The Other Side of the Sun

by L'Engle, Madeleine;

  I whispered, “Please go, Uncle Hoadley,” but he did not hear.

  “I could not prevent what happened to Jimmy because I did not belong to the Riders. Even now the time is coming when I will have no right to try to stop them, no matter what they want to do. There were uprisings of slaves before the war, led by freed Negroes, and we put them down. To suppress an uprising now will be more difficult, and patience is running out. If the Negroes attempt anything—and they will—I cannot be responsible for what will happen to them.”

  Tron killed ants with a magnifying glass. Tron pulled the legs off an inquiring spider. Tron stepped on the head of a little lizard who had never done him any harm. What would not Tron do where he hated? And where Tron led, others would follow. I did not think that there was anything Uncle Hoadley, or anyone else, could do to stop what lay ahead.

  He began to pace between the balcony and my bed. “If I am to save Honoria and Clive I must have money. You must help me get it.”

  “For what?”

  “I took you to the yacht basin. You saw our fleet. We have almost enough now, but not quite. When we have enough, there will be a large ship waiting out at sea. Then Tron and I together will be able to free his people.” He paced to the window, back to the chair. “Open your mosquito netting. I want to see you.” His hands reached out to the loose netting which still half covered the bed. “Better. Better. Don’t be afraid. Won’t hurt you. Just want to look—” His long, fine hands groped towards me, drew back before they touched me. “We will have to make them come, Tron and I and the Riders.”

  “Tron’s riders?”

  Uncle Hoadley shook his head. “They’ll be put on the ship, too. It’s the only safety for them, for any of them.”

  “But, Uncle Hoadley—”

  “Why are you so surprised, child? This is not a new idea, not my private dream. Lincoln thought of letting the freed Negroes go to Liberia, to make a nation for themselves there. But his mistake was in ‘letting.’ How many people, white people even, know what is best for them? Do you, child, know what is best for you?”

  I put my head down on my knees. “No.”

  “How much less, then, the black people? Do you think Honoria would return to Kairogi of her own free will? Do you think Clive will go, just because I provide a way and ‘let’ him go? Do you think Ron will choose to go to Kairogi, just because it is best for him?”

  “No!” I cried, raising my head. “Not Honoria and Clive and Ron, you can’t mean that!”

  “Of course I mean it, child. We can’t pick and choose who is to go and who is to stay. We’ll start with San Feliz and every Negro here. Then we’ll spread out. All those we brought over from Africa, all their descendants, must be returned. It’s the only hope.”

  “But why! Why!”

  “To avoid more blood, more horror. Child, it’s been proven time and time again in history that when a nation begins to tolerate the mixing of its blood, its downfall is imminent. Think of Greece and Rome. Once their line lost its purity, the disease of decay struck them with its filthy hand. Have you not read your Gibbon? Your father would understand what I am talking about.”

  “No, no, my father would never—”

  “Therro knew. After it was too late. He knew that he had killed Kitty long before they were drowned. But Mado never knew. Nor James. Cousin James, saying prayers with Saintie over Cousin Xenia, is living in a plague town without grasping the significance of the crudely painted cross with THE LORD DELIVER us painted in streaming red letters on the door of each afflicted household. That sign is on the door of Illyria for those who have eyes to see. But Tron and I are the only ones who—”

  “No, Uncle Hoadley, no—”

  “Tron, with clear and calculated wisdom, had denied the pollution of his blood. Tron will be King of Kairogi. I have promised. So Tron works with me. Unlike Ron, who is one of those poor creatures who are the result of our illness, a doomed mongrel who is woefully unfit in every way to belong to the race he emulates—”

  “You sent Ron to school in England! You gave him his education!”

  “I promised Therro. I was wrong to keep my promise. I only hurt his bastard further.”

  “No, Uncle Hoadley, no—” I could only repeat, helplessly.

  “For Ron, Kairogi is the only hope. They’ll need doctors. As long as nobody is foolish, nobody will be hurt. All will go smoothly. If I get the money, the money for the big ship. This is the only way we can make restitution for the mad dreams of people like James with his impossible Nyssa.”

