Sequence 14c 

(The Ghost) 

Moïse Berri 

and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

Sequence 14c 
The Ghost 

Lordy de Grâce used most of his free time on this sunny day to find and buy a green stone talisman. The mechanic even weaved his own juju, using the fabric of an old pillowcase. He then locked himself in the guest bedroom of his three-story colonial house on Oswald-Durand Street. Lordy is now sitting half-naked, right in the middle of a circle on the wooden floor using yellow chalk, surrounded by diverse fetishes and altar candles, reciting a formula that is supposed to protect him against the evil eye or any other curse. Lordy thinks it's Latin, but his magic book is obviously written in Sicilian. 

Earlier this afternoon, Lordy de Grâce learned something that scared the hell out of him. While the mechanic was in the process of dismantling and pulverizing a limousine for an important client, Victor Gourdet, aka l'Hexagone, the local newspaper editor, came up to him with a highly destabilizing scoop. Pamphile Dutervil, Melissandre Présumé's husband, the woman Lordy de Grâce was regularly committing adultery with, had been seen alive somewhere near Saint-Marc. Many witnesses confirmed his presence on board a bus from the Legitime Tours Company, travelling from Cap-Haïtien to Port-au-Prince. One particular lady, who actually went to school with Pamphile and knew his godmother well, even added on her profile, via Facebook Mobile, some very disturbing comments: Pamphile Dutervil smelled like rotten meat, spoke in tongues and was carrying a suitcase filled with a complete set of Schumann kitchen knives. 

“That is impossible, Victor!” the mechanic screamed, visibly shivering and battling a sudden and peculiar hands-to-face rubbing spasmodic tic. “You're talking nonsense. Pamphile Dutervil was buried in Basse-Plaine... that was months ago. His name was listed in the obituary of the Quartier-Morin's local paper.” 
“That's one more reason for me to write an article about the man, my good friend. I don't believe in zombies, but stories about them walking around and buying bus tickets sell very well. Who is going to feed me, if I don't know how to hunt? What's good for the advertisers, well... is good for me. And like the Latins say in Sicily, Ciao!” 

©Jajjazz ©Jude Antoine Jarda