chapter 16b 

(The Negotiator) 

Moïse Berri 

and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

16b 

The Negotiator 

Captain José Pintado shows up unannounced at the UNPOL commanding post temporarily pitched on the south side of the Jacques-Roumain Bridge. The Uruguayan officer is closely followed by Mayor Amédée Fleurinor and Chief Police Malvenu. A very unpleasant smell of burnt tires emanates from the noisy crowd. The wrath of the people is palpable. The murmur of its discontent sounds like the engine of a Tomahawk Land Attack Missile. The extensive search for evidence and clues at Senator Fleurant's villa was a total failure. Réal Couture is still nowhere to be found. Two sub-units totaling twenty-six men have been posted around the residence to watch it until the UNPOL officer's return. No one can go in or get out of that house without the permission of Captain Pintado. Lieutenant Menendez seems greatly relieved that a higher-ranking police agent is finally here to take the responsibility of controlling that very unstable and unpredictable horde. 

“We have to manage a couple of highly volatile situations,” Lieutenant Menendez reports to Captain Pintado. “A bunch of masked troublemakers escaped our surveillance and are now dispersed all over the commune. We don't know where they are. We don't know what they're planning to do. Most of them are carrying weapons; incendiary bottles, sticks and machetes; but rumors abound about a group of kids walking around with Russian-made machine guns. The people demand the immediate reopening of all the banks and money transfer companies, so they can change their checks and withdraw some much needed cash. There is also a political confrontation building up between Duvalierists, Aristidists, Martellists, Anarchists and religious freaks. They don't get along on much, but they all agree on expelling all foreign forces from their territory before sundown. I would not go as far as to say that there is an ideological war going on, but things don't look good. Lucky for us, the conflict has nothing to do with the hostilities we've seen in Central Africa, but the divisions between the many factions are obvious and up to the boiling point. The Protestants keep accusing the Catholics of being right wing conservatives, disguised as liberals; they want the Pope and the College of Cardinals to be jailed without judgment. The Catholics call the Voodooists, Communists and reactionary bigots. They also pretend that the Evangelists and Baptists are fomenting a nuclear war against Teheran and Pyongyang with the help and support of Beijing and Moscow, or something like that. The Animists blame the Reformists for the rise of imperialism in... I don't remember which country exactly. Mormons, Witnesses, Atheists, Agnostics and other minorities are suspected by the others of being Socialist puppets and dormant terrorists. There's also an old agitator, the Mussolini type, with the gestures, the crazy theatrics and all, manipulating the mob from the roof of an ambulance parked right in the middle of the bridge. I was going to order his arrest, but we are constantly filmed by a midget who knows all the insulting Spanish words that rhymes with sister, mother and soldier. The aged demagogue and self-proclaimed spokesman of the citizens of Mizerikod bad-mouthed all our beloved Latin-American leaders and attacked all our dearest heroes, past and present. According to that elderly fox, the Che was a racist just like the Führer; Pélé is not allowed to take a piss in most Brazilian restaurants because of the color of his skin; and Simon Bolivar never paid a salary to the commandos he borrowed from Alexandre Pétion to liberate the people of South America. The old timer is very astute, Captain. He has a hidden political agenda underneath all this nonsense. He told those gullible people that they were legal shareholders of some kind of Oil Company and that the ground they live on is filled with rare earths. Like if all this was probable without Washington and Exxon Mobil knowing all about it. That old geezer was distributing certificates and land titles to everyone just now. Here is one, written on a store receipt. He calls this an Oil Bond. That thing is stamped with the seal of the city. Maybe the Mayor could enlighten us on the subject.” 
“What do you mean, the seal of the city,” Mayor Fleurinor panics. “I never used that worthless stamp myself. Let me see that. Lord, have mercy! Find me a sniper, quick! We must shoot this old buffoon before he ruins all my plans.” 
“Do you want that riot to degenerate into a major civil unrest, Mister Mayor?” Captain Pintado asks with one eyebrow raised. 
“That scatterbrain must not be taken seriously, Captain. The Lord is my Witness; wearing pants in public is optional for that zany fossil. Elzéar is senile, completely demented. He speaks to the dead and hear them answer. He takes boogers out of his nose and chews on them when he thinks no one is watching.” 
“We should try to negotiate some kind of deal with this man,” the Uruguayan officer says. “We must use is total lack of credibility to get rid of the media. If an American news network comes down here and starts reporting the situation on live television, we will never be able to pull Moïse Berri out of his hole, unseen. We need to catch that traitor before the international news agencies. It is a priority on my watch and a bigger one on the Commander in Chief's clock. Lieutenant Menendez, take a detachment of a hundred men with you and go hunt the vandals and the arsonists roaming the streets of the commune. Chief Malvenu, fix me a meeting with the leader of the crowd, silly or not. And you, Mayor Fleurinor, do your best to confiscate that bloody amplified blow horn and bring these people back to their senses before I'm ordered to open fire on them.” 

Elzéar Michelet's list of requests give a very clear picture of is mental state. The golden-ager starts by demanding Captain Pintado's shoes and uniform, pretending that it is custom in Arawak and Tainos diplomacy. Pintado prompts him to accept his military hat and a Space Pen. Elzéar Michelet wants the UNPOL to find his grandchildren, missing since the January 2010 earthquake. He wants the electricity in his house and business to be constant from now on, with no more sporadic interruptions. His commerce and place of residence also require major renovations. Air conditioning with at least 60 thousand Btu would be appreciated; decoration by Ty Pennington's team, from the show, Extreme Makeover, would be welcomed. Elzéar also mentions that he often dreamt of owning and driving a Ferrari Testarossa; a white monster like the one Don Johnson used to drive in Miami Vice, back in the eighties. As for his fascination for Vlad the Impaler and Skanderberg, the spear of the first and the sword of the second would be very nice presents for a serious collector. Captain Pintado stops the mentally disconnected man, screaming for help in his native Charrua language, when Elzéar proposes some slight changes on the date of certain public holidays, right after demanding the return of the Oprah Winfrey Show and a guaranteed third term for Obama. 

“You'll get whatever you want, Mr. Michelet, all your demands will be sent to the headquarters of the Illuminati, just like you've asked.” 
“Earl of Tabarre, Captain, I just told you that Fabre Geffrard was my direct ancestor.” 
“All right, Earl, we've got a deal. Your part is to convince Knight Victor Gourdet of the Hexagone to set foot in the hideout of the Diabbakas with his television team and put me in touch with their chieftain. We are civilized people. There's a way out of this crisis without the use of violence. Not a single bullet needs to be fired, not a window needs to be broken and no tires should go up in flames. The world is watching us, Earl of Tabarre Michelet; let's show to the rest of the planet that Haitians can settle their inner conflicts using diplomacy and nothing else.”