Twelve Days of La Clairière

By Laura Gaisie

Book Three

Their story begins with a young girl who sought the loa, Papa Legba, for a favor - take away my voice and make me cripple. During her vow of silence, Zuellie discovers many family secrets and eventually finds hope in a family relic-La Clairière, an old bent machete that was

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Pearls Publishing
• Release date: Aug 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781732526976

Laura Gaisie

Laura Gaisie enjoys reading coming of age stories, and historical fiction. She has been writing since elementary years and working on her craft through undergrad and graduate studies. Laura hopes to inspire others to pursue their dreams and to never lose hope.

Book preview

1

Haiti, 1901

THE DAY THEIR youngest child chose to never speak again was just as unbearable as any other day. Standing before her open bedroom window, four-year-old Zuellie waited for Papa Legba, the guardian of crossroads, to grant the supernatural request. If not permitted to converse with the ancestors, she had a backup plan in mind. Paralysis…maybe that would evoke the attention of her deceased grandpapa’s soul. Investigating the midnight sky, she marveled at how the fireflies below seemed to mimic the twinkling stars above.

Shoo, hurry and carry my message, she whispered to the closest firefly. Its light dimmed, blending it into the shadowy night. If she did not receive an answer soon, next she would pray to Erzulie Mansur, protector of children. Perhaps she would gain more sympathy from him. With one ear she listened to the sea roaring in the far distance, and with the other, she listened for her sister’s voice.

Zuellie! She heard a voice whisper from the dancing flicker of darkness.

Straining to hear, she pressed her tiny body against the bare windowsill, leaning far enough to see the front of her home one way and Tante Dorinda’s backyard in the opposite direction. Her papa’s elder brother, Uncle Leonide, sat with a tin can at his feet. Occasionally, he and the others would take a sip of the rum in their cups and spray the contents into the air. The drum player wore a straw hat and smoked on his pipe. Sitting cross-legged, he began to beat the skin of the drum. This was how her papa said the spirits, or loas, responded to their prayers. If the drummer kept playing his djembe drum, and her uncles continued to sip rum from their tin cans, papa legba would surely answer this night.

Zuellie, the voice came closer.

She turned just as a firefly illuminated from out of the darkness and nearly touched the tip of her nose. Losing her grip on the windowsill, Zuellie fell against the wooden frame. She let out a small moan when her tummy hit the track that should have held a screen in place. After pulling herself back upright, she fell to the floor and kicked at the wall.

Wait a minute, she said, before standing on her feet. That must have been my sign.

She wiggled all of her stubby toes, then bent at the knees to see if they were still flexible. Zuellie pouted when her limbs continued to bend and move as normal. That is why she needed the loas help. If she had not learned to walk, losing her speech would be easier to explain away. But for a healthy four-year-old to suddenly stop talking for no reason would bring more outside attention than necessary. If her hand was not played carefully she could end up in the hospital, or worse, on the other side of the trail where her papa secretly ventured for remedies from the mambo. Zuellie needed time to revert or freeze so her family could stay together, just as they had before the walls in the front room grew wings and carried them off in different directions. Mostly what she needed was for her papa to look at her manman as he had done before.

Baby Li, don’t you hear me calling you? Said Karlina. She stood before her sister with hands on her hips.

"Sè mwen!" said Zuellie, in their native language. She turned back to the window, hoping for one last sign.

Karlina knelt beside the bed where she placed her hands together and bowed her head. Zuellie had gotten used to the nighttime prayers and knew she was expected to join. She listened as Karlina began to pray, thanking the Father for his son Jesus. Her eyes flew open when she noticed Zuellie still standing.

"Se, ede mwen," said Zuellie. (Sister help me). She whimpered, then gasped for air.

