Evil

by Cave, Hugh

  "No particular reason. Just wondering." And Sam let the silence return.

  They had not talked much on the journey. He had, of course, told her what he knew of the towns they passed through—St. Marc, Gonaives, Cap Haitien—and the names of the plants that she was not familiar with. But the ride had been hot and dusty until rain began to fall soon after their fording of the Limbé where the bridge was damaged. An alert entrepreneur no more than eight years old had shown him how to cross the river.

  The only bad moment for him had been when, soon after leaving the coastal town of St. Marc, they had passed the junction of the road that led to the Schweitzer. It was on that road one afternoon a long time ago—such a long time ago, it now seemed—that Operation Sandal had taken place.

  He had been driving Kay Gilbert home that day because she had ridden into town with one of the doctors instead of using her own car. He had the AID jeep in which he had driven to the city from his job in Jacmel. They hadn't known each other a long time then.

  You could drive that road to the Schweitzer without being too vigilant. Relatively speaking, of course. At any rate, it was reasonably flatand fairly wide, and along most of its length any oncoming traffic could be seen before it got too close. Taking advantage of that, he had elected to remove one hand from the wheel and put an arm around the girl at his side, pulling her over against him or at least applying enough pressure to convey a desire to do so.

  They had stopped for a swim before St. Marc—not at a proper beach but at a bit of shore where you could park just off the road and walk in through the sea-grapes. Magic water, crystal clear, with white pebbles lining the bottom . . . the place was little known but very special. Having planned on it, they had donned swimsuits under their clothes at the Calman.

  After swimming, they had walked the shore to dry off, and then put their clothes back on over the swim suits. No hanky-panky at that stage of their relationship. But, driving along the hospital road, Kay was still barefoot.

  "Hey, you're a nurse. Don't you know you're not supposed to go barefoot in this country? You could get hookworm."

  "In a jeep?" She wriggled as pretty a set of toes as he had ever seen, and definitely turned him on by doing so.

  "Lady, all kinds of people ride in this jeep. All kinds."

  "Okay, if you insist, sir." Reaching for her sneaks, she banged them against the side of the vehicle to get the sand out, then peered into them and dropped them back on the floor. "No, to hell with it. They're still yucky."

  Responding to the pull of his arm, she slid over closer to him, so that his right hand came to rest on her right breast. "Mm," she said, surprising him. There hadn't been much contact between them up to then. Their dates had consisted of dinner at a couple of Port-au-Prince restaurants and dancing at a well-known thatch-roofed nightclub in Petionville.

  He slowed the jeep and bent to kiss her, and she squirmed into a position that would make the kiss mean something. Without actually intending to, he was sure, she managed to get one bare foot outside the vehicle. Not dangling outside but thrust out, like a driver's arm signaling a turn.

  That kiss was one that would have made any man of spirit neglect the fine points of his driving. He saw the donkey approaching, all right; saw the peasant woman on its back and the sandal dangling from her foot as she rode along with a leg outthrust. A more disciplined man would have stopped, of course. But he was too busy discovering things about his companion to think about putting a foot on the brake and freeing his right hand to wrestle with a shift stick. Not fast, but still moving at maybe five miles an hour, the jeep continued on its course.

  The woman was riding side-saddle as nearly all of them did, along the footpath at the side of the road. All these roads had such paths, worn smooth by the feet of animals and pedestrians. They were still kissing when they passed her. She let out a yell. And so did Kay, blasting her outcry right into his face as she broke from his embrace.

  He brought the vehicle to a jolting halt and looked back to see if he had hit the woman. Apparently, he hadn't. She had reined her donkey in, though, and was staring at her outthrust foot.

  Kay was gazing in astonishment at her own foot, still stuck horizontally out of the jeep. Her mouth fell open and a look of incredulity came over her face. Then she began to laugh.

  She laughed until tears came, and it was contagious. The woman on the donkey began to laugh with her and soon was nearly hysterical. Sam looked in amazement at the sandal.

