The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel (34 page)

I am expecting a reply from Kumasi any day now, and until then there is little for me to do. I participate in military drill when I can, but it is held less and less often. Now that trade is at such a low ebb the men here are listless and pass the time with card games, palm wine and the women brought to them by the natives for a small fee. There is little else to recount at this point.

24 December 1847

A strange mood prevails at the fort. The locals are well aware that the Dutch set great store by this date. Stalls have been put up around the drawbridge, creating a small market. The troops, too, are affected by the Christmas spirit. These rough fellows turn into little boys thinking of the festivities at home they must forgo. Aside from the officers, all are bachelors, pining for their mothers and sweethearts. Give them a few drinks and their shame vanishes: they sing songs of home and let their tears flow. I have made a few friends among them. Although wary of me at first, they have now grown curious—especially under the influence of drink. They have simple minds, and I approach them accordingly. They are interested in what I tell them about Kumasi, but I have not mentioned that I shall accede to the throne one day. Nor have I referred to my connections with the royal court in The Hague. They confide in me about their sweethearts. When we are gathered together I join in their songs and camaraderie, but all the while I pray that no one will ask after the object of my own love and affection. For I would be at a loss for words. I am so very close to home, after all. Perhaps I shall tell them about you, but how can I explain my feelings? They want to hear of slender waists and round buttocks. It is true that I was with a woman once, and I dream of it sometimes, but still . . . Why did I never fall in love, as they did and you did? Patience. I shall find all I need in Kumasi.

31 December 1847

Far too much time has elapsed since I requested permission to return home. I take many walks, and when I am not walking I read. The commander still has some books he can lend me, and fortunately I came here armed with a fair number of philosophical volumes of my own.

Everyone is celebrating the new year. The troops are permitted to carouse in the courtyard for once. The military band is playing, and a few native women are prancing around, almost naked. I cannot understand their lack of shame. This evening at dinner—no doubt I was staring at your likeness on the wall—the governor suggested I put on a happier face in the new year. One of the officers joked that I was offended by the coarseness of the tableware, as everyone in Kumasi was used to eating from golden plates. That was the least of my concerns. I had clean forgotten what I had told them about my childhood home, but I laughed with the rest and said he had me there.

If only I could be sure that we will meet again one day, then perhaps I would feel in more festive a mood. As it is, I am neither happy nor sad. This evening I am finding it impossible to rejoice at my return to these sorely missed shores. For the second time in my life I have abandoned everything I know.

It is past midnight now, so it is 1 January 1848, and I wish you every happiness and success in the new year.

22 January 1848

Herewith I am sending you my new-year greetings, along with all the letters I have written to you in the past three months. A Dutch brig sailed into the roads this afternoon. She is bound for Flushing. In conclusion I pledge to send further notice as soon as it is in my power to do so. Dear friend, the only preoccupation I have about my return to Kumasi is that it will be virtually impossible to exchange news. What if you fall ill? What if you have something urgent to tell me? I cannot remember a time when we were not in close touch. As it is I have no idea when the next ship will call, so I take this opportunity to assure you of my deepest affection. Also—and this is all the more important, perhaps, now that we are men—to convey my respect for the choices you have made. I think you will understand what I mean. With love, your Kwame.

P.S. It is 23 January and all my hopes have been dashed. A messenger has come from Kumasi with astounding news. Your father refuses to receive me. He has sent me two ounces of gold, that is all. My letter did not find favour. He is said to be deeply shocked that I have forgotten the Twi language. He does not wish to meet me until I have learnt to speak my native tongue. Yet there is no one here who can teach me. The proper place for me to learn the words is in the midst of our people in Kumasi, but I cannot go there. Banishment, that is what it amounts to!

Your father’s envoy was attended by two servants, one of whom lacked both lips and ears: they had been cut off for some misdemeanour. It was horrible. For a moment I could not imagine becoming inured once more to the kind of cruelty we witnessed when we were young.

Forgive me my turmoil. My mind is confused, and I must make haste to seal this parcel of letters to you. I will have to run to the quay to be in time for the last dinghy to cross to the
Maria
.

Where are you, oh where?

30 March 1848

The news from Europe is alarming. They say that revolution has broken out in Paris, and that Louis Philippe has been deposed. Van der Eb is sparing with information so as not to cause unrest among the men, but achieves the opposite. There is a wave of dissent in Europe. It is most distressing. Will you be safe in Weimar? Has the world gone mad? Nothing is as I thought it would be.

6 April 1848

What a life you lead nowadays. Your letter of 16 February reached me today in good condition, and your descriptions of balls, receptions and concerts reassure me. The conversations! How stimulating they must be. You will become blasé before you know it. The casual tone in which you mention having heard Franz Liszt conducting Flotau’s
Martha
. . . Do you realize that I envy you, if only for the delight of hearing real music. I have a few scores in my possession, which I read when my soul is melancholy. The notes fall into place in my head and I can, with some effort, enjoy a melody and even several instruments at the same time. But instead of abandoning myself to the music, I have to squeeze each note from my imagination. And there you are, enjoying concerts of the very best music on earth twice or three times a month, now that the Hungarian genius has become musical director at court. May you enjoy them on my behalf. When I thirst after beauty, I must drink from a reservoir that is both stagnant and shallow.

8 April 1848

A messenger is about to leave for Holland. I am enclosing a list of books I beg you to send me, for, as you know, reading is one of the few European skills that I consider life-enhancing.

There is little to report at this stage. Try not to worry about me. And continue to write—your letters do me a world of good.

17 April 1848

Thank you for your reply to my letters of late January. Your sympathy is a comfort. What can I tell you about my situation at present?

