Fon d'parikulur - 06

A Novella

III

Natural light crept up on her as if by magic. But she was not willing to wake up just yet, and chased a few bitter dreams with her hands – perhaps it was just that the wine had slacked, and she did not want to find more of it. Because this was the morning after … that morning when one had to face the consequences of the night before. She thought that he must be pleased, and by the snoring, she guessed that he was still asleep. With her eyes closed, she debated whether she wanted to be up before he was – because her mama was sleeping in the next room over – and be away like a shadow. Or whether she wanted to confront him now. And it was the word “confront” that was appropriate. Even in the shadow of the light, light which she could not see but could feel – she did not understand, or rather all too well understood, why she did what she did. Jules was disgusted at herself for keeping in and letting the man do what he wanted – which she wanted to.

Minding that two tracks were playing out in her imagination – one was to cat up, leaving her mama to deal with the consequences. Of course, there was the question of who he was, but that would be no matter at all, because her mama would often not know who was sleeping in her bed, but had a way of dealing with that. This was because if she was not present, that would mean that she did not want to be present. At this point, the man would be rushed to the door, not even being given food or drink. Then there was the other path, the path which she accosted this man – and told him not to darken her door again. But she knew what she was going to do, and opened her eyes swung her legs out of bed, and did not even question what she was going to wear. She had to get out, and if the price was slightly mismatched clothes, so be it. But she would put on makeup, and do those other things that women do – because otherwise they would feel undressed without rouge and lipstick and all of the other details which would not be proper to be seen without.

She did not even look back at the man, so many details about their night together told her everything that she would want to know. He was rough, and more than once bit her, in when his ecstasy came he did not even look at her. All of this told her what she wanted to know, and in that sort of detail which could only be described as primal. And yet the desire welled up from within – her body wanted these setting things that her mind did not. Goodbye, Jon le Bon, whatever your name was. May you not darken my door again. She did not even read until she made her way to the bathroom, to change clothes and all the rest. It did not even occur to her that any other decision could seriously be made.

Once she was out on the street, she had to make up her mind as to what she was going to do with the day – now that she had decided what she was not going to do with the day. She fished inside her pocketbook, which was imported and easily larger than her hand, and pulled out a flat-screened phone, though it was not an iPhone, it was close to its features. She knew that it was not quite as good, but she got it cheaply for a favor that she did. She tipped her head and in the moment of time from which the phone left the bag until it reached her ear, she managed to dial the number that she wished to call. She had a plan, and now she was going to execute it.

“Hello Doctor Kenold? It is me, Jules. I came to your office, with an acquaintance.” He would of course realize immediately who she was, or at least she hoped he did. Then a voice came through the phone. It was soft and sweet, but a little bit sad. But Of course, a lot of men's voices were soft, including the voice of Jon le Bon – but for very different reasons.

“Of course I remember you, but I thought that the three of us would meet on Monday – I and taking two days off because while you may work the weekend, I do other things.”

“A day of relaxation? That does not seem part of your style.”

“No working at home, making changes to the maps, and looking up various things. I am afraid that can confess to being somewhat of – how does it say it? Well, the Americans say that I am a workaholic if you know what that means.”

“Since my work with Medecins Sans Frontieres, I know exactly what you mean. Once we finish our konversation then it is off to work.”

“That means that you are quite serious, which leads me to ask why you are calling me on a Saturday.”

“You must tell me all about that which you can do for this project. Could you have lunch tomorrow, because it seems best to exchange views on what we can do for the man from France.”

“Yes, lunch is acceptable. Is it just you? It is clear that I have certain inroads which could be of use to him.”

“Though the note had to mention it, it still leaves a great deal to be filled in with your partners.”

“So it seems, and we do have to discuss why the choice fell on me because it seems there are many more qualified candidates.”

“It may have simply been a matter of availability.” there was a double entendre there – and the intent was to say that she was taken at the moment by another man. Though she wondered whether he would get this actual meaning. Also, she wondered if the man who had had her last was a good idea. She thought not. So perhaps it was a triple entendre, and she hoped he would figure this out. But she knew that men are foolish in the way they do not realize what a woman is trying to tell them in her secret code.