  It had been dangling from the black woman's foot before. Now it dangled from Kay's. "You know something?" he said in awe. "If we tried a thousand times to do that again I'll bet we couldn't do it."

  The woman slid from her donkey and came to the jeep, not at first touching the captured sandal but simply standing there, gazing at it. When she did remove it, she carefully examined Kay's foot. "You are not hurt, M'selle?"

  "Not at all."

  "Nor am I. You are from the hospital, no?"

  "That's right, I am."

  "You people make miracles all the time. This was another one." She began laughing again, softly now; chuckling, really. "Imagine, my shoe on your foot. The things that can happen in this world!"

  Kay got her leg back into the jeep and reached to the floor for the sandy sneakers. They were nearly new ones, expensive in Haiti. "Would you like these, so you can put a shoe of mine on your foot?"

  As she held them out the woman looked at them, then lifted her gaze to Kay's face. "Thank you, M'selle." No laughter now. Pure dignity. "You are kind."

  "Operation Sandal," Kay said as Sam put the jeep in motion again.

  They had never called it anything else.

  The voice of Mildred Bell cut into Sam's thoughts. "Sam, what made you think I might have researched ESP with Daddy?" Mildred hated unfinished business.

  He shrugged. He had not told her, of course, of the drum that whispered drumbeats and the painted jars that exhaled voodoo voices. He had no intention of telling her, at least not now. She would have enough to worry about on this journey they were attempting.

  She looked at him, awaiting an answer. When none came, she, too, shrugged, though not physically.

  Hers was a mental gesture.

  Strange, she thought, that Sam should have asked such a question. She was sure she had never told him about having helped Daddy with that part of his research. For one thing, she had believed for a time that Sam Norman might be a man she could love and marry, and she had a feeling he was not one to approve of such research. He was just too down to earth. After all, her own mother had never stopped trying to persuade Daddy to abandon it. Even as a little girl, she remembered.

  What, exactly, did she remember?

  Not much, and yet a lot. Impressions, mostly. A twelve-year-old girl walking home from school in Warwick, Rhode Island, with a crowd of schoolmates. Clowning. Giggling. Having a time. Suddenly, not hearing what the others were saying but stabbed in the head by Daddy's voice, though Daddy was half a mile away. Not feeling good that morning, he had announced he would be staying home from his teaching job at the high school.

  "Milly, you hear me?"

  "Yes, Daddy. But it hurts."

  "Never mind that. Where are you?"

  "By the diner, Daddy. Just crossing over to Gorton's Pond."

  "All right, listen. I want you to do something for me. Go back to Apponaug. Go to Morin's drugstore. Tell Mr. Ambrose you want the medicine he has for me. Hear?"

  "Yes, Daddy."

  "Good girl. Go on now."

  Telling her schoolmates there was something she had forgotten to do, she hurriedly crossed over to the bank, ran down the road to the fire station and cut through the city hall yard to Post Road. Morin's drugstore was empty when she burst in. Why was her head aching? She'd been okay before Daddy talked to her.

  "Hi, Milly." Mr. Ambrose was nice; she had always liked him. "You on your way home from school?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Good thing you stopped. I've got something
for you."

  "Medicine. I know."

  "You do? How? Your father only called me a few minutes ago." As he took the bottle off the shelf, he looked at her in a funny way, and she wished she hadn't said anything. Because if he asked her to explain, she wouldn't know how to tell him.

  When she reached home, Daddy was working at the typewriter in his study. Without getting up he said, "Come here, sweetheart," and put his arm around her. "You and I," he said then, "we really can do it, can't we?"

  That had been the first indisputable proof of the power they both had, though they had exchanged thoughts before in some of the games they played. It pleased him immensely, and she was glad. But her headache lasted for hours and frightened her. As for Mama, well, Mama just didn't understand at all.

  "How did you know to stop at Morin's, Milly?"

  "Well, I didn't. I just stopped."

  "For what?"

  "I don't know, Mama. Nothing, I guess. Us kids go in there a lot for ice cream and stuff."