The news from Kumasi made me ill. I spent February in bed with a high temperature. The army doctor treated me with herbs and compresses against marsh fever. I told him I had respired what he termed
mal aria
for the first ten years of my life without adverse effects, but he insisted that I, like any Dutchman, had been felled by the climate. I lost my temper and told him he was mad, which outburst he took to be ultimate proof of my intolerance of the African air.

Throughout the period that I kept to my bed, Governor van der Eb visited me every evening. He would open the window, against the doctor’s explicit orders, and we would sit together listening to the sea. When he thought I was sufficiently recovered he steered the conversation to Kumasi. Hesitantly at first, he spoke of his visit to the capital, casually mentioning someone he had met, a banquet he had attended, just to gauge my sentiment. I listened attentively and wanted to respond to what he was saying, but the words would not come and he did not press for a reaction. Now and then he hummed a tune that had caught his fancy, or drummed his fingers rhythmically on the narrow arm of his chair. One evening I found I could identify the beat. Startled by my sudden intake of breath, he stopped in midair. I grasped his elbow and motioned him to continue. Then he resumed his tattoo, and I joined in. He asked me again why I had written my letter to the Asantehene in Dutch. I replied that I wished to address your father in my own words. Van der Eb said nothing. It was only then, in that long silence, that I realized that I should have waited until I had found a messenger who spoke Twi, and who could therefore translate my missive for me. I was too impetuous, and behaved recklessly.

With the recovery of my health I am gradually regaining hope. I can understand the Asantehene’s hesitation now, and have asked van der Eb if there is anyone to be found in Elmina who is fluent in Twi. I must learn the language. He thought there was no such person, but sent out a summons into the surrounding region all the same. Word eventually came from Fort Cape Coast that a suitable interpreter had been found, but that he was away at present on a mission in the interior. There are plenty of people who know a few Twi words or phrases, but never enough to teach me the language. However, I am feeling much better now, and have acquired a notebook from the garrison store in which to write every word of Twi that I hear or remember.

Meanwhile van der Eb is doing everything he can to temper my renewed ardour. Now that he can see that my resolve to return is undiminished, he has come up with an alternative interpretation of the Asantehene’s message. The king’s refusal to allow me to return, he suggests, was inspired by political motives rather than by any linguistic deficiency. He says the priests are vehemently opposed to fresh foreign influences, and regard me as an unacceptable successor to the throne. Besides, Kwaku Dua is reported to feel threatened by my presence in the region and to fear the superiority of my knowledge. How ironic. For it is he who possesses all the knowledge that I desire, and I would gladly exchange all of mine for his. That is what I shall have to write him. But in what words?

18 April 1848

Van der Eb can say whatever he pleases, but I will not take umbrage. He has won me over for good with the care he lavished on me when I was ill. No doubt he believes he is acting in my best interests. He tells me to face up to reality, to accept that I shall have to stay here in the fort for an indefinite length of time. He suggested that I might make myself useful in the capacity in which I came here: as a soldier. So for the past few weeks I have risen with the troops, exercised with them, and shared guard duties. Once a week I spend an hour telling them about the country, the temperatures, soil conditions and customs, after which we go swimming and carouse in the settlement until sundown. All in good spirits. I do not go into too much detail, and now and then I just invent stories. Firstly because I have already told them most of what I remember, and secondly because it would not be prudent to be too candid. What if a conflict should arise at some time in the future, and I, as the new king of Ashanti, were to find myself at loggerheads with the Dutch? I must say that I enjoy the company of the men. There is a certain appeal to their simple, rough manners. It is only in physical strength that one man can distinguish himself from the rest, or in his ability to impress with tales of ribaldry. I confess that I join in with them from time to time, albeit hesitantly. I borrow their coarse vernacular and paint the kind of picture they expect from me. It is a game. The men listen with enthusiasm and find my fellowship congenial.

My military rank is, of course, too low for someone of my station. Van der Eb has renewed his promise to promote me to the rank of officer as soon as he receives permission from the Ministry. He has just sent a third letter to The Hague concerning my case. In the meantime he gives me a variety of tasks to perform in a transparent attempt to distract me from the thoughts preoccupying my mind. For example, he gave me the keys of the filing cabinets containing the ancient documents pertaining to Elmina, and suggested I spend the coming weeks writing a history of the fort. Did you know that the great admiral Michiel de Ruyter visited this place, and that Christopher Columbus called at Elmina on his voyage to the Americas? But why should that concern me? I am looking to the future, not the past. The only diversion I desire lies ahead of me.

Did you seriously mean that Sophie supports the liberals? I am not surprised at her sympathy for the lot of the lower classes. After all, she is sympathetic towards
everyone
, but that she should have managed to persuade her father-in-law to accede to their demands is most remarkable . . . Thank God things have turned out well, and that you are no longer in danger yourself. But until the student unrest at Jena has subsided, I think you would do well to be on your guard.

So people in Holland are clamouring for constitutional reform. How does this affect our poor king? Tell me all you know. Dammit, there are times when I hate being so cut off from the rest of the world.

If only I had thought properly about my letter to your father. If only I knew more than a few words of Twi. Today I was seized by the painful truth of the old adage, with which my mother used to caution me: “Words spill out like vomit—you can’t take them back.”

20 April 1848

I made a new friend today. He is the northerner I had been told about. Joa has been a slave in the Ashanti mines. Now he is a weaver, and supplies the Fanti with material for their famous banners. He is also experimenting with printing textile using a new wax-print method, which originated in Java. This type of oriental cloth, known as
batik
, has recently made its appearance here thanks to the gifts sent home by the Ashanti recruits serving in the Dutch East Indian army. The same men, in fact, who were handed over by your father to Verveer—for which contract you and I served as collateral. The cloths are highly prized by the local population. Joa wants to set up a trade in them.