“Morality is in the eye of the beholder,” Maman said to Papa. Louis didn’t know what that meant but Maman was smiling at him when she said it. Papa stared at him and walked outside. Louis jumped to his feet like he did every morning as if he couldn’t wait to discover what new adventure the new day would bring. His older brother Thomas, who shared the twin-sized mat spread on the cement floor, swatted at the boy like a mosquito. With no electricity, the movement of the sun guided the daily lives of the inhabitants of the village of Bellevue. Louis peeked through the gap between the slats in the wooden window and smiled.
A ribbon of pink pierced the darkness of the early dawn as if to welcome the new summer day. He opened the window. The smell of strong Haitian coffee rode in on the breeze that caressed his face. The white “I love NY T-shirt” cross-haired Papa under the giant breadfruit tree. He swished water in his mouth and spat it away from the tree root. Then he tilted the tin cup and poured a drop of water in his hand and rubbed the crust of sleep from his eyes. As Papa turned toward the three-room house with the big front porch Louis shared with his parents, a brother, two dogs and three cats, he waved to Louis at the window.
“Papa, Papa, can I go with you? Pastor Paul’s going to the eye doctor in Port-au-Prince today. There’s no summer class. Please, please,” Louis begged.
Papa shook his head and sat on one of the four cane-backed chairs around the table. Seconds later, he stood rubbing the seat of his blue jean shorts before slamming the chair legs on the floor twice and stepping on the pinez the bedbugs scurrying away looking for a new habitat. Maman said they ate half of the family's food from sucking their blood while they slept.
“Louis, let your father be. It’s too early in the morning, son,” Maman said, as a smile raised the corner of her wide lips. She went outside and came back with a steaming cup of coffee and placed it in front of Papa. “Can he go with you, André?” maman intervened on his behalf as always. “He’s thirteen. He might as well start to learn to work the field.”
“Louis’s staying in school, Edith,” Papa said. “Pastor Paul talked to me last week. He’ll give him a scholarship to go to high school in Port-au-Prince.”
Maman stopped fixing her basket. She sold the extra food Papa grew in the open-air market in town to buy everything else they could not produce on the five-acre plot Papa’s family left him. The donkeys brayed outside.
“And you’re telling me this now.” Maman sucked her teeth so loud, her tongue surely slipped between the huge gap in the front of her mouth. “Port-au-Prince is so far… where would he stay… he’s still a baby.” Maman stopped and looked at Louis. The boy had turned from the window and stared at his parents. His face creased as if he was in pain.
“Now you know,” Papa said to maman. “Pastor Paul has a house for the boys in Port-au-Prince. Louis is going to be somebody.”
“But why he has to leave the village for that,” Maman said. “Lou is… anyway, he won’t be happy away from us.”
Papa grunted and lifted the cup to his lips and blew. Steam fanned over his face like a veil. Louis left the window and stood in front of Papa. Grownups’ words confused him sometimes. “I’m Louis, Papa. I’m somebody.” He pounded his chest, pulling a chair and sitting next to Papa. “Why you want me to be somebody else.”
His father reached over and squeezed the boy’s bony shoulder. “You want to be a teacher, Louis. Didn’t you keep saying that?”
“Yes. I want to be like my teacher, Madame Joseph. She loves her job. She reads big books. All the boys like her. They say she’s pretty. I think she’s smart.”
“Well, then you have to get more school than you can get if you stay in this village. In two years, you can go to high school in Port-au- Prince. Not too many kids get that opportunity around here. You’ll have a title before your name.”
“Like Pastor Paul and Doctor Francois?” Louis said, marveling at the long sentences Papa put together this morning. He was stingy with words once he made his point. He saved words for special occasions not chit-chat. Papa nodded.
“But… but I’d have to leave my friends. Who would I play soccer with, Papa? Especially Emile. He’s my best friend.” A wave of sadness tapped at his heart.
Papa slapped the air with his hand. “You’ll make new ones.” He stood and walked outside to prepare the donkeys.
Thomas made his way to the cistern in the back of the house to get water to wash. He would leave soon with Papa to work their plot and help other farmers with bigger fields. Thomas had been working with Papa every day since he completed the eighth grade at the lone school run by the missionaries. After a breakfast of coffee, boiled yucca roots and salted codfish, the men started out. Thomas threw a side glance at Louis and his fleshy lips narrowed to a razor-thin line.
“Read your books, Lou,” Papa said from under the window. “Remember, you’re gonna be somebody.”
“Wi, Papa,” Louis yelled.
He took the dishes outside and hummed as he washed them in the blue and white enamel basin. Since his sister Marie moved to a neighboring village with her new husband, Louis helped Maman with the house chores. But he had to wait for Papa to leave the house. Papa believed men and women had designated roles prescribed by nature. Maman said. The notion confused the young boy. He sighed and reached into the basket of clean clothes to fold the wash. Halfway through, he slipped Maman’s red dress on and tied a yellow scarf around his head as he twirled around the living room. “Maman, look, I’m a queen.”
