The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel (52 page)

The noise attracted the women who had prepared the meal in my house. They came running with the porters from Buitenzorg trailing behind and formed a circle around me. No one spoke.

Their silence brought me back to my senses. Suddenly I had the sensation of standing with them and looking at myself, from afar so to speak, with my belt poised in midair to strike again. Feeling the sting of the lash on my own skin, I recoiled. I was horrified, almost panic-stricken, and helped the poor fellow to his feet.

“Forgive me,” I cried. “Forgive me!” I called out to the others, but no one responded. One of the women came forward, took Budi’s arm and led him away in the direction of the village. The others turned round and followed, in silence. The porters from Buitenzorg climbed on to their carts and drove off. I stood there, transfixed. Eventually I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands, and as I crouched on the ground I inhaled the fragrance of freshly tilled earth.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. For a moment I thought the workers had come back seeking revenge. I looked up. Stooping over me with his back to the sun was one of the Buitenzorg nursery-men, who had stayed behind.

“Well now, tuan besar, hardly a thriving plantation, is it?” It was not so much the voice that sounded familiar as the impertinent tone.

“You see!” he laughed. “You remember me. I knew you would.” Instead of reaching out to help me to my feet he squatted down beside me as if we were old friends. I shielded my eyes against the sun and recognized the houseboy from Amboina, older maybe but not wiser. “It’s Ahim! Ahim! You could not forget him!”

He seemed to feel utterly at ease, as if he and I were in the habit of sitting on our haunches, side by side in the open air. Over his chest and shoulders he wore a cloth into which he had knotted some belongings. He drew out a betel box, which he opened. He crushed some leaves in the palm of his hand with a leisurely gesture, sniffed them and held up his hand for me to test the sharp, acrid aroma. Then he busied himself with areca nut, a pinch of lime, tobacco and
gambir
extract. He did not look at me once during the ritual, as though wishing to grant me time to accustom myself to his presence. His impassiveness helped me to regain my composure. Finally he offered me a plug, which I declined with a frown, after which he popped it into his own mouth. He shut his eyes and chewed blissfully until the scarlet juice seeped out between the stumps of his filed teeth.

Ahim had remained in the employ of the assistant resident Douwes Dekker until the family sailed for their furlough in Holland. After that he had worked in dozens of places, but never for long. That did not surprise me. When Douwes Dekker returned to the Indies in late 1855 expecting relocation, Ahim had found him, first in Batavia and later in Buitenzorg. On both occasions he was sent away; he would not be re-engaged until Douwes Dekker had been appointed to a new post. Ahim had looked for temporary work to pass the time in the vicinity of his former master, and had found it at the nursery of Buitenzorg. When Douwes Dekker left for Lebak in January 1856 Ahim was not free to join him, and by the time he reached the end of his term of employment Douwes Dekker had already left his position, so that Ahim had stayed on at the nursery. When my name cropped up on the order list he was very pleased—especially as I was now the owner of a coffee plantation—and resolved to offer his services to me.

“What good will that do me?” I said. “Or you. You put your money on the wrong horse, my friend. This undertaking is doomed. You have seen it with your own eyes.”

“I have seen everything.” His level gaze made me uneasy.

“Right,” I said. “You can go now.” I waited for him to rise, but he pretended not to have heard. Ahim is like a stray dog: stroke him and he will snarl, chase him away and he will not go.

“It’s unfortunate, isn’t it,” he said, “that the Javanese can be so proud. They will not obey you.”

“Quite so,” I snapped.

“But if you had a middleman . . . not black. Not white either. Someone who is not above them, but who is their equal and yet capable of predicting their behaviour. Such a man might palaver with them. He would have to be modest, and very clever . . .” He grinned so broadly that the betel juice dribbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“How unfortunate,” I said with deliberation, “that I do not happen to know anyone in the least clever.”

Ahim rose to his feet.