  “But Nyssa—”

  “Was insanity. There is no place in the suffering of a real world for a Nyssa. Nyssa was a household of plague. May the Lord deliver us.” He leaned towards the bed again. “Stella, you are young and you don’t understand me. I want you to understand me. I feel that you, as nobody else, can understand all my pain, all my prayers.” His face came closer to mine, closer. “I will give you anything, anything. No strings, no strings.” His breath was heavy, horrible. “Is love with no strings as unreal as Nyssa? Am I blundering? Is it the demon again? Do you tie strings on your love for your husband? What do you make him pay for it? What?”

  I drew back in bed, pushing against the vertical brass bars of the bedstead. “I don’t understand. Please go.”

  “You have yet to learn: nobody loves for nothing. You must learn—”

  “I know it’s not for nothing.”

  “You don’t understand. But you will. Nobody gives love. There is always an asking price. Irene’s is perhaps simpler than most. What is yours?”

  “I don’t—I don’t have one—”

  “You’d better learn. Fast. It is foolish to give love away. It’s the dearest commodity on the market. If you can get more than the going price, get it. Oh, God. I am not myself tonight. I am, to be precise, drunk. In wine there is truth. I have always tried to give love away. But nobody wants it when it is given. It is desired only when there is a price, and the higher the price the greater the desire. Is your price too high for me? Is it?” His face came closer, dead-white like the moon.

  “Finbarr!” But Finbarr was gone.

  “Stella, my only little guiding light in the dark.” His wet lips brushed close to mine. His hand fumbled at my nightgown.

  “Mr. Hoadley.”

  He gave an anguished groan and drew back.

  Clive stood in the doorway, Finbarr beside him. “Mr. Hoadley, you not feeling well. You having one of your bad times. Come, Mr. Hoadley. We go walk on the beach till you feel better.”

  Moving unsteadily, like crumbling stone, Uncle Hoadley followed Clive from the room.

  Honoria came to me. Honoria held me as she had held Aunt Olivia my first night at Illyria. I cried, I babbled incoherently. “The twins were right. They want to take you away.”

  “Hush, Miss Stella. Hush. Hush.”

  “They want your treasure.”

  “Nobody going to get the treasure. Hush.”

  “Kairogi—the twins were right—” I could not pull my words together. I could not breathe in the dark terror which smothered me.

  “Hush, Miss Stella. You do not have to say it.”

  “The cards,” I gasped. “What was in the cards?”

  Honoria’s strong arms tightened around me. “Hush, Miss Stella. Do not ask. If you do not know, it is our only hope.”

  “But can they do it? Can Uncle Hoadley and Tron do it?”

  I felt something wet and hot on my cheek. Honoria’s tears.

  “Cousin James,” I cried, flinging my arms about Honoria, trying to hold her as she was holding me. “I must tell Cousin James!”

  “It is God we must tell. Miss Stella, tell it to God.”

  “But I don’t know God.” My tears mingled with hers.

  6

  In the morning I woke with a headache, and my skin was burning hot. I tried to get up, sat on the edge of my bed, and waves of nausea rode over me. I did not have the strength to answer when I heard a knock on the doo
r.

  Honoria entered, felt my cheek with the back of her hand, left me tangled in a skein of pain, returned with cool compresses for my head. “You be all right, Miss Stella.”

  “What’s the matter with me?”

  “Things just got too much for you, too much heat, too much everything. Don’t you fret. You be all right. The baby going to be all right.”

  How did she know about the baby? Comforted, I rolled over and slept.

  Ron stood by the bed, his hand lightly against my forehead, my cheeks. “Don’t worry, Miss Stella. It’s just a combination of fatigue and reaction and heat.”

  “But last night—”

  “Honoria and Clive told me. It’s all right. Go to sleep now.”

  “Ronnie, get Cousin James. Promise me. Tell him.”

  “I’m not sure just what to tell him, Stella.”

  “Tell him what happened last night.”

