Henry opened the door and brusquely introduced Jake,
ordering
her to drive them to Jake’s house.
“So Jake, tell me how to get there.”
“Okay, Mrs. Novak. I live in Chippewa Park. It’s right off of …”
“I already know.
It’s next to St. Mark’s
Cemetery
. Chippewa’s
an elder
ly
community
, right?
Our church sometimes does some volunteer work for them. Do you live with your grandparents?” Jessica asked.
“Uh, no. Any age can move in there, but you’re right. It’s got plenty more old people than young people. I live with my uncle and aunt. But my neighbors are super cool. I hang out with them all the time. Do chores that they can’t do, help ‘um out, you know. Henry wanted to meet one of them.”
Jessica admired the boy’s sincerity. Jake was slowly gain
ing
her approval.
“Mom, his friend is from Haiti. We’re going to see if he can contact his family,” Henry added.
“Wonderful. Now how do you know each other? A class?” Jessica pried.
“He’s my friend from the
Z
oo,” Henry answered.
“The zoo?”
“Mrs. Novak, that’s what we call ISS. Like we’re in a cage,” Jake explained.
His words popped her balloon
like a machete
, no longer thrilled to have her son hanging out with a trouble-maker. “What are you in the
Z
oo for, Jake?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not a bad kid. Just got caught doing something stupid. Now Henry! Wow! He stomped on one of the biggest kids in the whole school.
Rio
is such a jerk,” Jake said.
Not letting the boy get away with evading her question, she asked again.
“Oh. I…the school called it…defaced some property. That means I got caught carving a couple of lines into the school cafeteria table at lunchtime,” he stated, unembarrassed.
“I see. What would those lines
have
turned out to be if you had not gotten caught?” Jessica hammered away.
“Just a symbol. A swirl. It means peace and prosperity. The lunch lady thought it was a gang symbol, but the principal knows me. He knows that I’m not in a gang. Mrs. Novak, I’m harmless. And I’m more scared of Henry than he could ever be of me. I know all about his disorder…
Asbuzes
?
Anjaspers
?”
“As
p
erger’s,” Jessica corrected.
“Right. We’re just
gonna
hang out with Lucien. He’s like a million years old. Henry and him will like each other.”
Jessica pulled into the entrance of Chippewa Park. As s
he drove down the long
,
gravel
road, seeds of
regret
began to
sprout
. Henry’s new friend went from a wonderful, thoughtful boy to a problem child in less than ten minutes. She didn’t trust him, but her son had his heart set on hanging out. She took a deep breath.
“Which trailer?” she asked.
“Lot 426. The reddish one with the enclosed porch. Loo
k. You can see Lucien sitting inside
and smoking his pipe,” Jake said as he pointed.
Jessica could see him. Jake was right. The man must have been a million years old.
His w
ild
,
white hair was almost neon. “Okay, Henry. I’ll pick you up right here at 5:30 p.m., no later.”
He nodded and jumped out of the car.
It’s only a little more than two hours,
she reassured herself. But intuition told her to
put the kybosh on the whole thing and let him hate her for a while. Her husband would side with him,
declaring a family war
.
The
ir
last
argument
caused
Tom
to check into a motel room for a couple of nights.
Maybe Tom is right. Henry needs to
socialize more on his own.
***
Lucien
Nazaire
sat inside of the enclosed porch of his double-wide trailer smoking his pipe.
This
afternoon ritual consisted of his own unique blend of herbs and tobacco
that would
slightly alter his consciousness. He would then begin meditation and prayer, always finishing before Jake came home from school.
Jake
became a surrogate grandson to him. He
adored the young man’s company
and
planned on
mentoring the boy about
his Haitian religion and culture.
Jake was only too receptive.
Maybe the boy could…
, he began to wonder.
But he was so old. Time was running out.
As Lucien meditated, his mood darkened. Worry consumed him, ruining all of his concentration. His whole family lived outside of Port-au-Prince, the area most leveled by the earthquake. He wanted to
call
, but
much
too risky.
I just want to die in peace. Oh great
Bondye
, show me what to do,
” he prayed aloud.
Staring out the
porch screens
, Lucien saw Jake with another boy approaching his home. A woman in a SUV waved. Confused, he looked at his watch. 3:15 p.m.
Jake must have gotten a ride from that lady.
Cutting his meditation short, he fanned the smoke out of the screened window
in an attempt to disguise the strong scent.
The
icy
wind helped by ventilating the air out of the porch. He was confident the smell was gone.
He
struggled to stand.
“Well, hello there. Jake, who is your friend?” Lucien smiled. He still had most of his teeth.
“Lucien, this is Henry. He’s alright. We’re in the
Z
oo together for a couple of weeks,” Jake said.
“Hello, Henry. Please call me Lucien. Glad Jake brought you over. Please, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Lucien extended his hand, but the boy refused to shake it. He seemed to be looking through him.
Lucien
couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about
Henry
wasn’t right.
