A Rendezvous in Haiti Read Online Free Page A

Domingo, had been charged by the Corps with killing and mutilating prisoners. Every couple of wars the Marines turned up some avid collector of body parts. Confined to quarters and awaiting court-martial, he had committed suicide with a small civilian pistol. “Some things we do not discuss at the table,” Healy said. “Anyway, you can stay. I need young heroes to do my dirty work. Lafayette! More coffee.”
    The lithe, very black yard-boy had almost anticipated him; two steps, and hot Haitian coffee steamed into their cups. Lafayette was perhaps thirty, perhaps fifty. His face was sleek, his eyes were bland. He wore white cotton trousers and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and he went barefoot. He was rumored to have several dozen children in the mountain villages.
    The officers sipped in silence. The house faced east to catch what trade winds crossed the plain. Afternoons the veranda was shadowed and they could enjoy beer, rum or absinthe like gentlemen, but now the risen sun scorched.
    Captain Healy said, “You’ll move out again tomorrow. Tell your men they have twenty-four hours and they may be out for a week.”
    â€œThey know that, sir. I believe we could move out this minute if we had to.”
    â€œMight as well rest the horses, and I suppose the goddam fools will go into town tonight. I do not have the heart to forbid it or set guards on them.”
    â€œThey’ll be back in time,” McAllister said. “And while morals is morals, they do fight better after bending a few rules.”
    â€œWe can’t all be engaged to a colonel’s daughter.”
    McAllister said, “I can’t afford a ring,” and they set down their cups and withdrew in good order, to consult maps and lists in the cool gloom of the salon.
    Next morning the platoon took its leisurely departure after a large breakfast. Captain Healy’s career had taught him the military value of reliable and abundant food. “By God, keep your eyes and ears peeled,” he said. “Every ford is an ambush, I told you that many a time.”
    â€œNo scouts needed on the open plain,” McAllister said. “We ride bunched for the first day, maybe two days. Questions?”
    A silence. Then Evans: “No problems, sir. Let’s go make the world safe for democracy.”
    Captain Healy gurgled and wheezed. “They just had seven presidents in seven years,” he said. “If that ain’t democracy, what is?”
    Laughter broke the tension, and McAllister was glad; he wanted his platoon full of pep and not forebodings. They rode out with a jaunty creak and jingle.
    He led his platoon along the edge of the plain, with cover sparse, and the standing untended crops dwarf yams and stunted maize, and not cane, and little livestock grazing. Tambors reported their progress: the interminable Haitian drums. The beat thumped at them from all directions, and was eerie: the Marines were unassailable but surrounded, while the enemy was assailable but invisible.
    For a day and a half they saw not a Caco, but the drums seemed to follow them. They crossed the plain and rode into upland foothills and then into the “mountains”, what the Haitians called mornes, three or four thousand feet and easy enough going, and plenty of open slope. “Last thing we want is cover,” Gunny Evans explained to Clancy. “This way we can see a mile.”
    â€œAnd they can see us.”
    â€œScares ’em off,” Evans said.
    Late in the second day they approached their objective. The village was called Deux Rochers. It stood on a steep hillside and the only serious approach was across a swirling river and through a mile of rain forest. They reconnoitered for half a mile upstream and downstream of the ford, and then camped and set pickets. In the morning they made plenty of noise, like campers or picnickers, and cooked up another big breakfast, and reconnoitered again. They would