Reve Haitien by Ben Fountain Lyrics

Mason stood back as the mulatto began pulling rolls of canvas from the bags, stripping off the rag strings, and laying the canvases on the bed. "Hyppolite", he said crisply as a serpentine creature with the head of a man unfurled across the mattress. "Casatera Bazile," he said next, "the crucifixion," and a blunt-angled painting of the nailed and bleeding Christ was laid over Hyppolite's mutant snake. "Philomé Obin. Bigaud. André Pierre. All of the Haitian masters are repented." At first the paintings had a wooden quality, and yet Mason, whose life trajectory had mostly skimmed him past art, felt confronted by something vital and real.

"Préfète Duffaut." The mulatto kept unrolling canvases. " Lafortune felix. Saint-Fleurant. Hyppolite, his famous painting of Erzulie. There is a million dollars' worth of art in this room."

The mulatto paused, then went on as if Mason hadn't spoken. "Art is the only thing of value in my country -the national treasure, what Haiti has to offer to the world. We are going to use her treasure to feed her."