There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) (25 page)

— Look! Magdala said, signaling with her chin. The devil himself, tearing through town.

Jeune was barking orders at Junior, who seemed utterly bewildered. The son had apparently bumped a plastic egg crate and let it fall. Some of the contents spilled out. They looked like artisanal handcrafts or painted masks of some sort. Others watched furtively, knowing better than to gawk. Jeune stormed off as his son covered the crate and secreted away whatever was inside.

—
Psst
. Both Libète and Magdala jumped, turning to a woman who popped up between them. What have you got? Mirlande asked quietly, eyes hooded. She was young, a few years older than Libète.

— Mangoes and black beans, Magdala replied.

— Mangoes are fifteen apiece, and a
ti
mamit
of black beans is forty-five, Mirlande whispered. And then she was off, approaching the next trickle of sellers.

The market was all about alliances, Libète had learned. There were two prices for everything: the
andedan
and the
deyò
, the inside and the outside. Sellers from Foche colluded to fix their prices. It was their only line of defense against the outside speculators who abused their ability to reach other markets and pay the farmers who did all the hard work for practically nothing. If a seller did cave in order to make a big sale–something not unheard of–they would earn the aspersion of all of the other sellers. If they had few friends in the community, they might even lose their spot at market. The speculators knew the collusion happened, always complained about it, and said they’d go elsewhere, but the new road and its easy access made it too much of a chore to do so.

Before the last few abundant harvests, during the Bad Times, the market was a shadow of itself. They’d seen prices dwindle for decades against the onslaught of cheap foreign food and impenetrable urban markets, and this quiet act of rebellion gave them power.

Libète untied one of the saddlebags, and Magdala did the same.

— I’m going to go back for the last basket of grains, Magdala said. Can you tend to things here?

— Of course!

— And no eating the mangoes! Magdala’s grimace faltered, a smile breaking through.

— I would never! Libète said as she tucked a mango playfully in her skirt. Both cackled.

Market was a respite for Libète. She loved the energy of it all, the friendliness of distant neighbors reconnecting, the gossip that even she was invited to participate in. Weekly, on Mondays, it also meant postponing a morning’s labor in the fields. Besides church, this was her best opportunity to watch and learn how to speak like Foche, stand like Foche, look like Foche. She pried with the eyes and ears of an anthropologist while she began stacking mangoes in a small pile on a rectangle of frayed plastic tarp.

— That’s a good job. She looked up. It was Délira, cradling Delivrans. Libète offered a broad grin.

— What are you selling? Libète asked.

— Not selling. Just browsing.

Libète frowned. Do you . . . need food?

— No, no! Délira laughed, the edges of her smile giving way. We’re well, thanks.

Libète looked into her eyes, and the young mother pulled away from the stare. I know you’ve been struggling, Libète said. Not being able to work. I heard your father’s gone aga–

— My health has always been bad. And it’s a good thing when he’s gone. Neighbors help me–
us
–when there is nothing.
Youn ede lòt
. One helping another. That’s what we say around here.

Libète looked around and nestled an already ripened mango into the baby’s swaddling.
Magdala and I are some of those neighbors,
Libète whispered.
Magdala won’t mind.
She smiled.
And
Delivrans will appreciate your sweeter milk.

Délira was bashful at the show; such charity normally came at home, the giver looking the opposite way. Délira took the offering. I didn’t come looking.

— There’s no shame here. As you said, youn ede lòt. Your hunger is my hunger. That’s all.

— I’ll take one of those too. The heavy words came from behind Libète. Happily, sir–that’ll be . . .

Libète sputtered as she turned and took in the man, his eyes veiled by sunglasses. She glimpsed her reflection in the silver lenses; she appeared wavy and distorted. Her eyes slid to the shotgun hanging from a strap over his shoulder. He wore fatigues that were a weave of black, tan, and green camouflage.

One of the guards.
From the dig
.

— That’ll be fifteen goud.

