Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti Read online

  — We didn’t have a school where I came from.

  — Here, there are some schools, but you need money. And clothes. I have neither. My mind — he pointed to his head — it’s rotting. I can feel it, every day. I have so many questions, so many thoughts. My mind is hungry, just like my stomach.

  He looked about, trying to find something to show her.

  — You see those kids playing? They’re like me. No way to go to school, even though there’s a big one right there on the other side of the road. Half the kids who go waste the chance they have. They sit in class and hold it over those of us who can’t.

  Libète nodded soberly. I won’t be one of them.

  — I’m not stupid, though! he announced. Let me show you something. Jak took a ripped page full of text from his pocket and signaled Libète to step out of the Sun. They ducked under a low overhang on a nearby house. The writing was indecipherable to Libète’s eye.

  — What’s that from?

  — I took it from a Bible. It’s Kreyol.

  — Isn’t that wrong? To steal from a Bible?

  — The person who owned it wasn’t using it.

  — But why take it?

  — I can read this.

  — No you can’t! You’ve never been to school!

  — Wrong! I taught myself.

  She was skeptical.

  — I’m telling you, he continued, I can read this. Listen.

  Here is my servant, whom I uphold,

  my chosen one in whom I delight;

  I will put my Spirit on him,

  and he will bring justice to the nations.

  He will not shout or cry out,

  or raise his voice in the streets.

  A bruised reed he will not break,

  and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.

  In faithfulness he will bring forth justice;

  he will not falter or be discouraged

  till he establishes justice on earth.

  In his teaching the islands will put their hope.

  He stopped. Do you believe me?

  — But…how?

  — I told you. I studied on my own. When others joke and play, I study. Everything. One person here lends me a book, one over here gives me a page. Those who know what the letters mean are all my teachers. I am little, but I know that even if you have nothing, you have something if you have knowledge.

  She was amazed. His size must be because his brain took everything meant for his body!

  — You don’t look like much, but I can tell, you’re special, Jak.

  He smiled at the half compliment, clinging to the good and forgetting the ill. Come on. There’s more to see.

  They continued like this for some time. Here’s a store for buying food…this is the channel system meant to keep Cité Soleil from flooding…down that path is the best beach…around that corner is a cock fighting ring…behind that wall a medical clinic…over there a Protestant church, and on and on he went until they had seen nearly all of Bwa Nèf.

  He also told her of the notable people in the community, of the lecherous pastor and his philandering wife, the old man who was there when Cité Soleil was called Cité Simone and before Cité Simone was anything at all, and most importantly about the young men like Touss and other gang leaders who sowed violence and reaped fear. He took her past a seller who had a few goats, the sight transporting her back to La Gonâve and her own small trip, and her forest full of regal trees.

  Without notice, Libète interrupted Jak in mid-sentence.

  — Do you have any friends?

  Jak was taken aback by both the asking and content of the question.

  — Yes I do, I…no, he stammered. Not really. I had one. Eduard. But he’s gone.

  — Did he leave Cité Soleil?

  — No. Well, yes. He had a sickness. He stepped on a nail, all orange and rusty. I saw it go straight through his foot.

  Libète did not like this story, but Jak proceeded.

  — We were far away, playing in the grasses. It took a while to get him back to other people—his foot bled. It kept bleeding, and there was a lot of pain. It just wouldn’t stop, though we tried to make it. He lost too much blood, and his head became light. We kept walking, limping really, toward Bwa Nèf. I told him, Don’t worry Eduard, we are near others. Don’t worry Eduard, the hospital is close. Don’t worry Eduard, the doctors can make it all well. But none of this was true.

  — He died?

  Jak gave a sad nod. So much blood…I see it even as I speak. His sickness makes you bleed without stopping—even a small cut can end you. When he reached the hospital, they didn’t have anything to fix him. No blood to give him. I said I’d give mine, whatever I could do to keep him alive, but it wouldn’t work, they said. I did not have good blood. So he died.

