Free In Darkness by Nick Lake Page B

were two liars, sitting with sweets in our laps that we didn’t deserve.
    Me and Marguerite, we looked down, ashamed.
    — Come, said Papa. Now.
    His voice was cold, like nothing I had ever heard before. Dread Wilmè stepped up to him and started to say something, but Papa turned away, didn’t even reply. He picked us up from the ground, effortless, like we were light things. The sweets fell. He swung us; he carried us to the stairs.
    — It’s for a good – began Manman.
    Papa held a hand up.
    — They’re not performing monkeys, he said.
     
     
    After that, there was a lot of coldness between Manman and Papa. There was no shouting; Papa didn’t shout. When he was angry he was quiet and cold, like the deep sea, and that was worse.
    Me and Marguerite, we played outside on the street whenever they discussed something, which is what they called it when they argued. At first we thought we were in trouble, but it didn’t seem like we were.
    It seemed like it was Manman who was in trouble.
    There weren’t any other children on our street to play with us – no one lived on our street, not anymore. We were the last family on the street. On one side of our street was Boston, which belonged to the rebels, and on the other side was Solèy 19, which belonged to Dread Wilmè. Later, Solèy 19 became Route 9, cos that’s the name of a big road MINUSTAH are building on our side of the Site, to join us to the rest of Haiti. They’ve been building it for years now, and it still isn’t done yet.
    Anyway, Route 9 came later. For now, all you need to know is that me and my family, we were living on a strip in the middle, between Dread Wilmè’s territory and that of the rebels.
    You understand? No man’s land. Manman told Papa we should leave, but he didn’t want to.
    — It’s not our war, he said. We’re anyen to them. If we move to either camp, then we’ve taken a side. And they’ll kill us for it.
    Me, I think Manman would have liked to go to the Lavalas side, to Dread Wilmè’s territory. I could see she was happy when we were there, playing at being Marassa. But she must have loved my papa, cos she never pushed it.
    So, on the day I’m talking about, Marguerite and me were playing all by our ownselves, while Manman and Papa argued inside. Occasionally we heard a bit.
    — They’re just children!
    — You’re exploiting the sick!
    I didn’t understand what those words meant then, not really. But I do now. And you know what? I think Papa was wrong.
    One: we weren’t just children. There’s no such thing as children in Site Solèy, only smaller starving people, only smaller dead people. On the road next to ours there was a morgue – Morgue Privée , said the sign. It was one of the first things I learned to read. On the sign also, which was really just paint on a wall, there was a little girl, and above her an angel, flying her up into heaven. You think this was meant to manipulate people; you think it’s kind of sick. But it wasn’t. It was a reality. You didn’t take your husband to a morgue – you couldn’t afford it, could you? But when your child died, then you found the money, if you could. Your family helped you, maybe. Unless it was a baby you didn’t want. Then you just threw it on the trash.
    That sign, it wasn’t about manipulating your emotions. It was like a car-shop sign with a tire on it to say, we change tires. Only instead it said, we look after dead kids. And the Site was full of dead kids.
    Two: exploiting the sick? I don’t think so. Me and Marguerite, for sure we didn’t like to touch them. But if you saw the expression on their faces when they thought they’d been blessed, your heart would fucking break. If some of those people didn’t think themselves healed after they believed the lwa of twins touched them, I will turn myself into a parrot.
    But back then we didn’t really know what Papa was saying, and we didn’t care, either. We were just glad we weren’t in trouble.
    We had