— That’s so…so very sweet.
— You sang wonderfully.
— Thanks, she said bashfully. It’s good to see a face from Bwa Nèf. I miss it very much.
— How are you? How are things in La Saline?
She looked away. They’re…difficult, Lolo. Really, truly difficult. I had to leave school.
— I heard. I’m sorry.
— It’s alright. Going to be alright, I mean.
Bondye si bon
. God is so good, she said, forcing a smile. He’ll provide. So I wait and persevere and pray. She sighed. And you?
— Much the same. It’s dangerous to go out now. Three guys were just shot in the street two days ago. Execution style. No one knows who did it—police, the UN, or maybe some of our own. Ti Jean, you knew him, right? He was one of them.
— Oh God. She held a hand to her mouth.
He gave a somber nod. We stay indoors at night. You don’t want to get in anyone’s way, say the wrong thing.
She placed her hand on his arm. Will you even be okay going home tonight?
— Yeah, yeah. Lolo grinned. I’ll be fine. It was worth it.
Claire rolled her eyes. Well, be careful, old friend. I hope I see you again, sooner before later.
Lolo didn’t know what he had hoped Claire would say, but this was enough to make his heart soar. He knew he needed to be careful with all of Claire’s church friends around. He waved and smiled, beginning to turn away.
— And Lolo?
— Yes, Claire?
— That’s a nice tie, she said sweetly.
They did not speak again for five months.
**
— Hurry up, Lolo! They’ll fire us if we’re even a minute late!
Lolo and Yves sprinted toward the wide, tall gates of the fortress-like Global Products S.A., Lolo’s new employer. Yves had worked here a few weeks and vouched for Lolo with his supervisor when another laborer on his assembly line had botched a shirt and gotten himself sacked. They tried to arrive early by taptap, but it broke down part way. The passengers on other trucks brimming with morning commuters glared at them when they tried to hop on.
They reached the entrance moments before the 6:55am whistle blew. Getting inside meant wading through a bog of men and women, each one hoping that one of the hundreds of employees would be fired and they would finally be called up to fill the opening. Looking at the dour faces, Lolo was shaken. He felt guilty leapfrogging over those outside without ever having to wait at the gates.
Upon entering, they found their time cards, swiped them, and put on red work aprons. Lolo copied all of Yves’ motions exactly and followed him down a set of winding corridors along with a herd of other aproned workers.
— Don’t talk while on the floor, Yves advised him. Don’t do anything that will draw attention to you—don’t do a poor job, don’t do a great job. Do exactly what everyone else does. If you make a mistake you can hide, hide it. If you tell the floor men, they’ll usually dock your pay but might just fire you on the spot.
They entered into a vast room, white washed with vaulted ceilings and lined on the upper level by a network of catwalks. There was no natural lighting, and the room was suffocatingly humid.
— You’ll be on my crew, Yves said, whispering. There are five of us, counting you. The others and me, we make a good team. We’re not the fastest, we’re not the cleanest, but we are the most
consistent
. We have to churn out four thousand items per worker in our group per week.
— Four thousand shirts each week? Good Lord, how much do we get paid again?
— A good week? $20 U.S. If we can’t meet our quota, which is possible because we’ve got a new link in our assembly chain, $15. So don’t mess up. Richard and Paul both have families to feed and it costs them $10 a week. And don’t even think about bringing up organizing around here. Only the stupid ones do it.
Lolo grinned, hoping to lighten things. You just brought up organizing.
— Shut up, Yves sneered. Lolo laughed. Oh, and don’t get sick. If you’re sick one day, you get docked a quarter of a week’s take.
All of the workers lined up in front of their stations, awaiting the 7am whistle to tell them to commence. Yves made a few hurried introductions to the other assemblymen on their team, one gangly, one squat, the third similar to Lolo’s own build. They shook Lolo’s hand in turn without speaking or even looking him in the eye before returning to their places. Yves signaled to Lolo’s place. The only sound, beside an isolated cough, was the low hum of the fluorescent bulbs above, like a distant swarm of locusts.
