Various passers-by stared in astonishment at the scene of a white man sitting there on a doorstep with his arm round a weeping mulatto woman.
“Masra Jethro,” Mini-mini asked, “How is he doing?”260
Only now did Julius think of Jethro, who must be told that he had Mini-mini again. Benny came with a carriage. Julius lifted Mini-mini into it and went to sit next to her.
“Saramaccastraat,” he ordered. Mini-mini was shocked, but he reassured her immediately. “You won’t be staying there: we’re going to collect Masra Jethro.”261
The carriage stopped at the De Ledesmas’ door. Julius sent Benny inside to collect Jethro. He must say nothing about Mini-mini. Only that Jethro’s father wanted to take him for a ride. Benny went in through the negroes’ entrance and saw Jethro, who was still sitting on the step near the window.
“Psst,” Benny signalled, and when Jethro came, he whispered something in his ear. Jethro ran up the two staircases, taking his nightgown off on the way. A slave-girl answered Benny’s knock on the back door, and Benny said to her, “Masra Julius has sent for Masra Jethro to go for a short ride with him.”262
Jethro was by this time downstairs again, with nothing on, but with his clothes in one hand and his shoes in the other, and he would have gone out onto the street like that had Benny not quickly pulled his shorts on for him. At the carriage door he threw himself into Mini-mini’s arms. “Oh, Mini-mini, you’re here, oh you’re here; oh Mini-mini never go away again.”
And his father, happily watching this, said, “No, Jethro, she’ll never go away again. She’s staying with us. Forever.”
222 “Kwasiba, san de fu du?”
223 “Ai misi, mi grani kaba, mi skin weri.”
224 “San mi kan du gi yu, san mi kan gi yu dan?”
225 “Mi no wani noti baya, pe m’e go i no kan tyari gudu, misi mi no wani noti, ma yu nanga masra Julius, un luku mi pikin baya, un luku Mini-mini, meki a tan nanga yu, sorgu en bun, na dati nomo mi wani.”
226 “Mini-mini go masi a masra en baka.”
227 “Yu m’ma ben lobi fu taki te a ben masi mi baka, ferteri mi wan sani.”
228 “Mi no sabi san fu ferteri, masra.”
229 “Ya, a tori fu Mini-mini nanga Koprokanu.”
230 “Ya, Mini-mini na a nem fu wan fu dem pikin.”
231 “We, dan ferteri mi na tori fu yu nen.”
232 “O, Mini-mini luku den ’a’ fu yu, den gersi todo-bere.”
233 “Den ’tu’ fu masra Jethro gersi doksi.”
234 “Mini-mini tidé mi wan’ yere a tori fu Mini-mini.”
235 “Ma mi ferteri masra a tori dati someni lesi keba.”
236 “No, no, a no Koprokanu mi wani yere, mi wani yere a tori fu yu, fu yu Mini-mini, a pikin san yu ben kisi, en p’pa, suma ben de yu mati?”
237 “San Mini-mini, yu habi bere?”
238 “Suma dan, suma na a p’pa?”
239 “Suma na a p’pa, na wan fu den srafu fu dya?”
240 “Nono, misi, misi no sabi en.”
241 “Suma gi yu bere?”
242 “Taigi mi, suma?”
243 “Mi no sabi en no? Mi no sabi mi eigi masra no? A no masra Julius gi yu bere? A no en?”
244 “No no masra Jethro, ke ba, lusu mi masra ke, lusu mi!”
245 “Un komopo gowé. Ma yu dati, yu didibri, m’o kisi yu ete.”
246 “A sabi, no?”
247 “Mini-mini, yu a gowe nanga a masra disi!”
248 “Mini-mini no dé.”
249 “Gowé!”
250 “A no de masra.”
251 “A no de, pikin masra, a no de, a gowé.”
252 “Yu sabi pe Mini-mini de?”
253 “A no de pikin masra, ke poti, mi no sabi baya.”
254 “Masra Beunekom, na en teki en.”
255 “Keba, ke.”
256 “Masra, kon yepi mi dan, me dya. Kon puru mi, mé begi yu, kon puru mi.”
257 “Opo, opo na doro!”
258 “Mi no habi na sroto.”
