A Simple Deception

XXVIII

"My mother is the reason that I love you,' Bhim said simply. 'She is the reason I know what love is." Leah Franqui, America for Beginners

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XXVIII.

Alex had only been to Port-au-Prince once, and that was the day that he had left Haiti. He was amazed to see the dirt streets filled with coloured men and women, going about their business ... as though they were free to do so.

It was always a fight. If it was not the French, it was the military and the anarchists. He felt as though he had lived his life fighting. Fight, failing, and losing. But there seemed to be some freedom here, or at least some semblance of it.

Who was in power? Alex didn't know. For how long would they be in power? He didn't know that either. How long would it be before someone else came to control the island, to control its people?

The term "gens de coloeur libres" did not mean much to those with ulterior motivations.

The one thing that Alex did not see in Port-au-Prince was white folks. Not a single one. This was something entirely foreign to him seeing as he had grown up at the mercy of the petit blancs. To see the island, which had once been his home, completely devoid of them was almost alarming.

"Where is your mother?" Belle asked weakly as they rested against the wooden wall of a market stall. Despite being wet from the sea, they were drying quickly in the Caribbean sun. Alex's legs were like lead from having to swim to shore while dragging Belle along behind him.

Alex looked to the mountains beyond the city. "When things were bad after the Revolution, I took her up into the mountains. If you know where to look, there are villages of maroons, escaped slaves. I took her up there to be safe."

Alex had never gotten word to her that he had left Haiti. He had no way to communicate with her, and his mother would never have been able to read a letter anyway. He felt immense guilt growing inside of him in knowing that his mother probably felt abandoned by him.

Lord, he prayed she was still alive.

Belle wrapped one of her thin arms around her middle and rested her head back against the wall, her eyes closing. "May I ... may I rest for a moment?" she rasped, pain in her voice.

"Of course," replied Alex, feeling quite helpless as he was at a loss of what to do to help her. She really needed to be lying down and resting, and yet they had such a way to go.

Alex still had the knife that Captain Whitfield had given him, the one that had been used to seal Belle's wound shut. The blade was cleaned now, and quite fine. The hilt, in fact, looked to be ivory. It would certainly be very valuable.

The thought of trading the knife disturbed Alex a little, as it was really the only connection, the only proof, that he had met his father. But Captain Whitfield had not gifted this blade to his son. He had armed a defenceless man. Would the captain of bestowed the same gift had he known?

Alex wasn't confident. It was terribly hard for him to feel any sort of faith in the good of life. He had never known it. One only had to look upon poor, innocent Belle to see the hard truths of life for people like them. Good things didn't happen to them. Good things were snatched away.

Losing Susanna had been enough evidence to prove that. Alex didn't need to do it again.

***

Alex had intended on trading the knife for a horse, but managed to bargain for a cart as well, just a small one, but it was large enough to allow Belle to lie down and rest while the horse carried them out of the immediate town.