Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti (13 page)

Minutes pass and Libète has eulogized the animals in silent prayers. She has repented for her callousness, sitting by and watching the mouse suffer at the cat’s claws.

The man is still listless, lost in the maze of his mind.

— Mesye, you must wait one minute, Libète says. He turns to her.

— Ehh? he groans.

— Wait—for one minute. I’m going, but I’m coming back.

She took off before he could question again, returning to the cement cemetery, something hidden within her T-shirt.

— Here, she said, handing the man a portion of bread stolen from her aunt. Take this.

Libète runs awkwardly with the large, empty bucket. Jak is close behind.

— Who is it, Libète? Who did Elize see in the grasses?

— I don’t want to say until I’m certain.

This frustrates Jak to no end, his own mind trying to catch up and determine the suspect’s identity.

They wind through crowded streets, past the church school, beyond the hardware shop, the Three Queens, and their cardboard awning, before arriving at Impasse Chavannes.

Davidson, Yves, and Shades sit along with two other younger boys under a pilfered blue tarp. They are in the middle of a heated argument.

— No! I can’t accept it! I won’t accept it! Yves fumed.

— Yes, you will! I have slaved over this, and you will take it or I’ll leave! For good this time, Shades yelled back, matching Yves’ bluster. They stood a mere foot from each other, eyes ablaze, chests puffed with unmerited pride. The subject of their argument was entirely unclear.

Most of the people in the street had stopped what they were doing and watched as Yves and Shades came closer and closer to exchanging blows.

— What are they fighting about? Libète whispered to Rodolphe, the lotto booth man at the edge of the crowd.

— The typeface of a press release, Rodolphe whispered back.

Libète rolled her eyes. So was the existence of FFPOP, one of the most pathetic “political organizations” to exist in Haiti’s history.

She could never remember what FFPOP stood for even though Davidson had told her a hundred times. All she knew was the group met infrequently and its few members thought themselves very important.

They occupied a space that used to be a home, though all but one of its walls had collapsed some time ago. Two wooden poles were inserted into the ground on the side facing the street, the tarp strung from the wall to the two lonely pillars.

Libète surveyed the group. Yves was the organization’s president, with Shades its vice-president and Davidson the secretary. The other members sat in a circle of borrowed chairs, all of them sporting lanyards and specially-made identification cards.

Yves and Davidson very much resembled the versions of themselves Libète first met three years ago. Shades, in a push for more respect, had recently renounced his nickname and shed his precious protective eyewear to revert to Wadner. The other two members weren’t really known to Libète—as far as she knew they stuck around to get beers after the meetings.

Libète looked over the group one more time.
He’s not here…

— Come on, you two—you’re making a scene! Davidson growled.

— Shut up, Davidson! roared Yves. This is a matter of respect for the organization. Of
dignite
!

Davidson had kept these friends for reasons unknown to Libète. This was one of the few things she ever agreed with her Aunt upon. Davidson was smarter than them, and more grounded. Where petty ambitions had twisted their personalities the last few years, he remained the same generous person she met at the ferry dock those three years before. Now he clung to them even though he remained the brunt of their jokes.

She could only tolerate the bickering for so long.

— I’m sorry to interrupt your—
debate
—but I have a question, Libète shouted. All eyes turned to her. It’s about Claire and Ti Gaspar.

— What is it? barked Yves.

— What do you know about their killer?

Every member in the group shifted uncomfortably. Libète looked to Jak out of the corner of her eye, and she saw he was still confused.

The crowd’s eyes turned back to Yves, the organization’s
de jure
leader. Emboldened by the attention but unsure what to say, he fumbled for a reply.

— Of course I—I mean
we
—don’t know anything.

Libète pushed back. Jak and I are investigating…

Laughs broke out in the crowd. Jak was mortified.

— …instead of sitting around arguing about shit.

— Whew, Libète, you’ve got a mouth on you! someone in the crowd shouted out.

She turned to address everyone. We can’t just sit by and let something like this happen to our own people!

Davidson was embarrassed. Yves was put off. Wadner spoke.

— How dare you! You didn’t even know Claire. You call them “your own people.” How much more do you think we care about her? Did you go to school with her? Did you ever watch Ti Gaspar for her? Do you know who Ti Gaspar’s father is? She was one of us! Why don’t you go home, little detectives, and stop disrespecting the dead?

An old lady, Myriam, spoke up from across the street. Wadner, unless you’re admitting you’re the papa, you need to shut your mouth! Not even Claire’s mother knows that! And when did you ever watch Ti Gaspar? You mean watched her hold him?

The crowd laughed at this.

— Shut
your
mouth, Myriam! Yves shouted back. All you do is gossip. Everyone knows you have a
lang long
, making trouble where it doesn’t belong.

Libète was smug, enjoying the pot she was stirring.

— Maybe we should go home, Jak. Looks like these guys don’t know anything about anything.

She started to walk away before a parting shot sprang to mind.

— Ah, all the diarrhea coming out of your mouths made me forget the real reason I came to talk to you. I noticed that one of your officers is missing. Anybody seen Lolo?

All of FFPOP, including blustering Yves, became very, very quiet.

Her eyebrows shot up. No? she asked. You’re meeting without him? What is he? Your treasurer? Seems like he should be here.

— He’s sick. At home, Wadner said.

— No he’s not! an older woman in the crowd. He lives next to me. I haven’t seen him the last couple days.

A look of worry spread among FFPOP.

Davidson chimed in. Yves, I thought he left and went to the provinces to get over his illness. Like all of us, he was so sad to hear about Claire—it worsened his health.