  Jak stared off into space while Libète took in his story.

  — Maybe, as it gets late, this is the last important thing you need to know about Cité Soleil. Deaths, ones like Eduard’s, are all around. These deaths, stupid, stupid ones, are everywhere.

  — It was this way in La Gonâve, too. Libète thought of her mother’s rueful passing. We do not have clinics and hospitals where I am from.

  — Then you know that Death is your neighbor, just as I am yours and you are mine. So be ready. And watch yourself.

  — When did this happen to your friend?

  He thought a moment.

  — Twenty-two days ago.

  — So recent! This is too sad. I’m sorry, Jak, Libète said, looking to the ground. She noticed her long shadow on the ground for the first time. Jak, I need to go. I’m sure my Aunt will miss me. And I’m hungry. You must be too. Libète lit up. Let’s go to my house together! I’m sure she will have something to eat.

  — I — he hesitated — don’t think she would like that.

  — That’s foolishness! She is kind and generous. She told me so herself.

  Jak was doubtful. I know your Aunt—know of her, at least—and I don’t think she will give me a bite.

  — Nonsense! She took me into her home, fed me, and gave me these clothes. She will be happy that I have a new friend.

  Jak stood suspended, unsure what to do. The prospect of putting something in his stomach ultimately won out.

  — Alright. I’ll take you home.

  He led her down the twisting rows, and they slowly revisited some of the laughter and happiness that had marked their afternoon. The Sun was starting to slip away, ready to return home itself and take rest.

  When outside the door to her blue house, Libète held up a hand to stop Jak.

  — I’ll go and ask her first.

  — I don’t like this, Libète. She won’t give me anythi—

  — Shhh. Libète scowled. She will. She has so much food, I’m telling you, Jak. She can give it. Wait here.

  He was tempted to run away, but his stomach ordered his feet to stay in place.

  Libète took tentative steps inside, the relative darkness making it impossible to see for a few moments.

  — Where have you been? a voice intoned, her Aunt’s.

  Libète was shaken by the voice’s dullness.

  — I–I was out with a new friend. He was taking me to see the different parts of Bwa—

  — Who is this friend?

  — He’s outside—and I was hoping—I was wondering—if there’s any food—if we could share—

  — Who is this friend? her Aunt repeated, a harsh current surging under her words. Libète’s tongue kept forming words but nothing could come out.

  — A boy—from nearby—named Jak. Libète called to him. Come out, Jak.

  There was no movement.

  — Jak, come out, she repeated. Jak peeked his head around the corner. He was trembling.

  — You see, Libète lowered her voice to a whisper. He is a very poor boy who looks very hungry and I thought that—

  — You thought nothing. Her Aunt rose from her seat, towering over Libète’s impish form. I t
ell you when you come or go. You hear me? She struck Libète with a surprise blow that sent her reeling, making her trip and fall upon a heavy aluminum can. I tell you when to think. She delivered a swift kick to Libète’s side. I tell you who you can be friends with. Do you hear me?

  Libète was in fits of trembling. She had no words.

  — Do you hear me? The words came again.

  — Wi, she cried faintly, wi. Never had she been struck before by friend or enemy.

  Her Aunt looked up. Jak stood frozen.

  — Get out of here, boy! And if you speak of what you just saw, you will not speak again! she hollered.

  Jak scurried away, leaving Libète alone with the brute. Laying in a heap, this surprise was too much to bear. Isn’t she my cloak and protector? My savior? This was too much.

  She let out inconsolable moans, crying for all that had died from her past life and from the birth pangs of her new one. Libète’s cries continued and she could hear only her Aunt’s labored breathing coming quick and short. As her temper relented, her breaths stretched and slowed. She moved toward Libète.

  — You must forgive me, child. That was wrong, both my words and my actions. I did not know where you were, and I was so afraid something had happened to you, the one I am supposed watch over—so I responded out of fear, and out of anger.

