Tula

by Jeroen Leinders

  ‘Louis doesn’t know if he was baptised or not. That’s what’s bothering him.’ Tula turns to his friend with a grin.

  ‘Go ahead, make a fool of me, Tula,’ Louis barks. ‘But it won’t make Speranza like you any better.’ He turns and walks away angrily. Tula feels cornered and has no idea what he should say to Speranza.

  ‘If you ask me it’s time you and your friend had a talk,’ says Speranza.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ says Tula, happy with the escape she offers him.

  ‘Will you be around later?’ Once again Tula is faced with that irresistible look in her eyes that leaves him at a loss for words.

  ‘Go on then,’ she says. ‘I’ll see you later.’ Speranza rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles.

  ‘Yes,’ he stutters, ‘later, of course.’ He turns and runs away.

  ‘Louis, wait!’

  Later that evening when Tula walks back to the manor house huge bonfires are dotted here and there on the grounds and cast their flickering glow on its facade in the dark of the night. Awi huramentu, a special drink intended to give the men courage and staying power is being prepared in a huge cauldron. Minguel stirs it with a massive spatula, tasting it every now and then and shaking his head. He’s wearing a belt around his waist with pouches hanging from it, their contents mysterious. He digs into one of them then shakes his hand empty above the cauldron, muttering a string of incomprehensible words. When the potion is finally ready, he takes an enormous ladle and transfers it to a drum to cool down. Then he summons Bastiaan.

  ‘It’s ready,’ he says.

  ‘Excellent,’ Bastiaan answers. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘The leaders drink first, but before they do they have to make a wish together, a shared wish. Then they have to drink their cups empty in a single gulp and put them down so that everyone else can drink from the same cups that now contain their spirit.’

  The people gather together around the fire. A drum containing the mysterious concoction is standing nearby on a table. Bastiaan, Tula and Louis are standing beside it with wooden cups in their hands. Minguel marches solemnly towards them, takes Tula’s cup and dips it into the potion until it’s filled to the brim. He then returns it to Tula with both hands, his head bowed. He repeats this ritual until all three men have a cup filled with his special potion.

  Minguel lifts his arms, opens them wide, and throws back his head as he stamps rhythmically on the ground with his feet. He seems to be in a trance. ‘Brio y poder,’ he murmurs gently at first. ‘Brio y poder.’ His words get louder and louder and he repeats them until everyone present joins him. ‘Brio y poder.’ Power and courage. The people shout it at the tops of their voices. Minguel then stands on the tips of his toes, slowly lowering his arms, his fingers spread wide apart, until the assembly falls silent.

  He stands upright and nods at Tula who holds up his cup. ‘Equality, freedom, brotherhood,’ he says. The three men look at one another. Bastiaan and Louis raise their cups in unison. ‘Equality, freedom, brotherhood,’ they proclaim with one voice. They empty their cups and slam them on the table.

  It doesn’t take long before the alcohol in Minguel’s potion lifts everyone’s spirits as they laugh, dance and burst into spontaneous song. Tula takes the opportunity to relax and it’s already late in the evening when he and Speranza go looking for a cabin to spend the night in. With the stresses of the day behind them they find each other in a heated moment of overwhelming love. In the afterglow of passion, their bodies glistening with perspiration, an emotional Tula takes Speranza by the hand. ‘Our life is never going to be the same after today, Speranza. Do you realise that?’ Speranza squeezes his hand and gazes into his restless eyes. ‘I know, dushi,’ she says. ‘I know.’ Tula falls into a deep sleep.

  It’s early morning and it’s pouring with rain. The parched ground seems to guzzle every drop, but then it turns in the blink of an eye into one enormous pool of mud. Tula wakes up, goes outside, looks up at the rain and lets it wash over his body. The cold water invigorates him and empties his head of the dull hung-over feeling left behind by the drink of the previous night. He heads for the manor house where Bastiaan and Louis are already waiting for him on the porch.

  ‘Not the best weather for a walk,’ Louis jokes as Tula joins them.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says in a serious tone. ‘If the whites get the idea that we’re in the wrong, then our brothers on Kenepa won’t be safe either. They might come under attack. We have to go get them and stay together.’

  Bastiaan nods. ‘We should send a messenger.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ says Louis jumping to his feet with excitement.

  Tula turns to him and smiles. ‘Not on your own, Louis. Take ten men with you and make sure you meet up with us at Porto Marie in one piece. We can all assemble there before going on together to the city. God be with you, my brother.’