“Tomorrow I shall find new workers for you. Time is running out, Prince. You have little choice.” He went to the stacked crates, took out an armful of seedlings, wandered off into the field and began to plant them.

“You’ll damage the roots, you fool!” I cried. I jumped up and rushed towards him. “And don’t plant them so far apart either!”

In short, everything he did I had to do all over again, but before nightfall we had managed to put out twelve rows in the first field.

Buitenzorg, 9 September

“Do not have the heart to surprise me with some memento. I will not have it. I am too old to be indulged.”

“I know that, tuan, better than anyone else.”

“I mean it,” I said. “If you dare to give me a surprise I shall drop dead, out of sheer spite, just to teach you a lesson.”

Indeed, such was my awakening this morning! Opening my eyes I saw Ahim standing over me, dressed for travel.

“I’m asking for the morning off, that is all.”

“Today of all days?”

“When have I ever asked for leave?”

“Never. That’s the trouble. It’s too late to start now.”

“I shall go anyway.”

“Of course you shall. Just like you to leave me in the lurch.”

“There’s a cold meal waiting for you in the kitchen, and I’ve put some fruit and water in your study.”

“You don’t care a whit about my jubilee, do you?”

“Well, you made it quite plain you disliked the idea from the start.”

“I did, but such things are imposed on one by others. Not that you would stop for a moment to think that an old man having a fuss made of him against his will would be glad of some distraction from his sentiments—you think of no one but yourself.”

“So I do. I’ll be back in the afternoon. Goodbye.”

The villain shut my bedroom door softly behind him. How could I go back to sleep now? The festivities are off to a good start, I reflected, what with Ahim disturbing his benefactor so rudely first thing in the morning. Is there no end to the man’s ingratitude?

First I resolved to stay in bed all day, but as time wore on I felt increasingly anxious about the celebration that evening. I pictured myself at the centre of attention, with all eyes fixed on me while there was no one I trusted sufficiently to turn to for moral support.

I rose and dressed myself—sorely missing Ahim’s helpful hands—and walked to the kampung. Wayeng was already at work in the fields, but Lasmi was at the wash-place with Quamina. I told her about the festivities and asked her and Wayeng to be my guests of honour. She lowered her gaze and said she would certainly be with me in her thoughts. When I urged her to explain she said she was a simple woman and could hardly seek the company of dignified Hollanders. I gave her some money, enough for them both to purchase suitable clothing, and told her I would refuse to attend the party myself unless they were beside me. She smiled uneasily. I lifted her chin and still she averted her gaze. She handed the money back to me, and when she finally raised her eyes and saw the frown on my face a chuckle of delight escaped her. She told me Adeline had been to see them weeks ago, to invite them as well as the children to the fête. This first visit had been followed by a second and a third during which food and other details were discussed, and finally they had been told to fit themselves out in new clothes at her expense. All this was done in the strictest confidence, so as to surprise me with their presence at the festivities. There you go, I told myself, goodness knows what other shocks Adeline has in store for me. The deviousness! This is exactly what I have been so afraid of.

When Lasmi noticed how upset I was she regretted having given their secret away. I reassured her by promising not to let on that I knew, and gave her a little demonstration of the faces I shall pull this evening—ooh! and ah!—when I set eyes on her in her finery. She and Quamina held their sides laughing. When Lasmi withdrew to continue her work, my little girl was beside herself with excitement, and insisted we play hide and seek. When I grew tired I sat her on my knee. She sang me a song that she had only just learnt, about the deer that leaped on to a rock in the middle of a fast-running stream. That single leap had used up all its courage, leaving it too timid to jump from the rock to the far side.

