by Dina Rae
Jessica could see him. Jake was right. The man must have been a million years old. His wild, white hair was almost neon. “Okay, Henry. I’ll pick you up right here at 5:30 p.m., no later.”
He nodded and jumped out of the car.
It’s only a little more than two hours, she reassured herself. But intuition told her to put the kybosh on the whole thing and let him hate her for a while. Her husband would side with him, declaring a family war. Their last argument caused Tom to check into a motel room for a couple of nights. Maybe Tom is right. Henry needs to socialize more on his own.
***
Lucien Nazaire sat inside of the enclosed porch of his double-wide trailer smoking his pipe. This afternoon ritual consisted of his own unique blend of herbs and tobacco that would slightly alter his consciousness. He would then begin meditation and prayer, always finishing before Jake came home from school.
Jake became a surrogate grandson to him. He adored the young man’s company and planned on mentoring the boy about his Haitian religion and culture. Jake was only too receptive. Maybe the boy could…, he began to wonder. But he was so old. Time was running out.
As Lucien meditated, his mood darkened. Worry consumed him, ruining all of his concentration. His whole family lived outside of Port-au-Prince, the area most leveled by the earthquake. He wanted to call, but much too risky.
I just want to die in peace. Oh great Bondye, show me what to do,” he prayed aloud.
Staring out the porch screens, Lucien saw Jake with another boy approaching his home. A woman in a SUV waved. Confused, he looked at his watch. 3:15 p.m. Jake must have gotten a ride from that lady. Cutting his meditation short, he fanned the smoke out of the screened window in an attempt to disguise the strong scent. The icy wind helped by ventilating the air out of the porch. He was confident the smell was gone. He struggled to stand.
“Well, hello there. Jake, who is your friend?” Lucien smiled. He still had most of his teeth.
“Lucien, this is Henry. He’s alright. We’re in the Zoo together for a couple of weeks,” Jake said.
“Hello, Henry. Please call me Lucien. Glad Jake brought you over. Please, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Lucien extended his hand, but the boy refused to shake it. He seemed to be looking through him. Lucien couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about Henry wasn’t right.
“Today we watched the news and learned all about the earthquake in Haiti. Jake told us about you. I wanted to meet you,” Henry rambled. He gave Lucien a frame by frame analysis of the CNN footage. Lucien had watched the coverage and was surprised how accurate and detailed the boy’s recapping was.
“Henry, hold the door open, would’ya?” Jake interrupted, steadying Lucien as he climbed the three steps that led into his home. Once inside, he no longer needed Jake’s assistance.
The boys took off their winter gear and sat down at the kitchen table covered with a red and white vinyl tablecloth. The inside of the trailer was small and cluttered yet homey and tidy.
While Lucien prepared their drinks, Henry continued to talk. “Lucien, you talk funny. And your hair is so white! And how old are you? A hundred? More?” Henry asked without tact. His gaze made Lucien feel like an alien from outer space.
“Henry, you’re being rude. And Lucien, he’s got some social disorder, Asperger’s. He’s really smart, but can come off weird.”
“Oh, I see,” Lucien nodded as he stirred the Hershey’s hot cocoa packets into the boiling water. The ‘something’ he wondered about earlier was now explained. Although Lucien wasn’t sure what Asperger’s was, he figured it was a communication problem. He had pegged Henry as a boy who didn’t understand things like pecking order, in-crowd, social grace, or class hierarchy.
Over the last few years Lucien had known Jake, he had never seen him with a peer. It didn’t surprise him that Jake would pick a boy with special needs to befriend. He was kind, compassionate, and a loner. “Okay Henry, here it goes. My accent is Haitian. This is how we all talk. But I’ve been here in the states for almost forty years and still haven’t lost it. My hair is long and white, and I’m proud of it. Most men my age don’t have any. I do, so I grow it. And my age, that’s none of your business, but I’m old. So here’s your hot chocolate. Drink up.”
Henry kept up with the questions. Jake finally interrupted. “So Lucien, have you gotten a hold of your family?”