259 “Taigi yu masra dati bakadina mi e tyari na moni gi en, a doro srefi mi sa pai.”
260 “Fa fu en?”
261 “Yu n’e go tan drape, na masra Jethro w’e go teki.”
262 “Masra Julius sen’ teki masra Jethro fu go rij pikinso.”
CHAPTER XIII
OCTOBER 1778
By early 1778 the army, under the leadership of Colonel Fourgeoud and in collaboration with the Free Negroes Corps263, had managed to destroy nearly all the Aluku villages and farmlands. The Alukus themselves had fled across the Marowijne River and were now on French territory.
In February 1776 a message had arrived from the Prince of Orange that Fourgeoud’s troops must return. Many of the colony’s residents were, however, afraid that the Bonis would start their raids again, and asked for the troops to stay. A seemingly endless correspondence ensued. In the meantime the French were not particularly happy at having the fearsome Bonis on their land. Fourgeoud was asked for advice. He wanted to cross the Marowijne and exterminate the Maroons there. But Governor Nepveu did not dare to take this step, fearing a conflict with the French. And so the Bonis remained peacefully on the other side of the river. The French did not bother them.
In April 1778 Fourgeoud left the country with the majority of his troops. Of the fifteen hundred men, only about a hundred remained. Fourgeoud complained about the lack of gratitude on the part of the Suriname government, feeling that his good services had not been duly recognized.
By this time, however, the Suriname colonials and plantation owners had fresh troubles to worry about. Because of the war between the English and their North American protectorates there were all too many pirates on the seas. Ships from Suriname carrying goods destined for Amsterdam were regularly being captured by one group of villains or the other. As if that wasn’t enough, all kinds of diseases were breaking out among both cattle and people. Governor Nepveu was himself ill from June onwards.
ELZA
“I’m going too mama, I’m going too, hey?”
Elza had just reached the bottom of the stairs when the little Abigail in the corridor accosted her with these words.
“Going too? Where to, child?” asked Elza.
“To Ezau’s party tomorrow,” said Abigail impatiently.
“But of course you’re going!” said Elza with a chuckle, and before she had finished talking Abigail was already calling, “You see Jonathan, you see!” poking her little red tongue out at her brother, who emerged from the dining room with a grin on his face.
Elza understood what was going on. “Don’t be such a tease, Jonathan,” in a strict tone to her second son, who teased his little sister all too often. She ran her hand over the dark-blond hair of her four-year-old daughter. A sharp little thing, was this Abby, as the slaves and the boys always called her.
Elza went into the dining room, pondering on the differences in character between her two sons. On the one hand there was Gideon, now ten, already a big boy, resolute and always nice to his sisters, the four-year-old Abby and the baby of the family, Charlotte, now one-and-a-half. Jonathan was always tormenting Abigail, and Elza or Maisa was always having to come between the two of them when things got too heated. Now he had been telling Abby that she would not be able to go to Ezau’s party tomorrow because it was only for boys.
Elza still had a weak spot in her heart for Ezau. Now he would be thirteen and tomorrow would be his Bar Mitzvah. As in all Jewish families, this was the most important moment in the life of a boy. From then on you would be regarded as a man. The Jewish families in Suriname always celebrated this in grand style, and although the financial situation of many of them now left a lot to be desired, there had never been anyone who had scrimped on a Bar Mitzvah feast.
The De Ledesma family, therefore, with five sons, had enough on their plate. The twins, now sixteen, had had their Bar Mitzvah three years previously. Tomorrow it would be teeming there with all the guests. Elza did think, however, tha
t it would be better to leave little Charlotte behind. She was coughing a little, was in any case not all that strong, and often suffered from bronchitis. No, it would be better for Charlotte to stay at home with Maisa. Then just Afanaisa would go along to help. Abigail, however, was really looking forward to the next day. There would be so many other children. Elza thought about the family in the Saramaccastraat and automatically about Sarith, too, for Sarith was more often there than at Klein Paradijs.
