‘Not on the same side at the same time,’ Mattheeuw roars when they start to pull themselves onboard. ‘Come on, boys, this isn’t the first time you went fishing.’ He treats the boys to a warning glare. Louis pulls Tula by the shoulders and then plunges him under the water. By the time he resurfaces Louis is already in the boat laughing at him.
‘Are you coming or not? The fish are waiting.’
Dark clouds collide in the distance. Mattheeuw shades his eyes with and peers towards the horizon, his pockmarked, weather-beaten face betraying a lifetime of sun and salt water.
‘Rain,’ he says. ‘Good weather for fishing.’
Tula and Louis set to the oars and the boat glides slowly towards the tip of the bay. When they reach the edge of the dark blue water, Mattheeuw signals that the boys should stop rowing. He digs into a basket, fishes out a jar of stinking brown liquid with white worms floating in it, and scoops handfuls of it into the water surrounding the boat. He then takes a short thick stick with a long line wrapped around it and attaches one of the maggots from the basket to the sharp hook at the end of the line.
‘Now it’s your turn, Quaku.’ He hands Quaku the reel. ‘Hold it tight.’
Quaku holds the reel as Mattheeuw slowly unravels the line. He stops at roughly four metres and tosses it into the water.
‘OK, boys, row! But don’t make a sound.’
Louis and Tula know what they have to do. They remove the oars from the rowlocks and drop the paddles deep into the water, rowing next to the boat in long strokes to avoid splashing. Quaku is sitting on a bench at the back of the boat, holding the reel, while Mattheeuw is at the bow, staring into the deep with a spear at the ready.
‘Just follow the blue edge.’ The boys concentrate their efforts and row.
‘Help!’
Quaku looks behind, startled, the reel spinning wildly in his hands. ‘Don’t let go,’ Mattheeuw shouts. ‘Give him plenty of leeway. And hold on tight.’ Quaku closes his eyes and grips the stick as hard as he can. But a sudden tug on the line pulls him overboard. Tula jumps into the blue deep behind him. A long minute passes that seems like an eternity, then a pair of brown heads bobs to the surface of the water. Mattheeuw heaves a sigh of relief as Tula swims back to the boat with Quaku in his arms. Quaku’s lips are pressed tight shut.
‘Mi tin’e,’ he mumbled to Mattheeuw when they arrived at the boat. I’ve got him.’
Mattheeuw laughs and takes the reel from Quaku. ‘You did a good job, boy. Now let’s see if we can haul that fish of yours into the boat instead of it hauling you back into the water.’
‘Nos ta piskadó.’ Quaku heads back to the village with an enormous barracuda in his arms, singing as usual at the top of his voice. But when he reaches the bend in the path he’s confronted by Willem and his friends.
‘What you got there? Can we have a look?’
Quaku proudly lifts the huge fish above his head. Willem is much taller than Quaku and he towers over him as he carefully examines the fish without touching it.
‘Look at those teeth,’ he says with a sneer.
Quaku nods enthusiastically and lifts the fish closer to Willem’s face. Out of the blue Willem grabs the fish, yanks it free from the boy’s hands and throws it to the boy standing next to him. ‘Much too dangerous… teeth like that around a child. You’ll hurt yourself.’ He turns and gestures to his friends to make themselves scarce. Quaku is completely bewildered.
‘Nos ta pppiskadó.’ The boys skip along the path, laughing as they go, the gigantic fish dangling between them. Willem turns suddenly and grabs the back of his head with a grimace of pain on his face. ‘Ouch,’ and again, ‘ouch,’ he screams. ‘What’s going on?’ Willem glances right and left in a panic. The sandy path is deserted except for Quaku a couple of hundred metres behind them, was bawling with tears. Willem peers nervously into the dense forest wilderness on either side of the path. He shrieks in pain as another kenepa pit smacks him hard on the back of his neck. The other boys dump the fish and run for their lives, not in the mood to hang around to see what will happen next. Willem scampers after them.
