Monday, February 19, 2018

Fon d'parikulur - Tranblemanntè 12 janvye 2010 nan peyi Ayiti– The day of the quake - II


16:53, as the clocks registered it– what people were working had left or had begun to think about leaving. But then came the earthquake. In a land of many earthquakes, this was The. Many people called it “Goudu Goudu” - because of the shaking of the buildings – and whispered that it was someone in the US that wanted to destroy this land. Even as they tripped other thought dark things.

Seconds to react: and then the walls and floor come. A few seconds where light debris falls and then all is chaos. If you are in a building, you have roughly half a minute to get out – otherwise your chances will be determined by Bondye – and they will not be good. Everything about the earthquake goes to extremes, and very few people have experienced an earthquake quite like this. But in the capital they knew it was an earthquake, on like many places which would at first shrug there shoulders. They knew in their bones, in their belly, in the windpipe, that it was up from the earth. The place where demons live, the place where the supreme creator plays a vast joke on man. On one moment, it is man's chaotic but orderly world. In the next moment, it is pure destruction.

People running through the streets, most of them with black jeans and colorful T-shirts, without a name on them. The balls of play are, dropped. The children run scattered and mothers look for them. In the official buildings, all the guards run out. But it is in the poorest sections of town where the damage hits hardest – suddenly there are streams of water from every crack in a house. Suddenly you realize that the mice and rats left just a half a minute before – and they had a reason to do so. People were pushing into doors as quickly as possible, because they knew that very soon the doors would be piles of junk to hinder their progress. Only the people who have not experienced it – those foreigners who have not felt it – stand around and gaze at the buildings. Everyone else is a flurry of motion, intent on getting outside as quickly as possible.

Two minutes, the shock is over. Then the torturous process of finding a way out begins, often by throwing out everything that is in your way and sticking a hand out and crying for some form of help. That is if there is anyone who can help, but often there are only people running away or who are in need of help themselves.

Help is the recovery refrain. M'aidez. M'aidez. Which is why Mayday is the word for help over the radio.

Cadence of a language, whether it is called a dialect, a kreyol, or a tongue that defines the way it is spoken. Whether it is understandable or not to anyone outside – Cockney, Pasisian, or the differences between Mandarin and the dialect of Beijing. Each one has their indefinable sense of being spoken well. But in the midst of pain, the cadence descends to a guttural drawl – and eventually almost all languages become the same – with only variance in the ways that they interact in the voice. So it was with an earthquake – all of the languages condensed into a wale of pain. Pain that has a first-person, 2nd person, and 3rd plural. I am in pain, you are in pain, the world is in pain.

Groping out the sides of buildings comes white for the T-shirts, and black for the skin. With tiny beads of white for the eyes. Clawing. Groping, until they fade out to whispers. And then silence. Never to be heard from that person again.

Entire town as capital was correct in a sacrosanct correction – is everyone realized that man was not always in charge here. There was still nature to be reckoned with. And nature was angry, or so it appeared to the inhabitants. A Rumble of white cast over Port-au-Prince, enveloping everything – from government buildings to blocks where the poor lived. From industry, shipping, and the few shops which made actual things. It was white because everything was made of concrete and plaster, and most things of any size were white before paint was mixed in. and the change hung over everything after the quaking was done.

How many died on that day? If it was an accident, one injury can be managed, and survived. 10 injuries needed to be triaged. But 300,000 just had to be aghast, with burial creeping into the consciousness - a source of employment which was not to be discussed – merely done. The story of a few people, is given over to an epic, an epic of mass destruction. No movie captures the scope – because in reality nature has its own pause and rise – which is different from the pause and rise of a person, or different from a group of people. Nature does not have feelings.

It was gone, and the stories that were being told started again. But started with an ellipse...

The signal mark of destruction - buildings, cars, cats, and people. Especially people. Important people – such as the Archbishop of Port-au-Princes. And political figures such as the leader of the opposition. There were many who would be known only to those who survived. Some would not be remembered by anyone because entire families had perished from the earthquake, or the aftermath. Fortunately there was no power in much of the afflicted areas – there was no fire that took hold.

That which happened before, no longer picked up – it was a different place entirely, with screams and moans, sigh of relief.

In a room, on a floor, in a building, which the doctor worked in, there was commotion, and then devotion, both to Mon Dieu, and other darker powers. The doors became exhilaratedly crammed - as every person became a body which had only one instinct - to survive, to move out of a room - and on to the street. But this required the rush of people into the corridors. They were banging into both the walls and each other, crying out for air, crying for Manman nou – Either to rescue, or 2 and the suffering which had torn the brink of day from brink of day
But in the room, there were 2 people talking, when the shaking of the earth started. Each of them knew that the 1st thing to do was to look around and make sure that nothing was quite fall upon them. There was terror on their faces – bien sur - but in each of their minds was a kind of calm that came from an inner reserve - which came from a life which does that it may end in a will of the wisp. What the doctor noticed, was that the UN diplomat had the vestiges of calm beginning to come over his face. That meant that the UN diplomat had been in these situations before - and was struggling to take control of his mind, his brain, is body. While every one else - or nearly so - was panicking, wailing, and running - the UN diplomat was not doing any of those things. He did not yet have control, but it was coming.

The doctor looked inside himself, and the same process - more slowly - was taking place. The mind acts rationally with a such people - diplomat and doctor - and in that shorts space of time when the earthquake bloomed into full flower - a realization came. Each new the other one was different from almost all of the other people. Outside, in the corridor, there were people trying to rush out - to get to safety, to get somewhere anywhere everywhere nowhere. Inside the new that such an old building had survived catastrophes before, and would probably do so again. In any event, rushing to be part of the throng would not help anyone.

So while plaster fell from the ceiling, and file cabinets were flown to the floor - the 2 men were relatively unheard - a large chunk of plaster had hit the UN diplomat, but it left only a scratch.

Circumstances were such, that the only thing they really wish to talk about could not be set. Cholera was known about, from before the beginning. Eventually someone would contract it and spread it over all of the developments - until a blood test found that out. This could not be talked about, because the UN diplomat would not answer precisely. They were admitted into a secret society, whose membership could not say what was the only thing that kept them in business.

Oh how he wished, like a player in Sophocles, to stretch forth upon the wide stage, and deliver a grand soliloquy. But the problem was, that he knew he was not the player who would say this. Instead his mind turn to Jules - because if she were alive, she would be the one to tell individuals, in her way.

“1st we must help the victims, and then find our way to Jules.”

Nod, was all that came from the diplomat. There was the unsettled calling in the Doctor voice – which held a deep whisper, like the echoes of memory of union, which touched – as surely as the must be – by the strains of forgotten hands and distant chords. In his heart Dr Kenold knew the she was not for him, even though he wanted her.

Why, you might ask? Because their minds did not touch, and he knew his body did not appeal.

Friday, February 16, 2018

Fon d'parikulur - Tranblemanntè 12 janvye 2010 nan peyi Ayiti– The day of the quake - I


'The magnitude 7.0 Mw earthquake occurred inland, on 12 January 2010 at 16:53 (UTC-05:00), approximately 25 km (16 mi) WSW from Port-au-Prince at a depth of 13 km (8.1 mi)[7] on blind thrust faults associated with the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault system.[27] There is no evidence of surface rupture and based on seismological, geological and ground deformation data it is thought that the earthquake did not involve significant lateral slip on the main Enriquillo fault.[28] Strong shaking associated with intensity IX on the Modified Mercalli scale (MM) was recorded in Port-au-Prince and its suburbs. It was also felt in several surrounding countries and regions, including Cuba (MM III in Guantánamo), Jamaica (MM II in Kingston), Venezuela (MM II in Caracas), Puerto Rico (MM II–III in San Juan), and the bordering Dominican Republic (MM III in Santo Domingo).[1][29] According to estimates from the United States Geological Survey, approximately 3.5 million people lived in the area that experienced shaking intensity of MM VII to X,[1] a range that can cause moderate to very heavy damage even to earthquake-resistant structures. Shaking damage was more severe than for other quakes of similar magnitude due to the shallow depth of the quake.[30][31]'