Zuellie knew her sister wanted them to speak French when they were alone, but tonight she would have to settle for their native tongue. She listened again for the sound of the beating drums, knowing soon her papa would be drawn into a dance before he passed out. She would have to act quickly to draw his attention. Now was the time for the second part of her plan, but not before she took it all in. She wanted to remember every inch of her short life just in case things went wrong. Zuellie’s eyes enlarged as she scanned the cramped space of their room. She stared at a stain on the wall that had been scrubbed down with lye soap and a steel pad, what remained resembled the clenched fist used to clean it. In a corner, her eyes lingered on a molded spot, the result of the damp salty droplets mixed with the sticky heat on the hillside.

The home was mostly spotless and bug-free. Each of the Guerrier children had been taught by Manman Linn the most important daily chore of search and destroy. Of course, she knew nature would always find a way inside, and that way was usually through the uncovered windows. Even still, the children had been put to task, using their small swatting hands they searched out whatever creeping things they could find. Now they would be down a set of hands, the only pair that could reach into tiny cracks along the front room wall. Baby Li’s small chubby fingers could even reach behind the two barrels of salt used for preserving their meat.

In what was probably no more than a few seconds, she not only marked every crack in the bedroom floor and wall but took note of the smells of the night that would forever change her existence. The sweet earth that produced their sugar cane in a small plot of land trailed along the treetops and entered through the window. And she could almost taste the over-ripened mango that drooped low on a nearby tree. Zuellie listened just a short while longer. The only sound coming from the cicadas as they serenaded the night.

"Mwen!" she cried out to her sister and then clawed at her throat for added effect.

Sit down! said Karlina. She was quick on her bare toes which had just slipped inside than out of the blanket. Before she knew what was happening, Zuellie was snatched from the window onto the bed. After realizing she was losing control of the situation, she yanked her arm free.

"Mwe!" She made another tiny belch-like sound before throwing herself to the floor.

Karlina began to scratch her head as she watched the fit play out before her eyes. Zuellie rolled back and forth as she wriggled on the floor, with one finger she pointed at her mouth. Karlina grew concerned, but then something fell from her sister’s pocket that drew her attention. Zuellie watched as her sister held the evidence, a piece of bread she had tucked in her nightgown for a midnight snack.

"And what is this? You know how Manman feels about food outside of the kitchen." Karlina grabbed the younger girl by the arm and sat her carefully on their bed.

Mwe! said Zuellie, her tiny face twisted in pain.

I get it already, you have a tummy ache, serves you right for sneaking food in here.

As the room grew darker, Karlina’s pupils dilated as she strained to make out her sister’s expression. Inching closer for a better look, she squeezed the sides of Zuellie’s cheeks until her lips parted. Nothing that she could see had lodged in her throat. Rubbing her sister’s arm for comfort, Karlina observed Zuellie’s smooth dark skin that seemed to blend into the shadows of the room. When their eyes met she waited for the laughter that would signify the end of a prank. Zuellie remained stone-faced, studying her sister’s almost colorless skin. Neither said a word.

What are you doing Baby Li, and why won’t you answer me? She poked at the younger girl’s stomach. Karlina huffed before she rose to her feet.

Ungh! Said Zuellie, she pointed again to her mouth.

Their papa had always said his oldest girl was intelligent, so Zuellie knew what it would take to fool a girl who devoured books and spoke four fluent languages: Haitian-creole, French, English, and Spanish. Zuellie noted the way her sister watched with a photographic memory, recording her every move and sound. Karlina was not only smart but considered a beauty. In Zuellie’s opinion, it was due to her mulatto features inherited by their father. For the longest time, she thought it had been the sun that bleached her skin and left her bright hair brittle like hay. As a result, Manman Linn had to use a honey and beeswax concoction on Karlina’s hair to soften and stretch her braids. Aside from her looks, most people adored the older girl because of her refined mannerisms.

Zuellie watched as even now sitting in the dark, Karlina sat with her head high and straight back. It was at that moment that she realized her sister’s attractiveness had nothing to do with her skin tone but more with who she was on the inside. Karlina was lovely and intelligent but was it not their papa who had also said his youngest daughter was even smarter. His exact words were, Baby Li is a quick learner, strong-willed and independent. This she knew to be an advantage over her big sister, and the source of her manman’s sorrow. The last baby she would ever carry had grown too fast, and their papa had seemed to lose interest in his wife. So, it was up to Zuellie to fix what she created. She had to hold her grit, against her intelligent sister, the brothers, and anyone else who tried to stop her.