— That’s right! Yves said. He’ll be back soon.

— Whatever, Libète sneered. I’m just glad to hear you all haven’t gotten over the murders already.

Libète stomped off, and Jak followed dutifully, the crowd’s patience leaving with them. It soon broke up and FFPOP adjourned, its members quick to shrink away from public view.

**

Libète and Jak retreated to the cement cemetery, knowing they would not be bothered there.

— Man, I hate those guys! I don’t know why my cousin hangs out with them. All they do is sit around, looking—

— We need to follow Wadner, Jak interrupted.

— What? Libète shot back in surprise. She had been readying a rant and didn’t appreciate being cut off. Why do you say that?

— While you were insulting Yves and making us look ridiculous in front of everyone — Libète shrugged cavalierly — Wadner was…uncomfortable.

— They were all uncomfortable.

— Right, but Wadner was different.
Really
uncomfortable. He kept looking down at his pocket and checking his phone when you mentioned Lolo’s name. Like he couldn’t help himself.

— Why does that matter?

— It’s obvious, Libète. They were lying about Lolo. They all must know part of the truth. But Wadner, he was extra nervous—nervous about something that had to do with his phone.

— So?

Jak sighed.

— I’m saying that we need to get a hold of that phone. I bet it will lead us to wherever Lolo is hiding.

Libète’s brow furrowed. She shook her head in surprise.

— Lolo, Lolo, Lolo, she said remorsefully.

— I can’t believe it either. As soon as you said his name, I realized he must be the one Elize saw in the grasses. The description fit perfectly. But I can’t imagine him doing something like that. He seemed so…so—

— Good.

— Right.

— But we see people do things for strange reasons, wrong reasons, all the time.

— We must push ahead and see, Jak said soberly. Justice demands it.

Libète smiled, pleased to hear these words come from Jak’s mouth. So how are we going to get a hold of that phone?

**

Libète and Jak are hidden.

It is late, later than these two have been up for some time. Their plan was one only children could conceive and believe might work. For all of its outlandishness, it appeared to be doing just that.

Shortly after agreeing Wadner’s phone was essential, Libète and Jak were inside her home. By now it was getting dark.

— Should we just tell Simeon? Jak had asked. The police could get Wadner to hand his phone over.

— He’ll junk it or erase it if he hears cops coming. And I don’t want to get Davidson involved with the police. No. Wadner has got to give it up or we need to steal it. And he’s not going to give it to us.

Libète went to the corner of her living room and lifted the mat laying there, looking at the stash of alcohol hidden beneath it.

Aunt Estelle and her Uncle both happened to be away. After closing up shop after the morning’s Independence Day business, her Aunt left for a funeral in La Plaine for the rest of the weekend. Her Uncle had slunk away to drink with friends and most likely abuse other more costly drugs.

She lifted the bottles out one by one. There would be consequences for this, that was plain, but there was no other way they could conceive that would get them that phone.
No phone, no Lolo.

They placed the assorted bottles of
rhum
,
tafya
, and
kleren
into a plastic milk crate and hid them away to return to later.

The next part of the plan was more of a long shot. It took a few hours to track him down, but they did.

They found Dionald sitting on a stacked pallet of Coke bottles outside of a general store, singing a song to himself. Libète flashed back to her first meeting with him at the cement cemetery those years before, the retarded man who killed the cat while Libète watched in silence. She felt bad about using him but nonetheless coaxed him to join them. Before long, he carried the milk crate full of booze, the three walking together in the dark toward Wharf Soleil.

Davidson had lived with Yves and Wadner the past four months, ever since a severe fight with his mother. The friends rented a small house in Wharf Soleil, a notoriously grim (and cheap) corner of Cité Soleil, located along the water to Bwa Nèf’s south. Libète had only been to the house twice before, both times in daylight. In the dark it took on an entirely different character.

There were few lamps lit at this hour. Nearly all its residents were already asleep behind locked doors, even though many in Bwa Nèf would party late into the night on a Saturday. A miasmic fog wafted in from the ocean, thick with the smell of salt. The temperature dropped along with the Sun, and Libète felt chills prickle into goosebumps on her arms.
Jak must be about to pee himself if I’m this scared
.

They were a curious trio. Libète felt the stares of people shrouded in shadows and mist, watching them on their way in the low moonlight. She was grateful Dionald was there. He sang an old folk song in rhythm with the glass bottles clinking and clanking, immune to the eeriness putting the children on edge.

When they neared the house, their pace slowed. A light flickered inside.
Good. We won’t have to wait around for them.

Libète turned to their unlikely companion.

— Ok, Dionald. Now you do what we asked, you hear?

He nodded.

— Jak and I will be here, in this alley, the whole time. Alright?

Another nod.

— Now go knock on that door!

Jak and Libète split away to hide in the narrow and darkened alleyway between two quiet houses, directly across from Davidson’s. They could make out three indistinct voices.

Dionald approached the metal door to the home and set down his crate, freeing up his hands to knock several times.

— Who’s there? they heard Wadner say, his voice tinged with suspicion.

—
Bon nwi!
Dionald greeted him in his slow, slurred speech.

The door opened a crack.

— Dionald? What the hell are you doing here?

Wadner stood in the entryway. Dionald picked up his crate without a word.

— Shit! Dionald is here—with a ton of alcohol!

— What? Davidson and Yves rushed to join Wadner at the door. Bring him in, bring him in! they said with wide, welcoming smiles, patting Dionald on the back as he entered.

Wadner stepped out into the street, looking both ways to see if there was any explanation for Dionald’s appearance. He shrugged and rejoined his companions, closing the door behind him.