'The quake occurred in the vicinity of the northern boundary where the Caribbean tectonic plate shifts eastwards by about 20 mm (0.79 in) per year in relation to the North American plate. The strike-slip fault system in the region has two branches in Haiti, the Septentrional-Oriente fault in the north and the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault in the south; both its location and focal mechanism suggested that the January 2010 quake was caused by a rupture of the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault, which had been locked for 250 years, gathering stress.[32] However, a study published in May 2010 suggested that the rupture process may have involved slip on multiple blind thrust faults with only minor, deep, lateral slip along or near the main Enriquillo–Plantain Garden fault zone, suggesting that the event only partially relieved centuries of accumulated left-lateral strain on a small part of the plate-boundary system.[28] The rupture was roughly 65 km (40 mi) long with mean slip of 1.8 metres (5 ft 11 in).[33] Preliminary analysis of the slip distribution found amplitudes of up to about 4 m (13 ft) using ground motion records from all over the world.[34][35]'

'A 2007 earthquake hazard study by C. DeMets and M. Wiggins-Grandison noted that the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault zone could be at the end of its seismic cycle and concluded that a worst-case forecast would involve a 7.2 Mw earthquake, similar in size to the 1692 Jamaica earthquake.[36] Paul Mann and a group including the 2006 study team presented a hazard assessment of the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault system to the 18th Caribbean Geologic Conference in March 2008, noting the large strain; the team recommended "high priority" historical geologic rupture studies, as the fault was fully locked and had recorded few earthquakes in the preceding 40 years.[37] An article published in Haiti's Le Matin newspaper in September 2008 cited comments by geologist Patrick Charles to the effect that there was a high risk of major seismic activity in Port-au-Prince.[38]'

- Wikipedia, written by many hands on to you.

Quand son boulot s'achève. Un accordéoniste. Awakening in the end of the night, where the stars were going out one by one. She was alone, and the bed was called – it was obvious he left in the intervening hours. She was not sure whether she was grateful or grateful – because she was glad to have seen him go. Somehow she knew she was impregnated with his baby, and the thought occurred whether to terminate the pregnancy – whether by medical or religious means. Her stomach roiled at the aborting this precious gift from God, though she would never say who the father was in its presence. That would be a secret known only to mon dieu. Et le java.

Chercher un peu de rêve. Baby, baby, baby – she had never thought about having a child before, she hoped it had a moon shaped face – because that was something precious and come to the earth from deep in the sky. She did not care who the child was in its conception; almost any father would do. Because he – whoever he was – would be gone as soon as his pleasure was over, but she being the mother would remain. And that suited her fine – just she and the baby. Which is why in her mind she kept whispering for it to be with her. She wanted it, and this after having not wanted it at all.

La fille de joie est belle. Coming of a baby would bring bliss to her life, and to her mother's life. Her father had died some years before – and did not care for babies, children, or cats. Though he was Partikular to dogs, but only of a given size – too small and they were like children or cats, too large and there were control issues that he did not want. The exact size, when she thought about it, was a spaniel.
Elle a une clientèle. Window transmitted light: she could see the moon – rising up in all of her splendor, and whispering secrets to all who would listen. The secret that she heard from the moon, was that her girlhood had died while she slept. And it was now womanhood that she woke to. Her breath had almost stopped, and she listened for her Mama, but did not hear the whispering rasp. She wondered if she had been killed by Jon le Bon – but decided that was not his style, to murder the mother after having slept with the daughter. But she wondered what it would take to make him murderous. Because in her heart she knew that there was something which would. The thought was dark, and her eyes lit less light in – and the pattern of the stars grew dim. It was somewhat too bad that she did not know the constellations – though once she had a man who taught her. However that was a distant haze, when the time was for marijuana and beer, not wine and cigarettes.

Chercher un peu de rêve. After all there was a difference in the intoxicants that one imbibed. And with youth came different strengths, and the price was also small. But now she had more exquisite tastes, and she would have to wrangle from the doctor a trip to one expensive place or another. He had ways, and he liked to show them off.

Son tonnerre éclatant. Slowly the moon disappeared behind the house across the way, and she knew that in about an hour that the sunlight, glorious sunlight, would begin to creep along the horizon. Then it would be morning in Port-au-Prince – and a new day would begin. For those who actually worked, such as they were, it was a tough day. This was her. Butt of those who did not work it was just another day in January. Though the calendar was meant for more northern climes, and it did not register the same way in Haiti. She knew that she had bought this, at least once a day.

Mais le ciel de paris. Sliding across the grass paper sheet – mother was Partikular about this, however much it cost – she looked down to the wooden floor – this time it was her father which was Partikular about this – she could just see the knots that wrinkled the surface. But what was actually on her mind was becoming day's events. While in developed countries – so she heard it said – one could do things in an office with a phone, here you had to talk to people face-to-face. Talk to people and assure them that this would not be a pattern – that most supplies would have a cut for “the handling” built-in for interested parties, this time they had to let things pass, and pass without taking anything. This would take several days, with each one being assured. This is where her line of work was most important, because she would be the one who would, essentially, pet the clients. And then in a trick of the eye, a face which she knew and would have to talk to transformed into a knot which resembled, vaguely, the shape of the man's head. Even though she had seen this happen in many circumstances, it still was disconcerting. She realized that dawn was approaching fast – because everything in the room began to feel lighter and brighter. Over reach for the heavens, she thought, and bring luck to us in our cause. It was not really an adventure, because nothing would be out of the ordinary or new. But it was a cause, because certain people would not have cholera inflicted on them. And what is more, they would not even know. Da da de da.

Près de Notre-Dame parfois couve un drame oui mais à Paname. Turning away from the floor she again studied the outside, where there were birds in a chorus beginning to chirp and rumble in their variety. She recognized a pierce from a Partikular species, but she had forgotten which one it was. But this pierce meant something to her, and she identified with it. She identified it because it seemed alone and searching for a partner too much its own. It was a crying, a dedicated warble, for the bird who - she imagined – it was meant for. Because it is piercing stopped, and she hoped that it had found its mate. Hoping that this would be her fate as well.

Coule un fleuve joyeux. Bathroom called, and demanded to be answered. Shoes on to feet, and feet on the floor. It was a ritual, from when she was small and her mama gathered her out of bed and wrapped her into her intoxicating night close. Her mother would talk about all of the things that they were going to do – she did not realize that it was the last summer before she went to school. But then sometime later, she realized that her mama did. This too, was a ritual.

Elle est née d'aujourd'hui. Easing down on the floor, through the slippers – she crept her way out of her room, and down the hallway. Their was an ornate floral wallpaper, which had been there since before she lived here, and probably before the people who owned this house – at least 40 years. There were chips and runs in it, and it had an old feel to it. No one knew what caused someone to obtain such paper once a long time ago when it was installed.

Cet air qui m’obsède jour et nuit. First - she had to check something: though she knew what the logical answer was – the emotional vision of her mama murdered still clung to the visual part of her memory. Being rid of it, meant that she had to go in to mama's bedroom, and peer over mama's form – just to make sure that she was still awake. This only takes a few minutes – and when it was done a distinct sign escaped her lips. It surprised her that such intensity was made for what was obviously a simple check of a trivial thing. She knew that her mother was not murdered, but her mind stuck in the mode of the convinced on some level. She went into the bathroom and showered, which was actually a luxury.

This being a country where water was precious, clean water more precious, and hot cleaned water was almost unheard of. Those people did not care about what the water out of a showerhead contained.

Il arrive en courant derrière moi. Returning to her room, she got out a business dress – which was green, a dark green that she favored – and tried on many of the accouterments until she was thoroughly presentable. A men would not understand the enormous detail that she went through – but almost any woman would. Thus it took 30 minutes to get this ensemble perfect.

Padam... Padam... Pandam...Worth every minute of it – because she felt clean. But if you think about it very carefully, she rose with makeup still on her face – because cold cream was not in their budget – then she showered to get it and a denuded state – only to put on makeup which put a sheen on her face. And so the cycle was repeated again – soot to clean to soot. A never ending process, which she would demand until the day she died. There was something that commanded her to do this, even down to her genes. A lot typed version of evolution which she could have thought of if her mind really thought the way that a nurse could actually think.

But of course her mind never troubled her learning - if she could help it.

Mes musician, there were also many things she did not do: such as pack a lunch. For every bit that she did not do, money would supply much of the answers if it came down to that. Of course most people on the island would not have money, that was the division between the poor and what should be called something different then the middle class – because of course most people were not in the middle class. It was a pyramid that was distorted, back to the 1600s, when people who had money were actually quite a few, and lived in a few cities which one could pick out. This was the way it was in Paris then, and in Haiti, now.