"Stay here and don’t move, I’ll get manman," said Karlina.

Before leaving the room, she stopped to look back at her sister. When Zuellie said nothing, she disappeared down the hallway. "Manman, come quick, something’s wrong with Baby Li."

Zuellie listened to their murmurs as Karlina’s cynical voice tried to explain her sister's behavior. She scanned the place between the chest and upholstered chair where she liked to hide during games of hide-and-seek. The chair faced the window which was the perfect spot to receive the rare breeze from the Caribbean Sea during the rainy season. It was also her favorite place to sit with the ragdoll her papa’s boss had given her on the day she had been born. He liked to tell the story of how the doll had been brought from a far-off country beyond their sea, and Manman Linn said it was the only way they would ever know anything of the world beyond the Caribbean. Though she claimed not to be superstitious, Manman Linn often spoke of the omen pronounced at her birth, giving this as the reason she kept her children close.

Zuellie had inherited her mother’s guppy-eyes, as her siblings called them, and she had the same gangly legs as her papa and her brothers. And like her papa’s legs, hers had an insatiable need to run. This was the reason the next phase of her plan to ask Papa Legba for paralysis had not been thoroughly considered. Losing her speech would have to do and should be enough time to keep her papa home, at least long enough to persuade Manman Linn to seek a remedy from the mambo.

In her imagination, her papa would then look at his wife the way he used to, and her manman would be happy again. She was old enough to remember the days when he came home with a smile, carrying meat for dinner. Her manman would run to her husband’s arms simply because he had returned home - with or without meat. Once her papa stayed home, even if it were just for a day, Zuellie was sure their old sparks would fly. Then her uncle’s wives would stop whispering as she and her manman passed by on their way to market.

The longer it took Karlina to return with her parents the more she wrestled with how severe her symptoms needed to be. Zuellie positioned her legs in a way that defied its natural ability. When her joints popped, she nearly yelped from the pain as it shot from her hip down to her twisted ankles. Being mute would have to do. As she lay across the bed, she couldn’t help to wonder what led to her decision.

2

Haiti, 1872

Linn

ALONG THE WOODSY trail leading up the hillside, a thicket of heavy brush and wildflowers concealed a path known only to those who sought the healer. During the stormy season, torrential rainfall formed a trench, making it almost impossible to reach the mambo’s cabin.

Don’t mind the gully, said Effia, as she scanned the clothing of her twitchy-eyed guests, "the loas have decided to protect me in this way." If her visitor had worn fancy threads or was blessed enough to have on shoes she knew their journey had been long, and their pockets full with her reward.

The powerful winds swept through the hills, bending palm trees and uprooting delicate crops. There was always a reason for nature's wrath, whether to punish the people’s greed or to correct some form of dishonor. Before his passing, the houngan (male priest), warned of change to come. Now his daughter, Effia, the mambo, (female priestess), did the same. In the evening she walked through the forest barefooted to listen as the earth groaned and bemoaned each transgression.

Enjoy the crops now, one day there will be nothing but dust and mud, she said. As she spoke nearby leaves shook, and when she tugged on the long braids dangling from her white headscarf the wind seemed to settle. The sharecroppers placed several Haitian Gourdes on the table before leaving.

Families like the Dupont’s and the Guerrier’s were farmers of citrus, and sugar cane. There were other crops, but the cane fields required hard labor of which every abled body was needed. A small grove of almond trees grew outside one particular compound, where a bright-eyed brown girl was often found stuffing her pockets full of nuts that had fallen from the leaves that hung over the wall. She would not venture outside the gate, nor would she participate in fieldwork, though she was old enough for both.