“No, phones must be out. And they are right there in the heart of all this chaos,” Lucien answered, not completely truthful. He placed the steaming cups onto the table and shuffled over to the buffet. Grabbing a silver-framed portrait, he handed it to the boys.
“This is my family,” Lucien declared.
“Wow! Huge! At least thirty people in this photo. You were a lot younger, but still old. There are two women on each side of you. Sisters? Which one is your wife?” Henry computed.
“All four of the women are my wives. The younger adults in the next couple of rows are my children. Thirteen of them. And the front row has all of my grandchildren in it. This picture was taken in the 1970’s. I now have great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren. Had to leave them. And I miss them so much,” Lucien explained with tears streaming down his face.
Oblivious to his pain, Henry kept up with his questions. “Why are you here, and they’re there? How come they didn’t move with you? Did you leave them?”
“Long, long story. But not a day goes by that I don’t regret the choices I’ve made.”
“And four wives? C’mon. Isn’t that illegal? You’re only supposed to have one wife.”
“Ah, Henry. You’re always thinking. Jake, I like this boy. You see, in Vodun you can have multiple wives,” Lucien replied.
“Huh?”
“He means Voodoo. It’s also called Vodun or sometimes Vodu,” Jake interjected. “Lucien was a houngan and a bokor. That’s kind of like a priest.”
“Do a lot of Haitians practice Vodu?” Henry asked, using one of the alternate pronunciations of the religion.
“Oh yes. It’s the country’s main religion. They proclaim the nation as primarily Catholic, but not so. Vodun began in Africa, Benin to be exact. As you probably learned in history, the Europeans kidnapped Afrikaans and took them over the ocean to the Americas and the islands. They wanted to use them as slaves to help run their plantations. The Afrikaans brought their religion with them. Although many of the Haitian slave-owners forced them to convert into Catholicism, they secretly continued to practice Vodun. To appease their owners, they took certain elements of the Catholic religion and used them for their own Vodun purposes. So Haitian Vodun has a lot of Christian similarities. For example, many of the loas or spirits in Vodun are named after the Catholic saints. Crosses are used, but symbolize crossroads or life’s choices.”
“Do you wanna put the TV on so we can watch more about the earthquake?” Henry requested.
Lucien couldn’t determine whether the boy was genuinely interested or bored with his mini-Haitian lesson. The three of them sipped their hot chocolate, munched on trail mix, and intently watched more of the earthquake’s coverage while chatting through commercials. The afternoon quickly led into the evening. Lucien saw headlights from his living room window.
“That’s my mom. She’s always on time. Gotta go. I really enjoyed the afternoon.” Henry threw on his winter clothes and bolted out of the trailer.
“Jake, I like your new friend. Thanks for introducing me to him,” Lucien said as he poured more hot chocolate.
Chapter 8
Jake had been given a bad hand as a child. His father took off after he was born, leaving his mother penniless and having to work two jobs to make ends meet. Although poor, they were content. But then at ten years old, his world crumbled. His mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. A month before his eleventh birthday she died. He was alone.
The state of Wisconsin initially stepped in, securing Jake a home with his mother’s cousin he b
arely knew. She and her husband weren’t around very often, but he liked them. Nosy neighbors reported their neglect, landing him in the foster care system for couple of years. Once his mother’s brother found out he could make over a thousand dollars a month as a foster parent, he suddenly became paternal.
At thirteen years old, Wisconsin’s child services officially placed Jake with Uncle Pete and his wife, Auntie Leah, in a trailer park on the outskirts of town. Jake’s uncle’s home fit the stereotype: two rusted out jalopies in a littered front yard of beer bottles and cigarette butts. But the remainder of the park was tidy, well-kept, and held a majority of elderly tenants. Jake’s uncle and aunt still found others like them who liked to party, but because of the neighbors, they kept their socializing to a dull roar.
Jake’s room was on the opposite side of his guardians. Even though the trailer was small, he was fortunate enough to have his own attached bathroom. Soon this would change. Leah was several months pregnant. They planned on using the extra room that was designed to be a walk-in closet for the baby. Three years later, Leah’s brother, T.J. McGrath, moved in temporarily, causing more stress on the already cramped living quarters. He claimed he would only stay for a month or two until he could patch things up with his girlfriend, Mona. Although Jake somewhat liked T.J., he understood why she threw him out. T.J. wasn’t particularly ambitious, preferring drunkenness over fulltime work.