Arretez! Arretez le Java! Marching through the day, such questions were herded to the back of her head; the main question now was who was going to drive her to the various locations that she needed to visit, and the people that she needed to talk to. Of course it could not be the same driver; 1st of all because he was too leery. This was a problem when she had to talk to men who had to be reminded that nothing was to be taken from a certain set of deliveries. This was because they would find ways of cashiering the driver; it was a male thing.

Perfect person came into her head: for one he was old, not too old mind to put old enough to put virility out of the picture. He was also somewhat round, though not quite fat. He had a slight stoop, and was certainly less than average. He talked about things he heard on his radio, which received far more stations then most people listen to. He could hear Ayisyen radio from a number of cities well outside of Haiti, where the diaspora had carried people to other shores. Of course many of these were unlicensed – that is to say pirated – but who in Haiti was concerned about that? His amiable tone of voice meant that he was unthreatening, and one would guess unhinged because he jumped from topic to topic. Belle c'est belle. She remembered hearing the female announcer a long time ago, and for a while that was one of her objectives, to be like Mimose. However Poppa put an end to that.

Moving to streets over, to her place where taxis congregated in the weekdays, she knocked on the car door. It was old, American, and large. Or large enough that it took up a great deal of space as it moved through the roadway. You knew it was old because it had a light turquoise finish with chrome where chrome should be, and not where it was not. There was pride in the car, and clearly the man who owned it was also the man who drove it. She did not know how fast it went, but she could guess that “not very” was close to the mark. It took two wraps before he looked up – he had his head in the glove kompartment, stripping wires.

La voix: the voice was mellow and slightly soft: “Good day, my little thin girl. How are you doing? This is more than Sifre. You never say hello for the sake of it.”

“That hurts, I can occasionally say good day.” There were wisps of fake tears in her eyes, not for the truth of it; but that she allowed the truth of it to get out. From now on she would have to say things just to have the sound echo out of her lips.

Gradually, they fell into konversation, rather meaningless one, at least to her – she had not asked the key question as to whether he would drive her to various places. But she knew that was on the tip of her tongue, and he realized it. He occasionally looked down, back to stripping the wire. It was that that point that he was waiting for her to ask, because the answer was “yes” - or rather “ yes but” because he had something he wanted in return. And she knew it was not sex, so whatever it was could be arranged.

“So it does not seem like you have much to do, and you are not going to drive over to the collection of taxis.”

“This be true.” - in his unvarnished way of talking. He was de bas étage – as the French said it. The rural class held land – or fell into ruin, as he had done.

“Then could you drive me to various appointments that I have? Of course I would pay you – and more than some people would.”

“I know what you will pay me, you are always fair in that way. But I want something else rather than money.” “Yes, but” was obvious to all. At least there was no mistaking it.

“What is it?” Internally, her teeth ground at the unornamented way of talking, but that is the way that he talked and their was nothing she could do about it.

“Well, there is this gas station owner, and he made a bet with me.” The undulate syllables tripped early on his tongue, because it was obvious he won the bet.

“Say no more, I do not really want to know what you that on. I just want to know what do you want from me?” Cutting him off before he told her the details of the bet.

“After I fill up my voiture, I need to have someone call back to a friend of mine saying that I have petrol. And I do not have a phone.” A bit sheepish about this.

“Sure, I can do that for you.” she also imagined that having a friend would be beneficial to the man paying off the bet.

“Thank you I knew it would be the trouble for you.”

“What are friends for?”

“There is one last detail.”Slipped that in, quietly. Here was the real problem, which meant that it was not her phone – it was that her phone would not be traced by any of his friends to him.

“It is part way up the mountains, and out of Port-au-Prince. He owns other things in the town, but the gas comes in from the other part of the island.” Probably illegally to.

“That will be the last thing, is it not?”

“Yes, my friend, yes.” In Ayisyen kreyol, the “yes” was a great deal like the Parisian French. It had the sound of a guttural kind of “W” - and he played that up. The car door opened up, with an acrid scent that could only come from cigarettes, she recognized them of course – they were the scent of the mascot of French cigarettes. So off they went to make her appointments. It would take almost the entire day, but labor – even labor with a car – was cheap. Even if one had to live with the constant odor, even if he did not use them while she was in the car.

Cholera, however, was the important thing her mind – the passion killer born in the East lands of India – it had spread all over the world when the European nations had discovered colonization, realization, and the trade which came from them. The 1st comes from the British East India Company – sending workers in 2 the remote Ganges River, to take a forest and clear it for the production of that valuable commodity – rice. Rice of the type which is long grained, as the way it was done in India. Amidst the many rivers which created kilometers of deltas, 1 part was just beyond the Delta. It ran for miles, where the rivers came in and the sea came up – resulting in a mire of neither land nor sea. Instead it wobbled between both of these states – leading to land floating across water.

In this concoction a bacteria form its own lifespan – because in the brackish in between fresh and salt water weighted a special disease, which infected people who drank the water. Once having drunk the water, their intestines would be seized by a toxin so vicious that the body will do anything to get rid of it. It congeals in the intestine, and the fight causes the blood to turn black in the capillaries. Gradually the person wastes away – and that meant that the politicians needed to step in to create an entire infrastructure based on having clean water. In the 19th century, “ closing the taps” meant that a locus of cholera had been traced back to a water station – and the only way to get rid of it was to close the water station. It was the only way, or the dead would pile up until it was.

The developed world, it is controlled – even the with of cholera will spark the echelons of waste to begin closing down its source. But in lands such as Haiti, not enough communication occurs until the blight is firmly rooted – and no one knows which water station is responsible, because it has spread to many others. What he is more deadly, is that the organizations and people who are supposed to be alert, often are the ones who spread the problem. Instead of watching, the hide signs of cholera. So the bacterial killer becomes a human killer. A human killer in disguise.

Cholera cots, a bed with a whole in the middle for catching diarrhea, and a tin for throwing up vomit – are really the signs that the entire world would rather not talk about the nature of cholera, about how it kills 1st the infants and survivors, before turning its gaze to more healthy stock. Within each caller cholera cot there is a fresh example of the ashen wastrel, to be replaced by another after some time. It is not that there is not really, if one can get fluids and electrolytes in time – the patient will survive. The problem is that they would rather go to a church, or to voodoo – where they will hear everything but the truth. They will hear their that they should pray or sacrifice a chicken – in place there soul in the hands of God. Because God will protect one were as a cholera center drives people away until the last possible moment. Water, water, everywhere, and ever mouthful hides a secret. She realized she had drunk some water at the voodoo ritual – perhaps she was a carrier.

Then it is too late. And when can see the results from the white faces of those who are gripped in a spasm that drains out the organs and tissues from both ends - because cholera lives in the native bacteria, and thrives in sewage water. This sewage water is that drunk, until it reaches the point where even a small amount will infect. This is the moment of fecal-oral spread. It has happened here in Haiti - this is what she was fighting against: a living dead populating the ghettos. And remember, all of Haiti is a ghetto for the entire New World – a public squalor. El amore en los tiempos del cólera – willhere people scatter an outbreak – only to infect more places with more death. Till at last, the bodies cannot be disguised from their whiteness. This is one reason why white is the color of death in such lands.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 11 janvye 2010 - II


Sweet, sweet time, of walking home. Jules remembered every single time she did it; though she did not remember everything which happened there. But there was a magic in the cooling evening and summer light which bewildered her. Sometimes she was alone, and sometimes she would be dreaming of her father, a boyfriend that she was missing, or just some passing fragment of the day. Each time it was totally different. And yet it was the same equipoise in her soul. And it was her sole that beckoned her this time. The mooding of the day, that was the same; at least to her it was. It was as if it was a long lost sigh, that felt as if it started in the throat, but then came pouring out through the pores.

On the street she saw no barrels or baskets on the heads of women, though they did move down this street. But there was always something respectful about the way in which people had reverence, as if this was on holy ground. And it was in a manner of speaking – because being near the palace of the president was both a point of pride, and a remembrance of what had come before. Because for 2 generations, a man called Duvalier drilled the country to his whim – Bebe Dok was the son of Papa. And one would be hard pressed to decide which was more vicious. The old man would argue this when all of the other children had gone to bed; when did not know which stories were true, which ones are false, and which ones were the result of state terrorism. These were the days of the tom-tom macout – with the only positive thing that could be said was that he died young – 63, when other men would survive until much later. But then he was not interested in survival, but in power for as long as he had it. True he was given a ghost of a chance, but he was as mean spirited as his father was, and the tobacco monopoly gave him almost unlimited power on the tiny island, and it expanded beyond tobacco. No books were ever taken into account – and the loyalist police and military could do what they would like. Even Ronald Reagan could not stand him.