I felt a great surge of love for her and for my other children, and was filled with regret at having banned such feelings from my heart for so long. When she came to the end of her song she asked me if I knew any songs too. I told her I never sang. She asked whether this was because no one had taught me songs when I was a boy. I pressed her tightly, so tightly, to my bosom although she could not have known why. I said I had learned many songs from her grandmother in Africa, but that I had forgotten nearly all of them except perhaps one that was special. She wanted me to teach her that song. I began by tapping the rhythm. Although this was quite different from the monotonous beat of the gamelan, with which instrument she is familiar, Quamina soon picked it up. Hearing the old cadence tapped by her little hands filled me with pride and love, but when I opened my mouth to sing I could not find the right tone. I tried again, with hardly more success. I stopped beating the rhythm, and set about teaching her the words first: “We are the children of Spider Anansi and the whole world is our web . . .” But I found that at this precious moment I could not recall the rest. This distressed me, and I gave up.

“Well, my father the prince,” said Quamina, “it’s very nice, your Ashanti song, but it’s not very long, is it?”

Before the sun grew too hot I was back at ease, and I spent the rest of the morning trying to remember the song. I kept hearing the tune in my head exactly the way it was supposed to sound, but when I opened my mouth the words refused to come. I had to force myself to think of other things.

I got another shock towards noon, when Adeline suddenly turned up with a pan of soup.

“A little of this will do you good,” she said, lifting the lid so that the sour smell of peas wafted on to my fresh shirt. “You must not go hungry now that Ahim has absented himself.”

“I might have guessed this was all of your doing! Since when do you give orders to other people’s servants?”

“Just today, my dear Prince, and in a good cause.” She handed me a spoon and sat down opposite me while I made a polite effort to taste her offensive soup. She did not make things any better by adding: “Not too greedy now! You don’t want to spoil your appetite for tonight’s dinner with the governor.”

“It’s time you told me exactly what I’ve let myself in for.”

“A banquet. And I will say no more.”

“Who will be there, who will be giving a speech, what am I to expect?”

“Relax! You’ll be the life of the party, you’ll see—all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the surprises we have prepared for you. You are very dear to us all and everyone has done their bit.”

“I insist on knowing what is going to happen. In detail, so you can tell me right now. Or else I’ll refuse to go.”

“All right then”—she could see that I meant what I said—“I’ll let you in on the secret, shall I? The ladies of my eurhythmics group and I have rehearsed a little performance. We will take the floor during the second sorbet, the one we have planned between the fish and meat courses, and we have called it ‘The Princes of Ashanti.’ There, I’ve told you now, are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied is hardly the word,” I said, trying not to show my revulsion.

Adeline pushed her chair back and stood squarely before me. “It starts with the children’s grief at being taken away from their African home.” She raised her arms and sashayed across the room. “And then their fear for the unknown when they arrive in Delft. Fear! Fear!” She recoiled. “But in the end they find themselves in the bosom of the royal House of Orange, which makes them so very, very happy. And as our finale we enact the triumphant moment—Hosanna!—when, having reached manhood, you embrace the Lion of the Netherlands.” At this she clawed the air and growled like a wild beast. Panting heavily she collapsed into my armchair, swung her legs on to my footstool and beamed at me as if she expected a compliment.

“And is that all?” I asked.

“Yes. Come on now, how does it strike you?”

“It is, how shall I put it . . . quite remarkable. But what has this got to do with Ahim? God forbid that he should skip along behind the ladies too.”

Adeline did not react. She held her tongue and gave no indication of rising from her seat. I grew impatient, and said: “At my age a banquet is a rather daunting prospect, and to be honest I had planned to spend the day quietly, on my own, so as to prepare myself mentally.”

She went outside, but soon returned with a large jug of orangeade and two glasses.

“You and I are always alone,” she said. “This is our great occasion. Today we are together.”

Less than half an hour later it dawned on me that Adeline had ulterior motives for lingering at my house. As soon as Ahim arrived—in a carriage, no less—she hurried to meet him at the garden gate. They were evidently plotting something. When I stepped on to the porch Ahim fled into the kitchen, supposedly to fetch me a cold lunch. I called out to him that my stomach could not take another morsel of food, and demanded to know where he had been. Adeline, who had posted herself by the carriage, saved him from having to reply.