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• Classic-Fiction

“No, Grandfather.”

“They disappeared at the same time prosperity did. In the hill country, they say the malfinis, eagles with a taste for mutton, devour them at birth. See how they hover over our land.”

The grandfather pointed to a patch of sky right above the oaks where big black birds flew slowly, grazing the branches, diving beak-first, cawing and greedily eyeing the ground below.

“Grandfather, they look like the men in uniform who have taken our land.”

The grandfather lit his pipe, which he had been filling since he mentioned the sheep. He wedged it into the corner of his mouth and pulled on it until it caught.

“Then what happened?” the child asked.

“Then,” said the grandfather, “your great-grandfather arrived in Port-au-Prince surrounded by his sheep, his goats and his cows, and was on his way to the house of a very rich man who had long been buying his cattle, when he met a peasant on the way who said to him:

“‘My master will trade these parcels of land for your animals. Say yes and you won’t be sorry’

“‘Will he permit me to choose these parcels freely?’

“‘Yes, indeed. And you will become a great landowner in one of the loveliest quarters of Port-au-Prince.’

“So my father followed the peasant. In exchange for three cows, eight goats and twelve sheep, he got a tiny piece of land. Look over there, under the first oak.”

“I see,” said the child.

“My father had a rough life back in the countryside. Early to rise, late to bed, he was tireless caring for his animals, and each time he brought them here he got another piece of land. When he had enough, he had this house built where he set up my mother and me, for I was old enough to go to school. My mother was expecting a second child and father continued to go back and forth between the country and the city at the cost of his health.”

“Why?” the invalid asked, looking into his eyes. “Why was it so important for your father to leave the countryside and acquire this land?”

The grandfather lowered his head without answering.

“Was he ambitious?” the child asked insistently. “He must’ve liked this nice neighborhood, didn’t he? You recently told me that your mother was ambitious too. Does God love ambitious people? …”

“Listen to the end of the story,” the grandfather interrupted a bit impatiently … “Where was I? Ah! Yes, I remember. My mother was expecting a second child …”

“What was your mother like, Grandfather?”

“A bit like you. You know, all the girls of Fonds-des-Blancs are more or less light-skinned. Look at your father, he’s different from me. Haitians are so mixed that there are all kinds. And that’s what makes us a very beautiful people. But let’s go back to our story … One evening, my father came back just in time to hear my mother’s cries of pain and watch her die, the child still clinging to her insides. I was your age then. He called me to him and told me: ‘Well, death seems to be knocking on our door. If something was to happen to me, I want to be buried here, on one of the plots of land I acquired by the sweat of my brow. If your children or the children of your children are in need, I give you permission to divide them up and sell them. But swear to me that, as long as you live, you will not sell the piece of land that covers my bones …’ And I can still remember how I made that oath in tears.”

“So you are now bound by two oaths,” the child said to him. “We have to act as quickly as possible. When will we start going to his grave to summon him?”

“Soon, once you have learned to crawl perfectly. Because I won’t be able to carry you. I’ll be carrying an ax and a knife. The same weapons my father used to get rid of the man who had sold him these lands and then thought he could take them back just because he was wealthy and powerful.”

“So he killed him?”

“Yes. To protect what was his.”

“They didn’t go after him?”

“No. Because God keeps an eye on the wicked, and sooner or later they must pay for the wickedness they do. Listen: when the rich