  XII

  On arrival at his house in Punda, Caspar van Uytrecht has a message delivered to the governor and is summoned to a meeting of the council shortly thereafter.

  ‘Welcome, Mr van Uytrecht. We’ve read your alarming reports. Would you be kind enough to clarify the situation in brief?’ Governor De Veer glares wearily at van Uytrecht. ‘What can you tell us about the abuses on your plantation?’

  Taken aback by De Veer’s barely disguised derision, Van Uytrecht’s response is a little timid: ‘Many of my slaves refused to go to work this morning. They told me they were free and that they didn’t want to work.’

  ‘And I presume that you dealt with their refusal in the appropriate manner?’ De Veer asks.

  ‘Well, er… not exactly, Sir. There were at least fifty of them in front of my house. I didn’t think it was wise to make an issue of it and aggravate matters. In fact I referred them to you.’

  ‘You referred them to me?’ De Veer stares at Caspar disparagingly. ‘And are these slaves of yours on their way to me as we speak? Should I reserve a chamber to receive them? Do they have any special wishes I might satisfy?’

  The assembled council explodes with laughter. Van Uytrecht is confused and embarrassed. ‘I’ve no idea if they’re on their way to you, Sir. I left as quickly as I could to inform you of the situation.’

  De Veer gets up to speak:

  ‘Enough, enough. Slaves refusing to work is nothing new, as many of the people here assembled can testify. Most of the time it just blows over, and when they come to their senses they go back to work as usual. If that doesn’t happen in the present instance then we’ll have to take the necessary steps to deal with the matter. But for the moment I don’t think there’s much need for that. Nevertheless, the army commanders should be informed, don’t you think.’ De Veer casts a cynical glare around the room. ‘After all, we have to maintain proper law and order, don’t we? Should there be an escalation – which I don’t expect – then we have to be ready to act and act swiftly. Thank you for coming, Mr van Uytrecht. Please leave us now.’

  Van Uytrecht is bewildered by De Veer’s lukewarm reaction. He tries to continue, but the governor points to the door. He stands in astonishment and leaves the room.

  XIII

  After Louis’s departure, Tula and Bastiaan assemble the people on Santa Cruz. A long column of men, women and children snakes along the manor house drive. Some have managed to get hold of a horse, others join the elders on a cart. The journey leads them past Fontein to plantation Porto Marie. White families in carriages hurrying towards the city pass them along the way. Tula ignores them and lets them pass without hindrance. The manor house on plantation Fontein has also been abandoned by its owners. Tula’s message for the slaves left behind is the same: ‘We are free under the new regime. Equality, freedom, brotherhood.’

  On his way back to Kenepa, Louis passes a small fort used by the army. In spite of the departure of the plantation owners, the fort still seems to be manned, if only by a couple of soldiers. To avoid risks, Louis decides to take them prisoner. Without resistance they hand th
emselves over to Louis and his men. ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ says Louis, ‘you’ll be treated well.’ He finds a small store of weapons in the fort, piles them into the back of his cart with the soldiers, and continues on his way.

  When they reach Kenepa they learn that the entire Van Uytrecht family has made its escape. The slaves left behind don’t know how they should react to the new situation. Without the master they don’t have to work, but they’re not used to this kind of freedom. A group of them has raided the alcohol supply and judging by the laughter and dancing they’re clearly drunk. Louis leaves them to get on with it and heads off in search of Jorboe. He finds him in front of his cabin in the slave village.

  ‘Tula’s on his way to Porto Marie,’ says Louis. ‘The people from Santa Cruz have joined forces with us.’

  ‘Then it’s too late,’ says Jorboe, his tone hushed.

  ‘Too late? What’s too late? They left early this morning.’ Louis looks at him in surprise.

  ‘There’s no way back,’ says Jorboe resigned. ‘The revolt has begun.’

  Louis crouches to the ground at the old man’s side. ‘This isn’t a revolt, Jorboe. We’re going to the city to talk and demand our rights.’

  ‘And you’re planning to talk with weapons?’ Jorboe points to the musket in Louis’s hand. ‘This is a revolt, Louis. And if you don’t think so, you can be sure the masters do.’

  Louis gets to his feet. ‘Revolt or not, you’re no longer safe here. Tula asked me to come and get you.’

  ‘My place is here, Louis. This plantation is my home. I was born here. I grew up here. I lost my youngest son in this place, and I intend to breathe my last here. I’m staying where I am, me and Rosita. May God be with you on the difficult journey ahead. Tell Tula we’re proud of him and we hope his mission succeeds.’