“Boy, take the dress off, now.” She clucked her tongue. “Don’t ever let Papa catch you playing like that.”
Heat rose up to his face. “Sorry. I was just… goofing around.”
“Boys don’t wear dresses, Louis. You hear me. Never!”
“Sorry, Maman.”
But Louis wanted to wear the dress to town. Instead he helped Maman load the donkey with the food items before she climbed in the saddle. He held the bridle and they started down the mountain. Rocks littered the path. His tattered black and white sneakers flung over his shoulders, Louis walked like a ballet dancer to avoid stepping on the sharp stones. He picked up small ones and flung them at the avocado trees and flocks of birds scattered in a cacophony of discontent before swooping back lost in the thick foliage. He sang church hymns and Maman joined in. They stopped at the few houses along the way and greeted old women sweeping dirt-packed front yards.
At the fourth house, a young girl came out followed by a stooped woman. “Good morning Ma’am,” the girl said to Maman. “Hi Lou,” The girl whispered and stared at the ground.
“Hi Serrette. You remember there’s no class today,” Louis said.
The girl nodded.
“Have you seen Emile go by?” he asked her.
“Umm… yeah long time ago with his Maman. You’re coming to choir practice later, Lou?” Serrette asked.
“Yeah. After soccer.”
Louis took the bag of food from Maman and brought it inside the one-room house.
“God bless you, son,” the old woman said. “You’re a good boy, Louis.”
The market vibrated with activities and colors. The women wore bright headscarves, long multi-colored skirts and sleeveless blouses. Louis and Emile walked between the stalls sampling foods. They helped women vendors move heavy loads. Their mothers sat next to each other in the middle of the market. A piece of blue tarp, a remnant of the 2008 storm that battered Haiti the year before, provided partial shelter from the punishing sun at high noon. Even the ocean seemed to be napping. The waves whimpered, unable to make it to the shore. In a couple hours, they’d be making their way back up the mountain.
The boys stripped to their boxers and ran toward the water. “Don’t stay too long, Lou,” Maman yelled behind them. “You and Emile love to disappear, losing track of time. I want to head back a bit early.”
Louis waved his hand over his shoulder at Maman like a pageant contestant before the two boys plunged into the ocean. Emile beat the water like a drum and splashed Louis. The boys giggled, pushed and shoved each other. When Louis jumped on the bigger boy’s back, Emile tried to pull him over his head. Louis clung on by hanging on to Emile’s neck. Emile let go of his shoulders and dove away from shore. Louis followed him. He swam underwater and tried to grab Emile’s waist to bring him down to the bottom. His hands slipped and landed on the bulge between Emile’s legs. They lingered there too long as if attached by a magnet before the boys broke the surface, treading water while they stared at each other. Louis saw his fear mirrored in Emile’s eyes. But underneath lurked another feeling. Their breathing spiked. Side by side they swam to shore in silence.
On the way back home, Serrette waved to him. “See you at choir later, Lou.”
“That girl’s sweet on you, son,” Maman said. “Ain’t she pretty.”
“I guess.” Louis shrugged, ignoring the girl.
That night before choir practice, Pastor Paul preached about the immorality of lying, stealing, cursing and sex before marriage and how it should always be between a man and a woman. Louis stood on the edge of the line that separated the boys from the girls in the choir pit. He was so close to the girls, he could see the zigzag tracks between Serrette’s corn-rowed hair and smell the Palma Christi oil that moisturized her scalp. She moved closer until he could feel her thigh rubbing against his through the fabric of their clothes. Louis fought the urge to push her away. Didn’t she hear what the pastor just said?
When Emile walked in minutes later and frowned at him, heat misted his skin. Louis’ regular spot next to Emile on the boy side was empty. Emile made his way to him going through the group like a bulldozer.
“Hi Lou,” Emile said. “Why you’re standing all the way over there?” A flash of sadness bloomed on his face, crinkling his chocolate eyes.
Louis’ hand twitched by his side, wanting to touch that face, to paint it with joy. Instead, he ran through the choir members, knocking the stands with the hymnals. Outside the church, Louis took a deep breath to slow his heart and kept running. When he got home, Papa was sitting on the porch smoking his pipe. Louis dropped down on the floor next to him and massaged his sides to relieve the stiches. His breath mingled with the sounds of the night creatures in a symphony that set his teeth on edge. Who would behold his morality? Maman? Papa? Would God? He was confused and scared. Papa peered at him through the red embers of his pipe. “Why, son, you look like the devil chased you home from church.” He chuckled.
Louis put his head on Papa’s lap. He did not know the words he needed to explain to Papa what he feared most. Sobs erupted from his tight lips. Papa patted his head and waited.
“Papa, what if I’m somebody I don’t want to be.”
This article appears in Mar 28 – Apr 4, 2019.