Now what would I do?
I tried calling Rèmy's name in a sharp whisper but everytime I tried fear washed over me.
I calmed myself down, trying to listen to the waves.
At first I couldn't hear them properly and I panicked.
I looked behind me but I could see nothing further than the small bush that I was standing in.
Again I tried to calm myself down, and decided to make my way in the direction where the waves came from.
With each step I made I could hear the crash of the waves become louder, the sound of the water being sucked back in, as if the moon used a straw to drink the ocean, and the crash again of the waves pounding down upon the sand.
Eventually I was out of the jungle but the shack was nowhere to be seen.
I had found myself in a different part of the beach, to which, when I observed the left part of it, I spotted small lights coming from a tiny town.
There it was! I thought happily, realising that since that was the town, the shack must be nearby on the beach.
I ran hurriedly towards the left side of the shore for about five minutes until I found my home.
Fear left me quickly as I rapped on the door twice and entered without saying hello.
Laurette was sitting up on her bed, and Rèmy was talking to her.
I was furious.
'How could you leave me?!' I shouted.
He looked up at me, and told me to keep calm.
'How can I keep calm?' I asked frustrated, 'I could have been attacked by...whatever that animal was!'
'No,' chorted Rèmy, 'Frantz's body was already a diversion for us. It had already eaten him by then.'
He had a point, but to leave me like that alone in the dead of night was not right in any way.
I told him that, but he just shook his head and continued talking to his mother.
I sat down on an old, splintered chair and listened.
'So you feel much better now to walk?' Rémy asked Laurette with glowing eyes.
'Yes, son', replied his mother, 'all thanks to our friend here.' She looked at me.
Rèmy turned and gave me a small smile, then continued chatting with her.
I felt grateful for Laurette's thankfulness, but Rèmy didn't seem very appreciative on my help for her.
'Is there a problem, Rémy?' I asked.
'No, there's no problem,' he replied sarcastically, 'none whatsoever.'
He was a strange boy, Rèmy. He blew hot and then cold, friendly and then demanding, good-humoured but then utterly boring.
Nonetheless I forgave him, and asked him if he had a problem with me, again.
'I said there was no problem,' Rèmy answered glaring at me, 'I didn't feel comfortable with you looking after my mum. All these medicines and such, they worked anyway.'
I felt offended. 'If you're not happy,' I said, standing up, 'then my time here is done. I'll just leave.'
I left the shack and slammed the door, and Rèmy didn't even seem to notice me.
I stormed to the beach where the waves that illuminated the moon thundered upon each other. Tears had to escape me, and no matter how hard I tried to fight them back, one after the other slipped off of my nose.
What was wrong with him? I thought, crying heavily.
Did he really not appreciate my help? His mother did, and seemed certainly well enough to stand up by now.
She even thanked me, for goodness sake. And with love. Whereas, Rémy did not.
I felt awful, like the day I felt when I had lost my mother.
Rèmy was lucky to have his mother back, to have her recover and walk again.
I'd wished the same for my own, but there was no point in doing so.
I cried even harder. My emotional anguish that screamed out to the nightsky became even louder, and soon I was in the salty water, thrashing and flailing my arms about.
It was a feeling of betrayal. I liked Rémy as a friend, when I first saw him for his integrity and bravery.
Now, it seemed as though our friendship had been ruined. Destroyed by a few moments of sarcasm and ungratefulness.
When my emotions had steadied themselves, I heard the shack door closing and feet slapping against the sand towards me.
I didn't need to turn to see who it was. Rèmy stood behind me, picked up a stone a tossed it into the water. It bounced three times before coming to a halt and sinking suddenly like a ship in flames.
'What are you doing out here?' asked Rèmy soothingly.
He hoisted another, heavy stone and hurled it into the water, smacking the surface only twice before drowning in the sea.
'Why do you think?' I sniffled.
'I'm sorry about my behaviour,' he said, 'I just haven't experienced the fact that my mother's wellbeing was so well like that for a long time, my friend.'