  “What exactly did happen?”

  I began to retch, and he held a basin for me wiped my forehead, my face. “Cousin James, please, Ronnie, please—”

  “I will tell him. You must try to calm yourself, Stella.” He held both my hands in his. I lay back, the fit of vomiting over. He held my hands while I fell into sleep.

  When I came to, the shutters were closed against the noonday sun. Uncle Hoadley stood by the bed, looking down at me. “You have had a touch of heat prostration, child. Don’t worry. It’s not serious. You’ll be feeling your own sweet self again in a few days.”

  “Last night—” I said.

  “You did not quite know what you were saying. I tried to calm you, but you were delirious. Just try to forget about it.”

  I turned my face from him and wept.

  Honoria brought me a cup of broth. I sat in the strength of her arm, sipping from the spoon which she held to my lips. “Honoria—Clive came last night when Uncle Hoadley was here—was I delirious?”

  Honoria put the broth down on my bed table, enfolded me in her arms. “Perhaps some, Miss Stella. But only some. Mr. Hoadley’s demon was on him last night. When he sits on the veranda drinking whiskey all evening, that be always a bad sign. And Finny come for Clive. Finny never do that without he got cause.”

  “But Uncle Hoadley—”

  “Miss Stella, I don’t know what Mr. Hoadley say last night, but I do know he ain’t never learned to say ‘I am sorry.’ It always got to be the fault of somebody or something else. This time it easy for him. He can say it all the sun.”

  “Honoria, I’m frightened.”

  “No, Miss Stella. That be like Mr. Hoadley pushing it off onto the heat. You got to be strong and ready. And you got to get well. Lie back now and rest.”

  “I have to see Cousin James.”

  “Yes, Miss Stella. Today be Sunday; we go to Little Nyssa for Morning Prayer.”

  “I can’t—”

  “No, Miss Stella. You sick from too much sun. You and Miss Olivia stay in Illyria with Finny and Minou.”

  “Does—how much does Aunt Olivia know?”

  Honoria stood looking down at me, a half smile on her austere features. “Nobody ever knowed how much Miss Olivia know about anything. Sometimes I think Miss Olivia herself don’t know. Don’t fret, Miss Stella. I take everything in my hands and give it to Mr. James to offer to God.”

  I closed my eyes. Whatever was in the broth Honoria had spooned me eased the pounding in my head. All I could think about was the pain, and that it was diminishing, becoming bearable. I had no room in me to think about Uncle Hoadley, or Ronnie, or Cousin James, or even Terry. I simply breathed, slowly, trying to keep the pain from jolting back.

  When I opened my eyes again Cousin James was sitting beside my bed. In his rumpled white suit, his silvery mustache and beard, his gently trembling fingers, he represented a hope of sanity, of safety. “Cousin James—” Forgetting my head, I struggled off the pillows.

  “Lie down, Stella. Take your time.” His voice was calm, unperturbed.

  But I stuttered in a feverish rush to tell him everything—Kairogi—the map—Tron—the lizard—Uncle Hoadley—Kairogi—

  “Hush, Stella. Don’t try to talk yet. I’m sorry I was so slow in getting to you.”

  “The twins—my flag—”

  “Hush, my dear. I did not get back from Jefferson until early this morning. I saw your ‘flag’ on the balcony but I could not come to you until after Morning Prayer. Clive managed to tell me something of what happened last night.”

  I was burning hot and shivering simultaneously. “Did it really happen?”

  “This is what we must find out. But you are not going to be able to tell me anything coherently unless you lie quietly and try to speak slowly and calmly, trying to separate dream from reality as much as possible. I should not press you while your fever is so high, but time is essential.” He reached out and took my hand. I quieted.

  “I suppose I really have sunstroke?”

  “I think you undoubtedly have a touch of the sun. It’s not surprising. We forget how violent our heat is to someone not accustomed to it.”

  “Was I delirious last night, then?”

  “You had a very high fever.”

  “Cousin James, I remember things I’m sure weren’t caused by fever. I didn’t have fever when I sent the twins to fetch you.”