Jake shamefully found his aunt very attractive. She was only four years older than him and dressed in low-cut, clingy outfits always accessorized with high heels. Her hair was bright blonde with black outgrowth, and tattoos covered her shoulders. Although she was still so young, she had the hardened look of a washed-up woman just trying to survive, as if she permanently was broken. And she could be mean, especially in the morning after a long night of drinking. But she also could be kind, and was the only one in his home who ever remembered his birthday.
His uncle was beyond mean, beating on Jake and Leah during his drunken blackouts throughout the years Jake had lived there. He kept quiet, scared to wind up somewhere else with new guardians.
Jake was thankful for his elderly neighbors. They welcomed his attention. He’d help them unload groceries or plant bushes or paint - whatever they needed. In return, they would feed him, pay him, or insist he stay with them and visit. Lucien was his favorite.
Lucien was old, at least eighty years old, quite possibly a hundred. With his wild, long white hair, black skin, and hazel eyes he looked like a character out of a horror movie. His Haitian accent only added to his mystique. But his warmth, compassion, and quick wit were why Jake kept coming over. They would play cards, chess, Scrabble, or just talk. Jake adored Lucien’s pet boa constrictor, Mami. He’d take her out of her cage and hold her every time that he was over.
Lucien also had some fascinating stories from when he lived in Haiti. He was once a bokor or a Voodoo priest back in his hometown. Jake begged Lucien to teach him some aspects of the Voodoo religion. Lucien enthusiastically agreed and began teaching him some of the symbols of the loas or spirits of the Cosmos. Jake hung onto every word.
While Jake was little he remembered his uncle as being a quiet man, never warm, never part of the family. Jake’s mother said very little about him, giving Jake the impression that she didn’t like him. A family member had made some negative comments about Pete during Jake’s grandma’s funeral. Apparently, his uncle couldn’t attend because he was locked up. Jake was only eight years old at the time. Pete must have been let out early because Jake remembered spending the next Christmas with him. When his mother had gotten sick Pete could not be counted on to visit or help her out.
Once Jake was placed with his uncle in foster care, he realized why his mom kept her distance. Pete’s mood swings made him feel like he was walking on broken glass. His uncle looked even scarier than he acted. He was huge in a former football player gone fat kind of way. His blue eyes were filled with ice. Greed, lust, and anger were the only things that motivated him.
Jake saw their relationship as give-and-take. He needed a guardian until he turned eighteen, and Pete needed the state of Wisconsin’s assistance checks for foster parenting. Once he was an adult, all ties between them would be permanently severed. There would be no family cook-outs or Thanksgiving invites. Getting away from his uncle, the foster system, and all threats of living in a group home were the rays of light seen at the end of his tunnel.
Jake didn’t know what he wanted to do after high school, but planned on getting his own place, finding a job, and trying college. He was almost there, less than two years away. Unknown to his uncle, he saved a few thousand dollars from doing odd jobs throughout the trailer park for his elderly neighbors.
After Henry’s mother picked him up, Jake and Lucien continued watching the earthquake coverage, flipping back and forth to news channels during commercial breaks. Lucien invited him to stay for dinner, offering some frozen Stouffer’s lasagna. Jake gratefully accepted. He felt safe with Lucien, and had grown to love the man like a father. The alternative of going home only added to the invitation’s appeal.
The phone simultaneously rang at the same time Lucien put the lasagna in the oven. He struggled to answer it before the machine went off. “Yes?” he answered. “Oh, he’s here. We were just about to eat some dinner. Here.”
While Jake detangled the long, curly knotted cord, he wondered if anyone else in America had failed to purchase a cordless phone. Assuming it was his uncle, he cautiously spoke. “Yeah, sure. Can I eat here? Okay, then I’ll be right home,” Jake hung up. “Gotta go. They want me to baby-sit Rhianna. They are all going to this new place my aunt waitresses at. See you tomorrow. Can I bring Henry over again?” Lucien nodded. “To Bondye. And Papa Legba.”
