They stopped. Behind them were the lights and streets of Nassau, the hill outlined sharply against the sky, the water tower, the harbor, boats moving in and out; ahead of them, a soft, enveloping darkness that had swallowed the three Haitian men whole and was now about to swallow Claude, Vanise and Charles as well. They could feel the rough limestone road beneath their feet, but did it narrow to a pathway, did it suddenly loop to the left or right, was there a cliff at the edge of the road, a wall, a prickly hedgerow? The sky was clouded over here, remnants of the squall that had passed over them at sea; there was no moonlight, no stars.
Charles squirmed in his mother’s arms and whimpered.
Shut up, Claude whispered, and Vanise stroked the baby’s face and soothed him.
Claude could hear the men now, could hear their hard shoes crunch against the roadway and their low, melodious voices as they spoke to one another and now and then lightly laughed. He took hold of his aunt’s sleeve and led her as if she were a stubborn child. Don’t be scared, Vanise, he said in a low voice.
Up ahead, Jules suddenly stopped the others.
Shortly, Claude and Vanise drew abreast of them, and then, when they had passed a few steps beyond, stopped.
What is the matter? Vanise asked.
Shhh. I can’t hear them now.
They have flown away, she said.
Suddenly, the men were beside them. Boy, Jules said, you are like a dog who won’t stay home.
Claude said nothing. The baby started to cry.
We’ll go back, Vanise said.
No, Claude said.
Go back to the city, one of the other men said. Someone there will take care of you.
The police, Jules said, and laughed.
The baby was crying loudly now, squirming in his mother’s arms. Claude reached over and took the child, hitched him against his hip, and the child automatically clung to the boy and quieted down.
Go now, go on back, the man said again.
No, Claude repeated.
Yes, we’ll go, Vanise said, her voice tight and high with fear.
No, Claude said. He took a step away from the man, and Vanise followed.
What shall we do with them? one of the men asked.
Jules sighed heavily. When we come onto houses or a village, he said, or if an automobile comes, we must separate as we did back in the city, so that no more than one of us can get caught by the police.
Fine, the man said. But what about them?
Where we are going, Jules said to Claude, there is no place for you. We cannot help you. Do you understand me?
Yes, Claude said.
Then go back now. You will do better in the city, where there are many strangers. No one will know you are Haitian.
No, Claude said firmly.
I’ll make him go back, the other man said, and he stepped toward Claude and reached for the boy’s shirt.
Never mind, Jules said. He drew the other man back. I thought you liked the pretty boy, he said.
Ha. Only at sea, he said, laughing. He’s white man’s meat now. We have all those Bahamian women to choose from. We don’t need to fuck a pretty little boy or a Haitian whore.
Jules turned away and started walking. Don’t be so sure, he called back. Those Bahamian girls get one look at you and they’ll run in the opposite direction. He laughed and walked on.
The others ran to catch up, joking and teasing, talking eagerly now about women. Claude, with Charles on his hip, followed. Come along, he said to Vanise.
Slowly, in silence, she came up behind him and walked there the rest of the way.
In a few hours, they reached Elizabeth Town, a village on the south coast with one street, a half-dozen sandy lanes and a cluster of pink, cut-limestone cottages roofed with thatch. Spreading from the north side of the village, like a junk-strewn backyard, was a shantytown, corrugated tin shacks and buildings that were little more than huts made of scrap lumber and cast-off sheets of iron. The narrow lanes were deserted, and except for the dim glow of a kerosene lamp behind a window here and there, the town was dark. The sky had cleared, however, and now Claude and Vanise could let themselves hang back a ways from the other Haitians and still see to follow them as they cut through the sleeping village to the shantytown beyond.
They saw Jules walk boldly up to one of the shacks facing the lane, where he knocked against the door once, then a few seconds later, again, and a third time, until at last the door opened a crack. Jules exchanged words with the person behind the door, and then the person closed the door, while the three men waited in silence outside. A few moments passed, and the door opened again, and the men passed into the house.