  Libète continued crying.

  — When I learned that boy, that filthy boy, had taken you from me…you must forgive me. This won’t happen again — she paused — so long as you do what I say. You’ll find many people in Cité Soleil who want to take advantage of you. They will hurt you to get what you have. That boy, he is one of them. He showed you kindness only to get into my pots and pans, only because he is miserable. I can’t give to everyone who asks or I would have no business and we would be poor and miserable like him.

  She knelt to the floor, her shifting weight making the movement difficult. She leaned in close to Libète and picked her up, embracing the child.

  — No, Libète, poor girl. You are in my home now. She whispered the next part into her ear, almost inaudibly. And now that you are here, you are above others, others like him.

  In an instant, Libète dives into the fray. In her right hand she holds the cup of soup joumou, using the other free hand to yank the hair of one of Jak’s torturers before kicking the other boy’s face with her bare foot. The three recoil at Libète’s surprise attack, swearing as they step back.

  She finds herself standing between the crowd of children, including the three culprits, and Jak, still on the ground. She knows them all.

  The ringleader of this petite circus is Big-EZ, a well-built 13-year-old thug with a name inspired by American rappers. His Christian name was the demur “Franswa.” The other two boys were brothers, Jan and Jan-Mak, pushovers to be sure. Still, the three of them together tower over Libète.

  Her eyes flashed, her body rigid as she held out her hand, index finger pointed right between the chief troublemaker’s eyes.

  EZ let out a forced laugh to save face.

  — Ti chen gen fós devan kay met li, he proclaimed. A little bitch is brave in front of his master’s house.

  The Jans laughed at the well-known proverb. The other children remained silent as the drama unfolded.

  Libète’s scowl remained intact.

  — Better a little dog then a bunch of scared chickens! she sneered. Some of the spectators chuckled. EZ grimaced. He stepped toward Libète as if ready to push her aside.

  — Don’t do that, she threatened. Her finger did not waver, now nearly touching his nose.

  — What are you going to do? EZ moved even closer to her.

  — Don’t.

  Suddenly, he moved to slap her with his left hand. She dodged his attempt and flung the hot soup directly into EZ’s face, scalding him. He cried out.

  The Jans didn’t know what to do. Should they hit Libète or tend to EZ? EZ dropped to the ground, shouting curses. They decided to help him wipe the yellow soup from his face first.

  Libète, still on the defensive, eyed Jak out of the corner of her eye.

  — Get up, Jak. Let’s go.

  The boy, snapped back to his senses, got up, making sure to pick up the piece of soupy bread that had fallen to the ground.

  Libète started to walk away, mug in hand and with Jak in tow, purposely passing between Jan-Mak and EZ, disrupting his efforts to aid the shamed ringleader.

  — I’ll be seeing you later, Franswa. She said his name in a sing-song falsetto.

  The spectators looked on in awe.

  **

  The two walked at a deliberate and dignified pace until they were out of view. Then they sprinted.

  They ran far and fast, cutting in between the lines of homes and streets on a wild route, the twists and turns of which were known only to them. They had several near collisions with passersby, leaping over chickens and children, nearly tripping over each other until they reached the end of Impasse Sara. There, the grey bricks used to make up the road turned into small pebbles, a route extending out and into the grassy marshes.

  The finish line of their race was an old two-story building in a state of near-collapse. Once reached, they doubled over holding their aching sides, breathing deeply and exhaling with equal force. Slowly, Libète started to laugh and Jak soon joined in.

  — I’m sorry that I lost your soup. She held up the empty mug in her hand. Jak took it and began to wipe the residue with his finger and plopped it into his mouth.

  — Mmm, Jak sighed in pleasure. Your Aunt is a bitter woman, but she makes such sweet soup!

  — I wish I had more for you.

  — It’s no problem. You tore those three to pieces—that was something to see! Besides, I think it tastes even better on Franswa’s face than sitting in my stomach.