— Not free? Wilnor, the man called out, this pretty little one is charging a bundle over here for her fruit! Giving me the
outside
price! Another guard turned in response. Wilnor walked toward them, pulling a large black dog whose panting unsheathed his sharp teeth. Libète immediately looked down and away, wanting to hide. The first guard leaned in close, and his breath violated her. My dear, but the two of us, my brother and me,
we’re insiders
. Here to help. Help the university. The guard laughed, reaching up to stroke Délira’s baby’s cheek. Surely that deserves a discount?

— Leave her be, Cinéus, Wilnor said. You’re troubling her.

— What’s your name? Cinéus said.

She said nothing.

— What’s your name, girl? he repeated.

Libète let herself float away, escaping this moment. He grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes.
I asked you–

Suddenly another appeared behind the men with genial arms to wrap around each. Friends! Cinéus! Wilnor! How are you today? Making the rounds, eh?

It was Prosper, all smiles. He patted the one called Wilnor on the back and reached to give the dog a rub behind the ears. Let me show you around. This is only one of Foche’s fine sellers. I can introduce you to others. Cinéus looked to Wilnor and let Libète’s chin drop. Maybe they’ll drive an easier bargain, Prosper said, winking.

As he led the pair away he shot Libète a concerned glance over his shoulder. He turned back to the two and continued his lively tour.

— Are you all right? Délira asked.

Libète’s chin quivered, and she inhaled deeply. She held her eyes tight, and breathed out through her nose. The fear, what she had believed she left behind those months before, had claimed her. When she opened her eyes again, she was Sophia. Of course I’m all right. She forced a smile.

— Bastards, Délira said. At least you have a protector on your side.

— Excuse me?

— Prosper, Délira said with a sigh. He’s mad for you. He doesn’t even look at other girls now. Libète looked at the boy as he touted some plantains from the opposite side of the market.
The consummate salesman
. It was not lost on Libète that he had been kind enough to lure the thugs as far away from her as possible.

— What’s that to me?

— Nothing. Nothing! Délira grinned, still trying to ease the sting of what had just passed. Libète saw her look after the boy herself. Sadness clouded her face. You can have him, Libète said. He’s yours. I don’t want anything to do with boys. Her thoughts drifted for an instant to Jak before she reeled them back. No good can come of them.

Now Délira looked adrift. Prosper would never be interested in me. Sick and all. With a bastard.

Libète reached out to her while stroking the child’s fuzzy head. Delivrans is precious. He has a father. If someone touched you, whether you wanted it or not, they need to take responsibility. You both shouldn’t suffer. You just need to name him.

— No, she doesn’t.

Libète jumped at the voice. Don’t sneak up, Félix! She batted at him, though he didn’t flinch.

— She doesn’t have to tell anyone anything, he said.

Libète lifted her hands, looking back and forth between the two. Fine. Fine! We all can keep to ourselves, everything to ourselves, we don’t need to tell anyone, anything, ever! And suddenly, a thought sprouted, like a germinating seed just breaking soil.

Could they–could he be–

Libète almost gave voice to the notion just as Magdala rejoined them. She stifled the thought, and the three youths stood looking at their toes.

— What’s the matter? Magdala asked. All of you look like your only goat’s been stolen.

— It’s those men, Félix said. One of them touched Sophia.

Magdala’s eyes widened. They
touched
you?

Libète shook her head. No, no, it was nothing, just a
–

— I’m going to Janel with this, Magdala said. None of us agreed to this when we said the university could come. Armed guards walking about! In our town! When they stayed behind the gates it was something else. She looked around for Janel, who was visiting with other sellers around the market’s perimeter. Félix, you stay with Sophia. He gave a dutiful nod, and Magdala went straight for the leader.

— If they touch you again, let me know, Félix said.

Libète cracked a smile. Oh? And what will
you
do about it? Félix just stared with the same impassive look. She stood up straight and gave a short military salute. Fine. As you order, sir.

— The same goes for you, Délira. You and Delivrans, Félix said. The girl gave a nod, still looking down. Libète looked at the two and raised her eyebrows, swallowing her smile. She saw Wilnor and Cinéus were starting to circle back.