  “Why did you send the twins, Stella?”

  I told him about the room with the map of Africa, and the little flags stuck in Kairogi. “But I didn’t know what it was all about, then. All I knew was that it seemed odd to have a map of Kairogi there, and that perhaps it was something you’d think Terry should know.”

  “You are quite right.”

  “Cousin James—if it wasn’t delirium—I know why the map is there.”

  “Try to tell me.”

  “Uncle Hoadley came to me—to my room—last night. I know I didn’t dream that.”

  Cousin James asked quietly, “Had he had too much to drink?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t just that—”

  “Did he try—” Cousin James cleared his throat. “Did he try to kiss you?”

  “Yes, I think he did. But it wasn’t just that—”

  “Take your time, Stella. Try to remember calmly.”

  “He talked about the boats in the yacht basin—and that he and Tron are going to take all the Negroes—Honoria and Clive—and everybody—and send them back to Kairogi.” Cousin James was silent. “Was it—was it delirium?”

  “It does sound fantastic, Stella. But I have learned not to discount the fantastic. Can you tell me anything more?”

  “He said something about Lincoln and Liberia—”

  “The Liberian experiment is a real one.”

  “So Kairogi—”

  “Stella, do you think Tron has any idea of going to Africa?”

  “Uncle Hoadley promised Tron he’d be King of Kairogi. I know Tron feels Illyria ought to be his. So perhaps—since Honoria was princess in Kairogi—he’d feel he’s the legitimate pretender—”

  “Yes, Hoadley would assume that would appeal to Tron. He’s always had delusions of grandeur.”

  “And the boats are in the yacht basin.” I saw them.”

  “There are always boats in the yacht basin.”

  “This many?”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “This could very well be the kind of wild, misguided idealism Hoadley might get involved in.”

  “It didn’t sound idealistic. It sounded as though he thought Honoria and Clive and Ronnie weren’t people at all, as though they could be disposed of like cattle.”

  “Stella, I’m not sure how much of what you remember is fact and how much is not, but no matter how much Tron would like to be king of something, I don’t think it would get him to Africa. His ambitions are here.”

  “But he is working for Uncle Hoadley.”

  “He is perhaps using Hoadley. And this is very dangerous. I have heard rumors of Terence Ronald Zenumin’s activities, and they do not involve a return to Africa
. They are far more simple and primitive than that.”

  “What?”

  “Revenge. We have had uprisings of Negroes in the South before. I know how terrible they can be. If there is a cosmic justice in these, and there is, it has nothing to do with the justice of love. And what Hoadley is trying to do has nothing to do with justice at all, though in a madly logical way he is quite right.”

  “Right!”

  “We did do wrong when we brought slaves over from Africa, and we are left with the fruits of that wrong. The parents have eaten sour grapes and the children’s teeth are set on edge.”

  “But sending people back to Africa—”

  “If we don’t, what will happen? Won’t there be uprisings of angry people like Tron?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “These uprisings will be bloody. Innocent people will be killed.”

  “But, Cousin James, even if Uncle Hoadley could send the Negroes at the beach back to Africa, what about the rest of the country?”

  “If this plan is real, and not the strange logic of a single madman, I don’t suppose for a moment that it would stop here. I’ve known Hoadley all his life; he can be very persuasive. I don’t imagine he is the only one involved in this. It is not impossible that this is only a small part of a wider, long-term, very carefully organized plan.”

  “You’re talking as though it’s all real.”

  “It well may be, Stella. I don’t know for certain, but I cannot afford to write it off as a madman’s dream. Or your delirium. I think this is something beyond your imagining. If we have done wrong in bringing people here from Africa, and we have, and if we are reaping the results of that sin in rebellions and uprisings and murders, then, if we do not want these disturbances to accelerate so that our children, and our children’s children, will suffer from them, then we must return the black people to the continent from which we took them, and so wipe out, in that way, the evil we have done. If we do this, there will be no race problem for the next generations; they will never need to fear the Negroes.”