  Jak began chewing the small piece of bread still clutched in his hand. Libète looked at the short boy, watching the food travel down his gullet and into his distended belly. Poor Jak, she thought. He looked like he hadn’t eaten for some time.

  — Come on, she said. Let’s climb.

  The old house at which their sprint ended was their fort, albeit a breached one. Hardly any buildings were built with two levels in Bwa Nèf, making this one seem like a tower. Other children sometimes played in or around the structure, but it was well understood that it was Libète and Jak’s first.

  The building was riddled with hundreds of holes from high-caliber bullets, and the casings could still be found on the ground without too much searching. Large sections of walls had collapsed, and the second floor, really just a few remaining planks, was weak in places, though still able to support the weight of two small children. All of the furnishings had long since been removed, weeds springing up in their place. The iron staircase to the second floor was stolen to turn to scrap, so reaching the second floor required exceptionally long legs, or in their case, scaling the wall using a series of small cracks and holes as handholds. As Libète climbed, she looked at six names painted on one of the intact walls, memorializing several young men and one woman who had died there some years before in a fight between gang members and the United Nations troops. She looked away and focused on her climbing. These were events Libète tried her best to forget.

  After Jak reached the second floor too, they sat down on the edge of a wall with their feet dangling over, surveying the familiar view. It was the best outlook they had found, with the ocean to their backs and Cité Soleil, Port-au-Prince, and Haiti’s peaks spread out before them.

  After several moments of silence, Libète spoke.

  — Jak, I’ve been thinking about Claire and Gaspar.

  He sighed and nodded.

  — Me too. I keep seeing them when I close my eyes. Especially when I try to sleep.

  She did not mention her own dream of San Figi.

  — There’s that, she said. But I’ve been thinking about more than seeing them when they’re not there—thinking about finding out who killed them.


  Jak’s brow creased.

  — Libète…it’s a sad thing, but, there’s nothing we can do. We should leave it to Dimanche and Simeon.

  — Jak, I can’t. I don’t know why—I just have this feeling—

  — That’s nonsense.

  She grimaced. You’re just scared.

  — That’s not true! We’ve hit a wall, just like everyone else. We don’t have any ideas about where to go next.

  — No, no, no. That’s not true. What about the Dyab?

  — That old man is not a demon in man’s flesh, Libète. It’s strange he was out by the reeds when you crashed into him, but he’s too feeble. He couldn’t have overpowered Claire.

  — Maybe he’s faking? I’m telling you, the way he looked at me, he knows something. He’s involved.

  — Only because you want him to be!

  — Well what about your idea? How does Ezili Dantò fit in? Some lwa?

  — I told you what I know about Dantò. She’s the goddess of love, and she protects women and children. Look, all I did was recognize that the bodies were laid out like her and her child in paintings. You know I stay away from all that Voudou stuff. That actually does scare me.

  — Everything scares you. Maybe we could go talk to the houngan, the shaman over in Project? He might be able to give us more. He could tell us more about Ezili, and maybe about how we can trap the Dyab!

  Jak was exasperated.

  — The Dyab. Is. Not. Involved!

  Libète sulked, arms crossed, her pride keeping her from meeting Jak’s eyes. He continued. I’m telling you, this is not our wrong to right! All we did was step on some bodies. We didn’t even really know Claire, so I can’t understand why you care so much.

  Libète turned with fire in her eyes. You heard what Dimanche said, Jak.

  — Right—he said it’s hopeless. That we should give up.

  — No! That’s only what your pinhole ears wanted to hear! He said if we wanted justice we had to find it for ourselves. The thought of San Figi hovering over her made her pause and shiver. We have to try, Jak, we have to. She reached out to touch him. I’ll hate myself if we don’t even try.

  Without another word she climbed down from their tower, leaving Jak and walking toward Project Drouillard where she would find the man who could stir spirits.