Read Online God Loves Haiti (9780062348142) by Dimitry Elias Leger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dimitry Elias Leger
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the happier prospect is unknown to anyone but God.
âSocrates, in Platoâs Apology
        THE PRAYER
F ive minutes before the earthquake no one knew was coming destroyed everything everyone held dear, Natasha Robert was a confused young newlywed, standing on the tarmac of Toussaint Louverture Airport in Port-au-Prince. She was clutching a one-way ticket out of Haiti, worried she had married the wrong man and wondering whether God would forgive her for that sin. I love you, she whispered to the memory of the other man, her ex-lover. But I cannot be with you anymore. I must leave Haiti. Please leave me be, she said to herself with mounting anxiety. Grant me peace! Please? The memory took the shape of a stone-faced ghost, and the ghost showed her no pity. The young woman was the only person in the presidential entourage assembled at the airport who saw the ghost, so no one outside her head could hear her scream. The air smelled a woozy mix of Caribbean sea and jet engine fuel. Primly dressed in a formal white-and-blackdress, and standing on a tarmac that glittered, positively glittered, under a bright sun, Natasha tried to blink away her past in favor of a swanky future. The effort stalled. One last memory lingered. The memory was a good one too, seemingly endless and sweet. The winter day had been unusually hot. To all the world, Natasha looked the picture of poised, exquisite, and carefree beauty. But her heart nursed a wound inflicted by her head, and now it was fit to burst if she didnât get herself together. Tears were on the verge of ruining her makeup. A disaster of epic proportions. She should be happy. She was about to have one of her childhood dreams come trueâLeaving Haiti for good! Yay!âbut the image of a handsome young man, a dreamboat with a nightmareâs poor timing, came jarringly into her mind, wrecking her nerves, breaching the dam of her cool facade. Why am I seeing your ghost when I know you to be alive and well? she thought. Feelings for this man, her heart insisted on reminding her, the young man sheâd jettisoned recently for a wealthier and much older man, and, in the process, casually, cruelly, and pretty much completely breaking both their hearts, surfaced in her chest with a vehemence that stopped her in her tracks. She stood still in the middle of the group. The group was in a hurry. The airplane they were about to take for a permanent leave of their island nation shimmered like a mirage under the assault of the Caribbean heat. The plane, like most escape fantasies, looked as though it could disappear before they reached it.This made folks nervous. Their nerves werenât helped by the fact that the tarmacâs asphalt was so hot it was melting the soles of their loafers and high heels. Some began to fear for the fate of the bottom of their feet. Their feet could not possibly put up a better fight than Italian leather did. As if alone, or, to her impressionable new friends, on a movie set, Natasha loosened her collar, lost in her thoughts, still not walking toward her husband, who was at the head of the queue, a hand imperiously thrust at her.
Until the moment she abruptly stopped the exodus, Natasha had been all smiles; an award-winning, movie-star-worthy grin, her entourage noted early and often. Her smile was indeed winning. All her life, its brilliance seduced women and men, boys and girls, soldiers and nuns, and elders and babies. Recently, her gentle yet arresting beauty had ensnared a head of state and his entourage and her nation, tooâwell, the small percentage of the population with access to television sets. Her wedding day was like a national holiday. Their every move became an opportunity to celebrate rare national glamour. Even on this treacherous day, when the first couple secretly planned to ditch Haiti for Italy, smatterings of cheering throngs accompanied their procession from the National Palace to the national
âSocrates, in Platoâs Apology
        THE PRAYER
F ive minutes before the earthquake no one knew was coming destroyed everything everyone held dear, Natasha Robert was a confused young newlywed, standing on the tarmac of Toussaint Louverture Airport in Port-au-Prince. She was clutching a one-way ticket out of Haiti, worried she had married the wrong man and wondering whether God would forgive her for that sin. I love you, she whispered to the memory of the other man, her ex-lover. But I cannot be with you anymore. I must leave Haiti. Please leave me be, she said to herself with mounting anxiety. Grant me peace! Please? The memory took the shape of a stone-faced ghost, and the ghost showed her no pity. The young woman was the only person in the presidential entourage assembled at the airport who saw the ghost, so no one outside her head could hear her scream. The air smelled a woozy mix of Caribbean sea and jet engine fuel. Primly dressed in a formal white-and-blackdress, and standing on a tarmac that glittered, positively glittered, under a bright sun, Natasha tried to blink away her past in favor of a swanky future. The effort stalled. One last memory lingered. The memory was a good one too, seemingly endless and sweet. The winter day had been unusually hot. To all the world, Natasha looked the picture of poised, exquisite, and carefree beauty. But her heart nursed a wound inflicted by her head, and now it was fit to burst if she didnât get herself together. Tears were on the verge of ruining her makeup. A disaster of epic proportions. She should be happy. She was about to have one of her childhood dreams come trueâLeaving Haiti for good! Yay!âbut the image of a handsome young man, a dreamboat with a nightmareâs poor timing, came jarringly into her mind, wrecking her nerves, breaching the dam of her cool facade. Why am I seeing your ghost when I know you to be alive and well? she thought. Feelings for this man, her heart insisted on reminding her, the young man sheâd jettisoned recently for a wealthier and much older man, and, in the process, casually, cruelly, and pretty much completely breaking both their hearts, surfaced in her chest with a vehemence that stopped her in her tracks. She stood still in the middle of the group. The group was in a hurry. The airplane they were about to take for a permanent leave of their island nation shimmered like a mirage under the assault of the Caribbean heat. The plane, like most escape fantasies, looked as though it could disappear before they reached it.This made folks nervous. Their nerves werenât helped by the fact that the tarmacâs asphalt was so hot it was melting the soles of their loafers and high heels. Some began to fear for the fate of the bottom of their feet. Their feet could not possibly put up a better fight than Italian leather did. As if alone, or, to her impressionable new friends, on a movie set, Natasha loosened her collar, lost in her thoughts, still not walking toward her husband, who was at the head of the queue, a hand imperiously thrust at her.
Until the moment she abruptly stopped the exodus, Natasha had been all smiles; an award-winning, movie-star-worthy grin, her entourage noted early and often. Her smile was indeed winning. All her life, its brilliance seduced women and men, boys and girls, soldiers and nuns, and elders and babies. Recently, her gentle yet arresting beauty had ensnared a head of state and his entourage and her nation, tooâwell, the small percentage of the population with access to television sets. Her wedding day was like a national holiday. Their every move became an opportunity to celebrate rare national glamour. Even on this treacherous day, when the first couple secretly planned to ditch Haiti for Italy, smatterings of cheering throngs accompanied their procession from the National Palace to the national
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