Naga raced across the floor. She knew if she crawled, the pebbles would dig into her skin and make her sore. She made for the nearest pole and climbed to the highest rafter, where she curled up and watched the man on the crocus-sack mattress, grunting and writhing . . .
“I’m sorry.” It was a simple statement, filled with honesty and sadness, but truth was evident in the man’s voice . . .
It used to be so. Playing dead to catch Corbeau alive. Every day started with the Our Father.
I held a glass of champagne in my hand and stood alone under the dark night sky. . .
Eddie had always been a quiet man. Living on the outskirts of the village meant he was always met with a curious but hesitant eye. The village children were always warned to stay away from him . . .
Tina knew she shouldn’t have gone to that party with Robert . . .
We all sneezed. Or maybe I just sneezed, but we all looked away at exactly the same time and, at exactly the same time, looked back . . .
The airport was abuzz with travelers. After a year of performing for audiences who shouted “yes” to their Haitian music, Pappyon, Neg Mawan, Yatande and Zilibo—known as The Haitian Cats—were going on vacation . . .