Haiti Noir

Izzy was pacing the porch, almost the same strides as the leopard, though he didn’t realize it. Something about that animal made him restless. That and an occasional harsh cry from upstairs. “Jobo! Jobo!” Finally, she came downstairs and out onto the porch. The light from inside was shining on her. She was wearing a long silk shift and he could see that there was no shape to her body-just long and thin. He also saw through what was left of the makeup that she was a bit older than he had first thought.

“Have you seen Jobo?”

“He went to the ougan to arrange a ceremony for me.”

“The oun…?”

“Kola?”

“Ah, the bòkò, Kola.” Then her green eyes darted past him. It was Jobo coming back. Izzy sensed that he should retreat to the other end of the long tiled porch.

“Jobo,” she called out. “Jobo, viens ici. Viens.” She spoke in that melodious high pitch used by Frenchwomen when calling their pets.

And he did come, and she put her arms around him, her cardboard gray hands looking bright against his dark back as she dug her black-polished nails into his skin.

“DeeDee, can you help me?” asked Jobo.

“What do you need?”

“Money.”

DeeDee laughed.

“I need to pay for something very expensive. Just one time I need some money. I can work.”

“Why don’t you ask the blan?”

“This is not the blan’s business.”

DeeDee understood and told him that he was loading a shipment of mangoes on the NANH late that night.

“I’m not sure I can get away at night.”

“Late-late. I am paying very well for this particular shipment-of mangoes. Give her a lot of champagne.”

“Mais oui.”

DeeDee paid off all the port officials with money from Madame Dumas and the NANH untied and set her bow northwest to round the peninsula and head to Miami. The mangoes helped the ballast but the freighter was still sitting a little too high in the water. They had to hope there were no storms. Izzy was surprised when he inspected that the mangoes were just piled in the hold without any crates. “It will take forever to off-load,” he complained. DeeDee shrugged.

Then Izzy noticed they were off course, but DeeDee explained that they had to make a quick stop.

“To take on more ballast?” asked Izzy.

There was no answer, but DeeDee was busy navigating. They dropped anchor by a reef-a strip of white sand and a grove of palm trees in the middle of the turquoise sea. Izzy saw nothing heavy to load on the boat.

Then the crew lifted the cover off the hold and Izzy was astounded by what he saw next. Haitian men and women, one child of about eight, under the yellow mangoes. They staggered up, their limbs stiff and their eyes blinded by the hot light. Some were almost naked. They were hurriedly helped to the beach on their shaky legs. There were eleven of them, including three who were dragged and appeared to be dead.

Shouting erupted in Creole. Arms flayed the hot air angrily. They were saying, “This is not Miami! You took our money!” Some pleaded, “Please, don’t leave us.” But DeeDee insisted that this boat was too big to bring them in and that small boats would come tonight to drop them on the Florida coast.

Izzy was angry and fought with DeeDee all the way to Florida. DeeDee’s answers made no sense to him.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Because we can’t bring them into Miami.”

“Why were we carrying them at all?”

“They needed the help, Izzy.”

“I have to tell the Coast Guard. They’ll starve in that place.”

“No. It’s all arranged. Boats will come for them tonight.”

“They said they paid. Who got the money?”

“The mango growers.”

They tied up on the Miami River. But they were not going to be able to return to Haiti: there was a coup d’etat. Little Haiti was intoxicated with the news. A new government was being formed. There were curfews. There was rioting in Port-au-Prince. In Gonaïves, a mob attacked the NANH warehouse, took everything, then tore down the building a chunk at a time with rocks and machetes. After a day, all that remained of the two-story building was a few steel reinforcing rods sticking out of the ground.

DeeDee soon vanished and it was said in Little Haiti that he was now an official in the new government. Izzy hadn’t realized he was involved in politics. He had never seemed interested in anything but commerce. Then a man approached Izzy one afternoon alongside his boat on the river. Izzy recognized him. He was usually in Bermuda shorts with an I Love Miami T-shirt, a Marlins hat, and a camera. But this day he was wearing a suit and showed Izzy something that said he was an FBI agent.

Kola had a new Coca-Cola cabinet. It was red-and-white metal with a glass door. A stray rock from the riot had dented one side but the door was intact.

Of course, it didn’t keep anything cold because Kola had no electricity. But it was a good cabinet and he kept it behind the temple to store his bones, herbs, potions, and powders. His Coca-Cola was still in the ground where it was cool.