— Félix, can you watch the produce? Libète asked. He nodded. Let’s go browse for a bit, Délira. Can I hold Delivrans? Délira handed the baby over like she was sharing a favorite gift. He was robust and healthy at four months now, but judging by Délira’s appearance he seemed to be suckling his mother’s weight away. Her sickliness was even more pronounced without the baby in her arms.

Libète rubbed her nose with his. He gave a look of wonderment, as if discovering something revolutionary. Libète couldn’t help but reflect his expression.

— How about – Félix coughed – how about I watch him for a moment? While you two walk? Libète thought of denying Félix’s request but saw his earnestness. She knew better than to poke fun. Libète looked to Délira, who gave a quick, bashful nod.
He
must
be the father.

— All right–I’ll take my turn later. Libète passed him the child, and Félix’s own face transformed. The two young women began to stroll, walking counterclockwise around the market, keeping the guards and their dog opposite to them.

— You know, you shouldn’t mock him so, Sophia.

— Ah, it’s nothing. Félix is a good sport. Knows it’s all just joking. He’s too serious for his own good, she said.

— Still, he’s good.

Libète let the simple declaration stand. Her mind raced back through every other exchange she’d ever seen the two share. They walked in silence, taking in the outsiders haggling, their assistants loading up bushels of produce into their waiting pickups, old women exchanging gossip. Do you . . . do you like him? Libète asked out of nowhere.

— Félix? She acted as if it was an accusation. Like him? No. No! Félix is too . . . too young. He’s a year younger than me.

Libète shrugged. It’s just that there seems to be something there.

— No, there’s nothing.

Délira paused suddenly, as if she expected Libète should too.

— What?

— Are you deaf? Janel is calling you!

Libète cursed. She hadn’t responded to “Sophia” being called out. This happened, but less these days.

— Yes, madanm? she called.

— A word?

Libète nodded and peeled off. Magdala stood next to Janel with disapproval heavy on her brow.

— Let us walk, Janel said. Magdala began to follow. Ah, just the two of us. Janel smiled. Magdala gave a reluctant but acquiescing nod.

Libète stayed half a step behind the woman out of deference. Janel moved as if she transcended the place; not as one above it, but one with authority. Libète had exchanged only a few words with her since the town meeting to discuss Félix and his fate. Truthfully, Libète was intimidated by her. Everything she saw and heard about the leader continued to inspire admiration.

— How are you finding Foche? Janel asked. It’s been–what–five months?

— Just four. It’s a good home for me. The people, they’re very kind. Very open to me, after the, uh, misunderstandings, when I arrived. I appreciate everyone.

— And we appreciate you. We lose too many to the lure of the cities. They think there is hope there – Janel shook her head – so they abandon their homes. Who they are. It’s good to see a young person arrive rather than leave.

— Foche has much that I’ve not experienced. In the city . . . Libète hesitated; this was a foolish slip. Where I come from–in St. Marc–we struggled to eat. To find food. Here we can grow it. People actually
own
the land–they don’t all pass their lives paying rent. Libète couldn’t believe her own words. She felt like Félix’s echo. This place . . . it speaks to me.

Janel nodded her approval, glancing over her shoulder at the two interlopers and their dog a number of stalls away.

— Then you understand why we fight for what we have; why we have to accept these fools treading our earth for a time? The dog was barking now, competing with the two men as they raised their voices over some disagreement with Jeune.

Libète hesitated, wanting to speak her dissatisfaction, her disgust, but bit her tongue. I . . . can understand.

— It won’t be for much longer. They tell me their survey is coming to an end. After they search the common plot – she rubbed her hands against one another – finished business, she said.

— Ah, byen.

— Truly. Janel’s face darkened. I’ll speak to these pigs about them touching you. It won’t happen again.

Libète gave a small bow. Mèsi.
Mèsi anpil.

—
Get away from my stand or I’ll slit your throats!

The activity all around the market stilled and quieted. Every eye turned, every ear inclined.

It was Jeune who shouted. He was livid, shaking, his eyes enflamed, rage seething from his every pore. The dog barked madly, yanking at its leash. Jeune seemed shaken by its bared fangs.