Among the four families dwelling within the compound were a herd of cattle, a coop full of hens, several hogs, and two mules used for transportation. Some of them believed in making a sacrifice to the spirit world, others turned their worship to Mother Mary, and despite these differences, they were able to coexist in peace. Mostly the town of Miragoàne had been a thriving, self-sufficient community. Their women were easily noticed at the market selling produce or purchasing goods they could not cultivate for themselves like salted fish, fine garments, and hand-carved furniture.

No matter who was selling or buying, the conditions were always hot and unbearably humid, with long days under the sweltering sun. Regardless of the heat, rains, or hurricane, the women were fashionably dressed in vibrant quadrille dresses and their heads adorned with colorful headscarves or large hats. On market days they strutted onto the vendor row and took their places. The men dressed for comfort wearing linen or cotton pants, and a sun hat. Whether in the fields or in town, children played alongside their hard-working parents; their hands and faces sticky from ripe fruit juice mixed with sweat which drew flies and mosquitos—a nuisance to the overworked adults.

That summer, an aged English woman working in the clinic helped the bright-eyed Dupont girl prepare for delivery. As they carried her squirming body into the birthing room, her pocket full of nuts fell to the floor creating a trail from the entryway, just as her water broke.

"Linn! said the midwife, as she side-stepped slippery spots on the floor. It means a stream of water, like a waterfall." She braced herself on the wall for balance.

Upon hearing the words, the hairs on the expecting girls’ arms stood up. She grunted when her body was placed on the cot and in her confusion reached out for the young errand boy who had been called to clean the floor.

Settle down child, said her grandpapa.

The errand boy frowned at them both when she released the grip on his arm.

"Agwe has claimed this one’s offspring. Its destiny is beyond the Caribbean Sea," he said.

No, no, take it back…please, don’t curse my baby! With a trembling hand, she crossed her heart and forehead and prayed through her tears, which at the time felt pointless, especially when the elder repeated the curse before leaving, just in case the words had been missed through the wails of her birthing pangs.

That evening after giving birth and the other mothers in the ward were sound asleep, the new mother left her recovery bed and crept onto the darkened street until she found the Catholic church. When she told the priest about the prophecy, he calmed her fears by instructing her to light a candle and pray the rosary. The young mother bowed her head in a moment of silent prayer. After feeling comforted, she returned to the recovery ward and held her baby named Linn close at her breast where she intended to keep the child for a lifetime - if it were in her power to do so.

On the same hill that same year, a light-haired mulatto boy was born to the Guerrier’s. His manman (pronounced mama) had already selected the name for her unborn child, no matter what the gender turned out to be.

"Kolelas, the runner. Because it feels as if this baby is running round and round inside my belly," she panted.

The parents of young Kolelas sought the houngan, and later the mambo, for medicine and spiritual guidance on all matters. Their way was to seek the healer, and they would never convert to the new religion introduced by the missionaries. The hillside village overlooking Miragoàne had a unique subculture. For starters, one had to get there by horse, or mule, unless you were fit for the long walk. The trail populated with loose rocks and dirt led through a thick wall of looming trees. Beyond the dangling vines, chirping birds alerted skittish animals to human interference.

Blacks like the Dupont’s and lower-class mulattos, such as the Guerrier’s, lived and farmed together, which at that time was rare as the country smoldered, and simmered from the revolutions of 1804. However, on the hillside, sometimes referred to as a mountain, they found comfort and even wed one another. That year, Haitians found civil peace at the expense of international unrest. Then-President, Jean-Nicolas Saget, stalled Libertarian’s hunger for reform as he dealt with several military problems. Haiti’s ports took the stage of a battle or two. The first was between Spanish men-of-war and the United States over a steamer thought to be a pirate carrying contraband to Cuba.

The Germans struck later that year. A gentleman named Captain Batsch took it upon himself to attack two Haitian men-of-war ships anchored in the harbor of Port-au Prince. And amid these troubles, President Saget managed to redeem the paper currency. The country formerly known as Saint-Domingue had once been the wealthiest colony in the French Empire and all the world. The government had high hopes and expectations to recapture a fraction of Haiti’s glory days.

