Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti

by Ted Oswald

  He mumbled something back, an insult about her being more shrill than a barking dog. Oh, he doesn’t dare.

  She stepped inside, basin in tow, and looked him squarely in the eye. He shirked from her stare, his lumpy body almost entirely on display.

  — Wash yourself, old man! she shouted. He braced himself as she flung the soapy water on him. It soaked the floor of the tent, on his side at least, and he stood there dripping.

  She didn’t know what to expect. What would he do? Hit her? Yell? Curl up in shame?

  He began scrubbing his face and body.

  — Many thanks for preparing my bath, he said.

  — Pa-thet-ic! she roared, storming out.

  She refilled the basin, fresh curses on her lips, and placed the last portion of powdered soap in the water. She sat on one of their stools so as to not ruin her back with the washing, and started with his dirty shirt, holding it in one hand and a bar of soap in the other to smear on particularly bad stains. Next she rubbed cloth on cloth in the palms of her hands before submerging the shirt again, scrubbing every corner of the garment in this fashion. She knew washing their clothes would take hours and leave her hands chafed and raw. She spit, rubbing it into the ground with her sandaled foot. Her day was ruined.

  As she kept scrubbing, she looked out upon the street to see who came and went. It was the usual combination of purposeful walking and lazy ambling. Her Uncle left for a bit after he “bathed” and came back with a borrowed mop from a man a few tents down. He re-entered without speaking, pretending that Libète was invisible. Fine by me. She returned to her washing, looking up periodically. It was not long before something out of the ordinary caught her eye.

  Across the way, in the narrow gap between two tents, she saw one of her neighbors trying to hide herself. She was crouched, and periodically wiped her eyes with her wrists. The woman was clearly crying. Libète recognized her as Marie Rose, one who often argued with her brute of a husband Lionel.

  Libète tried to watch her inconspicuously, stealing glances. She pinned the now-clean shirt upon one of the support lines used to stake their tent into the ground and continued to watch the woman, alone in her quiet distress. Libète picked up the soiled trousers and dunked them in the water, watching them absorb water and dampen. She looked up at the woman again, Elize’s words coming to mind.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Libète wiped her wet hands on her dress and walked across the way. When she reached the gap, Marie Rose took notice and began to wipe her eyes furiously, as if to close up her tear ducts for good.

  — Please leave me, she whispered, knowing that the tents had thin walls. She refused to look at Libète directly. I’m OK.

  — Marie Rose, I don’t believe you, Libète whispered in return. What’s wrong? You can tell me.

  The woman reluctantly turned her face. Its right side was puffy and swollen, the white part of that eye the color of blood. Libète inadvertently flinched at the sight and Marie Rose saw this.

  — I know something is very wrong, because…I cannot see out of this eye.

  — We must go to the hospital, you and I. Now. This minute. I will take you.

  — I can’t.

  — What? But—

  She pointed silently to the tent and mouthed Lionel’s name. Libète understood and grimaced. Marie Rose bit her lip and tried to stem the flow of tears.

  — You must come with me. You have no choice, you understand? She reached out her hand, but the woman would not take it. Libète’s brow furrowed, and she ran back to her tent, broke inside only to meet harsh grumbling from her Uncle (which she ignored), grabbed a clean hand towel, and rushed back to her.

  — Cover your face. We’re going. We can be there before anyone sees you.

  — But I have no money to pay for treatment.

  — We’ll overcome that problem one way or another.

  Libète grabbed the woman’s hand and pulled her. She showed reluctance before letting the girl help her do what she could not do herself.

  They were a strange pair. Marie Rose kept her face down to hide her wounds while Libète, still holding her hand, strode ahead intently, a dour look on her face. To the onlookers on the road, it appeared Libète was a disciplining parent upset with her overgrown daughter’s wrongdoing.

  They reached the gates of St. Sebastian’s hospital some minutes later. Libète was surprised to see it greatly changed.

