Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  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 sadden
ed 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.

  No! It–it can’t be! We never touched—

  — I thought she’d be the last one to get knocked up.

  — Right? Things must have gotten tough once she moved. She’s not even telling who the father is, not yet at least. Violette says her mom’s going to beat it out of her if she doesn’t talk soon.

  Lolo vomited on the floor.

  **

  Claire named the child Gaspar, after her father. He arrived full-term, but small, weighing a mere four pounds. She had tried to will him away it seemed, to starve herself to stifle his growth. After the birth, friends heard her whisper that she had prayed God would take the child—she could not end the life growing inside her by herself.

  A seeming miracle, she had been able to hide the pregnancy from nearly everyone, including her employers. The baby had been hidden under looser dresses and tight cinching, morning sickness overcome by force of will. To explain her absence when giving birth, she told her bosses she had a difficult bout of malaria. Not three days later, she was back in the office, floating along the catwalks above the factory floor and appearing, on the outside, as if nothing at all had occurred. Her mother took over the day-to-day care of the child.

  Claire would not talk to Lolo after Gaspar’s arrival, and this ate at him. He was not alone, though. She ceased speaking with most of her friends, Lolo discovered, and focused her full attention on her work. He plummeted into a taciturn depression. His friends had no idea why.

  Gaspar represented a betrayal of the greatest order to Lolo. Looking back nine months, he could see that as the child grew inside her so did her aloofness. Still, the unanswered questions surrounding the birth troubled him most. Why did she keep a secret from her family? Why had she betrayed him? And chiefly, who was the one she was willing to sleep with when she had rejected all others? People marveled at the light reddish tone of the child’s skin, so different from his mother’s. Speculation as to who the father might be rippled throughout Lolo’s circle.

  — She was spending more time away from home, some said. You saw the clothes she wore. She’s probably some big-time prostitute downtown.

  — There are mulattos at that church of hers. I bet one of them did it.

  — No way. She was raped, I’m sure. That’s why she won’t talk to anyone.

  — She’s just embarrassed she drew the short straw and got pregnant.

  — Probably wooed by some rich blan who’s gone back to the other side. Maybe the U.S., maybe France. Who can know?

  It was maddening, especially because he couldn’t figure out the mystery himself. There were moments when he wished to tell of his relationship with Claire, for his friends to understand his great sadness and side with him against the wrong she had done him. But he couldn’t. He persevered at heart, hoping for a future with Claire, even with the child. Disclosing their secret love, or what had seemed like love, made this future seem like it might evaporate completely.

  He continued to watch her from afar at work, longing to speak with her, knowing that she would not speak with him. Before long, another Christmas neared, bringing to mind the past one, the silver cross, and her unexplained tears.

  He decided to call her. He knew she would not answer, but thought she would listen to his message. That was all that mattered. He had to talk to her, to put this sad history behind him.

  He dialed her the day after Christmas.

  — Claire…I wish I could see you and say this to your face. You need to know that I’ve forgiven you. For everything. And I am ready to say goodbye, because I know that you have already done so to me.

  He sighed. He had to steel himself to utter the next part.

  — But Claire, this does not have to be a goodbye. I would still have you as my wife, if you would have me as your husband. I want you to know that I would take care of Ti Gaspar as if he was my own, forgetting he’s not. This difficult past could be washed away and we could have a new start raising him together. Claire, I love you. I—

  The phone cut him off. He sighed, satisfied with his words. This was good, because these would be the last he spoke to Claire while she was still alive.

  — For the last week, I’ve just been here, caught up in my memories, thinking of her and the baby.

  Lolo sits on the sofa, closing his story. Jak is cross-legged on the floor, and Libète has since pulled up a chair. She cradles the gun in her lap, forgetting it is there. Lolo speaks as a penitent. He knows these children can do little to help, but he tells all to vindicate himself, and because he needs allies in his suffering, even if only half his age.

  — Did she call you again? About your message? Libète asks, still engrossed and forgetting that half an hour ago she had believed Lolo a killer.

  — The morning she was killed, I received a call. Early, but I missed it because my phone was off. She said she had something to tell me. That was all she said. She wanted to meet me at six in the morning, out in the grasses. I didn’t think anything of it because we always met in lonely places. I was so excited—so hopeful. I knew she was going to tell me yes or no. The stakes were high, high, high.

  — What happened? Jak asked.

  — Well, I arrived. At the spot. And found them—Claire and Gaspar. Slaughtered. I couldn’t look at first. I just wept and wept, for so long. And no one heard. I kissed her dead lips, lips I had not touched before—I’m not ashamed to say it. I finally searched her. Everything was gone. No phone, no purse. I guess she could have been raped by the killer too, but thank God—she wasn’t.

  His observation gave him pause. But that silver cross was still there. I took it—I carry it in my pocket. Lolo took it out and showed them. And there was this note, written by a man’s hand. I found it in her clenched fist. I wouldn’t believe what it said unless I still had it.

  Jak’s mind flashed to the red knapsack. “Run Lolo,” Jak murmured.

  — Right—you saw it already. Well I did. And I told Wadner everything. The whole story. He’s the only one who knows where I am. Well, he probably told Davidson and Yves.

  — And us, too. Kind of. That’s how we found you.

  Lolo seethed. What a fool!

  — Don’t blame him! Libète sputtered. We…kind of…stole his phone. And read your messages.

  — You found me on your own? Saw through the code? Shit, he muttered. I’m done for if two kids can get to me.


  — What about the gun? And money? Where did those come from? Jak asked, his voice weighted with suspicion.

  — My uncle, the one who owns this place. He’s ex-military. An old tonton macoute who lives in the States most of the time. He gave them to me in case I needed to get across the border.

  — Why haven’t you gone?

  — I’ve got to find the killer! Whoever left that note, he’s the one I’ve got to get. But I can’t ask around if anyone saw anything because I’m stuck here—leaving it to Wadner, Davidson, and Yves to piece together. I just step out when I need a little food, a little drink, or a smoke.

  — Why not tell the police?

  — They’re going to have it in for me, I just know it! No one’s going to believe what I have to say. And I’m sure they’re already looking for me—because of that damned note. Someone is trying to get me, set me up. And that old man, the one that lives out at the end of the bog, he saw me all bloody and messed up.

  — We talked to him, Libète said. He hasn’t told the police anything. We don’t really know why; he just doesn’t like them. So I don’t think the police know. But they’ll probably find out soon. Other people are starting to notice you’re gone, too. She omitted the fact it was her who had pointed this out to a crowd.

  — Really? Well, at least things are moving slower than I thought. But the bastard that killed them is still out there. And he could have killed me, too. Waiting in the grasses. I don’t know what his game is. But if I show my face anywhere, it’s trouble. So I’m going to go to the Dominican Republic soon. I don’t have a choice.

  His voice wavered and he started to cry.

  — I see her in my sleep, you know. Jezi, I see her all sliced up. She tells me things, and then I wake up. Even Gaspar speaks to me—I don’t know what it means. He shuddered. It’s horrible.