Free Because We Are: A Novel of Haiti by Ted Oswald Page A

had seemed to return.
    Libète peeked into the other room to see her Aunt squatting, leaning over a pot situated atop their small stove. Her uncle was seated on his old stool in the corner, shirtless.
Spineless as usual
, she thought. He had sat through the argument between Davidson and Aunt Estelle without uttering a word.
    Estelle rose, and with her brow dripping with sweat, removed her long metal spoon used to stir the simmering soup inside. Libète moved over to her and surveyed the pot’s bubbling yellow contents.
    —
Joumou!
she exclaimed. A staple on New Year’s day, it had become one of her favorites since coming to Cité Soleil. Her Aunt sometimes shared a portion from the vat she prepared for her restaurant.
    — You can have some of what I made, but not too much. Each year you get bigger and eat more, you cut into my profits. She scooped the soup into a plastic bowl. I’m making a big sacrifice giving you a whole day without work for your birthday. My parents never gave me such a privilege. I worked every day of my life. Holidays and birthdays? No one cared…
    Aunt Estelle was still caught up in her argument with Davidson, that was obvious. Libète had little patience and knew what had to be done to quiet her. She breathed deeply, steeling her mind for the difficult words she had to utter.
    — Thank you, thank you, thank you! Libète said and gave Estelle a hug around her vast waistline. Her Aunt was surprised by the embrace. Libète knew she walked the line between insincerity and ingratitude but decided more cloying seemed safer than appearing ungracious.
    — I know you’re lying, her Aunt said. But I don’t care today. You can do whatever you want. Libète’s face lit up, this time for real. Her Aunt held up a quick hand to silence her. Ah! But first get me water for my bath.
    **
    After finishing her joumou, Libète rushed out the door, coins in one hand, her faithful bucket in the other.
    She stepped out along the sky blue row of homes, barefoot, seeing who was about. The Sun had started drying the pools of standing water left over from rains the night before, though much of the ground remained a wet and muddy mess. No matter, though. She started down the row toward Impasse Sara.
    Upon turning the corner, she was pleased to see her cousin had lingered, but dismayed to see why he had done so.
    — Ah, Libète! Happy birthday! Davidson exclaimed.
    — Thank you, cousin. She gave him a sideways hug.
    — Yes, Libète,
bonn fet
. I’m so happy for you, said the teenage girl with whom Davidson spoke.
Whore
, Libète thought, still smiling pleasantly. It was Nathalie, one of Libète’s neighbors. Ti Gaston, her toddler brother, was totally naked and played in the loamy mud.
    — Mèsi, Nathalie. And how are you? Davidson was oblivious to the false pleasantries.
    The “whore” was not actually a prostitute. Nathalie was a flower whose nectar had intoxicated her cousin; Libète was quick to apply the label to any girl who caught Davidson’s attention, always suspicious of their motives.
    Nathalie was a pretty girl with a full and round face, and lovely skin. She was even nice sometimes. Libète admired her beauty (though she would never tell her this) and hoped that she too might blossom as Nathalie had when she reached fifteen. Right now, she relished the fact that Nathalie’s clothes were unwashed and her hair looked like a bush.
    — You’re looking nice today, Libète said, a bit too wryly.
    — Me? Oh, I’m such a mess. Aren’t I, Davidson?
    — Oh, yeah, you look horrible, Nathalie.
    The girl pushed him playfully. Libète wretched.
    She turned to look at the small child, anything to take the focus away from Nathalie. And you, Gaston? How are you
?
she asked in an exaggerated tone reserved for small children.
    The little boy looked up from his play, ant-smashing by the looks of it. I’m good, he said matter-of-factly before going back to his merry work.
    — Libète, Davidson said. It looks like