  The deluge of injured and dying after the quake had been reduced to an ordinary trickle of people diseased and broken by life in the slums. There was a long line of men and women queuing up to receive treatment under a shaded canopy. Few of their ailments appeared urgent. Marie Rose tugged at Libète’s arm, pulling her toward the end of the line.

  — No, Libète whispered harshly. This is an emergency!

  She turned to the people, nearly twenty in total, and cleared her throat. Excuse me! Padonnen’m! she announced. All eyes turned to the small girl and her humiliated ward.

  — My friends, Libète began. I know that you are likely suffering greatly. But I have a friend here who needs help bad. Her eye, it can’t see. Please, can she go first to see the doctor?

  Though her request was met by one or two sneers, the more patient let her move to the front of the line, shaming those who grumbled. Marie Rose was unable to look at anyone as she took her place.

  — Libète, you shouldn’t have done that, she whispered. I could have waited.

  — But you shouldn’t have to, she whispered back.

  It was not long before a squat and bespectacled male orderly came over to the queue and called for the next patient. Libète supported Marie Rose, who turned to the others in line and spoke.

  — You are all kind, and I thank you. She gave a small, meek bow, still holding the towel over her face, and moved toward the hospital ward’s double doors.

  Libète held Marie Rose’s hand as the orderly led them into a low-ceilinged examination room, lit by a single bulb. He collected her information with the patience and interest of one who has seen too much pain, that is to say, without much of either.

  — A doctor will see you in a moment.

  He left the room and something occurred to Libète. She followed after him without explanation to Marie Rose.

  — Mesye, she asked after the orderly in a low voice, looking about to see if anyone watched. She signaled for him to lean in.

  — I want to let you know that if there is a cost for this—

  — You can’t pay? That’s no surprise.

  She frowned. It’s not that. Her thoughts went to her buried money, pawned from the killer’s golden watch. The woman can’t pay, she said, but I want you to know if it is a difference between treatment or no treatment, then I can pay myself.

  — You? He revealed a bulging smile with wild teeth, and chuckled. A child? Pay with what? That’s good of you, girl, but we shall see what the doctor says. Don’t worry, your friend won’t be denied help here. Ah, here comes the doctor now.

  Libète looked over her shoulder. Mon dieu! The blan doctor! The angry one from after the quake!

  She was still here all of these six months after the disaster. The doctor passed by the orderly and took his notes, reviewing them with hawkish intensity before entering the exam room.

  Libète looked her up and down. She appeared much as she had in January: silvery short hair, wearing a simple blue dress, her body draped in a pristine white coat. Libète moved to watch the doctor and Marie Rose from outside the room, hiding behind the doorjamb.

  — Bonjou, madam, the doctor said as she sat on a creaky, rolling stool. May I ask your name?

  — Bonjou, dokte. I’m called Marie Rose.

  — Well, Marie Rose, I see your face is troubling you. Will you let me look at it?

  Marie Rose timidly removed the small towel, revealing the swollen brow and blood-red eye. The doctor inclined her head and reached for a glove made from the same stretchy material as the condoms children blew up l
ike balloons in Bwa Nèf.

  — I am blind, in this eye, since waking up this morning.

  — Hmm. And how did this happen? The doctor’s face was fixed, neutral, as she examined the eye more closely with her rubber hand.

  — I live in Twa Bebe. I walked in the dark, foolishly, and fell.

  — That’s not true! Libète blurted out, moving to make herself seen in the doorway.

  The doctor spun around to look at the girl. Libète wondered if she might recognize her from all those months before when she had sought out Jak, but the doctor showed no signs of remembering.

  — And who is this? the doctor asked Marie Rose. Your daughter?

  — No, dokte. She is a neighbor.

  — Marie Rose, your neighbor says that you did not fall. The doctor’s implication was met by silence. The white woman turned to Libète. Little neighbor, can you tell me what this kind lady cannot?