Prolonging her life; a forward which was written on her parents faces – they turned away rather than answering questions about what they did. From this she knew that they were active participants in the looting of the country. A few amassed huge fortunes while the rest of the tiny half of an island starved or leered on as the women were beaten. It said a great deal that her mother was never beaten.
But if you want to know why many in the dream of Paris, it is not the language but the lifestyle of Duvalier. He still has many supporters.

She went down up to her house and slowly slipped into the door, where she was surprised to see the man called himself Jon le Bon. It was a half dance and half fight – she able struggled against him and yielded her body to him at the same time. She was both repelled and enticed, just as it had been the last time that they met.

“Why are you here? And where is my mother?”

“I am here because I meant to be here, and your mother realized she could not keep me out. In fact she did not even try.”

“So she probably left running, is what you are saying.” she used her arms to extract herself, but only partially. His arms gripped into her elbows, securing a grip that she could not break.

“Are you still fighting against me, when we have endless days to speak of love.” the expression sounded to her like it was prepared, and she hoped that this would enfold her into escaping. But try as she might, she looked into his eyes – and melted into a dreamy reverence. On one side she thought it was disgusting, on the other side she felt her skin on her back yelp with delight. How does this happen? She was sure that there was some biochemical reaction, or some mystical movement that attracted opposites.But whatever it was, she needed to escape – and her tone was set to the harshest measure that she could muster.

Love was not in the equation: “Why do you want me? And how long do I have before you tire of my face, because we know that you are not put on this earth for marriage.”

“And how do you know that I was not put on the world for marriage?” there was a grin on Jon le Bon's face – even wider than a cats.

“Would you marry me?”

“But that is a specific question, them I put on the globe for you. Not a generic question about me.”

“All right then, suppose I would ask about me? What would you say?”

“I would say I do not know you well enough.”

“Well enough to sleep with me, though.”

“That is just for two people who happen to get along.”

But she thought, that is for 2 people who do not get along, but one to be close to one another.

“All right let us say that we get along, how long would it be until you would think about marrying me?” it seemed more of a statement then it ought to be.

“It is hard to say – so why do not we get close and things will work out – of that I can promise you.”
Realizing that he had plenty of deferments to the question, so that eventually she would open her nest and allow him to roost. And then there was the prickly feeling on her legs as he rubbed one but up her back. The only question she really wanted to know, was, how did he know by looking at her. Once the question was phrased in this parikulurli manner – it was fairly obvious. He may not have known the exact medical words, but he knew the clear signs that she was ovulating. And had a knack for exploiting this to its full.

Body cannot care, but mind knew that this would be the last time that the two of them would sleep together, this she promised on Bondye, God of gods. She problems this even though it made her lips move, and she went to sleep with this on her tongue: no more should he gain entrance just by knowing the signs.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 11 janvye 2010 - I

11 janvye 2010


Words were so different than, some paragraphs would open gently – but a few would explode in to consciousness.

“Now he told me that there was digging that reached the coast at this point here.” Dr. Kenold pointed to a region north of the city.

For Jules part she added in: “In hospital north of the city – number 20 – there was an annex, but all of the people in the Annex and different illnesses – but I never saw anyone moved to the main building. Which is very odd, because if it were an annex – you would think that more people would be going in and out of the main building. But only doctors and nurses went in and out – no patients did.”

“What does that mean? Though I have a suspicion, spell it out for me.” A concerned look crossed his face.

Large number of people were, excuse the expression, warehoused, at once. And they were from the same infection. It is as if they had taken everyone around them that were injured all at once. Which is means that there was a large infection, and they hurried everyone in that had been involved. Normally even infections of a Partikular sort happened over and over again. As you know much of Haiti is not very clean. And what is more, I saw a great deal of UN trucks, for more than would have otherwise seen.”

“Are you suggesting that the UN knew.”

“Under normal circumstances that would be dismissed from the brain. But the UN sent someone in, when normally there normal people could do what needed to be done.”

“Even sending it someone like yourself to grease the wheels?”

“My involvement is rather typical. What is not typical is that a UN should need my assistance – though many other foreigners might. MSF has me running around – to stem the flow of medications to – show we say non-medicated parts.”

“You mean gangs.”

“Anyone who is local, including domestic corporations. You never know when might need some medication. I am told by my foreign doctors that Haiti is one of the worst countries for infection – especially one that is on an island.”

There was going to be more konversation but then the UN diplomat came in to Dr. Kenold's office, it was 9 o'clock in the morning. Precisely, 9 o'clock. Only Swiss and German were ahead of this.
Hair, the hair was completely immaculate. It is not fair thought Jules a woman would have to spend at least an hour to do that, he probably spends a few minutes and then shakes it out and then he is done.
Making it more obvious that he was awake for some time, the UN director spoke, in a way which was different from the last time: “ hopefully I am not interrupting anything. But, we should get going on my project, because the sooner that the directors can extract me from Haiti, the better.”

Coming around the desk, Dr. Kenold had a look of determination – as if the presence was not going to distract him from what he had learned over the weekend. His shoes were steady, and the people beneath could hear him tromping – which was a bad sign, because it meant he was not amused. It might be guest by the reader that Dr. Kenold had a reputation which preceded himself among the other public servants. It was not a bad reputation – exactly, but it was a determination to do his job. This was not the case with most public servants.

“You will have to answer some questions that came up on a review of your situation. Can we get started?” there was a change of voice, no longer was it weak, and all traces of effeminacy were gone. This came as a shock to the UN diplomat, because he expected that he was being given over to a person who would, effectively, rubber stamp things. He was not sure that he liked this new power from the Ayisyen public servant.

Voice did not show this, and his manner showed it only in little ways: “What are your questions?” He did not have the forcefulness to aid anything – which he normally would. It was the gaps that his trepidations showed. But only people who knew him – of which there were none present – or who could have guessed – which was the case with Jules. Her face drilled in on his white bearded face, and seemed as if it burned. Because at that moment, he looked at Jules and Dr. Kenold alternately, each one of them having a different face, but a piece which was accusing.

Interrogation went on for at least an hour, and with each dénouement – the willpower was cracking. Laboissonnniere was not use to this, and several times but that he should just walk out, and take his case back to Alix, complaining how the people he had selected were no good for him. But instead he stayed answering questions, which amounted to an admission that the UN knew something was wrong.

The admission hit: the UN knew it was cholera – and they had introduced it. It was a metaphysical bomb – the UN would never admit this publicly.

Chasm, a deep dark chasm, moaning under their feet – as if it were aqueous and filled with fish from the sea – that each one of them felt in a similar way. Each one of them felt like a child in a darkened place, where they would hide from their parents, and cried for some transgression that they had committed. Looking at their faces showed that they reacted differently to there emotional distress – and that was the difference. The white haired man was slumped over the railing, drenched in sweat, and loose in his arms and limbs. The doctor of architecture instead was hunched up almost to the point of outstretched precision – he was on the balls of his feet – and that transmitted all the way up to a quiet rage upon his face. However – both were in some kind of dejected ecstatic frenzy of rage – and were in some personal state of mind, almost with no notion of anyone else.

But stretched out and comfortable was Jules – it was clear that she had a different vision of confinement, instead of some form of terror that she imposed on herself – there was a kind of looseness and calm on her face. She could see to people, each one of them drained and without really seeing the other. She watched back and forth, and decided what was the next move that she could make – because neither of the other two could even utter a word.

“So what are we going to do? The secret is not out, because only to members of the government – and I count myself informally as one – really know, and we do not have to tell our superiors. On the other hand, we must do something for the people who are stricken with the disease, and make preparations for removing the source. We have to do something once, not stand around and embarrass ourselves by how we got ourselves into this – after all none of us actually did the deed, and the people who were stricken consumed the water without testing it, or even knowing how to test it.”

There was a resolute nature to her – call it what it is – speech verging on diatribe. While she did this both of the men listened and changed their stance to one of intent listening. The two men were hanging on every word, and Jules was there leader.

In the daze, dim finding of things remembered - à la recherche du temps perdu , the white haired man remembered that once he would be telling people to look forward, and to be mindful of what could be done – rather than wallowing in the past. It should be he who made the speech, in that mind's eye of him being the center of attention. He wondered if he was getting too old – because his dossier had many times where he encapsulated the calm before the center of the storm.

Fractalwise the clock, as if the seconds did not move in a Partikular pattern – but instead each one set its own course through the now and into then. Both of the men bought that Jules would be the next to speak, and were intently listening for her voice to start. At long last she did:

“We must have a plan, that will deliver the supplies to the right people – and not let anyone else know that it has happened at all.”