‘Enough, enough… they’re gone already.’ Tula spits a kenepa pit on the ground as Louis races down towards the dumped barracuda, catapult in hand. When Tula reaches his brother he’s sitting on the path, legs spread, still sobbing, his shoulders shuddering. Tula throws his arms around the boy to comfort him. ‘It’s alright now, Quaku, it’s alright.’ Louis appears with the barracuda and lays it on the sniffling child’s lap. ‘Your fish, Quaku. Don’t drop it.’ A huge grin breaks through the boy’s tears.
‘Mi piska,’ he says resolutely, throwing his arms around it and looking determined never to let it go again. ‘Mi piska,’ he sighs. He gets to his feet and walks ahead of the boys, proud and in the best of spirits, back to the village.
The campfire is still smouldering when the slaves are awakened by the rising sun. When Tula opens his eyes a dull pain forces itself upwards from his gut and forms a lump in his throat. The bell at the manor house starts to ring as he clambers to his feet and walks slowly towards the penetrating clang. At a distance from the house he stops. Willem van Uytrecht is glaring at him, unable to hide his contempt. Tula glares back.
‘Don’t look at me, boy.’
Tula looks at the ground as he’s expected to do in the presence of a white man, but then he looks up again and engages Willem’s gaze:
‘I want to talk to the big Shon in the city.’
‘You want to talk to the governor? Well of course you do.’ The sarcasm in Willem’s response is loud and clear.
‘And what makes you think the governor would be willing to receive you? Surely you don’t think he has time for a land slave from Bándabou? What do you have to say that would interest the governor?’
‘It’s the work, master,’ Tula answers. ‘We can’t keep this up. If things don’t change there won’t be enough of us left to toil the land. That’s not good for the island. We have to find an approach that’s good for us and for the island.’
‘What’s good for the island is none of your business, boy,’ Willem responds. ‘Leave that to the whites. Do you really think we’re interested in the concerns of a slave? Just get on with your work, that’s best for all concerned. And don’t make me have to warn you again.’ Tula stands his ground and stares the man in the eye. Speranza appears behind him and gently tries to move him on and avoid further confrontation. Tula gives in to her but then hesitates and looks back at Willem, who’s still staring at him with his eyes pinched. Tula turns away and joins the group of slaves who have assembled in the meantime to go to work.
From the corner of his eye he sees Speranza heading into the house. He should have listened to her. He should have spoken to the priest first. At least the priest would have heard him out. Tula vividly remembers the time when he was younger and turned to the priest for advice.
The long journey from the city to Kenepa has visibly tired Father Schinck. All his muscles are sore, and his horse isn’t much better off. He’s sweating profusely, and in a futile effort to cool down he tugs at the collar of his high-necked cassock.
‘A little too warm for you, Father?’ Caspar van Uytrecht, the master of the house, walks towards the priest with outstretched hand.
‘Warm isn’t the word,’ the clergyman sighs. ‘The heat today is simply unbearable.’
‘I don’t envy you.’ Caspar claps his hands. ‘A glass of awa lamoenchi for Father!’ Then he winks at the priest: ‘Or would you prefer something stronger?’
‘Not for the moment, alas. I still have to say mass.’ Caspar and Father Schinck climb the stairs to the manor house. It’s much cooler inside and Father Schinck collapses into a chair with a sigh.
‘I admire your perseverance, Sunday after Sunday,’ says Caspar.
‘I’ve no alternative, I’m afraid,’ the priest responds. ‘The people can’t come to the church so I have to come to the people.’
‘What I meant was: Wha
t’s the point of it all? As if God in his goodness actually intends to welcome them in the hereafter.’
Caspar stares provocatively in Schinck’s direction, but the priest ignores it.
‘God has a place for everyone. But perhaps you would prefer something else? That they should throw themselves into brua and spend half their day in a heathen montamentu? It’s better that they turn to the true faith and dedicate themselves to God. The Bible has an answer for all their questions and that brings serenity, which is better for all of us.’ He stands and brushes the dust from his cassock. ‘Come, time to get to work.’