  Libète saw Marie Rose’s downcast eyes. She knew she needed to be the strength Marie Rose could not muster.

  — Her husband did it to her.

  The doctor hunched to look the battered woman in the eye, but Marie Rose could not meet her stare.

  — You have no reason to be afraid of me, my dear, no reason at all. The doctor’s voice was much changed, softer than before. She moved to sit next to Marie Rose on the examination table and reached an arm around her to give her a small, sideways embrace. What did he hurt you with?

  — His fist.

  — Why did he do it?

  — He was drunk.

  — But why did he do it?

  — He gave no reason.

  — He’s done this before?

  — From time to time.

  The doctor sighed.

  — I am sorry for your suffering. I am not an eye expert, but I have seen similar injuries. You have a broken blood vessel, and I hope your eye will return to its normal color in two weeks or so. The wound is not too serious. We must also be patient with the swelling of your face, and it doesn’t appear you have any broken bones. We can give you pills to deal with the pain. The blindness — she paused — that is more difficult, but I believe it is more from your mind’s stresses than because of permanent damage. I would like to see you again soon to check on your wounds. Please return in three days. And you, little neighbor?

  — Yes, dokte?

  — Thank you for bringing her in.

  **

  Marie Rose was more self-assured on the way home, even happy, buoyed by new hope that her broken face and lost vision would be fleeting. As they neared home, she thanked Libète for her help.

  — Pa gen pwoblem, Libète replied, it’s nothing. And she meant this.

  They parted ways in the middle of the open road dividing their tents. Before Libète could re-enter her own, she heard a low, harsh voice bark at her new friend.

  — Marie Rose? Is that you?

  Libète turned to see Lionel pull aside his tent’s flap and step out in the open. He was of average height, but his body taut and sturdy like that of a powerful horse. Where have you been? He flung his words like rocks.

  — Lopital, she replied. To get help—for my problems.

  — You waste our little money getting treatment you don’t even need? he bellowed. You only have a little bump and bruise!

  — I can’t see out of that eye, Lionel, and the treatment was gratis. Please. You are making others watch.

  She was right. Neighbors up and down the lane were tuning in to this domestic drama.

  — Let them. I don’t care. I only care about my wife going behind my back.

  — I did not go behind you, Lionel. I did not.

  Libète watched Marie Rose tremble as she said this. Lionel lifted his arm, and the woman flinched, preparing for a blow. Though he did not strike her, his hand went to her head, palming its back. He thrust her forward and down into the tent.

  This is unacceptable. Libète was off across the lane and stopped just out of Lionel’s reach.

  — Who do you think you are? Huh? Treating your wife that way?

  — Who do you think you are, you little bitch? Mind your business and I’ll mind mine.

  — This is my business, you prick. She’s my friend and you’re the mutt here, treating her this way.

  Lionel clenched his jaw and swung backhand. Libète tried to duck as Marie Rose shrieked a loud “non,” but his blow connected with her left cheek, sending Libète to the ground. This was enough for the watching voyeurs to finally intervene. Three men surrounded Lionel and held him back from the little girl while several women protested from afar.

  — Lionel, you can’t do that!

  — Leave her be. Leave her be!

  — Hit someone else’s child, huh? You should be ashamed.

  Libète stood up, wiped herself off, and nursed her sore jaw with her right hand. She shot a murderous look at Lionel, who locked eyes with her and sneered, his upper lip twitching. The men started to push him away from the scene he caused. He strode with the gait of a gangster, shoulders squared with a ridiculous swagger, brushing off the arms of the nervous intervenors.

  Libète looked to Marie Rose, visible through the opening of her tent, too shamed to meet her eyes. She turned to watch Lionel continue down the lane.

  — Bastard, Libète muttered.

  The sky is dark and billowy now, the night before the hurricane is to hit Port-au-Prince. Winds gather in strength, spreading a grim air into every lane, every corner, every crack.