Hesitation consumed the room – but it was that visitation of a group, not an individual - but at last the UN diplomat said: “On my part the problem is that the rest of the staff should not be notified, even alone them to suspect that domestic organizations had been known would be quite forbidden by the secret rules that are in place. Because, the higher representatives sent people who could be trusted with immense secrets.”

It was then that the doctor looked at the UN diplomat, and studied his face more intently than before – and last he saw the real profession. The UN diplomat was a spy, taking on the more difficult assignments – ones that very few would recognize. He wondered why the white haired man cried, because this was not the most difficult operation that he had performed. He had heard of such dealings with foreign governments and foreign NGOs, but had never participate in them. He had worked with Palais National and with others. But there was a difference between working with foreigners rather than dealing with domestics. He listened more to Jules: “That should be obvious to all of us, but thank you for reminding the delicacy of the situation with the United Nations. We also have to not mention this with Alix, because he will have guessed many things, but confirming them is out of the question.”

“What exactly does Alix do? His roll seems to be vague, in the extreme.” The doctor was the one who questioned.

“He actually has a nominal job, but it pays enough to park once car outside; thus he spends his majority of time working out which people need help, and which people who can help need a bit of money. This job is of course informal but vital. He also warns the informal about the formal directives which are coming down – especial on the topic of religion. The in a fine line to be tread there – Occasionally the Christian churches dislike the identification of Saints with the immovable powers. Especially the Roman catholic.” than, as if it was habit, the UN diplomat coughed – as if he was smoking when no one was looking.

UN diplomat asked: “ I would say not! So how do we divide the responsibilities, without letting any of the directors, managers, and Partikulars of no name become involved?” he noticed that Jules had something to say on his expression, but did not utter it.

“It is obvious that the doctor should file notices on the digging, while it is not his area of expertise, it is close enough so that anyone looking at it would see just ordinary graft. Nothing to ask questions of, except for someone who needed a bribe.”

“And what will you do, Jules?” the UN diplomat want to be sure that Jules was involved.
“It is obvious that a variety of people need to look the other way. How much do you actually need for distribution, and how much can be given away.”

“Well all would be for distribution, but one suspects that is not going to be the case.”

“In Haiti, some must be reserved for bribes, whatever their name is in the ledger. And I am sure you know this.”

“We can move 20% of what is available for handling fees.” Obviously this was the definition of the word “ bribe” in this Partikular context.

The doctor spoke: “Where do we need the cholera emergencies, because that will have to be also taken in to account, and forms need to be written and submitted.” Then the doctor spun around and went to look out the window, spreading the drapes to look at the myriad of buildings – from homes to businesses, to businesses that looked like homes but had too much construction near them. The buildings that were homes washed in pastels against the dark green palms. Then he returned to his desk and grabbed a large map of Port-au-Prince.

“Where else is there cholera, maps might have to be procured of the Partikular areas. Especially of the men who take bribes in the area.”

The UN diplomat was surprised: “You keep such records?”

“While it is labeled as such, yes we keep records on who we have to do business with. The moment of unity under Aristides is over, and now there are dozens of factions competing even for senators, let alone for the Chamber of Deputies. We would not get anything done – and we get little enough – without keeping tabs of who controls the various roads, even blocks, of territory.”

And so the 3 of them managed to find resolution on what should the done. Jules new that she would have to contact someone to do this, and she knew which one she would select.

Jon le Bon. Because she felt certain that he was capable of finding who really controlled, and would “persuade” them to look the other way.

Normally they would break for 2 hours, because the heat of the day commanded that they rest. But not today.If they were a myriad of sweat before, they were coded with it now. They allowed the fan from the ceiling to drive them off for an hour. The fan ran faster and slower, but none cared. It was at least something of a breeze.

Then the UN diplomat left, and then Jules left. It was just before 18:00.

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 10 janvye 2010 - IV


In another part of Port-au-Prince, Dr. Kenold was busy doing things he needed to do. The maps were piled around him on the desk – because he was one of the few who came in to the office on the weekend. There were other people at work, but mainly foreigners and people who worked with foreigners. There was one other category of people who would be on station: the criminals. The criminals who watched every street, every intersection, every door of the government. It is on the weekends that you know who really needs to work – for money, for profit, or out of necessity.
He was looking at one such tangle of streets, which was in the poorer land locked places in the town. Of course there were places which might be called “ strip clubs” in the West – but even local men needed someplace to engage in the steamier side of events. Thus off the main street were the places where men from Haiti would gather, though as often as not they did not actually have sex – just a stimulation. Because of course, men could have sex – but the toiling masses were not really men at all – in the minds of the prostitutes they were nothing more than sheep, not willing to grab what they wanted. And the women knew this instinctively, almost encyclopedically. While women do not read; they are none the less educated in what the business offers. Since men run the world; women run the men, until they get out of Haiti – and find that the world is very different from Haiti.

World is different, it requires one to meet people who have been there, and thus it is a secret kept from the majority of women – or is only a dream that they have.

Of course Dr. Kenold was disappointed that Jules was not there – though he had expected this. But after an hour he returned to his office, and stared in intense concentration. Of course the intensity was part of his way of forgetting all of the things that distracted him. The curves, the light, the shining in her eyes. It was all so beautiful, but he could not even reach for her hand to kiss on the cheeks. In a word, he was afraid; though he did not know of what precisely. There was a trembling to her form which bewitched and beguiled him. Then he realized that even his concentration was not sufficient, so he re-doubled his efforts and constituted on the side streets.

However, but, of course, and, his thoughts were still drawn to the meeting that was not. So he shifted his gaze to another part of the city: that of Route 1 – and its meander to the north, past the airport. It was near where ships unloaded, and each step was seamier than the last. He gazed at all of the side streets, and looked at both the Annex and the main building of a hospital. What was odd about this was their was no reason why the UN should be digging a trench where they were – at least they had not told the government what they were doing. And this was odd, because the UN was actually very good – at least on the scale of telling what they were doing. Realize this was not New York City, which there was an interplay between government and contractor. Most of the time people did what they want and only if they were caught did consequences from the government come into play. The UN was not supposed to be like that, because they were trained in large numbers of cities around the world, and took great care to respect the presence of laws, customs, and the little innuendos – which included bribing people who needed bribes. In fact, that was Dr. Kenold unspoken role.

In fact, the longer he looked at the digging – the more it seemed unusual. A gnawing uncertainty grew inside his mind – what if the UN were trying something not allowed? Even if eventually what they were doing would be dismissed with a gratuity, it would make sense that Alix would be involved in sliding someone who was not formally part of the government – everything would then be secret.
Under normal circumstances, Dr. Kenold would have dismissed this; but the weight began to tilt is mind towards the corrupt and venal. He wondered if there was something to it; how he could figure that out if it were. A thought occurred to him that he could drive out there and check, but he dismissed this almost immediately. But there was something that he could do, because he noticed that more digging was out North of the ship unloading. He knew someone who he could call, and have him investigate what the digging was. Immediately this sounded like a plan to him, and immediately started to dial on his phone the number of his half forgotten friend. At least it was a friend in a sort of way – he visualized the thin man's body with a tight cropped hair – which pleased his wife.
But he only got a message, and it was not even well worded.

“Allo? This is your old friend, Kenold. I have a little bit of a problem that you can help me with. I want to know if there is digging going on – especially if foreign individuals check the progress. Give me a call. “ he stopped and wondered if he should say goodbye, but thought better of it and hung up. He would of course tell his friend a little bit more than that. After all, this would be on his personal phone not his professional phone. If there were any secrets, that layer between the 2 devices might be useful.
He worked late into the night – and finally his friend called him, and they set on a short konversation about what he wanted his friend to look for, and tell him and the morning what he found.

Monday, February 12, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 10 janvye 2010 - III


It was not a long wait for the mamba to come, and when she came she was only in a red dress, without the trimmings that defined her in the ritual. But she was still impressive, even as aged as she was. She did not even look at the other patients but went directly to Jules bed, and instead of sitting – stood there with her hands folded. Their was an air of menace, and a distant haughtiness – and before she spoke she glanced up and down at Jules – as if to take an image of what happened to someone who held a secret.

And a secret she had, bought Jules did not know what it was. But the mamba did, and she hushed her tone of voice to relate the story that the loa had recited when she had control of her body – because it was a woman who told the story. Once Jules realized that it was a woman she relaxed into the bed – because her greatest fear was assuaged.