“Today we watched the news and learned all about the earthquake in Haiti. Jake told us about you. I wanted to meet you,” Henry rambled. He gave Lucien a frame by frame analysis of the CNN footage. Lucien had watched the coverage and was surprised how accurate and detailed the boy’s recapping was.
“Henry, hold the door open,
would’ya
?” Jake interrupted, steadying Lucien as he climbed the three steps that led into his home. Once inside, he no longer needed Jake’s assistance.
The boys took off their winter gear and sat down at the
kitchen
table
covered with a red and white vinyl tablecloth. The inside of the trailer was small and cluttered yet homey and tidy.
While Lucien prepared their drinks, Henry continued to talk. “Lucien, you talk funny. And your hair is so white! And how old are you? A hundred? More?” Henry asked without tact. His gaze made Lucien feel
like an alien
from outer space.
“Henry, you’re being rude. And Lucien, he’s got some social disorder, As
p
erger’s. He’s really smart, but can come off weird.”
“Oh, I see,” Lucien nodded as he stirred the Hershey’s hot cocoa packets into the boiling water. The ‘something’ he wondered about earlier was now explained. Although
Lucien
wasn’t sure what Asperger’s was, he figured i
t was a communication problem.
He had pegged Henry as a boy who didn’t understand things like pecking order, in-crowd, social grace, or class hierarchy.
Over the
last few
years
Lucien
had known Jake, he had never seen him with a peer. It didn’t surprise him that Jake would pick a boy with special needs to befriend. He was kind
, compassionate, and a loner.
“Okay Henry, here it goes. My accent is Haitian. This is how we all talk. But I’ve been here in the states for
almost
forty
years and still haven’t lost it. My hair is long and white, and I’m proud of it. Most men my age don’t
have any. I do, so I grow it. And my age, that’s none of your business, but I’m old. So here’s your hot chocolate. Drink up.”
Henry kept up with the questions. Jake finally interrupted. “So Lucien, have you gotten a hold of your family?”
“No, phones must be out. And t
hey are right there in the heart of all this chaos,” Lucien answered, not completely truthful. He placed the steaming cups onto the table and shuffled over to the buffet. Grabbing a silver-framed portrait, he handed it to the boys.
“This is my family,” Lucien declared.
“Wow! Huge! At least thirty people in this photo. You were a lot younger, but still old. There
are
two
women on each side of you. Sisters? Which one is your wife?” Henry computed.
“All
four
of the women are my wives. The younger adults in the next couple of rows are my children.
Thirteen
of them. And the front row has all of my grandchildren in it. This picture was taken in the 19
7
0’s. I now have great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren. Had to leave them. And I miss them so much,” Lucien explained with tears streaming down his face.
Oblivious to his
pain, Henry kept up with his questions. “Why are you here
,
and they’re there? How come they didn’t move with you?
Did you leave them?
”
“Long, long story. But not a day goes by that I don’t regret the choices I’ve made.”
“And
four
wives? C’mon. Isn’t that illegal? You’re only supposed to have one wife.”
“Ah, Henry. You’re always thinking. Jake, I like this boy. You see, in
Vodun
you can have multiple wives,” Lucien replied.
“Huh?”
“He means Voodoo. It’s also called
Vodun
or sometimes
Vodu
,” Jake interjected. “Lucien was a
houngan
and a
bokor
. That’s
kind of
like a priest.”
“Do a lot of Haitians practice
Vodu
?” Henry asked, using one of the alternate
pronunciations
of the religion.
“Oh yes. It’s the country’s main religion. They proclaim the nation
as
primarily Catholic, but not so.
Vodun
began in Africa, Benin to be exact. As you probably learned in history, the Europeans kidnapped Afrikaans and took them over the ocean to the Americas and the islands. They wanted to use them as slaves to help run their plantations. The Afrikaans brought their religion with them. Although
many of the Haitian
slave-owners forced them to convert into Catholicism, they secretly continued to practice
Vodun
. To appease their owners, they took certain elements of the Catholic religion and used them for their own
Vodun
purposes. So Haitian
Vodun
has a lot of Christian similarities. For example, many of the
loas
or spirits in
Vodun
are named after the Catholic saints. Crosses are used, but symbolize crossroads or life’s choices.”
“Do you
wanna
put the TV on so we can watch more about the earthquake?” Henry requested.
Lucien couldn’t determine whether the boy was genuinely interested or bored with his mini-
Haitian lesson
. The three of them sipped their
hot chocolate, munched on
trail
mix, and intently watched more of the earthquake’s coverage while chatting through commercials. The afternoon quickly led into the evening. Lucien saw headlights from his living room window.
“That’s my mom. She’s always on time.
Gotta
go. I really enjoyed the afternoon.” Henry threw on his winter clothes and bolted out of the trailer.
“Jake, I like your new friend. T
hanks for introducing me to him,” Lucien said as he poured more hot chocolate.
Chapter
8
J
ake had been given a bad hand as a child. His father took off after he was born, leaving his mother penniless and having to work two jobs to make ends meet. Although poor, they were content. But then at ten years old, his world crumbled. His mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. A month before his eleventh birthday she died. He was alone.