I felt a little better, but he needed a bit of a worthier apology than just that..
'You really did help her,' Rémy explained, 'it's amazing. And your mother taught you all about that stuff?'
'Yes,' I answered, standing up.
'You are so lucky,' he exclaimed, throwing another stone into the ocean,' no one ever taught me anything like that.'
'No?' I asked sadly, 'I'm sorry.'
'No, you needn't be sorry. I was born unlucky. Given life from a sickly woman and an unknown father. How I wish that I'd met him,' Rèmy wiped away a tear that fell from his left eye, and asked me if I knew my father.
'No,' I said, shaking my head emotionlessly.
'Do you know who he was?' he asked.
'No,' I said, 'but he probably didn't really like my mother.'
'I see.'
There was a pause of silence, and the only noises came from the birds in the forest and the claps of the ocean waves between our toes.
'Zander,' said Rèmy, facing me, 'I'm sorry I was so rude to you before, and that I have a strange character. That's why I never really had any close friends.'
I nodded, then said, 'I forgive you. And I'm sorry that I just came into your life like this. Out of nowhere...just out of the blue.'
*
We were good friends after that enlightning conversation. Rèmy talked and listened to me more, and I did the same.
Together we ran the stand, from Monday to Friday, well, if we could remember the days.
Laurette was finally fit enough to walk, and made us breakfast every morning, whereas Rèmy and I made the dinner.
Once a month we cleaned out the shack, and we earned enough money to finally buy more important things, such as: healthier food, proper beds for all three of us and real cutlery.
Slowly, our lives were becoming better: blossoming by the months.
It was coming up to summer and only then did I realise how much I'd been in Haiti for: over half a year. And why hadn't the camps come looking for me?
I had completely forgot about them, but I had no more fear. I was safe because I felt as if I had a real family. Protection was in the air, and was becoming stronger every month.
In early July we celebrated Rèmy's birthday. It was on the fifth, I think, and I bought him some new clothes, which had used up almost all of the money that I had earned in two months. He loved them, and we became even closer. Laurette's present was an eating out somewhere, which wasn't great to my standards, but considering it was Rèmy's first time, the night was wonderful for all three of us.
By September I was perfectly fluent in French and I enjoyed speaking every single bit of it, even though I did miss English.
Sometimes, when I was by myself and had a little alone time, I tried to talk with my mother.
I tried asking for happiness, protection and guidance, but I had forgotten a lot of words and grammar. It was very worrying.
One day, I went into town with some money, where I decided to buy an English phrasebook. Or at least a book with all the different types of grammars and word orders in English.
It was very difficult to find, nontheless I eventually did.
On my own would I read through it, and learned and repassed many words, until I had them all synchronized in my head.
Come late August was Laurette's own birthday, and Rèmy let me know a week before.
I cooked a delicious meal for all of us with fish roasted on an open fire I made outside the shack. Rèmy had taught me how to make one by rubbing sticks and stones together; that took hours to make.
I deeply missed my mother and America. On one cold day in early September I went into a depressive mood.
I felt sorry for leaving all the orphans behind in the camps, even if it would have been virtually impossible to free all of them.
By now, some would have died, like Johnathan, and the rest would probably be as fluent as I was in French and very fierce and tough.
They would have become used to it, nevertheless I felt awful about them not being at home.
I was surprised that no help from America had come and tried to rescue them yet. Perhaps they were afraid of the mafias here, and they had every reason to be.
I learnt that the Haitian mafias are amongst the most fierce in the western part of the world, worse than any in the United States.
On the other side, the most famous and bloodthirsty ones were from China, Japan and Mongolia.
Rèmy had explained that some typical punishments that the mafias from the hottest countries did to traitors was leaving them outside to roast in the heat.
In Africa there were dangerous heat waves, if not small they were still very famous for quickly burning people to death, and very soon the same would be happening near us, such as America or even Haiti itself. Most of the population in Africa was extinct then due to the terrible heat waves.