There was no motion on Jules part, but the mamba made a swaying gesture, as if she was mimicking some ritual dance. And this was the story that the mamba told, her voice lighten, as if she was ridden by someone who was much younger, and more slight:

“First you must know mine name, because the name is the most magical thing that any person possesses. It defines whether you are a man or woman, it defines whether you are young, old, or ageless. It defines who your friends, and foes are. You may call me Anaisa Pie Danto. The glorious nature of love is my domain – love for money, love for happiness, love for loves sake. Do not worry to not fret, because I am a playful spirit – closed in yellow and pink. I travel with my other half, who is called Saint Anne. But enough about me, because all will be revealed in time.”

“When I come to the middle land, it is always for a purpose, usually it is light but sometimes it is for ill. Because sometimes a person can violate love to the extreme, and I become angry. This time I was here for a person, a person who is confused. I thought to help this woman, especially in her time of need. But you know which women it is, because I am now speaking through her mouth, and telling her story. Even though she will not admit the truth of what is to be said. But I know, and soon you will know – and if you are a good follower, you will help her – and not to harm her. In this way each will secure a good rasa, to use as Bondye – Mon Dieu – sees fit.”

“It was on the island of Haiti that I saw this woman alone, and at first I thought that I would help her find someone to love. A mad passionate kind of love would not be right, but instead a steady secure kind of love. At first I thought to send her away, because she has relatives in other lands – most especially the United States of America. But I looked away to attend to other things, and when I looked back, it was here that another Loa had been there first.”

“Glass had been shattered on his head, because he was not there to deliver good, but to deliver harm. His body was firm, and he knew the ways to seduce a woman, because that is his purpose. He had a great mastery of all of the features, and all of the rhythms.”

“Oh the great rhythms were what he was best at – But not so with hiding his contempt for the woman that he was – because this is the only word that can be used – fucking. It was a word that was on his face, even as he smiled and inserted. The slow and rhythmic insertion was in counterpoint to the terrible and nasty look on his face.”

“You should know that such a face boils my blood, and I could not stand the smirk – it drove me wild. But what was I to do about it? For though I come through the beyond, there is a price for everything that I do in this mortal realm. Therefore, I have to think about whether it is truly worth the price – or some person must exact something of themselves. The woman did not yet understand what I knew – and it would be too late. I know because I see into the future and the past, and she would find out in time.”

Reaching out of the above – the mamba stopped, as if she were taking a rest. Allowing all of the listeners to catch up with her. And their were many listeners, for about half of the people were quietly listening in – because they could not wait for the next word that the old woman said. Her eyes moved from side to side until she was sure that everyone had understood the deep problem which the invisible spirit was presented with.

The stopping of her breath and the beginning of it were a sign that she was going to continue, it seemed a long moment until her breath started rising and falling. Beginning again:

“Something had to be done about the wicked man, and then a thought occurred to me: surely there were other men who desired her. And one of them had to be a good man – even if there were plenty of wicked men who wanted her as well. Then my purpose in this mortal realm could be fulfilled – because I am not just love, but the spirit which will bring procreation. And who could not want more children in this world – especially from a lady like this?”

“Oh and oh... There must be someone who dripped with tense attention when her hips graced the mirror that was made into a dress. But finding such a person, is not my state – it is to much beneath my station. So that is what I tell all of you to do, including the woman herself. Find a true man, not the monster who plunders your furrow – and drinks a pair from the monster who lives below.”

There was no doubt that the mamba was extremely tired, very very tired indeed. And in a short second, drooped her head down on her neck. She almost seemed to be sleeping. Then she slowly lifted her eyes, and followed with the rest of her countenance. And without a word, slipped into the scrape and scarf of the entranceway. No one tried to stop, and it did not even occur to most. There were certain people who had power to come and go. Never stand between a priest or other person in the way of their course.
Entire affair struck Jules to her core. It was powerfully magical, powerfully mystical, and deeply spiritual – and with that she prayed, and prayed. Because no one else had spoken so clearly to what she felt within – that the man she was spending – herself – with was not the man for her. However, it would be far easier to make the separation to his face, then resolve in her mind. So easy is it to explain to someone else; so hard to do it for your own sake. This thought ran through her head. It was plain; and plain; a had no sense of - prestidigitation, or even visualization in digital. This was so unlike the novels that she carried around in her head, and she thought she would have to work on them.

Nothing ever came.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 10 janvye 2010 - II


One decided difference between fiction and reality, is that in fiction you can scroll past the boring bits and get down to the meat. All of the hellos and goodbyes, do not have to be talked about, and a konversation only needs to be related in the stellar moments beneath the mountains of detail.

Why we can remove ourselves from what Jules and the doctor said after this? Only that they related the highlights of the konversation, because no amount of discussion was going to make any sense to the doctor. In her view, there was something odd about the face that she was shown. Therefor she interpreted it in the most obvious way: Jules was somehow erratic and possibly, though she would not use this word, insane. But in side of Jules's mind a very different interpretation had donned on her, and what she needed to was get the doctor to go anyplace else in the world but beside the bottom of her bed. Then she needed to call up a Partikular number, which was the number of the mambo. Then she would tell her to get down to the building she lived in – because someone brought her down here, and even if that someone was not the mambo, it was someone acting under her instructions. She knew that earlier in the day a member of the dead had taken over her body – even in the hospital. This is why the doctor thought she was bipolar – she interpreted Jules and the dead person has one and the same. But Jules knew that that was not true, it could not be true, it must not be true. What she needed to do was find out what manner of person had ridden her, and what it had to say about whatever was happening. It may have been a person once upon a time, but it could be another kind of invisible as well, there was no way for her to tell at this point. So while she was talking to the doctor - she made noises at her at least – in her mind she was thinking about Marassa, and Agassou, and all of the families of invisible even if she did not know there name. She was most worried about a spirit known as Joseph Danger – because he could slip in side a ceremony and exert Petro without hesitation. There were other invisibles which could do that as well, but she had a long relationship with Joseph Danger – indeed she was afraid of him.

Very much afraid. This even crept in to her konversation with the doctor, in the real world, even as it dominated the inner konversation that she had with herself. So each time that Jules tried to get the doctor to leave, she made some sort of emotion which the doctor assumed was here. Therefore the doctor could not go in her eyes – she wanted information, especially information about what Jules was afraid of. Because the Doctor could not understand what was going on in Jules mind, and Jules – for her part – was not going to explain this to a foreigner, it was just not done. This is because almost nothing good came out of it.

Inner fight and the outer konversation diverged wildly from each other – and the doctor assumed that she was talking to a patient who could only be described as unhinged. But the doctor knew that her specialty was not in any way related to psychiatry – and eventually understood in her own mind, that a specialist needed to be phoned up. Anyway, the balance between finding out information – and getting on to other patients – finally tipped in favor of getting to see other patients. She thought for a moment that the patient should be bound up – but there was nothing violent about Jules. So she decided to flag down the nurse and tell her to sedate Jules. But that was the only thing that she could do.

So when things became calm, she looked for the nurse and stood up and talked very low to her.

“I think this patient is under some form of delusion, and I think you ought to give something to calm their nerves.”

“We only have valium.”

“That will have to do, yes, that will have to do.” Then immediately left because she had spent too much time on this one patient. But as soon as she left the elderly nurse looked over at Jules, and realized that she had been to a voodoo ritual, and their was another part of the story which she had not heard from the doctor. She to was Ayisyen, and knew certain things which could not be communicated to a doctor from a foreign land.

She also said down at the foot of the bed, but her stance was different. The doctor rested just part of her fundament, and reached down to her legs to rest herself. Where as the elderly nurse plopped down into the bed, with her feet doing nothing to support her.

As elderly squatted on bed – she cleared her throat, and begin with that tone of voice which belongs exclusively to the elderly - young people, especially young women, do not have that raspiness that makes it work: “ I do not know how much you overheard about my konversation with the doctor.” Jules simply nodded no, she had not heard much of their exchange. Then the elderly nurse began again: “ she wants me to keep you a Valium, to calm you down. Is not very good solution in any event, because the pill does not work very well. But I think that we need to spend a view minutes – just the two of us – and discuss something which I do not think Doctor understands.” again, Jules nodded – only this time in the affirmative direction. So the nurse continued: “ I think that you did not tell the doctor something. And I think that something was that were a ritual – one that was not sanctioned by the Church. Either be Catholic or the evangelical church, am I right in this?” for the third time, Jules just nodded, and after she had done so the nurse said: “ so do you want me to find the person who ran this? And was it white magic that was done? Because I do not want rasa dragged into my hospital.”
Jewels and diamonds were all that Jules could think about – how they were the only thing that could tempt her to say something. So for the fourth time, she just nodded, and for the third time the nod was “yes”.