Lolo breathed, deeply and heavily, calming himself. Though he looked the part, he had no idea what he was to do.
The whistle blew.
It began.
The room was a cacophony of sewing machines stopping and starting. The robotic efficiency of Lolo’s team members at his right and left was disconcerting. Yves had to push him aside and leave his own work behind several times to make up for Lolo’s poorly-placed stitching here, or a ripped sleeve there.
He worked feverishly, but his large hands and fingers made it difficult to master the operation of his sewing machine. He could tell he was falling behind and broke into a sweat.
After what felt like several hours of furious labor, Lolo took a moment to calm himself, breathing deeply and giving a short prayer. As he lowered his head again to resume his work, a woman walking along the catwalk on a nearby sidewall caught his eye.
Could it be?
He rubbed his eyes, bleary from his exacting work, and watched the backside of the well-dressed woman walk toward an office located in the back of the vast workroom. He waited to see if she turned at all before breaking his stare.
It is!
Only half a floor away was Claire, looking more beautiful than ever.
**
He finished work at 3:30 with the whistle’s blow, took off his apron, told Yves farewell, and nervously lingered around the factory gates with the harried crowds. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. The two of them had found work at the same place—
it must be fated
, he kept saying to himself. Keeping the job was no longer just about the money.
He had not seen Claire the past several months, despite efforts to cross paths. He knew he couldn’t just walk up to her home and ask her mother if he could court her. After her father’s death at the hands of one of Bwa Nèf’s young men, he was sure Claire’s mother would lump him in with the murderer. It was also too costly to follow her choir around Port-au-Prince when he had such limited means.
Because he had given up on her, he went out with other girls and had even been with some, but always felt wrong afterwards, like he was betraying Claire.
All those others are behind me now
, he swore.
Close to 4pm, as he’d hoped, she exited. He shot toward her.
—
Manmzèl
Claire.
— I can’t help you, Claire said sympathetically. I have no money to give.
She did not look at him, holding a manila folder to shield her eyes from the late-afternoon Sun and trying to push through the desperate throng of people.
— No, Claire, wait. He grabbed her by the arm. It’s me.
Shocked by the stranger’s audacity, a fury overtook her, one Lolo had never seen before. She gasped upon meeting his eyes, her stern look immediately softening.
— Lolo! she whispered.
He grabbed her wrist and the two waded to the margins of the crowd. What are you doing here?
— I work here. It’s my first day. He smiled. She smiled back, but her look warped back into one of frustration.
— Don’t talk to me! She said this loudly, as if for others to hear. Lolo stepped away.
— But…why? What’s the matter?
— Leave me alone. Please. This too was spoken at an uncomfortable volume, and people nearby turned their heads.
— Fine. Fine! he shouted back, unsure of what had just happened.
She slipped away, but not before whispering in his ear.
— I’ll explain. Meet me at
Restaurant Cinq Étoiles
.
**
A half hour later, Lolo pushed aside strands of colorful beads and passed through the louvered entrance to Cinq Étoiles, seeing Claire fidget at a table. It was a dingy place, no problem for his tastes, but she looked out of place in its gloom. He joined her.
— Claire—what was that?
— I’m so sorry. I work in administration, you see, and they don’t want us talking to the floor crews.
— That’s crazy!
She nodded ruefully. I’ve seen girls let go for flirting, even just chatting really. I didn’t want to get us in trouble.
— It’s just strange. He tapped the plastic red tablecloth with his index finger. I’m sorry I created a situation.
— Not a problem, not a problem. But they pay people to watch and listen, trying to root out any union talk, any complaints. It keeps everyone on edge.
A male waiter hovered over and lit a stubby candle in the middle of the table. Lolo ordered two Cokes without taking his eyes off Claire, appreciating her candlelit smile. The waiter vanished.
— I’ve been there long enough to know you’ve got to be careful who you talk to, she whispered.
— Not knowing who might report you…it makes you distrust everyone.
— Exactly! That’s what they want.
Lolo frowned.
The waiter returned with the two bottles. Lolo reached into his pocket, about to spend the last of his money. Claire beat him to it, putting thirty goud on the table, smiling. You just started work today! Claire said. You need to save your money.
