Here the next chapter of Patricia's story. Look back at the last few days for Chapters 1 & 2.
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Chapter 3- The coffin
We drove through crowded and rubble-filled streets, having to back up several times upon discovering roads were newly impassable. With all the demolition happening in Jacmel right now this is an increasingly common problem—there’s just not a convenient place to put all the rubble. I think the theory behind it all is that if they pile it in the streets, eventually heavy machinery can come through and scoop it up and clear the streets. It's a good idea in theory. Some of the rubble IS eventually getting to the dump. I've seen it there. But theory and practice don't always mesh well. In practice it's... well, heartbreaking. And inconvenient. And then, of course, this is Haiti. So it's not just the piles of rubble. They are rubble mixed in with trash. Not a pretty sight.
We ended up parking about 4 blocks away from where we were headed. At this point I entered this zone where I had no situational awareness. I don't think I could get back there even if I wanted to. Actually, I feel pretty sure I could not. We walked past a bunch of half-broken buildings, down an alley and into someones back yard. It was a covered with a tin roof, but open on all sides, except where it connected to the house.
And there he was. The man making the coffin. It was so small. There's always something unnerving and kind of creepy about seeing a coffin. I find this to be even more true with a baby's coffin. It was just so small. Made from salvaged scrap wood, the pieces were neatly nailed together but didn't match one another. Therefore, the coffin-maker was tack-nailing some lightly stained, old, tattered white fabric-- an old sheet I think, over the wood. He worked slowly and paid a lot of attention to detail. The nails were evenly spaced and the fabric was pulled taut. When he was almost done, he realized he lacked the final bit of fabric to finish covering the coffin. He asked us for money ($60 Haitian dollars) so he could "buy" more fabric. I had no cash on me, but Hugues did and he handed it over. After which, his wife went into their house and brought out a white pillow case which they cut up to finish the project.
At some point while I sat there watching him work, I asked the neighbor if I could hold Patricia. She quickly went to hand me the baby and then stopped mid-pass and asked me, "Wait, you're not pregnant, are you?" I remembered the common superstition-- if you look at or hold a dead child while you're pregnant, your baby will die. I told her no, I was not pregnant. And she unwrapped Patricia and handed her over to me.
She still looked beautiful-- her head all wrapped up in green bandanna. Her mother, Babette, was pretty particular about usually keeping her head covered, whether by a bandanna or a little hat. It was adorable. Her eyes were not quite closed and they had the haziness of death present in them, but she was still beautiful. She was still round and pudgy (well, pudgy for a Haitian kid).
At some point I looked up and Leann had walked in. As I mentioned earlier, Nick was with Danny in the states when I called him sobbing with the news. Danny then called Leann. Leann tried to call me several times. My phone was in the car, so I didn't hear it. So she went to Pinchinat looking for me. And to St. Michel. Then she tracked down Hugues and therefore, me. She saw me holding Patricia and asked if she could hold her. I am pretty sure she knew I was at my breaking point and wanted to help. I feel pretty certain, that after all she'd been through with her own son, Jabez, dying and then dealing with her recent miscarriage, the thought of holding Patricia's body wasn't exactly high on her list. But we're a team. I am her friend. She is my friend. She loves me. I love her. And so she held Patricia in spite of what she might be feeling. She told me she'd brought a bunch of money because she's been in Haiti long enough to realize how these things work.