“All right, what is the phone number that you wish me to call – or do you want to do it your self? Because I will tell you, that they will have to get by me – and I will not allow anyone looks like they correspond with the dark arts.” At this point, Jules realized that under certain circumstances the nurse was very talkative – she had not realized this. But learn something every day, she thought.

Talking was still not an option – it was only then that Jules realized that she was not talking for a different reason. It is not that words would not come out of her mouth – but that she did not like the nurse at all, and had only admitted this to herself now. So instead, she looked by the small table that was next to her bed, to retrieve a pencil and a large piece of paper – and she intended to write the number which was the answer by La Place – because he answer the phone, not anyone else. It was not a ritual over all of the voodoo temples – it was just for this one. After all, every temple had its own rituals, and its own beliefs. Voodoo was not an organized religion.

What she wrote down was the real name of La Place – and the phone number at which the elderly nurse could reach him at, along with a note that it would be better to speak Ayisyen kreyol. She assumed that the elderly nurse would figure this out herself – but she just had to make sure that this was known, because it was rude not to, and because she wanted anyone else to know this. After all, she could not be sure that the elderly nurse would make the phone call herself.

Once the paper was headed over, the nurse took it in both hands and read it at least three times to make sure that she had the number firmly fixed in her memory. Then she went off, as the elderly woman do, slowly and delicately. If she were a man, his steps would be plodding, not so petite. Mentally, she bit her tongue, because noticing things like that was not an amicable way of thinking.

Alone. She had been left alone to her own thoughts. At this point one could see that Jules was not a deep thinker, because all of the thoughts were trivial – looking at the white bedsheets, the gray walls, be slightly less gray floor made of concrete – anything to avoid a deeper konversation with her self about how her life was slipping away. In fact, she adamantly destroyed any trace of self-conclusion, so vehemently did she not want to examine herself, because she knew that she would find many things wrong with the way she dealt with problems – and indeed, she knew that the problem was with herself. But the welling up of such conclusions was powerful – so she thought about many other things, trivial to be sure, but having the soul purpose of not allowing her to think about herself.

Thoughts roamed on to the names that French people had choose from on a list. She wondered if that still true, it was a Partikular French sort of way to do things. She thought about shoes, and sneakers, and the differences between the two. She thought about the difference between women for stockings, and the women that did not. How the women wore stockings were seen less and less along foreigners, and had never been numerous among the Ayisyen community. After thinking through half a dozen things, her mind begin to quiesce.

Finally, the mind began to this inspection on the way her conscience was trying to to remind her life needed some adjustment. It was something thatAt to be done at least once a fortnight. Since she was a small, it was a penumbra of a Catholic education. She actually hated to have such control over her emotions – she wanted to be free and open, not close and controlled.

A younger nurse was moving steadily up to her bed – and it seems obvious that the nurse had a message. With every step her blue and snapped crisply – it was obvious that she had just gone on shift, because he had no blemishes, and was freshly ironed and steamed. The look on her face was determined, and it drew her thin body along with it. Jules notice she was tall – noticing that she wore flat shoes rather than pumps. It was not the most graceful walk in the world, clearly she had taken lessons in what was called deportment, that she was really part of le bayes – the lower class. But she was beginning to gain competence in her young body, and might eventually be a force to be reckoned with. Who knows, one day Jules would have two work with her on some assignment – of the hidden kind that much of her assigned tasks enabled Jules to do. Their was in Jules' mind a sense of possibility, and perhaps even a trepidation for someone who would eventually replace her in the cogs of the informal placement of information. After all, no one would stay forever – and Jules was more cognizant of this then most.

“Can me talk to you?” Jules noted that the diction and fluency in French of the young nurse needed a tremendous amount of work. Without stopping the young nurse continued: “There is a woman who wants to speak with you, she says that you will know what it is about.” With this the nurse made no express or implied statement that Jules' husband was involved. In this is important for someone wants to rise the ranks of the entrepreneur, or the influential. Which of course meant that Jules approved of the handling. Which meant, in turn, that though younger nurse had some rough edges, there was a possibility in her future. But this is a story for another time, when the cigarettes were snuffed out – and the wine was just a spiral in the bottom of the barrel.

So the young nurse went back to fetch the person whom she did not really know, but Jules did – as the mamba.

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Fon d'parikulur 10 janvye 2010 - I


Occasionally, one wakes up from a deep sleep – only to realize that you do not know how long it was. Even when you open your eyes, until natural light hits them – you do not even know whether it is day or night. You may look at the clock, and you think that must be wrong – does not occur to you that the clock is right and your sense of time is wrong. That is the kind of trance that Jules woke from. She looked around to see where she was, and the result was appalling – she was in hospital. Not the kind of hospital that someone in America, Canada, or someplace in Europe would expect – where everything was clean neat and decidedly white from its linens, but a back hospital in Haiti. There were hospitals in Haiti which were somewhat similar to the developed world's model, but this was not one of them. She looked for a nurse, because she still needed confirmation about certain things – little things such as the date, and whether or not she could believe the time. Remember, the time was 24 hours, so if it said 1500, it was stating that it was the afternoon, and since it could not be the ninth – having already passed 1500 – she was worried that she would miss her appointment with the doctor. Of course he was not a “real doctor” as her father would say it, but he was a Doctor of Architecture. This was enough for Lucy Jules.

Eventually, she saw a ruffling pattern, which was probably a skirt – though it was brief enough that she was not quite sure. But then the roughly pattern occurred again, and an elderly woman came out from behind a curtain, thus confirming what she had seen before. Then Jules tried to wave her left hand to get the attention of the elderly nurse, while taking in the rotundity of the figure, as well as the shortness and compactness. She rather thought that this nurse would tell everyone else that she was 152 cm – and perhaps with enormous heels she was. That was the difference, she noted, between elderly and wizened – because the elderly cared what height they were seeing at, where as the most senior no longer cared as much anymore. They had been shrunken by age, to the point where they never cared about it. Such was the delusions of the elderly which they eventually cast out as they felt the creeping hands of death spiral around their throat. She could imagine that the elderly nurse felt them, but they were down on her body – and the nurse could fancy herself as just a little older than most. But that was not true, but Jules – everyone could tell that the nurse was aging fast. Though Jules did not know it, by the time 2012 rolled around, she would be dead from a heart attack.

Finally it happened the nurse saw her hand fluttering, and motioned that she would be there – in some time. But remember, time does not move the way it does in developed countries, where people are usually wear of how late they are running – even though they do not do anything about it. Instead it flows like water, drifting between moments, searching and having on its own pace. This way, a person does not really care what time it is until they check a clock. Only then will the time collide with the clock – and in general ruin both of them. Because in Haiti, the time is different from the clock – the clock is what foreign people use to divide the day into; where has time is a natural thing which runs according to its own devices. That means if you wait for someone in Haiti, use should allow at least an hour of time for deciding that they actually are late. But late means a different thing, too. Late means that you had something more important to do, and you might get an agreement from the person who is waiting for you. For example, chasing girl to a man is more important then anything else in this world. And the man is waiting for him will agree to that, in fact he may be chasing different girl himself.

Members of hospital, she was on Western time, where the clock and the time were more or less the same. But Jules did not know how long she would be doing something, which is different from Ayisyen time. In the time that the nurse was using, their were steps and each one had an expected amount of time. If this time were running over, she would say something. Jules realized that the problem was that she was not in the inner circle of developed world time, a fact which she had to correct. Once corrected, the nurse would know to inform her of where Jules was in the schedule. Because in developed world time, one could envision a schedule with every 15 minutes block assigned to what the person was doing. And in a larger sense, what every person was doing. If you think about it, this is a conflict: the nurses and doctors were on developed world time, while most of the patients were on Haiti's clock, not time. So you can imagine the foibles which occurred when the two came into conflict.

Deciding that it was time to lift her voice - which was cracked for not using it - she said: “How much time will you take, good nurse?” She said this in French, not Ayisyen kreyol – to emphasize that she knew French quite well . The majority in this cement block recovering ward would not know French, or at least not as well as they said they did.