What a to-do there had been two years earlier when Julius had installed Mini-mini in a cottage on the Weidestraat! He had had to borrow money for that from Rutger: money to buy Mini-mini’s freedom and money to rent the house. Rutger had told Elza that he had taken pity on the large man sitting opposite him and telling him that it was Mini-mini whom he loved, whom he longed for, who gave him love and a sense of security, whom he really had been seeking all his life. And Elza could well imagine this, knowing what a sweet person Mini-mini was, which could certainly not be said of Sarith. Rutger had not been able to increase the loan on the plantation, but had personally lent Julius the money he needed so that Mini-mini now lived in the Weidestraat and already had two small sons.
Julius was now very often in the town with Mini-mini, and Jethro was often there, too. He was sometimes with his mother in the Saramaccastraat, but even if Julius wasn’t with Mini-mini, one of the Saramaccastraat errand boys would take him to Mini-mini.
It seemed as if Sarith had resigned herself to all this, though Maisa had heard from one of the slave-girls there that Sarith had more than once remarked that Mini-mini had stolen not only her husband but also her son. Elza felt that there was no talk of stealing in this case. It was after all Mini-mini who had cared for Jethro from the moment he was born. No wonder he loved her more than he did his mother, whom he seldom saw. Tiny Eva was a dapper little thing, completely blond, with light-blue eyes. Of course this gave rise to the necessary whispers, for there had never been anyone blond in Sarith’s family or in that of Julius. Sarith herself said that this was all quite normal. Elza’s Abigail was almost blond, after all. But that was of course something completely different, for Rutger had light-brown hair, and according to Maisa Abigail was the spitting image of Elza’s mother, Misi Elizabeth.
Elza sat by the window. It was hot and dusty. It had not been a good year for the colony. There had been a lot to complain about: so much illness among the people and especially among the cattle. On many plantations cows, horses and mules had been dying quite inexplicably, and even among the wild animals in the bush there had been many deaths: so many, in fact, that even the vultures could not cope. Maisa came in and asked whether the misi already knew which dress she would be wearing that evening. “This evening? Oh, yes, that’s true.” She and Rutger had to attend a theatrical evening at the Jewish theatre.
In 1775 a Dutch theatre had opened in Paramaribo, but the Jews were not allowed to attend it. One of its most important founders was Hendrik Schouten, a Dutchman who had married a half-cast, Susanne Hansen, in 1772. He had considerable problems with his wife’s not being accepted in the foremost white circles in Paramaribo, and took to writing all kinds of satirical poems about this society in which his wife was not welcome. Rutger found it quite incomprehensible that someone who himself suffered so much from discrimination then made such a distinction and founded a theatre bearing the inscription ‘Pro Excolenda Eloquentia’ followed by ‘Jews prohibited’. The Jews, however, had opened their own theatre after that, and twelve productions were being staged there each year.
The next day there was incredible hustle and bustle in the De Ledesmas’ home. Carriages coming and going, guests in the large front hall and the dining room, children running up and down the stairs and around the grounds, slaves under the trees who had accompanied their masters’ families and were there to lend a hand.
Abraham Cohen was deep in conversation with Rutger. He had a lodger, a certain Joachim Morpurgo from a small town in Italy. The Jews there had been hearing a lot about the colony of Suriname, where the Jews enjoyed certain privileges and where the Portuguese Jews had founded the beautiful village Joden-Savanna: a new Jerusalem on the river. The fame of this place had spread as far as northern Italy, where this group of Jews had ended up after extensive wanderings through much of Europe. A number of well-to-do families, about forty souls in total, now wanted to emigrate to Suriname to establish themselves at this Joden-Savanna, and Joachim Morpurgo had come to see and arrange everything. He had already been to Joden-Savanna and had liked it. Of course he had heard that the place was not what it had been, and he could also see this for himself. Many of the wealthier families had departed for the town and had stayed there. But he and his group would be able to breathe new life into Joden-Savanna. They had enough money to establish plantations and could themselves live at the Savanna. After all, they had everything they needed there: the beautiful synagogue, houses that could be done up, a bakery, a butcher and the famous cemetery.
Joachim Morpurgo had been invited to the De Ledesmas, but had not been feeling himself the past two days and had therefore remained in bed. When they returned home later, could Rutger perhaps drop in at the teacher’s home and make an appointment with Joachim? For Joachim wanted to talk business with Rutger concerning the cost of slaves and cattle and in fact everything to do with running a plantation.
