chapter 18c 

(The Intensive Care Unit) 

Moïse Berri 

and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

18c 
The Intensive Care Unit 

Cyril Lavache shows up at the clinic behind the wheel of Billionaire's black limo. The unexpected visit generates a great enthusiasm in the parking lot of the local Baptist NGO. A group of employees and volunteers rush to the car and open its right rear door to welcome their hero, convinced that they are witnessing the return of Moïse Berri, the legendary president of the Zanmi d'Haïti Foundation. The deception is brutal; they find no one sitting in the back seat of the vehicle. Smelling a sudden rise of aggressiveness in the air, Cyril chooses to explain the situation before being questioned by the forming mob. 

“I'm in charge of the transport and protection of the Director,” Cyril tells an underage security guard. “Keep an eye on the Lincoln, kiddo, and feel free to give it a wash if you want a good tip when I get back.” 
“Did the police free Mister Billionaire or did he escape from the bandits all by himself?” the lad asks, a bit worried. 
“I'd like to sit down and tell you more right now, son, but I am bound to professional secrecy.” 
“How come Mister Billionaire is not with you? I don't see his computer. And where is Archibald, the regular chauffeur?” 
“Which one of those words I've said gives you trouble, little fellow, secrecy or professional? Stay in school until you understand the difference between the two. Now, I need to see the head of the Baptist Mission right now. Bring me to Immaculée Lamisère.” 
“She is currently in the agora. There is an important meeting going on as we speak.” 
“All right then. So... where do you keep the patients around here?” 
“Everywhere, Sir, this place is like a real hospital since the renovations were made with the Foundation's money. The light cases, radiology, day surgery, hematology and the infectious disease departments are on the first floor and in the backyard. Dialysis, ophthalmology, gastroenterology, dermatology and the other specialized clinics are on the second level. The heavy cases, the intensive care, the operating room and the maternity ward are on the third floor, between the solarium and gerontology.” 
“Is a pregnant woman heavy, special or light?” 
“Third floor for sure, Sir, but you need an authorization to step foot in there. They are some strict sanitary precautions and asepsis rules to follow. I can't let you walk up there just like that.” 
“Do you really want to stand between a cop and his duty, boy?” 
“I know your face, Sir, and I know for sure that you are no police officer. You're that old cobbler running the shoe store next to the Zob Boutique sex shop corner George-Anglade Street and Frantz-Fanon Avenue, next to the  Guandong Boxer dry cleaner.” 
“Well, you learn it today, Junior,” Cyril Lavache says, showing his HNP badge. “I am in fact a shoemaker by day and Sergeant by night, shortly after your mama sends you to bed.” 
“Babylone Police, at your age? Pffft! I am no idiot, you know? Don't move one inch from here. I'm going to get my boss, Mr. Saint-Hilien.” 

The adolescent leaves. Cyril Lavache immediately heads in the direction of the staircase. Two ward assistants with huge biceps put a stop to his project to run up the stairs. Cyril searches in his vest's pocket. He pulls out a glass vial containing a yellowish liquid. It is a concoction of tetrodotoxin and scorpion venom he bought in Grand Saline from a traditional healer named Bonne Suzette. 

“Who wants a couple of sulfuric acid drops in both eyes?” Cyril asks in a very menacing tone. 
“He is bluffing,” the first orderly says, “I scored A plus in analytic chemistry. I find that vitriol a little bit too aqueous to be real.” 
“Beware, Maxo,” the second attendant warns, “that man doesn't look sane to me.” 
“That's one more good reason to keep him from going up there.” 
“Did you get an A plus in ballistics?” Cyril Lavache asks, showing the canon of his Beretta to the brave man. 

Once on the third floor, his pistol still very visible, Cyril gets all the help he needs from the personnel. He learns from the terrified Head Nurse that almost all the bedridden patients of her department are cataleptic. Some of them have been waiting for a psychiatric evaluation for two years and counting. They are also scores of recent food poisoning victims and numerous people that were wounded during yesterday's uproar. 

Cyril Lavache recognizes Rosa Liz, the lady filming the documentary on Moïse Berri and the reconstruction of Mizerikod, a production of Legit Imco Media Corp. Next to her lie, stricken with botulism, Stanley Sternthal, a New-Zealander clinical traumatologist, and Rupert Rushmore, a British generalist, both members of Doctors Without Borders. 

Cyril Lavache is guided all the way to the intensive care unit by the trembling Head Nurse. He is put in the presence of two patients, separated only by a polyester curtain and a mosquito net. On his left, resting on her back, the person Cyril loves the most, his daughter, Violette. She is plugged to a multitude of sophisticated machines beeping intermittently. On the cobbler's right, the person Cyril hates the most on the surface of this Earth is breathing heavily. Rondall Jérémie's pupils are dilated and his whole body is soaked with sweat. The rice vendor, suspected rapist and possibly the father of Cyril's first grandchild, is lying on his side, a blood-stained compress covering his buttocks.