Many years later, when Gilbert Chevalier faced a firing squad under a burning midday sun in the yard of Fort Dimanche, the worst place to be in Haiti, the volatile love of his life, and the captain shouted ready!, then aim!, to his ear, a long, pregnant pause preceded the final command, so Gilbert began begging God for mercy, while also begging the soldiers for a ceasefire, for the captain to take his time stretching the final order, delaying the coming mortal blows for as long as possible, because there were many guns aimed at him, the pain their bullets promised was going to be savage, and careless as he had been with the feelings of others his entire young life, Gilbert was not good with pain, and not at all ready to die, here, today, for no just reason he could think of, but the silence greeting his begging was loud and immense and not shrinking, and obviously wouldn’t last forever, a terrifying concession by a reflexively optimistic man during this most awful moment of his life, the bitter end, so…