A Vision of Fire

After five pumps he pulled a piece of plastic from the smaller ripped package and placed it over the girl’s mouth so that he wouldn’t infect her with anything he might be carrying. He placed his mouth over hers to breathe into her lungs and was shocked to feel that her lips were warm. He pulled away, second-guessing everything, but the blue of her lips was unmistakable. Exhaling deeply into her, he then moved back to her chest and pressed on her heart, two, three, four, five, inhale… exhale into her, back to the chest…

Suddenly the girl spasmed and hacked, hard. If they had been on a beach, by a swimming pool, in the flat bottom of a boat, a spout of water would have arced out of her mouth. Here, there was nothing. And yet, when she lay back down, she was coughing and breathing hoarsely exactly like someone who had been drowning only seconds ago.

“Good God,” Aaron murmured. He turned to the mambo, a look of awe and confusion on his face. “Thank you,” he said.

She tapped the ash off her cigar onto the foul ground. “Se bon ki ra,” she replied. “Good is rare.” Then she turned and walked into the crowd as it closed behind her.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 13

Caitlin ceded her Sunday morning with Jacob to one of his school friends, who’d come over to plan a partnered science project. Determined not to resort to working, Caitlin found herself sitting on the couch watching TV — and the face of Ambassador Pawar as reporters’ microphones bristled around him. Earlier that morning, the entire Indian delegation had, as a group, walked out of the United Nations building. Within minutes, the Pakistan delegation had followed. The talks had imploded.

Ambassador Pawar was holding fast to his diplomatic façade as he read a statement. “By no means does this presage a final decision on behalf of either country,” he said. “We are simply cooling our minds for future discussions.”

Caitlin hoped there was some truth to it, that the delegations had simply burned out. Yet as she inspected the ambassador’s face, she saw a set to his jaw that she had only seen when he was speaking of Maanik’s troubles. She suspected the disruption of the talks had been caused by something much more serious than exhaustion. She considered calling Ben, who had been silent since their discussion about the video.

Just then her phone buzzed. Speak of the devil. The text was from Ben but there was no message, only a video link. The owner of the video had posted it with a caption: “Crazy Haiti!” and a winking emoticon. Caitlin clicked the link and gasped. The first thing she saw was a young Haitian woman, her eyes rolled to the sky, her left hand angled away from her body, her right arm arcing across her torso — precisely the same gesture Maanik had made in her trance.

With a deep chill racing down her back, Caitlin watched the video all the way through. The familiar, unintelligible speech — it had to be speech — was difficult to hear on the recording. She thought she recognized two other gestures; then the young woman started screaming and a few minutes later the recording ended. Caitlin immediately watched it again, leaning forward from the couch and hunching over her phone.

What the hell is going on? she wondered. Two young women, geographically isolated, culturally unconnected, with the same physio-psychological symptoms? If there was a trigger, it had to be found. If there was more information that could help Maanik, she had to obtain it.

Just as she registered the silence behind her in the dining nook, she heard a sharp rap on the table. She turned to see both children staring at her in concern. Though his hearing aid was on, Jacob had knocked to get her attention.

“Mom, are you okay?” he said and signed.

“I’m fine,” she signed back. “Everything’s okay.”

“Who’s that screaming?” he signed.

Caitlin realized she should have muted her phone as she watched the video.

“It’s a girl,” she signed. “A client,” she said, hedging.

“Are you going to help her?”

“If she’ll let me,” Caitlin signed back, and it wasn’t a lie: she was going to have a session with this young woman even if she had to catch a flight to Haiti that night. Caitlin patted his shoulder and headed to her bedroom. Behind her Jacob rapped on the table again. She turned.

“Are you leaving soon?” he signed with a sigh.

She half-laughed and signed, “Knock before entering my brain, kiddo.”

He laughed too. “I did!” he signed. Then he quickly resumed his work with his friend. He knew he wasn’t allowed to press for details about her “kids,” as he had once called them.

Caitlin’s phone buzzed in her hand. A text gave a young woman’s name — Gaelle Anglade — with an address in Jacmel, Haiti, and an international phone number. There was also a message from Ben: UN Youth Development office says she’s fine. Taken to hospital released within hour. English-speaker.