In the capital, artists became famous for the colorful depictions of their people and culture. Haitians were spirited. Their food savory, and the music expressive—like the people. Moving beyond the narrative of poverty and violence, Haiti’s beaches and hillsides were of the most beautiful in the West Indies. The coastline nurtured lush tropical vegetation of palms above and coral reefs beneath the sea. The hillsides matured into mountainous land and plains—Emerald jungles with a nutritious center where deep gorges of rock gave way to undisturbed natural baths. Vines and towering trees sagged from their ripened fruit; Moringa, Soursop, Mango, and Cacao. There were some sugar cane fields, though not as populous as they once had been, but still valuable enough to farm in one form or another.

1878

Each male owned a trusty machete used for whacking thicket and cutting cane. From an early age, 6-year-old Kolelas, who became known simply as Kole, learned to sling a blade with accuracy. His gangly legs moved through the bush clearing more ground than any of the other workers. His relatives speculated on his supernatural ability, many years before becoming known for the urban legend of having run from one end of Haiti to the other in a day,

The machete he used had earned the title and name of, la clairière (the clearing), and was never intended for use due to an obvious curvature slightly to the right. The defective blade had been given to him as a joke, just as it had been given to his father before him. However, in the right hands la clairière became more useful than any other cane cutter’s blade, moving its wielder through the reeds with a speed of a cyclone. There was not a reed left standing after they passed.

Linn had also spent her life on the hillside. Her family converted to Christianity against the wishes of their small community and shunned the houngan’s rituals marked by the drums. Kole had known her since they were old enough to play outdoors. She was the shy girl who watched other children from her door stoop, always silent. He would catch her on occasion giggling at the boy’s horseplay. Sometimes she would disappear from the doorway for days, and he worried until her return. Linn was not an attractive girl, at least that is what the other boys said. But Kole was fascinated by her face, thinking a girl who never smiled had to have known things beyond her years. She had the saddest eyes that seemed to bulge as they observed the whole world at once. Sometimes she waved in his direction, always after looking over her shoulder first. He mimicked her behavior, checking his surroundings before he returned her wave.

Don’t even trouble yourself with her, said one of the boys, as he shook his head. She doesn’t speak and she never comes out to play with us.

Kole laughed with the others while inwardly determining he would be the one to rescue her from the porch someday. Through him, Linn would become the stream of water she had been named after. One day he would show her the place on the other side of the hill where the waterfall spilled over into the sea. And each day her curiosity pulled her back to the doorway to stare at the well-mannered boy with bright skin and smooth hair. It was more than looks that made him stand out from the rest. Kole noticed her, and soon he would learn the reasoning behind her strange behavior.

3

Miragoane, 1882

WHEN LINN WAS four years old her papa contracted a disease that left him bedbound. As a way to provide for their household, her mother left the house early each day to peddle cassava roots and plantains at the bottom of the hill, leaving the young girl as a caregiver to her father. Around the age of 10-years old, a tante moved into the home, relieving Linn of her duties and releasing her into the world beyond their porch. She entered the small schoolhouse, wide-eyed yet reserved, for the first time.

Kole watched from a distance as her large eyes absorbed books, admired the girls her age, and clung to their conversations. He saw the meltdown before it happened. Linn began looking over her shoulder as if still stuck on her front stoop. During one of those episodes, she collided with a well-known bad boy, and they toppled face forward into a mud hole. Never mind the fact her school uniform had been ruined, the angry boy shoved a finger in her face and threatened to correct her eyesight. Kole approached the boy and dared him to lay a finger on his friend. Later in the day, when the tough crowd teased him for his gallantry, he accepted their fate.

It started with friendship, as they walked home together each day and recounted the school day. After several weeks, Kole confirmed their relationship to his berating friends. Holding hands on a rainy day to keep from sliding on the muddy path, she was his sweetheart and he became her heartthrob. They continued this way up until the year 1888 when Kole left school to work full-time in the fields.