That afternoon, when the families began returning home after a busy day with much talking, eating and drinking, Abigail sat in the carriage on her father’s lap. She dozed off with a thumb in her mouth, but was wide awake once the carriage drew to a halt at the corner of the Heerenstraat and the Klipsteenstraat, where the house of the Portuguese-Jewish community’s teacher was situated. Rutger alighted, and the child stretched out her little arms:
“With papa, can I come with papa?”
With his daughter on his arm Rutger followed the Cohens into the house. The boys also wanted to get out, but Elza said, “No, you stay here. After all, there’s someone ill there, and he can certainly do without a lot of fuss and bother.”
A little later Rutger came outside. He held Abigail’s hand tightly and was pressing a handkerchief in front of her mouth. He was pale, and urged Elza, “Away: get away quickly. I’ll walk with Abigail. Have Maisa give the boys a hot bath. You too, quickly; oh dear, it’s terrible, it’s yellow fever.”
Elza was shocked: oh, no, not that dreaded disease! The carriage was already in motion, and a few seconds after they arrived home Rutger was there, too.
“Burn Abigail’s clothes, and mine! Quick! Have Maisa bath her, as hot as possible and with herbs, and everyone must take a draught of gin!”
Abigail began crying: did her pretty new dress really have to be burnt? And when she had to drink the gin, well, it was really no wonder that, after a day with so many different things to eat, the complete contents of that little stomach landed in Maisa’s skirt.
Rutger was extremely worried. He had got a shock as soon as he had stood at Joachim’s sick-bed with Abigail and with little Daniel Cohen on his father’s hand. He had recognized the symptoms immediately: blood-red lips and nostrils, bloodshot eyes. And Joachim could say nothing and could only groan. It was as if a kind of rumble was emerging from the depths of his very being. Yes, Rutger knew these symptoms all too well. He couldn’t get out of the room quickly enough, and blamed himself for having taken Abigail with him. Elza was also worried, especially after Abigail had been sick and had fallen asleep crying and complaining.
The next day, however, the child was running around as brightly as ever, and this put Elza’s mind at rest. Yellow fever was a most serious disease and Abigail had been inside there. But they had taken the right precautions. A few days later, however, the message arrived that Joachim Morpurgo had died, and that the Cohens’ youngest son, Daniel, was ill. In the Saramaccastraat, too, Jacob de Ledesma was ill, and it became apparent that the dreaded disease was affecting many families.
And so it was that one morning Abigail was listless. Th
e same afternoon she was running a fever and was confined to bed. The dreaded symptoms were already apparent: the blood-red lips and nostrils, bloodshot eyes, pain all over her body. There was no known cure for this disease. Maisa made a bowl of tepid water containing some herbs to counter the fever. She sat by the child’s bed and wiped her face and body with a cloth. A cloth was also laid over her forehead and eyes.
“The other children mustn’t go into that room, Elza,” said Rutger anxiously. “Have just Afanaisa look after Charlotte and have her stay downstairs in the back room for the moment.”
The boys were warned not to go into Abigail’s room.
Elza paced nervously up and down in her daughter’s room. The child had high fever, was delirious, came to now and then, and cried. She wanted to say something, but could make no sound. It seemed as if a kind of groan emerged from deep inside that emaciated little body, and the next moment a thick, black-red liquid streamed from her mouth. Maisa held her upright for a short time. Elza had to help hold the child while Maisa changed the sheets and carefully cleaned the little girl. Then yet again that groan, moaning, convulsions. Elza could take no more of this. My God, why must her little girl suffer so? Looking at the child, she prayed silently, “God, may she get better. My Lord in Heaven, I pray you, I beg you, please let my child get better.”
But the next day brought no improvement. On the contrary, things were getting worse and the day after worse still. Maisa and Elza took it in turns to be at Abigail’s bedside. She hardly recognized anyone anymore. Now and then Rutger would come into the room, looking sadly at his little daughter, lying there helplessly in bed, fighting for breath. Then the message arrived from the Saramaccastraat that Jacob de Ledesma had died. Ezau and Joshua (one of the twins) were also ill, and the next day little Daniel Cohen died.
The Cost of Sugar Page 29