“Perhaps, but there could be other reasons – and those reasons can be discussed during lunch. I know that La Souvenance is a great deal more than your budget allows, so let it be my treat – the owner owes me a few favors, so I will not be charged anything like the rate that the normal customers pay.”

“That is quite an offer, say lunch at 15:00?”

“That will work out just fine.”

Amidst pleasantries, she hung up the phone and walked another block to visit a friend, who had a car. Normally she would have her mama drive her, but as circumstances did not allow for this, she would have to make other arrangements. As she strolled along, she looked at the buildings, which for Port-au-Prince, were grand, and in the high style. There were only a few blocks like this because otherwise the town was truly run down. She noted little things like the painting done on some windows, ignoring what a traveler would taken – this because it was her home, and she had long since gotten used to the higher style.

But now the underpinnings of the architecture changed because she was walking away from Palais National – Walking towards the east over to Avenue Lamartiniere, where on the left there was what could be called a park, she was slowly walking towards what on the weekend were a group of cars, ready to take anyone to any place else. Since this was the heart of the town, maybe a place else would be rather less than desirable. This meant that the passenger was going a long way, or had done his business in the center of town, or was going to the few stretches that were equally nice – which probably meant they were a foreigner. The altar alternative, in fact, the vast alternative, was that they were given an assignment or had self-assigned – a mission and they were carrying it out.

In this state herself, because she knew that something was wrong with the white man - something that she was not being told. What is more, it was a secret whose membership included Alix. Remember, she did not mind being part of the secret, but she did mind not being part of the secret – and be expected to play along. This was not her way. If she was not in on the secret, you could be sure that she was going to find out. On one part, this was common sense – but it was just a part of her personality. Almost without realizing it, she reached the scattering of cars – and went up to the one whose driver she knew.

“My friend, my friend, could you give me a short ride?” With the words that easily out of her mouth, she knew that the man would wish to fuck her – not to make love, not have sex, but to fuck her – with his passion exposed, his lust griping, and he did not care who knew it. Of course, no such thing was going to happen, but the off chance that it could happen – even in his mind – was enough to give her the ride that she was looking for. Wondering what caused her to select a few men and not the rest, but that was still a mystery of biology. She was sure that someone was going to figure out how to duplicate it, and therefore make a lot of money.

Chatter back and forth with the man, but in the end, she got into the back seat of the car – and instructed him to go to the Chatodo. She ignored his pleas that she had passed for a short ride, in even more his talk about how the plastic fabrication company was closed on a Saturday. But it was that it took over 30 minutes to get there, and he did not have a ride going back. This was where his desire caught him because he would do it just for a chance to apply his wares. She looked at him and saw the fat drip off his face and indeed off of his entire body. And wondered why he was not a good catch.

Foolish.

Immediately, once she was in the car - though he had not even gone half a block: “Once you are finished with your business, I could take you out to someplace that I know. It would be my treat, of course.” There was, on the undercurrent of his breath, the distinct smell of cheap cigarettes – and different kinds. She guessed that he would ask anyone who ordered the car whether they had one – if they were a smoker. One just had a whiff to tell whether the rider was a member of the fumeur tribe. Her status was that she was not a smoker, but only for a short period. Enough so she did not wreak of smoke.

Thus she spent at least 45 minutes betting away his advances, not even thinking about it. Instead, her eyes moved up and down the streets and to Route 1. Look out the window, seeing people passing – was it her imagination, or were the children even thinner than they were in her childhood? Did the babies have more malnutrition than she remembered?

Cab took a long way around, because of course he took a long way - so that they took longer to get to Route 1, and though she knew it she said nothing. Instead, her eyes wandered over the landscape that the car took her through, from the Eastern mountaintops to the clutter of new buildings, and over the airport which was first ahead of them – and only gradually moved to the right. She imagined one day taking an airplane out – a jet that had all of the amenities, clean air, water, and that popping noise that one acquaintance had described. It was like heaven, only here on earth. Not expecting anyone from the developed world to understand, she imagined that these sorts of comforts were common in their countries, but for her, they were luxuries that she counted out coins to hold even for a moment. She glanced at the boys playing football, with each side having a goalie to defend the net – even though there was not usually a net. She saw, briefly, the concentration on the young boy’s face – his determination not to let a kicker fire a rocket through his space.