  Mama was suspicious, sensing there was something going on. She came from a religious background. Her father had been a Presbyterian minister and she just didn't approve of some of the things Daddy did.

  They were the devil's things, she said.

  10

  In the village of Trou, Sam Norman stopped the jeep in front of a shop. They had made good time. At quarter to six there was still some daylight left.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, he said, "This shouldn't take long, Milly. I stayed overnight at this man's house when I was here before, and he was able to find some mules. Here's hoping he can repeat."

  He walked in and found a muscular man of thirty or so, but not the right one, standing behind the shop counter, weighing out flour. Sam waited. The fellow glanced at him in silence, displaying a face the texture and nearly the color of cantaloupe rind. He placed a piece of newspaper on the hanging scale in front of him. He scooped flour onto it from a large sack on the floor, peering at the dial as he did so. When he had the right amount of flour on the paper, he dropped the scoop into the sack.

  Sam said then, "Good evening. Is M'sieu Lafontant here?"

  A nod.

  "Will you call him for me, please? I'm an old friend."

  Another nod. But with the flour weighed, he still took time to fold the paper and tuck its ends in and place the package with others already completed before interrupting himself. Turning then to scowl at the open door of a back room, he called loudly, "M'sieu Lafontant! Someone here says he is a friend of yours!"

  "Coming, Alfred." A short, frail-looking man of sixty or so came limping through the doorway and cocked his head to squint at Sam. A smile changed his anxious expression, and he hurried around the end of the counter with a hand outthrust. "M'sieu Norman! What a surprise!"

  Sam grasped the hand and shook it. "How are you, friend? When I saw someone else behind your counter, I was scared."

  "My assistant. As you see, I limp now, the result of breaking an ankle in a camion accident. I don't get around as well as I did." Looking Sam over, he nodded his approval. "You haven't changed as much as I. And what this time? Another journey into the mountains?"

  "This time with a woman."

  "A woman, eh?" The eyes twinkled. "That should be interesting, to escort a woman to Vallière."

  "Don't jump to conclusions so fast. She's the daughter of an associate of mine, a man named Dr. Roger Bell who came through here some weeks ago on his way to a place called Legrun. You may have met him."

  "You told him to look me up?"

  "No, I didn't know he was coming here:"

  "I have not heard of him." Lafontant wagged his head.

  "Well, his daughter and I are going to Legrun to look for him. Something seems to have happened." Sam paused, aware that the man behind the counter had stopped measuring flour and was listening, apparently with all antennae extended. "Do you suppose you can put us up tonight, M'sieu, and help me find a couple of mules again?"

  "Of course, mon ami."

  "Good. Now I can start relaxing."

  Lafontant's house was next door to his shop, and after introducing him to Mildred, Sam drove the jeep into the yard there. The man's wife was a tiny woman with a whispery voice. Like her husband, she remembered him.

  "I was just going to call Paul to supper," she said happily. "Now you two can join us. You must be hungry."

  Mildred seemed embarrassed. "Really, I don't think we ought—"

  "We're starved," Sam corrected. "All we've had since leaving Port is a couple of sandwiches Victor Vieux gave us. You know how these trips are. Even if you can find an eating place to stop at, you've wasted an hour of precious time."

  Mrs. Lafontant's supper consisted of roast pork, rice and peas, and tender green shoots of the mirliton vine. ("It tastes like spinach," Kay had once remarked, "and I still say to hell with it.") Over the meal, Sam explained the reason for their journey into the mountains.

  "So your Dr. Bell went in there to see Margal, eh?" the shopkeeper said. "A wicked man, that one."

  "Is he?"

  "Well . . . so they say. I know nothing about him at first hand, never having met him. As I understand it, he only came to these parts about two years ago."

  "But his reputation is bad," Mrs. Lafontant added with a sympathetic look at Mildred. "I do hope your father is not in trouble with such a person."

  Sam said, "What does he look like?" It might help to be prepared.

  "He has no legs and is said to have strange eyes. Hypnotic eyes."

  "No legs? How come?"

