A Vision of Fire

“Dr. O’Hara, I’d like to introduce you to Madame Mambo Langlois.” Aaron gestured toward a very thin, very formidable Haitian woman. He slightly emphasized “mambo” and gave the tiniest of bows.

Caitlin picked up on his cues: he was hoping she either knew what a mambo was or would notice his extra sign of respect. She bowed slightly and thanked the woman for accompanying Aaron. The woman did not rise from her chair or speak but she did offer Caitlin her hand. Caitlin accepted the handshake, which was something of a compliment from a Vodou high priestess.

“And this is Houngan Enock Capois, the madame’s son.” The Vodou priest was about thirty, with the same startling cheekbones as his mother. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses and an antique woman’s ring on his right hand. It looked odd, almost ridiculous at first, until Caitlin realized the gold and emeralds were real in this poorest of nations. He barely shook her hand. His disdain was clear.

“So, let’s get to Jacmel,” Aaron announced with a sudden, pointed cheerfulness. The priest and priestess walked ahead, and Aaron managed to steal a second with Caitlin as he picked up her small suitcase. “They were waiting outside my house this morning,” he murmured.

“Is that common?”

He shook his head. “They seem to ‘know’ things,” he whispered. “Gossip, probably.”

“Do they speak English?”

He nodded.

And then they were back within earshot, loading up the white four-door Land Cruiser Aaron had borrowed. Enock Capois immediately claimed the front seat, leaving Caitlin to sit with his mother in the back. Caitlin stopped herself from smiling. An assumption of hierarchy seemed almost quaint, but there was something preferable about sitting with the madame anyway.

With Aaron driving, the truck began the long climb up the hills outside of Pétion-Ville. Route 101 led south away from Port-au-Prince. It was a decently paved two-lane road lined with cobblestone gutters, sometimes concrete walls. Dark and brilliant greenery tumbled over the latter, backed by palm trees and a cloudless blue sky that seemed as flat and taut as a drum. But less than ten minutes later they began to see occasional pedestrians walking along the side of the road, carrying plastic jugs, plastic bags, bundled blue tarps, and car tires. If there was a universal sign of poverty, it was this: adults and children on the march, recycling, reusing, repurposing items that could barely buy them a single meal.

The mother and son seemed disinclined to talk and Caitlin decided there could be no harm in asking Aaron about Gaelle’s episode in the market. That was, after all, why she had come.

Aaron recounted the incredible story—drowning on dry land, CPR, coughing up nothing—without editorializing. He had decided not to judge and Caitlin appreciated that.

“Gaelle mentioned that she had a CAT scan?” she said.

“Yes.”

“I was surprised to hear one was so readily available.”

“I snuck her in,” Aaron said bluntly. “We usually need the machine Saturday nights or on Sundays. Gangs smash the solar-panel streetlights on weekends so they can operate in the dark, so all the blunt-force head trauma tends to happen then.”

Madame Langlois spoke up: “People are angry.”

Caitlin regarded her. “Which people?”

“All. You know the name of the market where the video was made? Croix-des-Bossales.”

“The Slave Market,” Aaron translated.

“We keep the name to remind us. Someone always wants to be the new master.”

Her son reached up and turned Aaron’s rearview mirror so that he could look at Caitlin without turning his head.

“You are a psychiatrist?” he asked. His accent was thicker than his mother’s but his English was just as polished.

“Yes.”

“I have been to college too,” he said. “Do you teach people that they should not fear the world?”

“In a way. I help them to see that—”

“Is that what you are going to say to this young woman of Haiti?”

“I won’t know until I—”

“Nature conspires against Haiti,” he said. “World governments conspire against us. Our past conspires against us. She has a dark life ahead of her.”

Caitlin heard Aaron mutter, “He’s got a point.”

“Is that why she’s so agitated?” Caitlin asked. She glanced at the man’s mother. “Has someone or something chosen her to express Haiti’s pain?”

She had kept the question broad, hoping that they would narrow the focus. Aaron seemed to tense; the “something” reference opened the door to gods and demons, the personifications of centuries of fear.

Enock did not take the bait. He just sucked his teeth. Aaron kept his eyes on the twisting road and pedestrians.

The madame broke the short silence. “I heard Dr. Basher treated knife wounds from the Group Zero fight two nights ago.”

Enock suddenly lost all interest in Caitlin. He pelted Aaron with questions about the victims, who apparently included some of his friends. Aaron gently restored his rearview mirror to its position as he answered that the wounds were not life-threatening, and gave Caitlin a warning look.