The Haitian Trilogy: Plays

by Derek Walcott

  COLUMBUS (Sits.)

  I had hoped to open the green page of this sea

  To be a book cartographers could read.

  Let me be buried in the backwash of oblivion,

  My bones unmarked, my grave a mystery,

  And some unlettered sea stone be my tomb.

  Yet I held a cross before me, O my Christ,

  I did all for God and the lion of Castile,

  I did all for God …

  (He weeps.)

  QUADRADO

  I shall get help, my admiral …

  (PACO descends, GARCÍA holds him.)

  GARCÍA

  There’s gold on you which I need, grometto,

  So pass it to a Christian who can use it.

  PACO

  Help, help, my officer.

  BARTOLOME

  What is it, García? Who cried out?

  GARCÍA

  Shut your mouth, fool! Look in his shirt for the gold.

  He kicks like an animal.

  BARTOLOME

  Drag him here.

  FERNANDO

  García, for God’s sake, you’ll get us all in trouble.

  BARTOLOME

  Where’s the bright coin, little Indian? He bit me.

  FERNANDO

  That’s enough for tonight, in the name of peace. Let go the Indian, you drunken fool. Look, here’s the officer.

  QUADRADO (Enters.)

  What is this, why has the admiral been kept in darkness?

  PACO

  They tried to kill me for the coin, my officer.

  (He runs over to QUADRADO, who draws his sword.)

  GARCÍA

  Put up thy trembling sword, cabrón,

  You can kill nothing but defenceless Indians.

  What wilt thou do, kill a good Spaniard?

  A normal product of the times, Quadrado?

  There, here’s new blood for thee.

  (He squirts wineskin in his eyes.)

  BARTOLOME

  Well, sure as Christ, we’ll all be hanged now.

  GARCÍA

  There’s no difference in me and this officer.

  This is the one the Indians called Carnicero—the butcher.

  PACO

  Kill him, kill him, my officer.

  GARCÍA

  Before the affliction of his conscience, this one

  Spent all his energies subjugating Indians,

  Some by torture, some by terror, some in the mines.

  He did some service for the Tainos, too. Quadrado,

  You were not called that then, were you, Teniente?

  PACO

  My officer, is this true?

  QUADRADO

  Give the boy his coin, García.

  PACO (Drawing back from QUADRADO.)

  I want nothing from thee. I know of thee.

  FERNANDO

  Take it, niño, the officer was right.

  QUADRADO

  I have paid for it, I still pay for it now.

  I was called the butcher, but I resign that office.

  Others will follow who can learn evil better.

  These gestures of affection which I attempt,

  The evils I endure from all sorts of men,

  This hollow armour of my office, all, niño,

  I bear because I sought a change of heart.

  If this were blood that streamed now from my eyes,

  It would not have shook my pity five years ago.

  He knows this, and mocks it. I gave the coin

  Because I felt I owed thee some affection.

  It may be too late.

  PACO (Between QUADRADO and GARCÍA.)

  Oh, all of you, all of you,

  What must I believe? What must I believe?

  QUADRADO

  Grometto, do not judge any country by some persons,

  Or what its members have done thee; there is only

  One race, grometto. Man. Go now, observe the glass.

  FERNANDO (To GARCÍA)

  Give the boy the coin, borracho, it is his.

  GARCÍA

  There, niño, I return thy wealth to thee,

  Come, it is nothing, just a little incident.

  What glass is it? There’s nothing like some sport

  To liven up a long and boring voyage, come.

  Recite the glass, grometto, the watch is up.

  (All but PACO go out.)

  PACO (Kneeling.)

  One glass is gone, and now the eighth floweth.

  More shall run down, as my God willeth.

  Good night, my admiral, my captain, y marineros.

  Buenos noches, Señor Admiral, y maestre, y marineros.

  And in the name of Our Father and His son Jesus,

  May God grant us a safe passage back to Cádiz.

  (Weeps.)

  (Blackout.)

  Scene 2

  1510. A wharf in Cádiz. Sign: CASA DE LA CONTRACTION. SAILORS loading barrels, etc. WHORES, IDLERS, PACO, a few years older, pimping. A BROKER and his NEPHEW setting up a desk and stool. BARTOLOME, now a beggar on crutches, sings:

  BARTOLOME

  You generous burghers, Spanish, Portuguese,

  Who warm fat, jewelled hands, with winter near,

  Here’s a poor soldier who sailed the green Indies,

  That broke his hulk, that two poor shanks must bear.

  He found you empires on seaworthy legs,

  But now the winter’s coming and he begs.

  (To a MERCHANT)

  A coin, a coin, sir, for an old sailor who sailed with the great, dead admiral Columbus; who fought, swore, and regrets the holy wars he fought for an empire.

  Ten winters gone he sailed from Cádiz bay.

  The admiral cried, “It’s young bucks I desire.”

  India is rich, but not Bartolome.

  Now I break wood to fill my winter fire,

  For a wise tropic shark removed my legs.

  Columbus died, and now his hero begs.

  (To a BROKER, as he enters.)

