Martial Law (1 of 2)

Martial Law

Petionville Apartment
September 30, 1991
Zero-dark-thirty.

Kevin jolts awake, his heart racing. He lies still and a few beats later, hears gunfire. He’s asking himself if they were real or just the neighbor kids raising hell again, when several staccato cracks convince him this is the real deal. He scrambles to find his lantern and is looking for matches when he remembers that his mosquito net is over his bed. Ripping the thin fabric aside, he gives up on the matches and makes his way toward his closed window.

The apartment that he’s house-sitting is in a round, three story bunker-looking building one block from the Petionville police station. It has a great view of the bay and airport lying miles below at sea level. Kevin’s apartment is half of the circle. In an ingenious architectural and functional design, the “windows” in the apartment are actually tinted plexiglass screens that slide up and down inside the cinder block window sill itself. Dim light is showing through the screen and he can’t find his watch, so he cracks the window open and peeks outside.

The first thing he notices is that it’s not pre-dawn, but very dark. He listens and hears a few distant generators but sees no electric lights of any kind. But the air is cool and he pulls the window open, gropes his way to the kitchen table to find his matches, and a flashlight that actually works. He goes back to his bed and retrieves the lantern, finds that it has some kerosene and decides to light it and save the flashlight batteries. Eventually he finds his watch and sees that it’s now 5:30 AM. Some dim sunlight is starting to come into his window which is disorienting, since the morning sun is usually much brighter this time of year.

Then he hears the church bells. They should not be ringing on the half hour, much less before the idiot roosters get started. He realizes that under the cacophony of every bell ringing like the end of the world, the gunfire has become quite sustained. It’s hard to tell how far away now, but Kevin has an uneasy feeling that this is not just another day in tropical paradise and eyes the half-empty bottle of 3-star on the counter. He decides it’s the wrong kind of 5:00 and checks the water levels in his water filtration apparatus instead. Since it’s too early to get coffee at any of the nearby cafes, he connects his last bottle of butane and fires up his camp stove to get some coffee brewing.

Luckily, he remembered to charge his solar panel yesterday, so his boom box external battery pack is all green LED’s. Someone has permanently borrowed his Public Enemy disc while leaving the empty jewel case. He looks in the CD tray to see that Joshua Tree is still there and hits Play. Kevin sits down at his small table with a cup of coffee and croissant. No cheese. He doesn’t have a refrigerator and Marie (the apartment maid) usually shops each day. He never keeps a lot on hand, except some Hormel chili and a local hot sauce that will make Texans cry.

It’s 7 AM as U2 is hitting the groove in “Bullet the Blue Sky”. Kevin realizes that the church bells have stopped ringing and the gunfire is now very close. No more pops and cracks, but the continuous roar of automatic weapons. It’s well after daybreak, so he makes his way back to the open window and looks outside. Usually, the view would be of the bay and La Gonave beyond on a clear day. But today, he can’t see anything except a smoky haze. The wind shifts and Kevin coughs at the sudden gust of tire smoke. He’s lighting a cigarette when he hears a loud, “Bllaaatttt” from the street below.

He hears a woman scream and peeks over the top of the window/screen to see three heavily armed men in full combat gear and the new US-style helmets. Kevin’s surprised at this and can’t remember ever seeing a Haitian soldier in anything but those old WW2 GI helmets. His thoughts are interrupted when the rear guard of the three looks back over his shoulder and sees Kevin watching from high above. The soldier shouts something, spins toward Kevin, drops to one knee and raises his assault rifle, its suppressor looking like a beer can at the end of its barrel. The other two soldiers spin and drop just as quickly. Before Kevin can do much more than flinch back from the window, a stream of bullets flies past his head and into the concrete above his window. A few other rounds whiz past with a zipping sound and shred the palm tree fronds that shade Kevin’s window. Kevin makes his way back to his bed. He falls into it and shakes his way through a massive adrenaline dump before returning to the kitchen for that bottle of rum.

Road to La Boule Mountain.

Kevin has his Lada loaded with anything that will fit inside and is on the road up the mountain from Petionville. He’s aiming for a big guest house in La Boule, where some friends are house-sitting for an American family. The family was andeyo when rumors of coups became too loud a few weeks ago. They decided not to return until after the New Year and asked Kevin’s friends to keep house-sitting until they get back. There was no mention of the bar and wine cellar, so his friends have been working their way through those perishables and running an endless house party. It’s drawn in every outlaw and subversive who finds themself between projects or other schemes. Kevin even saw Henri briefly at one of the weekend parties. Henri gave him a quick smile and nod, before ducking into a nearby room. Kevin never mentions this to anyone because who needs to know?

The road to La Boule is carved into the side of the steep mountain range that towers above Port-au-Prince itself. It’s easy to forget that people live up here, because the mountain is usually shrouded in fog and mist. The temperature drops quickly with altitude. Kevin is debating whether to try the Lada heater when he rounds one of the road’s hairpins and sees a black Mitsubishi Pajero slowing ahead of him. Kevin downshifts and begins to slow as the Pajero stops. Solders disembark with their weapons pointed in every direction including Kevin’s. He slams on the brakes and comes to a full stop approximately 30 meters behind the SUV.

Kevin sees what has stopped the soldiers’ vehicle. The road is blocked by a barricade of smoldering tires and an overturned delivery truck. One soldier walks a few paces toward Kevin’s Lada. Kevin looks in the mirror and sees no one behind him, so he backs up as fast as the soldier is walking. Realizing where this is going, the soldier points his Uzi barrel at Kevin and waves him forward. Instead, Kevin rolls down his window and then places both hands on the wheel. The solder watches him intently but doesn’t move his gun from its casual parade rest position. Kevin slowly leans out the window, making sure not to move his hands. With no visible reaction from the Uzi, Kevin calls out in his best Texas accent, “Hey, Y’all! Which way to the Barban Koon distillery?”. The soldier relaxes, drops his Uzi onto its sling around his shoulder and shakes his head, stepping a few paces back from Kevin to provide over watch for the other soldiers.