At the other end of the ward, with its shabby drapes and dying patients, the nurse answered back: “ I will be to you in 15 minutes.” Which was all that Jules needed to know – because it meant that she was graced with developed worlds time, and she was inserted into the sheet – metaphorically speaking. This caused her to relax, and wait for the nurse to come up to her in her light blue skirt. She also realized that she had missed her appointment, because her delusion that the clock next to her bed was wrong disintegrated in two the realization that the clock was almost never wrong by more than a view minutes. Especially a digital clock.

Glass of wine first, on the bottom of the side cupboard. But quietly. There was no way that all the nurses could resist having some fortification. This having been done she propped up, and decided to see if her phone was still on her – in a more contemporary hospital, the phone would have been removed – but she was betting that in this gray dingy hospital, this may not have been done. Or it would have been placed next to her things on a chair. So she checked the top with a glance off her eyes – turned left.


Phone - where was the phone? Eventually she saw that it was next to her things, on the chair, so she got up and moved to – making sure that the nurse did not see this. Wait. Wait. Then she got back into the hospital bed, which was rickety and supported by four steel tubes to sending down to rubber wheels. It hurt, but just. Is.

She admitted this because she had often been on the other side of the divide: checking patients and listening to their problems – while distributing medications. A few times she had to do more poignant work, such as giving a patient an enema. But that was a long time ago when she did that. In her mind she saw an older men, and while he was putting up with the embarrassing features of the program, he was on his face bright and somewhat easier. He was talking, mainly to erase what was being done to his bowel. He talked about the medications he used, and the ritual of his day. If you think about it, he had little real defense against what was happening to him. In her memory, she felt sorry for him – but she did not know whether she actually did, or the memory of feeling sorry for the old man was a figment of her imagination.

But the memory faded into the background, and in the present, she dialed up the doctor.
It rang. 5 times. And then a message came up, which was at least his own message as opposed to the default message.

Words were repeated three times: in French, in English, and finally in Ayisyen kreyol. It was in a very soft voice and it was both low and soft: “Allo. This is Dr. Kenold, I am unable to answer the phone, please leave a message.” She rather expected that he would not answer the phone, so she rattled off her prepared speech.

“Allo. This is Jules – I was injured yesterday, and only recently regained consciousness. I am very sorry for missing our appointment, but as you can hear, it was not my intention. Please give me a ring later on when you can, and we can set up a different point. I am sorry that I have missed my chance to sample the cuisine, and it is likely that arrangements for the next meeting will be more spare.”
Hung up the phone, and waited for the nurse. It would be at least 10 minutes, because her work had gone quickly. It was too bad that Doctor Kenold did not pick up the phone, because right now a konversation would have been much more to her liking. C'est la vie, she thought.
She said of and looked for the nurse, and to her surprise the nurse was actually ahead of schedule, and walking down the concrete floor in her direction.

When the nurse reached her, the first thing that Jules noticed was that the voice was stern, and yet it had a dose of warmness. It was not extremely warm, not the way a friend would greet someone in Haiti, but still warm enough. “How are you doing? I noticed you spoke French, and if I may say so, quite well.”

“Yes, I was trained by nuns – it was at the insistence of my father. Bought I want to ask you questions.”

The nurse checked her watch, and then said: “ I have only five minutes to answer these questions, because I have another problem which is for more serious than informing a patient about things, I hope you understand.”

“But of course, the boil down to two distinct questions: who was it who brought me here? And have my parents – especially my mother – been told of my presence here?”

“You were brought in by a man, so I do not know him myself nor have met him, but I can get you a description of him. But he said he was only a friend. As to the second question, though there was some discussion about using your phone to contact your parents, or husband, we decided to not engage ourselves with your phone, so no one has been told that you are here. Perhaps you would like to contact them.” she reached over to where the phone was, but saw that it was gone.

So, Jules replied: “I have it here, the phone that is. So I will call my mother up and explain where I am, if you could give me the name of the hospital.”

“We “ - a royal we, if ever Jules had heard one - “are an annex to Sant Medikal Santo vingt.” it was a generic description, though she knew where it was – it was actually farther away from her home. But no matter, she could call her mama and explain where she was. Though she knew that talking about what was being done at the ceremony was completely forbidden – her mother, while she had done such things in her youth, was presently opposed to anything other than the Roman Catholic Church. Jules imagined there was some reason beyond a loyalty to the church, perhaps it was a quarrel with a mamba some years back. At least that is what she thought, because she saw her mama exchanging words with a different mamba and they never went back to anyplace associated with her.

At this, the Jules went away inside herse, and was thinking. It was the hesitation which bothered her the most, she did not know where it came from. It reminded her of a story that she once read, a very long time ago. It was in a paperback with paper covers, and a bit ratty – and covered with notes. Big story was in a chapter on Proust – and it told the story of a man lifting a cup of tea – or was it a woman, she was not quite sure. Then she remembered that it was person was Proust, himself. And how in it saves me a lot of his memory to run and described as Celtic daily and the souls – and the states that no logical basis could describe. The hesitation that lifted like a fog – just as is the way the narrator suddenly had their memory return.

That she did not realize that it was only much later that man who wrote the hand-written missive on the front cover was her father, and that he wrote it to her mother. She had read this is at least 100 times this occurred to her. And her memory change in an instant, first she was a little girl reading about creating a cup of tea and remembering different things – but when the realization that it was a book from her father to her mother – at a time when they had not been married, and for she even existed – she became an adult, and realized this was the first tangible evidence of what would become love, and therefore became the germ of hate.

Hate which was at least as intense as the love that preceded it – so much so that even when she talked directly to her mama, she got no reply back that could be translated into any language that she knew. It was not crying – exactly – it was more like a cat's yowl, or perhaps a grr mixed with a yowl. So it remained its own thing, neither language nor sound, but something in between which only her mother and herself shared.

Occurring to her, that she was in a state of memory: she was remembering how it was a remembered form of memory – and that she did not know where her memory started and her mama's memory ended. But then she woke up because the nurse had come back to explaining something: “You were brought in and you talked to a doctor, he is now in hospital, and will be back shortly.”

Although she did not remember speaking to anyone when she was brought in, she took the nurses word for it. It was obviously something that was not remembered but had actually happened. She folded her legs up while raising her back – and then finally coming to a more or less sitting position. Though she did not know it her eyes brightened, because there might be answers has to why she was brought in to this place. And answers were something that delighted her know when, because there was closure, and closure was good – at least to her.

At last a female doctor with a long white lab uniform was talking with a younger nurse, who directed the doctor towards the pair in the next to last cubicle. The doctor was extremely young, and definitely from some foreign land. Her skin was somewhat tallow – as if she were from Italy or Mexico. The difference between such people was beyond Jules purview – they all looked alike to her.

“I just got in the hospital, and you do not remember our konversation from yesterday, is that correct?” the doctors voice was clipped, rapid, and professional. She was also pretty, though not beautiful, and bunched her black hair in a bun – and had no makeup on whatever, which was the most deeply shocking thing about her in Jules eyes.

“That is correct, I do not remember it, in fact I only remember waking up just 30 minutes ago.” Unconsciously, Jules sped up her voice to match the pace that the doctor had set. This meant that they were talking slightly faster than was natural for Ayisyen speakers – or rather, it was different in what was sped up and what was slowly spoken. Ayisyen speakers would talk enormously quickly about certain things and enormously slowly about other things. But the doctor - and while she was talking with her, Jules – made every syllable enunciated and spoken with the same quickness. If she had thought about it, quickness was a feature of Ayisyen speech, but not of international French speech.

“So you do not remember anything that we talked about? Nothing at all?”

“I just said so. Was there something important?”

The doctor sat on the bottom of the bed, and a look of concern entered in to her face. “I am going to tell you something, and I want you to listen to everything that I have a say before phrasing a reply – because it is … difficult to grasp all at once.”

Jules began to tense up, because she knew that no one would tell her this unless it was extremely bad for her to hear it. In fact, it was again something that she had been on the other side of. Such as the time, a few years back, when she told a woman sitting in a hospital bed that she was not going to have children. It was the kind of thing where were wailing began almost immediately, and would not stop.

“We talked for a number of minutes, and I think - though you will want a second opinion – that you have a bipolar like condition. Do you want me to explain what that is?”

Being herself a nurse – she did not wish to have a recitation of what bipolar meant – but the expression on her face quite literally shocked the doctor. The doctor, in her frame of mind arising from a medical point of view, was expecting surprise, or crying, or some kind of variation of the two of those states of mind. Anyone of these would have been usual, and the doctor expected them. But what happened was something quite different.