’s home?

— South, she replied. We’re going to Port-au-Prince.

— If you two hurry, you can pile on one of the last produce trucks heading there tonight.

— We’ll do that, she said.

The two youths approached the donkey. The boy looked so very sad as he stroked its mane. The girl came close too, and drew up the beast’s face to her own. I’ll miss you, Saint-Pierre, she whispered. She turned to Gervilen. His name is Saint-Pierre, she said.

Gervilen nodded soberly. Dorsainvil chortled. Madness, he said under his breath.

The girl and boy took their djakouts from the donkey’s saddle bags. The boy handed Saint-Pierre’s lead over to Gervilen.

— Mèsi.

— Mèsi, Gervilen replied.

The girl and boy walked down the road.

— You’re going to regret this, Dorsainvil whispered.

— This, Gervilen said as he turned to his friend, is the best thing I’ve done in a long, long while.

On the very fringes of the light’s reach, the girl turned and waved to Gervilen, who still watched. He waved back. The youths disappeared into the dark.

When Libète and Félix reemerged by a lamp’s light near the produce truck, Félix spoke.

— Parting was hard.

Libète nodded.

— Are you sure you’re up for this?

Libète took a deep breath. The air felt like it entered her lungs and exited as it should. The intervening months had been long, and hard.

— Yes. It’s time.

— I don’t just mean your sickness. With the money from the sale, we could wait–

— You’re worrying again, she said.

— Am I?

They negotiated the price for the ride with the truck’s driver and threw their packs up high on its bed already burgeoning with large sacks full of produce. Félix was attentive and helped boost Libète so that she could ascend the pile first. There were already two others there, situated closer to the truck’s front.

— Are you sure it will be safe where we’re going?

Libète reflected. It definitely won’t be.

— Then why go? He asked. Help me understand.

— It’s . . .

There were so many reasons to return to Cité Soleil. What they had discovered these past months about Dumas’s plot, and what they had discovered about each other. There were truths that had to be testified to publicly, and there was a truth buried deep inside her that couldn’t be ignored, known only to her and to God.

Libète smiled sadly and nestled her head into Félix’s shoulder. She took his hand and wove her fingers into his and kissed his cheek. Home, Libète said, finally finishing her answer.

And with that he was satisfied, for in the uttering of that single word there may have been sadness, regret, and fear, but more powerful than those, and more enduring, and more indomitable, was hope.

Acknowledgments

Many helped with the writing and publishing of this book. Michael Benson, Kathy Colvin, Corrigan Clay, Ben Depp, Alison Dasho, and Danielle Marshall deserve many thanks for contributions both large and small. I’m grateful to Jennie Smith-Paríolá and Stephanie Munson at Cornell University Press for permission to reproduce lyrics to the songs
Come join us, come on, you’ll see where we are
and
I must give the good Lord thanks
. Neil and Christy Miller merit a special note for generously sharing their experiences in rural agriculture and midwifery, respectively.

I’m indebted to so many since relocating to Haiti. The staff of Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) and MCC Haiti in particular have shown me tremendous kindness and care. It’s an honor to work with you. To my Pub Church family, thanks for letting me grow with you.

To readers and friends who have encouraged me in my writing, you have blessed me tremendously.

To my family, I thank you for your support and love.

To Katharine, you are precious.

Bibliography

A number of published works and articles were helpful in the writing of this book. They are named below:

Berlinksi, Micha. “Into the Zombie Underworld.”
Men’s Journal.
Sept. 1, 2009.

Davis, Wade.
The Serpent and the Rainbow
. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1985.

Danticat, Edwidge.
After the Dance: A Walk Through Carnival in Jacmel, Haiti
. New York: Crown Journeys, 2002.

Smith, Jennie Marcelle.
When the Hands Are Many: Community Organization and Social Change in Rural Haiti.
Ithaca: Cornell UP, 2001.

Sprague, Jeb.
Paramilitarism and the Assault on Democracy in Haiti
. New York: Monthly Review, 2012.

“Ti Zwazo.”
Mama Lisa’s World of Children and International Culture
. Trans. Maggy Paraison. Web. Apr. 18, 2014.
http://www.mamalisa.com
.

The Holy Bible: New International Version, Containing the Old Testament and the New Testament
. Grand Rapids: Zondervan Bible, 1978.

Turnbull, Wally R.
Hidden Meanings: Truth and Secret in Haiti’s Creole Proverbs: A Collection of over 1,200 Haitian Creole Proverbs Featuring English Translations and Interpretations
. Durham, NC: Light Messages, 2005.

About the Author

Ted Oswald is an attorney. He lives in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, with his wife, Katharine.

He is also the author of:

Because We Are: A Libète Limyè Mystery #1
(
available in
print
,
ebook
and
audiobook
)