  Oh, sir, sir, it’s going to be a biting avengeful autumn, and I’d hate to use these sticks to keep a tropic fever down. (SAILOR rolls barrel near.) Watch where you roll that keg, you greed-blinded young bastard! It’s Bartolome, the beggar, señores, once a sailor for her dead majesty Isabella. (He goes up to the BROKER.)

  BROKER

  There’s nothing today, man; besides, you’d drink it.

  BARTOLOME

  The seed from a sick bull and the spittle from the devil blind both of you for a pair of furred robbers!

  BROKER (To NEPHEW)

  Now, let that be an example of my preaching.

  Tighten your purse strings, invest judiciously.

  Now pay attention to the loading sheet, Nephew.

  (Reads.)

  Embarked Cádiz, five sacks sugarcane cuttings,

  For the estates in Hispaniola, of Señor Don Fuente,

  A snail-cautious settler of accounts. Item:

  Crate of Venetian glass, have we checked that?

  I can’t make out this scholarly scrawl, what the hell is this?

  NEPHEW (Peers.)

  It’s your handwriting, Uncle.

  BROKER (Peers.)

  Slaves, Ashanti. It’s my eyes.

  That’s right, cargo of slaves, Ashanti, thirty.

  Transshipment from Cádiz, numbering thirty:

  Twenty warriors, one chief, five female, four boys.

  Listen, would you prefer to study for the priesthood?

  Then pay attention. Paco! Where’s García?

  PACO

  Nowhere on damned wharf, looked inside out.

  Went into the bodega, I don’t know where he is.

  So maybe it’s time I get some money?

  BROKER

  Listen, you get paid when we finished, like the rest.

  Where’s that García? This cargo is to set out with the tide.

  PACO

  I know you and your tongue. Damn promises.
r />   Went up and down the wharfs, what you expect me,

  Look in the gutters, too? No pay since breakfast.

  BROKER

  You can work somewhere else if you want, anytime.

  PACO

  All right, all right, look again.

  (Exit.)

  NEPHEW

  What did he just tell you, Uncle? Who is he?

  BROKER

  He’s from the islands, half cannibal, half Christian,

  A pimp and a thief, but otherwise a quick worker.

  NEPHEW

  How did he get to Spain? What does he do here?

  BROKER

  Mother of God, would you like me to call him back?

  All I know is, he knows the value of cash.

  (Enter JEW with belongings.)

  NEPHEW

  There’s no necessity to be sarcastic, Uncle.

  BROKER

  I’m sorry I offend you. What is it, señor?

  JEW

  Pardon me, gentlemen, I am going out to the Indies, and …

  BROKER

  And we, I presume, are directly in your path?

  JEW

  I was seeking information, but I see you are occupied.

  Is it permissible to go aboard the ship?

  BROKER (Brushing the JEW aside.)

  And at last, quite drenched, comes the reeking quartermaster.

  (Enter GARCÍA, drunk, with PACO.)

  PACO

  Señor, before you forget, I bring Señor García.

  JEW

  I should like some direction, I have papers.

  Is this the vessel, the Cristóbal Colón?

  BROKER

  Paco, talk to this gentleman, he is going out to the Indies.

  Señor, this one was born there, he will answer questions.

  Now, Señor García, if you will sign this list.

  JEW

  What is that country like, my little friend?

  PACO

  I carry your bags to the ship right now, señor?

  JEW

  Is it a place a Jew can live in peace?

  PACO

  Sure! Las Indias? Fine, plenty sea, sun, green country.

  Jew, Tainos, Lucayos, I come from there, beautiful.

  Everything fine. You pay me first, señor?

  (The JEW pays.)

  GARCÍA

  Who’s the funny gentleman, Señor Amadeo?

  BROKER

  Who cares? Are the loading sheets in order?

  NEPHEW

  He looks to be Jewish, fleeing the persecutions.

  The Indian boy, he certainly loves money.

  GARCÍA

  I thought he was a kike.

  JEW (Apart, praying.)

  O God, rib me with Thy strength

  As I embark across the whale-threshed water,

  Because my days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle

  And are spent without hope.

  NEPHEW

  What’s he saying, Uncle?

  BROKER

  Remind me to ask him. Now bring them out, García.

  PACO (Returns.)

  Señor Amadeo, I get something to eat now?

  Work for you all up and down the damn wharf. Hey, señor.

  BROKER

  Can’t you wait, boy? Bring them out, García.

  PACO (Draws knife.)

  I know you all the time, long tongue, no cash.

  I cut your throat off with this.

  (The BROKER pushes him.)

  GARCÍA (Shouts.)

  Olé, olé, there, Pablo, bring them on for checking.

  JEW

  My son, do not be vile, and put away the knife.

  PACO

  He liar, all the time, since before morning, señor.

  BROKER

  Oh shut up, and get out of the way if you can’t wait.

  (A cargo of SLAVES, chained, brought on.)

  JEW

  What are these people?

  BROKER (Wryly)

  They will be travelling with you, Excellency.