It was extremely hot one day so neither of us could have gone outside. We had no protection from the sun.
'Tomorrow,' said Laurette, 'if it isn't this hot, buy some sun cream. The best, if you can.'
Rèmy and I nodded in agreement.
Unfortunately, on days like these, there were certain flies that roamed around looking to feed on blood. But these weren't just any ordinary mosquitoes, they carried a deadly virus which was, in these places, uncurable.
The most dangerous one that they could provoke was malaria.
Everybody feared it, because the effects were awful: fever, nausea, pain and many others if the disease wouldn't subside as it normally does after a few days.
None of us could risk it: we needed each other.
So for the rest of the day we were just at home, chatting and even playing with cards.
Rèmy had bought some from a store the day before, as if he knew that we would be confined to our home on this particular day.
I lost in the first few rounds, considering I'd never played with them before.
Laurette felt tired and slept most of the time, but for once, I was at peace.
Memories of being at home playing games with my mother came about my mind, which was why I had lost one of the rounds of the card game later on.
Loss from a distraction of a worthy cause, you could call it.
The next day Rèmy and I woke at 7.30 as usual, to go straight to work.
We had our breakfast at the stand before some serious business came about, and our food generally consisted of fruit.
Quite busy and hot, we still managed to get through the day happily and return in good moods.
Back home at 6.40 in the afternoon we found Rèmy's mother asleep.
It was strange now that she was so well. Or had she become ill again?
Rèmy awoke her and asked why she was asleep.
'I don't know, my dears,' she said, 'it must be the heat.'
'Perhaps,' answered Rèmy, but he didn't sound too convinced.
'My arm is itching so badly,' she moaned, scratching her right upper limb.
Rèmy instantly went to check it out, and claimed that Laurette had been bitten by a mosquito.
*
It was slightly worrying for the first day.
As I explained earlier, these mosquitoes might have carried viruses, and the worst was known to be malaria, which one has to be quite unlucky to have continuous problems with it if they caught it. Malaria could cause a dysfunction in the kidneys, which is where the main issue starts. Continual problems with it can lead to death, and Rèmy was extremely worried about that.
We warily went to work, and Rèmy constantly sent me to check on Laurette back at the shack, who, like many months earlier, was lying fast asleep on her bed.
She seemed fine, but not for too long.
After two more days Laurette's coughing returned.
Rèmy was really starting to worry now, fearing that what his mother had before could come back.
I tried with my mother's coughing remedy, but to no avail.
Prayers every night for her didn't seem to be working, and days after Laurette seemed to be getting worse: pains everywhere, very high fever and nausea.
When she tried to stand up once she fell, and became unconscious.
Rèmy was becoming extremely distressed; noticing how quickly his mother deteriorated everyday was virtually an emotional torture.
A week after her health had started to get worse. And soon the effects that she displayed did not seem to belong to those of Malaria, they were more of the Yellow fever. Another virus with effects of pains, head and stomach aches, cramps, nausea, vomiting, and, if the victim is unlucky, death.
A day after her health becoming worse, Laurette seemed to make some small recovery: talking a bit more and eating slightly more.
The colour in her face had come back a little and she wasn't as thin as she was before.
Only a day after did she lose so much of her health that it seemed totally hopeless. Laurette started vomiting, she became increasingly skinny and had many aches and pains then much nausea.
On one day to work, Rèmy told me to go on my own, as he needed to be with his mother for this time.
I accepted without any questions, and left the shack and immediately went to work.
It wasn't such a hot day, but the temperature was reasonably warm so work was easy. I was just worried sick about Laurette. I had grown a soft spot for her.
I came back home slightly later than usual to find Rèmy sitting beside Laurette's bed, weeping.
Dejà vu. The scene reminded me so much of myself a year earlier kneeling next to my own mother's bed weeping, while she was making barely a whisper to talk.
Luckily Laurette knew who I was, and asked me to come closer.
'Hello, Zander,' she said weakly. I also said hello, but I felt so sad.