The people have assembled for the Sunday service in the middle of the slave village. The priest stands in their midst and gestures that they should sit. ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Welcome everyone. Today we’re celebrating the feast of the Holy Trinity. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.’
Tula turns to Jorboe in surprise. Three gods? Has the priest gone mad? He’s done nothing for years but try to have them believe that there’s only one God and now he’s on about three all of a sudden! The trahadó says there are all sorts of gods. Is the priest starting to agree?
‘For Jesus said to his disciples: “Go therefore and make disciples of all the peoples and baptise them in the name of the father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost”.’ The priest’s voice echoes loud and clear across the village. ‘The Holy Trinity, unified in one God. Let us confess that You are God. Oh Holy Trinity, one of heart, one God whom we worship. Abo, Dios, nos alabá. Abo, Kabayero, nos alabá.’
Tula heaves a silent sigh of relief. One God after all! He was beginning to wonder if he had understood it correctly. He joins his hands for the prayer and closes his eyes. When the priest is finished, Tula grabs Quaku by the arm and walks with him to the edge of the village. There’s nothing Tula likes more than looking out over the valley from the brow of the hill, especially on Sundays when he has nothing else to do.
‘Look, Quaku. If only we could fly like the birds, then we would soar along the ridge of the hill and swoop down into the valley and back up again, and then across the mountain on the other side. Then we would be free to go wherever we wanted. Close your eyes, Quaku’
Quaku turns to his brother bubbling with excitement, closes his eyes and spreads his arms. Tula lifts him up, high above his head.
‘Look, Quaku, you’re flying.’
The boy coos with delight. ‘I’m flying, I’m flying.’‘Be careful he doesn’t fall,’ a voice says out of the blue.
Tula is taken aback and returns his brother to the ground. Father Schinck smiles affably.
‘Was there something you wanted to ask me about? You looked so puzzled at mass.’
‘Yes, Father. There’s something I don’t understand.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘You always say that God loves everyone, all of us equally.’
The priest nods.
‘Why then do we have to do all the work and the masters none? If God loves all of us, why didn’t he share out the work? Fair’s fair isn’t it?’
‘Aha, I think I understand. Let me try to explain. We can never know what God has in store for us. The Lord Jesus said: “If you want to be my disciple you must deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me.” That means you have to live the life you were given. The cross is fate, your fate, the fate you have to carry in order to get into heaven. It’s different for each of us, but we all have to do it. You want to get into heaven, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Father, but I still don’t understand.’
‘You don’t have to understand, Tula, you just have to accept things as they are. Look at your little brother. He doesn’t have a care in the world, does he? Life on earth is short, but life in the hereafter is eternal. We have to resign ourselves to our earthly fate in order to earn our place in heaven. Doesn’t that make sense? Faith without works is death, the Bible tells us. That’s the reality we live in, alas. Why not spend the rest of the day playing with your brother. And don’t forget, if you have any other questions you can always come to me, eh?’ The priest pats Tula on the head and makes his way back to the manor house. Tula watches him go, deep in thought.
VII
It’s Monday morning and the Van Uytrecht family are having breakfast. Female house slaves are scurrying back and forth, bringing dishes from the kitchen and serving them. It’s cool inside. The house is built in such a way that the ever blowing trade winds ventilate it through open shutters and thick walls keep out the heat.
‘Holland has forgotten us,’ Willem snorts. ‘There hasn’t been a Dutch ship with new merchandise in the harbour for months.’ He paces up and down the room. ‘They start by making enormous profits off our backs, then they leave us in the lurch. We can’t depend on the governor for anything. The man’s a buffoon. He just lives it up and pretends everything is fine, but the drought is horrendous and the land is struggling to produce. Trade has been at a standstill for months. How does he expect us to earn a living?’
‘They’re at war in Holland, Willem,’ his mother intervenes.
‘War? What war?’