Lolo gave a slight, bashful nod and took a drag on the white straw bobbing inside the bottle.
— We’ll see how long I last. I need the work but my tongue might lead to trouble. And my big fingers won’t help meet any quotas.
— I’ve seen Yves around, Lolo. If
he
can get by without slipping up and saying something dangerous, I’m sure you’ll be fine.
He smiled.
— He didn’t mention that you worked there. I had no idea.
— Why should he have told you? I’m no one special.
Lolo leaned forward, laying a hand on Claire’s wrist, eyes locked with hers.
— Claire, believe me—there is
no one
more special than you.
**
They talked for a while longer before Claire excused herself, saying that her mother and sister might worry.
This meeting soon grew into longer rendezvous, including meals out and walks in Port-au-Prince’s distant downtown parks. By then, Lolo picked up most every bill and spent much of his weekly pay.
It was worth it. Their escapes offered dignity where daily life gave none. Lolo was worn down by the stress of small mistakes and fear of letting down his linemen. The constant threats from his supervisors, who were in turn threatened by their supervisors, made the workplace electric with tension. But an hour with Claire at Cinq Étoiles, a brief chat, or a long stroll made the concerns of work and life disappear.
Claire stayed careful. Lolo had to set up their dates by text message. He was never to approach her at the factory, and could tell neither friends nor family. Even when together, she was reluctant to speak of a relationship together, though he could tell her affections were blossoming. “
Précautions
” for their jobs and livelihoods, she had said, a necessary evil. She never explained beyond this.
Keeping things secret was agonizing, especially as Lolo had moved in with Yves and Wadner, both prone to prying. His family was also asking for more money than he had to give. He wanted to tell
everyone
about this new relationship. She would not have it. Over time, her reluctance grew into something different. Something beyond his understanding.
It started around Christmas and New Year’s.
He had saved and spent much to buy her a necklace for Christmas, a small metal cross. He wished he could have afforded a more expensive one, but he had to start thinking about saving for other things. For a ring. For life together.
When he gave her the modest gift, anticipation ran high. Placing the the small box in her hands brought a smile to her face. On opening it, the smile disappeared. She cried. These tears cut Lolo. They spent the rest of Christmas, a day off from work, apart. She later apologized, but never explained.
Lolo became more concerned. Texted invitations were refused where they were not before. Claire was now unable to spend time with Lolo after work. She was depressed at times, ill others, and even became angry with Lolo, despite his best efforts to buoy her spirits and placate her temper. One day, he was saddened to notice she no longer wore the silver cross. The distance between them had grown from a crack to a chasm.
The wider the divide grew, Lolo tried harder to bridge it. But this proved a bridge to nowhere. Her refusal to talk, to explain, led him to leave several angry messages on her phone, and more than a few of them while drunk.
Months passed. One humid night in late August, Lolo struggled to fall asleep in anticipation of his early commute to work. His room, the one shared in Wharf Soleil, was stifling and he tossed and turned, mulling over yet another rebuff by Claire that afternoon. Wadner and Yves were outside with Davidson, their joking making sleep even more elusive. Instead of yelling at the two as he normally would, he had given up.
Suddenly, Wadner’s obnoxious ringtone sounded, the bass line to some rap song, interrupting a story Yves was telling.
— What? Lolo heard Wadner say from outside. She did
what
?
Christian
Claire? Lolo sat up. Wadner listened some more before exclaiming. The guys aren’t going to believe this! I can’t believe it! OK. OK. Thanks for the news. OK. Dako.
He hung up.
— Who was it? Yves asked. What did they say?
— Claire Conille—you know, who we went to school with—she just had a baby!
Lolo shot up off his mat.
No!
His mind seized.
— Serious? Davidson asked. Was she married? Even going out with anyone?
— No, man. No. That’s what so crazy. No one knows
anything
, not one person. That was Violette. She’s good friends with Claire’s sister. The whole family is going crazy. They didn’t find out till early this morning. Claire woke up crying out. Turned out it was labor.