Laurette may have smiled, only that I knew how much pain was retaining within herself. It must have been awful.
'My time is finally coming to an end,' she said.
This was such a bizarre experience. I never really saw this day coming when Laurette was eventually walking two months earlier.
'I know,' I said, 'and I'm sorry.'
'About what?' she asked, 'You've been a great help.'
That made me smile, but cry at the same time. I wiped away my overflowing tears, and I literally saw my own mother in the form of Laurette, who I 'd somehow accepted as my new mother.
I saw Rèmy also start to dab away at his eyes with a pocket tissue.
'Boys,' she said, 'please don't be sad, but be greatful instead that my suffering is soon to be over.'
She had a point, and it made me feel so much better.
My crying finally came to halt, even if I was still hyperventilating.
Rèmy was far too upset to watch her go, but then she squeezed his hand even tighter, and I sat myself on the chair, still drying away the last tear that squeezed itself out.
'I wrote you both a letter,' she said extemely hoarsely. It was so hoarse, in fact, that I had to ask her to repeat it again, which made me feel so guilty.
'They will help you,' Laurette explained, 'on your destinies. Everybody has one, and mine is now finished.'
Rèmy stopped crying.
Laurette nodded at him and he passed me a beautifully folded letter with my name on it, written in extravagant writing.
'Thank you, Laurette,' I said, my voice hardly making a whisper, 'I'll miss you.'
'And...I'll miss you too. I shall watch over you both, and I hope to meet your mother, who must be very proud of you for the journey that you made.'
I smiled and also held her hand, and squeezed it tightly.
She was a wonderful woman, and I would miss her so very much.
I felt awful for Rèmy, and if there was anything that I could do to help, I'd do it. Only that there was nothing anybody could do to help Laurette, so we just had to accept that this was how things were.
*
I couldn't sleep that night, so I opened my letter and started to read. Obviously, it was written almost entirely in French, however the words were as familiar to me as they would have been in English.
It was a two page long letter, and I couldn't resist but to read it immediately:
Dear Zander,
this I write to a special person. Please read it well and I wish you luck in your future. You may not receive everything that you ask for, but more commonly the things that you need. What I wrote on the next page is a premonition of your future in a poem of metaphors, so please, try to understand it as much as you can.
Don't worry about me, I'll be fine and happier where I will be, and probably even better than where I used to live before.
Enclosed in this letter is a coin, an American dollar that you must keep and can never give to anyone else. Trust me, if you want to meet your real destiny, you will need this coin, so look after and respect it.
Take care of my son Rèmy. He'll be good to you if you return the good to him. You both need each other in order to survive, therefore please respect one another.
Remember that I'm off to a better place now, and thanks for all your help, you are truly an intelligent and gifted boy!
Your mother would be proud,
love from, Laurette. C
I then turned over the next page, and found the American coin, to which I held close to my face, looking at the date on when it was made, which was 2111-the year of my birth. What a coincedence! I felt even better and placed the coin back into the letter, looked at the next page and read the title:
Your life within the next five years-
I was slightly nervous, but nonetheless eager to find out what she said. Would I understand the metaphors, though? I hoped so.
I turned to look at Laurette sleeping peacefully in her bed, whilst Rèmy snored next to me.
I smiled warmly in appreciation, even if she wouldn't see, then began to read the poem:
An equilibrium is what one needs,
and you, of many, are one.
These words will help you to see,
what good and bad are next to come.
There will be a depression following a death,
and it will last for long.
You must stop it, and in order to do it
you must continue to pursue your song.
As a tortoise crawls and moves, you shall eventually
get what you need,
just work hard, be generous and without fear
you, shall soon succeed.
Ups and downs are your life, I feel,
but take this carelessly.
Fall-outs and fights then support and respect
shall make you live happily.
Until the day arrives that neither of you can stay,
and to the land where a saviour, I see.
A storm will follow but chances await:
and only one of you can be.
The last farewell will exist,
no matter how much you will both lament.
Bodies will burn and be left to rot,
while one of you will be sent.