Free There is a Land (A Libète Limyè Mystery) by Ted Oswald

not to let it show.
    She gave a sigh and a tight-lipped smile. Wi, she echoed quietly, careful not to let her own feelings show. She reached down to the bag and tore a piece of the sweet, popping it into her mouth.
    — So stand with me, Libète proclaimed, in protecting one another, in being willing to lay down your life for that of your friends, maybe even your enemies. This is the only way–
    Libète craned her neck. There was shouting now, rising from the stands. She tried to speak louder, but some incident had stolen the crowd’s attention. All eyes turned from the front of the proceedings to the back. Libète swallowed her words. Her own searching eyes landed on Jak, his face set in horror, before she noticed that Didi was laying on the ground, writhing.

Chache Lavi
    Chache lavi detwi lavi.
    Looking for life destroys life.

    Magdala is quiet much of the morning after the fight between her son and Prosper. Libète had observed her from a distance, while seated under the shade of the nearby mapou tree. The woman moves deliberately between tasks: boiling noodles for breakfast, putting water out for her fowl, washing Libète’s dirty clothes. Now she roasts coffee beans before grinding them down with a mortar and pestle for the market. Her pounding echoes the drumming Libète heard in the distance the night before.
    — Madanm, can I help you?
    Magdala looks up, cocks her head, blinks. She returns to her work. Magdala’s mind is clearly elsewhere–Libète notices she crushes the coffee beans too much.
    Dorsinus already knows comforting Magdala is beyond him. For once, Libète wishes he would speak. She wishes to understand .
    She approaches him as he gives Saint-Pierre some leaves and dried corn stalks to chew.
    — What happened here, Dorsinus?
    — Eh? He too was trapped inside his head. He simply muttered, Dark things, dark things.
    — But what?
    He held up his hand to silence her. Dark things have come, dark things are coming.
    Libète suddenly wondered if she was safer with this bunch than the vicious dogs and their owners.
    She sat behind the shack on an old stump used for extracting cane juice, watching the Sun rise higher and illuminate this new, foreign land. A mother hen strode before Libète, searching for food as its chicks trailed close behind. Libète needed to be away for a bit, to hear her own thoughts, to plan rather than react.
    They might not be far off . . .
    She shuddered.
    Anger and fear grabbed her again, shook her, and seeped through cracks in her heart. She tried to control them and the crowding, terrible memories they brought. In . . . out , she breathed. In . . . out , she told herself. She closed her eyes, trying to still the swirling memories, but found herself swept away:
     
    Bullets slipping through night-covered flesh
    Faces ghoulish, color twirling fast
    Silent Didi laid out, empty, flat
     
    She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, quelling the tears before they could well up, trying again to plug the breach through which the memories poured.
    In , she breathes . . .
    Endless farewells, tortured good-byes
    Water below, above
    Cycle’s ceaseless spin
    . . . out , she exhales.
    Dieudonné. I reached them. I’m safe , she tried to reassure herself. I’m safe.
    For now , a prickly voice not her own added from low and deep inside her.
    Libète’s hand trembled as she slipped off her headscarf, letting sunlight massage her scalp and rub into her skin. She was grateful for the Sun above: it was the only thing familiar here.
    Taking in her body helped defy the past and ground her in the moment: here, now . Her broken feet, wrapped toes, and ashy knees; her clothes just barely concealing her shoulder’s unsightly scar from the bullet wound suffered those years before. She was glad she was spared seeing her face’s sad reflection and her eyes devoid of fire.
    She longed to be the version of herself that existed in days gone by–elegant braids, lovely clothes, even modest jewelry