Haiti Noir

They got out of the vehicle and stepped up to a wide, high-ceilinged porch with a tiled floor and large potted plants. Between two lazy banana bushes was a tall cage about two yards square. Inside was a leopard, lean with angry yellow eyes and ears cocked back and fur like silken fabric in black and rust and ocher. The cat was pacing back and forth, as though exercising to keep in shape. But Izzy couldn’t help thinking about himself. He was hoping someone was about to offer him a tall, cold drink.

***

When Haiti was sent away, many of the lwas-including Damballah, èzili, Legba, and Agwe-went as well, but most of the animals stayed in Africa. However, the goddess of love, èzili Freda, kept one leopard because she could not resist beautiful things. She wanted to keep the leopard the same way that she kept closets full of beautiful dresses and fine jewelry. The leopard tried to run away, so she kept it in a pink-jeweled cage.

Jobo ushered Izzy inside, holding open a large glass door that did not fit with the rest of the house. Izzy’s body instantly hardened to a tense knot. It was as though he had walked into a refrigerator, possibly a freezer. He was not sure but thought he saw traces of vapor from his breath. A furry red creature glided toward him speaking the same formal and emotionless French of his ninth grade teacher who had always called him Pierre because she said there was no way to say Izzy in French.

“Bonjour, bienvenue. Comment allez-vous?” she said with a smile made of wood. She was wrapped in a thick red fox coat. Her body stuck out at angles, a hard thin body. Her straightened black hair was swept up on her head. She wore shiny dark-purple lip gloss with an even darker liner. Her green eyes were also traced in black, which matched the carefully painted polish on her long nails filed to severe points. All this dark ornamentation on her gaunt face made her skin look pale with a flat finish, like gray cardboard.

On one finger was a very large emerald that was close to matching her eyes, and when she held her long hand to her face, the stone appeared to be a third eye. She would have been attractive except that everything about her seemed hard. Even her face was boney. Maybe, Izzy thought, she understood this and wore the fur to try to appear softer.

She turned to Jobo and ordered him in French to fetch a cold bottle, which was exactly what Izzy wanted to hear. To Izzy it seemed odd-here he was, trying to learn Creole-that a Haitian would speak to another in French, even though Jobo answered only in Creole. Izzy soon realized that she also spoke nearly perfect American English. So who was the French for? Even when she spoke English, she punctuated everything with “N’est-ce pas?”

Jobo returned with two very long crystal champagne flutes and a bottle of champagne, which he opened with the craftsmanship of a well-trained wine steward. It was cold and bubbly with a flush of rose like the blush on her protruding cheekbones, though probably more natural.

“Pink champagne, n’est-ce pas?” she said. “Don’t you love pink champagne?”

“èzili’s drink,” said Izzy, who knew that the goddess loves luxury and her favorite color is pink. The smile flew off her face like a popped button, leaving Izzy to wonder what he had said that was wrong.

She offered him a building near the port that he could use as the NANH warehouse, although when he said “NANH warehouse,” she smiled. She could also provide a staff for distribution of the goods he brought in so that he simply had to bring them in and the rest would be taken care of. She asked nothing for this service, simply explaining, “I am Haitian and I love my people.” He was moved but he thought he detected a certain angry glow in Jobo’s eyes while she was speaking.

“All I ask, mon cher…” She paused and he thought maybe she was going to ask about aid to a favorite cause. Which in fact may have been the case. “Gasoline, N’est-ce pas?”

“Gasoline?”

“Mais, oui. Beaucoup, beaucoup. I will tell you how many barrels.”

“But, ah, Madame Dumas?” He was now so cold his teeth were chattering.

“Oui,” she said softly like a kiss.

“How do I justify spending relief money like that?”

“Ah-bas, c’est tout correct, n’est-ce pas. It is an operating expense, n’est-ce pas? It’s for my generators,” and she moved her green eyes across the ceiling. “This takes a lot of gasoline, n’est-ce pas? And then there are the freezers for the meat, n’est-ce pas?”