Willem flops into his chair. ‘The war is over. Our brave prince has scuttled off to England.’ The cynicism in his voice is unmistakeable. ‘Holland is now apparently under French administration. As if that made the slightest difference! The government still reports to the Republic, but beyond that nothing has changed. There’s still no trade! It would seem that the French are keeping everything for themselves and leaving us here to rot. As if it wasn’t hard enough to live a normal existence on Curacao.’
He looks up as Speranza pours him a cup of coffee. She smiles at him with as much affability as she can muster, but Willem unexpectedly turns on her.
‘And what were you up to with that insolent nigger? Do you want a word with the governor too? Get out! Go busy yourself in the washhouse. At least there you’ll be out of my sight.’ Speranza runs out of the room in shock.
‘Was that really necessary, Willem?’ his mother asks. ‘You shouldn’t take your frustrations out on that poor creature. Speranza is a good child. She works hard and she’s done you no harm.’
As Speranza emerges from the house she runs into Caspar on the stairs.
‘What’s the hurry?’
‘The washhouse, master,’ she replies. ‘The young master says they need me there.’
‘The washhouse can wait. We’re in urgent need of wood and nails. Go to Santa Cruz and see if they have supplies. Tell the master he can use ten of our slaves next week as payment. Take three jugs of Jenever for him. Louis will help you transport the wood. Make sure you’re back before noon.’ Caspar turns and heads into the house without waiting for her response.
Louis pulls up in front of the house on the perch of a huge open cart being pulled by a rather scrawny horse. Speranza climbs onto the perch beside him and they drive off together. Speranza is having a hard time controlling her tears. The events of the previous day have disturbed her deeply. ‘Poor Quaku,’ she sobs. Louis isn’t quite sure how to respond. He puts an awkward arm around her, but jumps when she responds to his gesture by resting her head on his shoulder. He decides it’s best to say nothing and look straight ahead.
When they arrive in Santa Cruz a couple of women come to meet them. They’re delighted to see Speranza and at the chance to exchange a little news and the latest gossip. But Speranza’s thoughts are with Quaku and she doesn’t have much gossip to share. Louis steers the cart towards one of the barns. A bomba approaches them and asks what they’re doing. Louis points to Speranza and the bomba heads off to warn his master. The women are standing in a huddle, doing their best to cheer Speranza up. But their efforts meet with little success. Speranza keeps to herself, although she listens with a polite smile to what the women have to say. Louis in the meantime has started up a conversation with a tall dark man by the barn. ‘Pass it on to Jorboe.’ He says. ‘It’s true, I mean it, they’r
e free. They fought hard and they won their freedom.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Louis asks.
‘I heard about it at the harbour,’ Bastiaan answers confidently. ‘I go to the city for the master every once in a while. And every time I go I see free black men travelling on the ships. They told me all about it. Berdat!’
The master of the plantation appears at that moment and Louis ends the conversation on the spot. But the master isn’t interested in the two men; instead he walks up to Speranza and asks why she’s come.
On the way back to Kenepa, with wood piled high in the back of the cart, Louis can’t help but worry. He tells Speranza that the slaves on Haiti have revolted and won their freedom and that slavery has been abolished in the French territories.
‘Is that true? But that’s marvellous news!’ Speranza’s sombre mood quickly passes and she covers her face with her hands in excitement.
‘Marvellous news? Nothing of the sort. All it means is that the masters here will do everything they can to keep us under control. It’s going to get worse for us, much worse. We should have done something before this. Now it might be too late.’
Louis stares ahead, unease written all over his face. But Speranza is impressed by the news. Black people living a free life? She can hardly believe it. White people happy to let black people do what they want? She’s never even imagined such a possibility. It all sounded wonderful, if a little overwhelming.
Later that night she tells Tula about the events of the day as they sit in their cabin: Willem’s tirade at breakfast, her visit to Santa Cruz with Louis, the news from Haiti. Tula paces back and forth with excitement, just as thrilled as Speranza about the news. He can’t wait to hear it from Louis himself, every detail. Impatience gets the better of him and he storms outside, runs through the village and bursts into Louis’ cabin.
‘Is it true?’ Tula asks, ‘what Speranza just told me about the French?’
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