This was not how he had envisioned ending the day, but it was how days usually ended. In their arguments, his generosity became an offense to Yvonne, as if having a little humanity was an affront to their family.
“I don’t just offer free rides for the hell of it,” Raymond said slowly, patiently, clenching his jaw, the desperate faces of Milot Sauveur and his family flashing in his mind.
“There is always someone with an excuse, isn’t there? Someone who got mugged, someone who is homeless, someone who’s sick. That is not the way to do business, Raymond. Everyone will take advantage of you!”
Raymond closed his eyes. It was so simple for her to tell him how to do his job. She wasn’t the one at the wheel, observing the decay out there.
“You forget that’s how we met,” Raymond said.
Yvonne glared at him. It pained him that they were already fighting. But he couldn’t help it. He had to remind her of that fateful day when she’d been left stranded in the rain in downtown Port-au-Prince. She’d have caught a cold if Raymond hadn’t come to her rescue.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he moaned, rubbing nervously at the stubble on his chin. “I almost got killed today.”
Yvonne listened as he told her what had happened, staring like he was a ghost. As soon as he was done, he saw her lower lip quiver and he regretted having told her. She had enough to worry about.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.
“There’s nothing to say,” he replied. “I had to do something. I couldn’t let them die on the street like that. Could you?”
She lowered her eyes, but did not answer.
“I’ll have to be extra careful the next few days.”
“What about us?” she asked. “What about the kids?”
“I just need to get a little work done on the car, replace the license plates, and we’ll be fine. They’ll never find me.”
“How are we going to pay for that?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You can’t afford not to work for a few days—”
“I’ll take care of it,” he repeated. “Could I have something to eat?”
Yvonne jumped up and grabbed a ladle to stir a pot of bouyon. The aroma filled the apartment. Raymond began to salivate, and his stomach ached. All he’d eaten today were two hard-boiled eggs, purchased in Cité Simone on the side of the road from a large woman with dirty fingernails and unsightly moles on her face. He watched his wife pour the soup into a bowl, her thin waist and shrinking frame barely visible under her dress. Even her hair was graying early, and these days she kept it hidden under a scarf because she didn’t have the luxury of caring for what used to be a spectacular mane of wiry curls. She placed the bowl in front of him. Raymond noticed it was only half full. He ran his spoon through it. No meat. Just a few chunks of plantain and yams.
“I was thinking…” Yvonne swallowed and sat next to him. Outside, they heard the children laugh. She bit her lip. “I was thinking, maybe you could get a loan? Maybe ask Eve and Nicolas?”
Raymond turned to her and she lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. He clenched his jaw again and felt his appetite leave him. “Don’t,” he said.
“They’ve got the big house in Turgeau, more money than they need. They’re bourgeois, Raymond,” Yvonne continued. “Isn’t he just a little bit embarrassed that you have nothing? Don’t you think he could spare some money for his brother?”
“Stop,” Raymond said.
“But it’s so unfair—”
“I’m not begging my brother for money!”
Raymond seldom raised his voice. He brought the soup to his lips quickly as if to swallow the anger churning inside. He gulped spoonfuls even though he was no longer hungry. It was impossible to ignore Yvonne. She was there, boiling with need and despair, and he felt it. He understood it. He smelled the permanent odor of laundry soap and ammonia that clung to her skin as she rubbed her temples with impatience.
She sighed. “Well, we’re going to be beggars at some point. Might as well beg from your family.”
Their eyes finally met. She grabbed hold of his fingers. “Raymond, listen to me,” she said slowly. “You’ve been pushing the same old car downhill since I met you. I just don’t see how things can get better for us if you can’t even provide for your children. If you won’t ask your brother, then maybe I can talk to Eve?”
“Absolutely not!”
She paused. Raymond noticed her nostrils twitching as she pulled her hand away. He continued to eat in silence, hoping she’d drop the subject. But she cleared her throat.
“Well, then I’m going to have to take the kids lòt bò dlo.”
Raymond’s spoon clattered against the edge of his bowl.
“Not that again!” he howled. “My kids are not getting on a damn raft to Miami. Just last week I heard another story. Twelve families piled inside a rickety tugboat that started to sink. The captain threw them overboard. You really believe those stupid stories people tell you? That money there comes easy? You think you’re just going to walk off the boat and start picking money off trees like mangoes?”
Yvonne shook her head. “I’m a hard worker,” she said.
“So am I,” Raymond replied. “But I’ll be damned if my kids end up in the belly of a shark.”
He didn’t need this. He wanted to take a bath and go to sleep—then the chase, the bullets, this argument could go away for a while.
She finally looked up at him. “They’re my children too.”
“Then think about what you’re saying,” Raymond said. “The Macoutes control the wharfs. If they suspect anything, they’ll shoot you on sight.”
“It’s an option.” She still would not look at him. She knew he was right. “It’s better than this,” she added, and shrugged.
“It’s suicide.”
A torturous silence fell over them.
“My uncle in Miami has plenty of connections,” she said. “He made it fine. He’s got a job now and—”
“I’m not having this conversation.” Raymond pushed his bowl away and splattered its contents across the table. He stood up.
“I just want something better for us,” she mumbled.
He knew she was on the verge of tears, but Yvonne was good at not crying. In front of him, anyways.
“There’s no such thing as ‘better,’” he said. “Wake up!”
He walked out the back door and left Yvonne sitting at the table.
There was no grass growing behind the house. The ground had been paved to save Madame Simeus the trouble of upkeep. Raymond picked his way over to the edge of the water basin where the kids were waiting, sat down, and fumbled in the dark until he found the faucet he was looking for. The water trickled out in a thin stream.
“Wash your faces, your hands, your mouths,” he said as the kids reached toward the faucet with their small fingers. “You need to be nice and clean before bed. Hurry.”
The sound of water soothed him, drowning out Yvonne’s voice in his mind. Life together used to be good because they’d endured everything in silence, together. But the regular sight of executed men, their bodies displayed as a warning, was enough to rip apart households.