A Vision of Fire

A dozen people had clustered on the street by the Anglade office, not too close to the veranda. They were all Haitian and were loosely divided into two groups, those staring mutely at the house and those who were chatting with each other. Word had apparently spread about the Anglades’ visitors, but was it Caitlin or the Vodou clergy from the city who were attracting the attention? As soon as one person in the gathering saw her, they all turned their heads, fell into a stony silence, and watched her approach. There were no smiles, only cautious eyes and defensively lifted chins.

A man in a priest’s collar called to her in French or Creole, she wasn’t sure which. She replied only, “Excusez-moi.” Although she heard him start again, Caitlin didn’t break her pace toward the door. It was not the time to engage with anyone else, not now.

The door to the office was open, in keeping with tropical etiquette. Madame Langlois, her son, and Aaron had arrived before her. Houngan Enock had been speaking fervently to Marie-Jeanne; he stopped when Caitlin entered. The madame was perched in a corner holding her blue tarp bag on her lap with the patience of ages. Aaron was on his cell phone in the room behind the office. He was talking to the clinic and hydrating with a two-liter bottle of water.

As Caitlin made her way across the room she watched Gaelle, who was sitting at her desk in a semblance of normal working life, a cup of jasmine tea losing steam in a saucer nearby. The young woman was drawing on a small notepad and Caitlin leaned in for a closer look. She saw crescent marks in the shape of triangles, grouped into one large triangle. The symbols meant nothing to her but she didn’t have long to examine them. Gaelle moved the notepad aside and pulled a brochure over it. Gaelle’s guard was back up, and Caitlin thought better of asking about the drawing she had just hidden away.

“Is everything all right?” she asked instead.

Gaelle nodded.

“Have you had time to think on your own?” Caitlin did not emphasize the last three words but her meaning was clear. “This is your decision,” she added.

Gaelle shook her head and seemed about to speak, but Houngan Enock interrupted. “We do not value loneliness in Haiti, doctor.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Caitlin queried, restraining her increasing defensiveness.

“What I said. We are here to help her with this important decision.”

They heard an upswelling of noise from the street. Caitlin looked through the window. The group outside had increased in size and intensity.

“You are certainly bringing a lot of ‘help,’” Caitlin said quietly.

Gaelle gave her the ghost of a smile. At last, a connection, Caitlin thought.

Gaelle’s stepmother spoke in Creole. Gaelle translated for Caitlin. “She is saying, ‘Don’t blame our visitors. Since the video was on the Internet, we have been seeing many strangers around. Some Haitian, some white.’”

Caitlin spoke up. “Have they said anything to you, Gaelle? Done anything?”

“Only talk,” the girl answered unhappily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. You should not have to live with that.” Caitlin cautiously moved a hand across the desk toward her. “Please let me help you.”

“So they can talk more?” Enock challenged.

“So I can help you stop an incident like the last one if it happens again.”

Gaelle looked at Caitlin, then at her desk, and shook her head slowly. “I must say no, doctor.”

“But why?”

Gaelle’s stepmother said something quickly, made an axe-like gesture with her hand. Gaelle translated, though it was unnecessary. “The decision is made.”

Enock smiled and placed himself on the edge of the desk, between Gaelle and Caitlin. He began to dig in his own plastic bag and pull out small boxes and bags. Caitlin tried to catch the madame’s eye but she was watching her son impassively.

Caitlin stood and stepped to one side. It was becoming clear what was soon to happen.

“Gaelle, is it your wish to seek help through a Vodou ceremony?” she asked.

They heard a sudden chant from the people in the street and then several voices rose in a Christian hymn. Marie-Jeanne and Enock began to speak quickly in Creole but Gaelle cut them off.

“No, I will go,” she said emphatically.

Gaelle stood and glided toward the door with elegance. From the window Caitlin saw her approach the Catholic priest. There was no sign that he was of special significance to her but she was respectful and unafraid. The people nearest the priest shot the young woman suspicious looks.

Aaron, now leaning on the doorjamb of the back room, spoke to Caitlin. “People are on edge,” he said.

“Clearly.”

“It’s not just this,” he said. “In early November there is usually a severe spike in violence in Port-au-Prince. It’s the Vodou holy days. Grave robbers desecrate Vodou territory, throw rocks at their holy people, that kind of thing. Sometimes there are riots, though I think it’s really all a vent because of the poverty here.”