  The shopkeeper shrugged. "The story most told is that he was sent for by some important politician in the capital—someone who required his services—and he refused to go. Then he was visited by men who beat him nearly to death to punish him. This supposedly happened just before he came here and was the reason for his coming. In other words, Legrun was a good place for him to hide."

  "Where did he come from?"

  "Again, no one seems to know. I have heard Léogane mentioned—perhaps because voodoo is so strong there. Also Aux Cayes and Jacmel."

  "He didn't come from Jacmel," Sam said. "The big man in that business when I worked there was a fellow named Fenelon. Well, never mind. Can you locate two mules for us, friend?"

  "I believe so. What else will you need?"

  "Not much else. A few supplies from your shop, I suppose. Mostly your advice on how to find this Legrun. It isn't on any map I've seen."

  "You will need a guide. I had better lend you my helper, Alfred Oriol. I can get along without him for a few days."

  Your man who finished weighing and packaging a pound of flour before he would give me the time of day, Sam thought. "Why him?"

  "He comes from near there. Do you know Sylvestre?"

  It was a name on the part of the map Sam had so carefully studied at the Pension Calman. He nodded.

  "His home is there. Suppose we have a talk with him, eh? We should call at the police station, too, I think, to find out if they have anything to tell you. And we can see Alcibiade about the mules at the same time." Supper was over and Lafontant stood up. "You ladies will excuse us? We'll have coffee with you when we return."

  They walked across the front yard and through a gap in a hedge of candelabre, only to find the shop door closed and locked. Obviously annoyed, the proprietor rattled the latch and called out, "Alfred!" but received no response. "Now, where can he have gone? He has never done a thing like this before!"

  "He'll be back soon, no doubt. Let's see about the mules, shall we?"

  The man who had supplied Sam with mules before, Alcibiade Fombrun, lived only a five-minute walk away. Sam remembered him only vaguely until he was face to face with him; then it came back. He was an aging peasant farmer who resembled most other such men except that his bare feet were perhaps a little more knobby, and without nails.

  He remembered Sam, though not by name. "The man who took two of my animals to Vallière," he said, gravely nodding as they shook
hands, "and was good enough to look after one with compassion when it fell and gashed a foreleg on the way back. I am happy to meet you again, M'sieu."

  "Can I rent that big gray again?" Sam asked. It had a mild disposition and would be fine for Mildred. An ordinary Haitian mule, it was said, would serve you faithfully for ten years just for the chance to kick your brains in once.

  "M'sieu, I am sorry. I rented that animal just yesterday to Corporal Larus."

  "Damn. Who's he?"

  "At the Poste Police," Lafontant said.

  "Why would Larus want to rent a mule from you, Alci? The police have animals."

  "It was for an American woman, a nurse, who had to take a child into the mountains to Bois Sauvage."

  Inside Sam, something stirred, as though chemicals had combined and begun to boil. "An American nurse? What's her name?"

  A shrug. "M' par connais, M'sieu." That maddening Haitian phrase: "I don't know." Always to be expected when you wanted to know something badly enough.

  It couldn't be, though. Of course it couldn't. Yet, where but at the Schweitzer would there be an American nurse in this country? And hadn't the girl there said on the telephone that Kay was going into the hills?

  "Something is wrong, M'sieu?" Lafontant asked, anxiously peering at him.

  "No. It's just that I may know this nurse."

  "Anyway, she has the mule you would like," Alcibiade said. "But I can give you another one just as good."

  "Two others. I need two."

  "He needs three," Lafontant corrected. "He must have a guide."

  "No problem."

  They went from there to the police post, but the man on duty, the same Corporal Larus who had rented the mule, could tell Sam nothing about Dr. Bell. "I obtained animals for him and his companion and they went off into the mountains," Larus said. "As yet they have not returned. His jeep, as you can see, is still here in the yard. He left the key with us and we start it up every few days to keep the battery alive." The corporal was a tall, slim, handsome man who had apparently never learned to smile. Of course, this was not exactly an occasion for smiling.