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By Root 492 0

the barricade, opened the door and went out in the street. The light blinded me. Eyes closed, I threw the bottle against the pavement with all my strength. I heard the bottle smash. The ground gave way under my feet. And at once the drums began to roll, conch shells roared, flutes and bamboo trumpets wept. Their mingled sound, distant at first, swelled and echoed. The mountains leaned on each other’s shoulders, their blue-green bodies encircling and slowly, inexorably approaching the city. Everything started to go topsy-turvy: trees, houses, streets. Everything got mixed up, clustered, stuck together in a single bubbling cauldron of scarlet lava full of townspeople struggling and screaming. I recognized my mother, Father Angelo, Dr. Chanel, Saindor, cousin Justina, Simon’s black woman Germaine, Mme Fanfreluche, and I threw myself down screaming and began rolling on the ground. Simon sprang up and lay on top of me, holding me tight:

“It’s out of grief,” he said. “He’s gone mad over Jacques’ death.”

“Our Father who art in heaven,” André began to recite, “thy will be done …”

Book Two

A crowd gathers around us. Simon, astride my legs, holds me firmly by the shoulders, while André, kneeling, watches me with his arms crossed. Leaning over me, Simon says to me in hushed tones:

“God almighty God almighty God!” he says. “What possessed you to start screaming like that? What with the men on patrol from Port-au-Prince, what’s going to come down on us now? Calm down, old friend! You’re about to faint, that’s what brought you to this, grief too, and all that clairin. Get a grip! You’re going to need your wits about you. Reach out to your loas, call on your God, but let’s get out of this mess.”

THE PRIEST (clearing a path for himself in the crowd with great difficulty): Excuse me, excuse me, please. I know these boys, excuse me, please.

SOMEONE IN THE CROWD: Let Father Angelo through!

ONE OF THE PEOPLE: He is possessed by his loas, that’s all. Father Angelo can’t help him.

SOMEONE: He’s going to exorcise him! It’s a simple case of demonic possession. Looks like they’d locked themselves in for eight days. Ugh, that dead dog over there stinks!

SOMEONE: Look! Father Angelo can’t control him either. He’s rabid. He’s going to smash his own head open. Oh, here come the police!

THE COMMANDANT: What’s going on? I heard screaming all the way from the prison. What’s going on? Where are the witnesses? The crowd backs away.

THE COMMANDANT: Nobody move! The crowd freezes.

THE COMMANDANT: Step aside, step aside but don’t go anywhere. Make room for the police. Hey, get back here! Stand right there. I’ve got a bullet for the first one who tries to run. Make way for the police, make way! Father Angelo, get up! And you too, white man! He leans down and sniffs at a broken bottle.

THE COMMANDANT: Molotov cocktails! Adjutant, notify the patrol! I’ve uncovered a plot! Nobody move, God damn it! Father Angelo, get up! You too, white trash!

M. POTENTAT (to an unsavory individual listening to him a little too closely, an obvious spy): Here comes the patrol. My God! Just my luck getting mixed up with this crowd. My, they reek, these beggars. And this dead dog crawling with worms is making me sick! And now I may get caught up in this damn plot nonsense.

THE INDIVIDUAL: You seem a bit nervous, Monsieur Potentat!

M. POTENTAT: Me? Nervous? And, pray tell, why should I be nervous?

THE INDIVIDUAL: Stay where you are, Monsieur Potentat! This is a serious matter.

M. POTENTAT: What insolence! Don’t you dare take that tone with me or you’ll regret it!

THE INDIVIDUAL: Me, I’ve got nothing to lose: no house, no wealth. So I can take this all the way.

M. POTENTAT: Oh, come now! Take it easy. There, take this money and keep your mouth shut.

A ONE-ARMED BEGGAR: There goes my day! Why are they asking me to stick around? I’m just a wretch begging on the roads.

A ONE-LEGGED BEGGAR: We should have stayed on the church porch.

A BEGGAR (with both legs amputated, crawling): Excuse me, good people, excuse me. You others, why don’t you crawl and get out