Mountains were lush with the flora of Haiti. She saw that the mansions were not crowded but sparse – each one of them guarding the secrets of who lay within. She imagined being in control of one of those mentions, even though it would never be. She imagined the hardwood floors – imported from beyond – and the white chairs around a marbled and glassed table. On which she would eat some kind of fruit – perhaps strawberries, or mangoes. Everything would be imported, because who knew what you would get from local farmers – she imagined that they would have poison slipped into revenge on such rich people. You never know.

Roused herself from the vision, because all at once she was talking without really trying to say anything, and her eyes moved – they were getting off of route 1, approaching route 8 eight. On Route 1 there was a gas station, which the man decided would be optimal to fill up – she did not know whether he had any credit with them, but she guessed that he did. It was more than likely.

Even in the gas area, she looked at everyone who was there. She saw that people from the lower class, which was almost all of the country, there being only a sliver of the elite and moyen class. Has wood be expected, everyone there was male – the women sat in the cars and trucks. It was usual for there to the far more trucks than cars, and this was so here. Even on Saturdays, the outside was male-dominated, and inside the home was where females held sway. There were other points, such as most females did not have as much education as the males, and would hold their tongues while men were speaking. That was just the way in Haiti, though she could imagine that other lands would do things differently – this too was told her by an acquaintance, and acquaintance at MSF.

After he had finally finished up gassing the car and wiping the front window screen – he got back in and tried one more time to get her attention: “You know I owned this car all by myself, you could do much worse than having a husband who owns a car.” Barely noticed is entreaty, though she could not help herself but sniff – in despair. “God will tell me which man I should be with.” As she spoke this she realized it was a large mistake, because he thought it he him an opening.

“I have traveled all over Haiti, and know many things.” But you do not know French only Ayisyen Kreyol, how could I marry a man who does not speak proper French?

But he kept on talking and talking – but finally he said something which needed to be responded to: “ I know you are not going to where you said you were.” he was glancing his eyes over her face and the upper part of her figure as he talked, it was still obvious that he could not get a vision out his mind.

“So what? You could drop me off there.”

“What if I promise not to tell anyone, and drive you to where you want to go? I promise I will not tell anyone.” This is probably true because he did not want more men to know where she was going, in her red and gold dress, with her flourished hair – which was thrown up rather abruptly, with the makeup applied too quickly. But in his eyes, she would be a nice shag – and If he was lucky more than once. After that, his attention would wander away to some other woman. After all, a man is like to be, going from flower to flower sampling the nectar.

At this, she hesitated, but realized, any man would probably treat her the same way. “All right I will give you the real address if you will come back in three hours and take me home.” Now, he was making a sacrifice – because Saturday was one of his best days for making money, but the urge to have a chance was too strong, so nodded his head.

Off Haiti 8 -in the back street of the side streets - was a single-story building, which was plastered and painted in a yellow color – like all colors it was light and bright. Could see the rectangular blocks behind the façade, but that was the way of almost every building in this area. You could tell it was a residential building – because it had no signs on canvas to advertise what was made there. One last time she looked at the women carrying boxes on their heads, and at the children with primary or secondary colors that bedecked. How even this far away from the center of Port-au-Prince, the streets were crowded by pedestrians – some selling their wares beneath large umbrellas. Idling she thought that this was a kind of heaven and that she would live here – even with the dust – forever.

There was something made there … redemption. For in this dilapidated house was a practitioner of voodoo magic. Not the kind that is in novels, however well or poorly written, but the kind that is really, truly, actually believed in by many people, especially in Haiti.

And Jules was a believer, uh-uh. Jules was a believer, since her mother took her at the age of four, to a night session in which you had to believe that it was happening in the end, before you understood what was happening. Only then good you be what in French was called a Vodouisants – and in Ayisyen They called its followers “sèvitè” which means, servant to the spirits.

Yes, Jules was a believer.