  Libète comes upon her Uncle attempting to tear down their tent. He has already shifted many of their things onto a borrowed cart.

  — Libète, I need your help to move this.

  She looks around and sees many people struggling to collect what they can and the others who have no place to go and no choice but to weather the storm in tents already struggling to stand in the furious winds.

  — René will let us stay at his place till it passes, her Uncle says. She begins to pick up pots and their stove to add them to the cart and looks across to see Lionel working to reinforce his tent with more lines and stakes. She grimaces at the man, and makes sure he sees her do so. He is now the one unable to meet Libète’s eyes.

  — Uncle, I’m happy to help you move, but I will not stay at René’s. I will go to be with Elize instead. He may need help if something were to happen in the storm.

  He nods reluctantly, knowing this would be a useless fight to pick.

  The rain starts to fall, slow at first. Everyone’s labor speeds, each wondering quietly which of their neighbors they will see again after the great storm has passed.

  SAVED SO WE SERVE

  Kite kantik, pran priyè

  Leave the hymn, take up the prayer

  Doktè pa janm trete tèt li

  A doctor never treats herself

  — We have been spared great misfortune, my dear friends, Pastor Formétus says, addressing the congregants of the Peace and Solidarity Church of God. But not spared our great responsibility to one another.

  The church building was still unfinished, appearing just as it had before the quake. Much like the missional work of its congregation, it was always underway: a sack of concrete donated here, some bricks and mortar there—always moving forward yet never reaching completion.

  Libète sits at the back in her fraying white church dress that seems to be shrinking more each week. The air is humid and sticky, the Sun seeming to shine brighter than usual in an effort to dry up puddles and crack the mud left in Hurricane Tomas’ wake.

  Libète wipes her damp brow with her wrist, craning her neck to hear the pastor’s words. Going to services was different now that it was no longer imposed by her aunt. With the church as one of the few ties to her life before the quake, the pastor’s words seemed more relevant now. Or maybe she had just developed ears to hear them.

  The worship is notable this morning, and lasts for much of the service. There is much emphasis on prayer for their beleaguered country and gratitude that God saw fit
to spare Port-au-Prince, and the hundreds of thousands of tent dwellers, from the full brunt of Hurricane Tomas’ wind and rain as it spiraled off course, giving a glancing blow to the capitol. But the news of deliverance is tempered by word of another threat, one less understood.

  A disease is creeping down from the countryside, kolera they call it, and people—many, many people—are starting to die.

  — The hurricane made life more difficult for us, Pastor Formétus says. But God heard our prayers and spared us. You see, he places upon us only what we can bear—no more. Though grief after grief is piled high upon us, we still know and trust that God is good.

  The declaration was met by a few meager hallelujahs.

  — Or do we believe this? In this moment, do you doubt this truth?

  He continued:

  Through hardships and evil, storms and sickness, I understand how you could forget his goodness. You struggle to see him in the world. But you mustn’t forget that he is here in our midst, suffering alongside us.

  Have you seen a child die?

  Are you homeless?

  Have your friends deserted you?

  Do you feel as if you are being crucified, each circumstance another nail driven in your flesh, drawing you closer to death?

  You are in good company. Our Lord has felt these stings. All of them.

  Christ is with you in your suffering. And as those who follow Christ, I have a joyful burden to remind you of. You have heard me say it many times, and I will say it many more: “Nou sove, n’ ap sèvi.” We’re saved, so we serve. We’ve said this in a spiritual sense before now. We are rescued from our sins, and so we are called to serve. But after the quake, this has taken on another meaning, no? We can be consumed by the losses and sorrows we have seen, or we can persevere, remembering that we were spared in the quake. We were spared in the hurricane. We have not been struck down by bullets. We have not died from cholera. We live on, and God is calling us to be his hands and feet today, tomorrow, and the day after.