  JEW (Softly)

  The stranger that dwelleth with you, saith the prophet,

  Shall be unto you as one born among you,

  And thou shalt love him as thyself.

  BROKER

  Amen, amen, Abraham.

  GARCÍA

  Provided he splitteth not the profits too unfairly.

  Come on now, line them up there, Amadeo.

  Not a bad bunch, where did you get those from?

  BROKER

  You know they sell each other after their battles.

  Look at this one, though, he is some sort of king.

  Notice the excellent quality of his sweat, taste it.

  And those sinews, I’ve put him down at three pieces.

  GARCÍA

  But this one, sickly, little. Look at those teeth.

  But he has some spirit. What is this one, a scholar?

  These the King’s sons? You can throw them in as extra.

  (They examine SLAVES.)

  BROKER

  I can’t throw in anything extra, I can’t afford it.

  GARCÍA

  What’s the King’s name?

  NEPHEW (Checking.)

  Mano.

  GARCÍA

  They haven’t been branded yet?

  BROKER

  I don’t want to brand them here.

  GARCÍA

  I think I have an iron on board. All right, move them on.

  I’ll separate them when we get aboard.

  (The SLAVES are loaded aboard.)

  BROKER

  You’re a hard-bargaining bastard, García.

  GARCÍA

  I got a sick mother.

  (The BROKER pays GARCÍA.)

  NEPHEW (To the JEW)

  You may go aboard now, señor, and a safe passage.

  It is a long voyage, I hope you can endure it.

  JEW

  That is kind of you, I wish you the same.

  Good night, good night, my little friend.

  PACO

  Sometimes I wish to go back there myself, the Indies.

  But I have bad memories. They say half of my people

  Are left, and those are dying. Adiós, señor.

  (The JEW goes aboard.)

  BROKER

  Do me a favour once you take charge, García,

  Don’t treat them like humans, they’re more valuable …

  GARCÍA (Ascends steps.)

  I’ll treat them like my sick mother. Adiós, Amadeo.

  BROKER

  Adiós.

  GARCÍA (Throws coin to PACO.)

  Look after the girls for me, it’s a long trip.

  Ah, where’s Quadrado now, eh? And his catechism?

  (Climbs the steps.)

  Where did you get that nephew from?

  BROKER (Shouting to ship.)

  It’s his first day here, he’s my sister’s son.

  He should be in a monastery, he’s very profound.

  (A MERCHANT passes.)

  How is it, friend, did you ship anything?

  MERCHANT

  One of my ships, that by some ill luck steered

  Out of its course from the Canaries this last week,

  Ran up against some pirates, Dutch or English.

  They say the numbers are increasing, and I know

  There’s more of the buzzards hanging on the horizon

  And waiting for the fat cargoes to pass by them.

  What did you ship today?

  NEPHEW (Checking.)

  Thirty or so Negroes …

  BROKER (Hurriedly)

  A few, most of them sickly.

  MERCHANT

  Troubles, that’s all a man inherits, troubles.

  I hope nothing happens to your shipment, Señor Amadeo.

  I have had bad luck. I’ll tell you where the profits

  Are multiplying now. I have a cousin who’s an armourer,

  And you
should see the trade he gets; it’s certain

  That with this piracy, which the King must resent,

  And with this struggle for the possession of the Indies,

  There’s a war coming with the English, that’s where the money is.

  The sea is an ungrateful business.

  BROKER

  I know, I know.

  (Exit MERCHANT.)

  PACO

  Hey, señor, how about my money?

  BROKER

  Here you are, Paco, is that enough?

  (He throws coins. PACO and BARTOLOME scramble for them.)

  Come, my profound accountant, take up the furniture.

  (Exit BROKER and NEPHEW.)

  PACO

  Why don’t you work another wharf, Bartolome?

  BARTOLOME

  Well, half of it, friend, half,

  Or would you have me clout you with this crutch?

  We’re both victims of civilisation, little savage.

  PACO

  Go pick up garbage, you sickness.

  I earned this fairly, I did work for it,

  I’m not a bad singer of vile songs.

  WOMAN (Calling offstage from tavern.)

  Paco, ¡hola!, Paco. Where’s the little savage? Paco, come here.

  (She enters, followed by SOLDIERS and WHORES.)

  Inside, grometto, or sing us a holy song.

  PACO

  For money? Then listen. “The Song of Conversion.”

  (Sings.)

  I linger on the darkened pier when the great ships have gone

  And curse the Spanish admiral called Cristóbal Colón.

  I think of catechisms the grey friars made us learn,

  How if I was no Christian child in what great fires I’d burn.

  And now that I’m in holy Spain the Church may shut its doors,

  For we’re dancing to the fiddles and

  The laughter of the whores.

  WHORES

  Dance, dance, we made some money today!

  PACO

  The friars in the Indies said that men live differently.

  I had not met the merchants with their special piety.

  I cannot doubt the friars’ truth, but I have bread to earn,

  And anyhow, the Inquisition makes the Jews to burn,

  So I left my pagan paradise for civilisation’s shores,