Mackenson picked up his pace as he weaved through the labyrinth of narrow roads, his feet kicking up dust and pebbles with every step. The sun was nearly set, and he was anxious not to be out here after dark, when the sounds of gunshots and shouting between gangs kept many, like him, behind closed doors. Charlie and Lizbeth had wanted to come with him down to Cité Soleil to look for Senzey’s sister, but he had insisted that he do it by himself. There were too many places a car could not pass, and even in the streets where driving was possible, a strange, new car with blans inside would draw attention he did not want. It is my neighborhood, he told them. I know it well. It is better I do this alone.
He had thought he would go in the morning to look for Darline, but one look at Lizbeth’s face told him he could not wait. She seemed to be in so much pain over this search for the girl. The sooner the woman understood the truth and accepted what Senzey was, the better, in his opinion. But then a vision of the paintings they’d seen in the little room behind the kitchen at the Hotel le Président came to his mind. Who was this girl who could create something like that? And, of course, he thought, there was also the baby. No matter what type of girl the mother turned out to be, the baby would be Lizbeth’s own flesh and blood. And that was something he knew a person could not turn their back on.
He had spent two hours so far asking around, urging his friends to ask their friends if they had ever heard of Darline. He was tempted to quit and head back to his home on the edge of the neighborhood, where things felt a tiny bit calmer, a tiny bit safer. Looking at the rubble around him, the crumbling shacks that people called homes, he felt lucky. He was proud of the small house he had managed to rent for his family, a house that was now filled to the roof with the addition of the two children of his cousin, who had been left with Mackenson and Fabiola to raise as their own. He had worked hard to get the money to put down for the rent, and even harder to fix up the place. He had recently added a square concrete patio in the front, where Fabiola could sit in the sun and wash the clothes, and the children could lay it all on the trees and bushes to dry. Someday, he hoped, he would have enough money to buy the house, and make it theirs forever.
He was headed toward what would be his last stop, no matter what. If he did not get any answers at the place his friend Wilner had suggested, he would go home. Fast. Behind him, he could hear the sound of footsteps growing louder. Mackenson lowered the brim of his cap and shoved his hands in his pockets, spreading his shoulders to make himself appear bigger. He held his breath as a group of young men passed and then turned toward the same spot he was headed to.
The nightclub stood out like a fish in the desert. Even so, it was just a small concrete box of a place, no bigger than a single-car garage of one of the fancy homes up in Pétion-Ville, its painted front chipped and scarred with graffiti. He was grateful for the crowd outside, as there appeared to be only one small window looking in, and he was wary of what he might find should he need to actually enter.
He had been told of a man named Evens, who was the boyfriend of Senzey’s sister Darline. It did not take long to find him in the group that was socializing under the sky. Evens stood from a crouch near the nightclub’s front door. He was a tall, skinny guy wearing a sleeveless basketball jersey with Lakers 23 across his chest, as if he were about to be called into the game. Seeing Mackenson following pointed fingers toward him, he stood eye to eye with Mackenson and asked, “Kisa ou vle nan men mwne?” What do you want from me?
“Bonswa. Good evening. I am here only to ask about Darline.”
Evens narrowed his eyes. “What about Darline?” His friends drew nearer, as if lining up to welcome the entertainment a fight might bring.
“I would like to talk with her.”
“And what do you want to talk to her about?”
“Is she here?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you know where I can find her?”
Evens looked away.
Mackenson reached into his pocket for a few gourdes, hoping that the offer of enough to buy a drink of kleren inside would help to loosen the man’s lips.
Instead, Evens grabbed the bills, shot Mackenson a smirk, and went straight inside.
His friends laughed. “I will tell you where Darline is,” one of them said, sidling up to Mackenson. “She is with her ‘papa’. Her sugar daddy. That brother,” he gestured toward where Evens had disappeared through the door, “he has no job, no money. But the old man, he gives her whatever she wants.” Then the man started to dance, all elbows and knees, humming the song that had become so popular the year before. “Madan Papa”, Daddy’s Girl. Mackenson had heard it blaring from every moto-taxi and tap tap, its words telling of the girls who become “sugar babies” to older, richer men. Though it was a song everyone liked to dance to, Fabiola had told Mackenson that she found it sad, thinking about all the girls who were called on to support their entire family, or who wanted an education, and had no better option than to turn to an arrangement like this, girls whose parents looked the other way when their daughters traded their bodies to rich men in exchange for security. He thought she was probably right.
“So do you know Darline’s sister as well? Do you know Senzey?”
Mackenson turned to see that Evens had returned from inside the nightclub, this time looking much happier.
“Senzey?” Evens seemed surprised by the question. “Sure. I know Senzey. But I do not know what happened to her. I have not seen her since she got big as a house.” He bent his knees and thrust out his middle, patting his stomach.
“Would Darline know where she is?”
Evens shook his head, continuing his little dance.
“Do you know who the father of the baby is?” Mackenson asked, ignoring the guy’s mocking gestures.
“How the fuck would I know, man? You know how those souyon can be.”