We must get married. He stopped her at the gate before she left for school. It was his nature to find hidden treasure in the impractical, so his decision to marry Linn should have been of no surprise. Her nervous disposition made him love her more. It’s the only way I can protect you now that I’m no longer around.

She agreed to be his wife at 16 years old, happy to leave her overworked mother, and the impassive tante living in their home. After the private ceremony, Kole and four of his older brothers built their houses together in a nearby lot. The five-room floor plans were identical; two small rooms for sleeping, a slightly larger front room, a small kitchen, and an enclosed space for the chamber pot. Each home had a hand-made screen for the front and back door, and open window frames. The only difference in their homes was the vibrant colored exterior paint. They chose sky blue because it represented everything good around them. From the clear blue skies to the ocean, including the matching blue suit and dress they wore on their wedding day. Kole placed la clairière near the front door with pride. Linn vowed to keep her children close, as her manman had done with her. What she would soon learn, as each baby nursed, they eventually left her lap. They would spend less time carried on her hip, and the last baby even sooner than the others.

Running was in their blood. After all, her children were the offspring of the man who had been rumored to have run from the north end of Haiti to the south department on the day his first child was born. Of course, the story had been retold with fluid exaggeration, some details added or replaced depending on the storyteller. However, no one could deny the events encircling his oldest child’s birth.

August 19, 1889

There was a category 1 hurricane threatening seacrafts along the Caribbean Sea. As a result, the fishing boat Kole worked on as a deckhand was docked in the northern region of Cap Haitien. It would have taken any traveler eight hours by motor car, even longer by horse and buggy; two days or more if the unlucky chap had walked. When the telegram arrived saying his wife had gone into labor, Kole left the post office dazed by the news. His first child was about to be born. He announced his good news to whoever passed by along the sidewalk, grinning and sweating as he ran wildly along the street. To everyone’s surprise, he arrived in Miragoàne by nightfall in time to hear the first shrill from his baby’s lungs. 

They said he came running, but Kole would later tell his wife how the ship’s captain received an urgent telegram at the same time and was headed back to Miragoàne to secure his cattle and crops. He rode in a brilliant red gasoline runabout, his first and only time to ride in a motorized automobile. The captain dropped him off along Route 2. From there, Kole took off running from the edge of town to the clinic where his wife was in labor. From what everyone saw, he came running.

Kole was always in motion, if not running, then walking fast. The only time his legs were at rest was during sleep. Nothing moved quicker than his feet, except for the houngan’s hands beating on the djembe drum. Whenever the familiar sound echoed along the mountainside, Kole raced through the forest until he found rest at the drum; the velocity of the houngan’s hands drew him closer as it drained his desire to run and he collapsed. When it was over, he rose from the ground and walked home on the swollen soles of his feet.

Linn flat out refused to attend the Calinda dances from the start. She wanted her husband and children to attend Mass as good Catholics should. Kole said they could do both. The more he participated in the wild celebrations, the more nervous she became. His brother’s wives, who had not known Linn as a child, believed her isolation came from fear of the houngan. Whatever her reasons, Linn ignored her sister-in-law's knocks on the door frame and avoided eye contact as they waved in passing. Outside of her husband, she had little interest in anyone. Then their babies started coming, so she clung to them like flour on seasoned chicken. In the presence of tiny faces and wailing tonsils, Linn’s condition was scarcely noticeable.

Their first child came out coffee-bean brown like Linn but favored his papa in every other way. They named him Kouri, son of the runner. It seemed as though he jumped from his mother’s womb and bounced against every wall of their home. Linn would later trace the source of the creaky floorboards to this moment. By the time the young mother realized Kouri no longer wanted to nurse, she began to have tell-tale signs of motherhood.

You know what they say about a baby moving quickly, soon to be another on the way, said her mother-in-law.

Linn concealed a grin, as she massaged the unnoticeable bump on her stomach. Their second child was a girl they named Karlina. She had her papa’s bright skin and reddish-brown hair. Linn exhaled, smiling into her lazy girl’s face who seemed to have little