Haiti Noir

He supposed that she was keeping meat for the village and that would be a worthwhile thing to subsidize. Far safer than leaving meat out in this tropical heat. Although you could keep food fresh forever in this living room.

“As a matter of fact, I am going to buy a freezer compartment for your ship. You can bring down meat.”

“That is a wonderful idea. Put some protein in people’s diets.”

“Eh, oui,” she replied in a distant philosophical tone. “Jobo, this reminds me. Feeding time.” And then she said something in Creole that Izzy didn’t grasp, though it sounded like a comment about Jobo’s shirt, which he then removed as he went out into the heat. She smiled at Izzy and added, “He is too beautiful for clothes, n’est-ce pas?”

Izzy nodded, unsure of how to answer.

“So it’s all arranged. My man is paying them off so you can unload right now”

“Paying the…?”

“All taken care of,” she said merrily, with a gesture like washing her hands. He was informed that he would be staying in Madame’s house, which he did not feel entirely comfortable about, but he had no other ideas of where to stay.

He was put in a room just as cold, with carved wooden panels and a ceiling fan for which there was no real use. Evidently the air-conditioning could not be turned down or off, and the windows did not open. But the bed was equipped with fluffy goose-down quilts imported from Austria.

Izzy went outside to warm up. Jobo, with a large ring holding many keys, was coming from a wooden shed with a package. He stepped up to the porch and over to the leopard cage. He unwrapped the package and took out what looked like two sirloin steaks. Izzy assumed he was mistaken about the cut, but the steaks were nicely marbled. All the while the leopard paced, stopping only for a second to snarl. The animal was dangerous and Izzy could see claw marks-parallel lines on both sides of Jobo’s shirtless back.

“Jobo, is there some kind of a ceremony I can see?”

Jobo showed a sweet smile. “You want to see some real Vodou?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I can arrange it, but it koute chè.”

“How expensive?”

“Anpil. Anpil. I will take you to Kola.”

“Kola is the ougan?

“He’s a bòkò. He can fix it. I’ll go talk to him now.” And with that, shirtless and with claw marks showing, he walked down the driveway and out the gate of iron snakes.

Izzy sat on the porch watching the incessant pacing of the leopard. The cat had one of the steaks in his mouth but he didn’t stop moving, not even to eat. Izzy thought about the Vodou priest named Kola. Did “kola” mean a line? A queue? It must mean something.

The leopard pleaded with Agwe that he did not want to be locked in a cage and asked to be taken back to Africa. But Agwe said, “I can only take spirits back after they die.”

“Then kill me. I want to go back,” said the leopard.

Haitians like nicknames. Dieudonné was DeeDee. Ti Morne Joli was always called Joli. Madame Dumas was Lechat, the bòkò was Kola, Jobo was Beau. And Izzy? Everyone in Joli called him Blan.

“What is this blan up to?” asked Kola, a short stocky man with a powerful body, shirtless like Jobo, sitting under a leafy tree, on the stripped-bare engine block of a long-dead car. All the other parts had been sold and someday the block would be too. He dug in the earth with a trawl and pulled out two small green Coca-Cola bottles, felt them to see if the ground had kept them cool, dusted them off with his thick but skilled fingers, and handed one to Jobo.

Jobo smiled. “What do blans want? He wants a Vodou ceremony.”

“A Vodou ceremony?” Kola had a wide toothy smile. He rubbed his stomach. He was proud of his belly because he was the only one in Joli who had one. “San dola. Tell him there is a nice ceremony for a hundred dollars. For one-fifty I can show him something special.”

Jobo nodded.

“But what does this blan want? Is he bringing blan doctors and their medicines?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I wanted to talk to you about your medicines.”

“You need a powder?” asked Kola.

Jobo looked at the ground and shook his head.

“Do you have money for my powders? What do you need? A rash, a headache, a fever, the stomach? What would you like to do?”

“You know my aunt’s baby died today?”

“I know.”

“Do you know how much meat Madame Lechat has? Do you know? Anpil, anpil. Three big freezers. It all goes to that cat. If she died, everyone in Joli could eat meat for three weeks.”

“Yes, but for a great lady like that, that koute chè. Do you have that money?”

“No. But if I did, you could help me?”

“It would cost less to kill the leopard. Then she wouldn’t need the meat. Maybe you could take it.”

“I don’t just want the meat.”

“What do you want?”

“M vle jistis.”

“Ah, justice. Justice costs. Justice is very expensive.”