Chapter 9
Jake was greeted by his aunt with a gourmet dinner of micro-waved hotdogs and Lay’s potato chips. This was a real treat compared to other dinners they had fed him.
“Eat up. You know what to do,” she said and kissed his forehead. Her fuzzy sweater reeked of marijuana and accentuated her gigantic breasts.
Pete, Leah, and her brother, T.J., left. Several uneventful hours went by. Jake read the almost three-year old stories, watched cartoons, and then put her to bed. Rhianna was like a sister to him. He felt guilty as he looked at her ‘room’ which was better used as a storage closet or possible area for a double-stacked washer and dryer. A small air mattress took up the floor space, and her clothes were shelved above her head. Rhianna hugged and kissed him goodnight. She would be the only one he’d miss once he was gone.
He watched an hour more of the news and then finally turned in. A few hours later he was awoken by a heated argument. He could hear every word through the paper thin walls that separated his room from the living room.
“You’re a God-damned slut! Whore! How could you…He was touching your…All over!” Pete bellowed.
“How dare you! You’re the one who told me to get up on the stage and make some real money!” Leah screamed back. T.J. tried playing mediator, but his slurred words were ignored.
“But then a lap dance? You waste no time, you little cunt! Kinda like you’ve been stripping since you started working there and lying about it!”
“If you weren’t such as lazy drunken slob then maybe I wouldn’t have to work! Someone has to pay for things around here. You sure ain’t…”
Oh no! Smackdown time! thought Jake, too afraid to move. He hated it when his uncle got like this. These violent moods were usually alcohol induced. The familiar sounds of slaps, thuds, cracks, and painful moans were on the other side of his bedroom door. He heard Rhianna’s crying in the background.
“Rhi, go back to bed. Mommy’s alright!” yelled T.J. who was trying to calm Pete down.
Jake rolled out of bed and army crawled to the doorway. Looking through the opening that separated the door from the carpeting, he saw Leah’s head bloodied. She lay limp on the floor. Pete stopped hitting her. His whole demeanor changed. With a wo
lfish expression, he began to unbuckle his belt.
Rhianna’s screams got closer. She must have darted to the other side of the living room, putting her smack-dab in front of Jake’s bedroom door. He could now see her foot. It partially blocked his view. Shit! Can’t get involved! If I open the door…
“Pete, what the hell is a matter with you? Stop it! She’s passed out. You beat her into a coma, man! And now you’re gonna…Sober up and think of what you’re doing! Right in front of your daughter!” T.J. yelled.
Is he suicidal? Jake knew his uncle would make T.J. regret his words. Like Leah, T.J. was small. He was filled with faults, but violence was not one of them. On perfect cue, Jake could hear his uncle’s bare fists hooking T.J. in the jawbone. Rhianna’s screams turned into full-blown hysteria. The poor girl was hyperventilating while desperately grasping Jake’s locked doorknob for refuge. I don’t want to be involved! Go back to your closet and lay still!
“Jakey, Jakey, pwwweeeze!” Rhianna sobbed.
Jake couldn’t take her suffering any longer. Quickly unlocking the door, he grabbed the little girl and pulled her inside his room and then relocked the door.
The living room had grown eerily quiet. Jake had a difficult time hearing while Rhianna wailed. “It’s okay now. Try to be quiet,” he whispered, straining to hear. Nothing but silence was on the other side of his door. His heart rate doubled. Always quiet before the storm. Was it over? Or was I next? He slid on his gym shoes, took a can of Comet cleaner from his bathroom, and crept up to the only window in the room. It was small, but Jake knew he could fit through. Then came the sound he was waiting for. Click, click, click. Pete was delicately trying to open the door. He now knew it was locked.
“Jake, open up! Let me get Rhianna and put her to bed. Adults just having adult conversation. Can’t a man have any privacy in his own home?”
Jake pried open the sealed window. The opening created a wind tunnel, instantly cooling off the whole trailer with a single arctic gust. He ripped through the screen.