  ‘But…,’ Louis stammers. Jorboe raises his hand to silence him. ‘Go now, Louis. We’ve made our decision.’

  As Louis turns and walks away he hears a voice behind him, a woman’s voice, loud and clear: ‘Louis!’ Rosita is standing in the cabin doorway, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Take good care of him, Louis, please take good care of him.’ Louis nods and hurries off.

  The swarm of people gathered in front of the manor house is still abuzz. Louis climbs the stairs to the porch, points his musket in the air and fires. Silence. Anxious eyes turn towards him.

  ‘I’ve come back to get you,’ he says. ‘It’s not safe to stay here. The master in Santa Cruz has sent messages to the city telling them we’re on the rampage. The whites are bound to believe them and we can be sure they’ll attack us. We have to stay together, to march on the city together. It’s the only way to secure our safety.’ Panic breaks out and Louis has a hard time trying to convince the people to go with him. A couple of the drunks, Pedro among them, are ready for action. ‘If the whites want war, then that’s what they’ll get.’ Louis marches up to him and says with a voice loud enough for all to hear: ‘Listen good. If we appeal to the law that says we’re equal to the whites, then the same law can condemn us as criminals if we break it. We don’t want war with the whites. We want liberty and peace.’ Pedro has no answer to Louis’ rebuke so he turns and laughs with his drunken friends.

  After a couple of hours, Louis is finally ready to move off and the majority of the people have agreed to join him. Only a few decide to stay behind. The drunks in the group slow the pace and don’t miss an opportunity to damage the other manor houses they pass along the way. Louis decides to increase the tempo in the hope that it will tire them and force them to give up their drunken destructiveness.

  When they reach Klein Santa Martha, a plantation along the way, Pedro and his friends make their way onto the property. Parched from walking and the heat of the sun, they go inside to see if they can find something to slake their thirst. They check every room, smashing the furniture and breaking open every cupboard they come across. In one of them they discover a white man, hiding in terror from the drunken intruders. Pedro grabs him and drags him out. ‘What are you doing here?’ he snarls. ‘Were you planning to sneak up on us from behind?’ The man shakes his head and mutters something in response, but Pedro doesn’t wait to hear him out. He punches the man in the face and pushes him outside. In the meantime, a couple of Pedro’s friends have fetched horses from the corral and are waiting for him. ‘Look what I found!’ Pedro shouts to his friends as he turns to the terrified white man. ‘So you weren’t planning to attack us? Good, then you can come with us.’ He ropes the man to the tail of one of the horses, mounts it, digs in the spurs and gallops off. The group from Kenepa is making slow progress and they quickly catch up, but Louis sees them pass and gives chase.

  The men stop when they reach Santa Cruz. The man tied to the horse’s tail is badly wounded, his clothing ripped, his back and legs grazed and bruised. His face is mutilated beyond recognition and he’s coughing and spitting blood.

  Louis pulls Pedro from his horse in a rage and throws him to the ground.

  ‘What in the name of God are you doing? This is just what the whites are after. It proves we’re just a bunch of criminals and that we deserve to face the law. This kind of madness is a threat to our freedom, to everybody’s freedom.’

  Pedro catches sight of the badly injured white man and the effects of the alcohol suddenly evaporate. His friends look on in shame at what they have done.

  Louis bends over the wounded man as he lies unconscious on the ground and realises there’s nothing he can do to help him. He walks back to his horse, grabs his musket and shoots the man in the head at close range. ‘This man’s death is on your conscience.’ He grabs Pedro by the hair and forces him to look at the lifeless corpse. ‘May God forgive you.’ He pushes Pedro aside, climbs on his horse and rides off.

  XIV

  Tula arrives with his people in Porto Marie, but in contrast to the other plantations they passed along the way Porto Marie is a picture of order and tranquillity. The people are working in the fields as always and they look up in surprise when they see such a large group of people passing by. Tula decides to pay a visit to the manor house. A neatly dressed house slave meets him in the garden. ‘Miss Lesire welcomes you,’ he says. Tula stares at the man in astonishment. ‘Please, follow me,’ the man says. Tula turns, signals to Bastiaan that he should wait outside the gate, and follows the man into the house.

  A middle aged white woman is sitting at a table having dinner. She stands when Tula comes in and walks up to him with her hand outstretched. ‘Let me introduce myself. Miss Lesire,’ she says in a cordial tone. ‘Would you like to join me.’ She gestures invitingly at table, which has been set for more than one. ‘Please, take a seat.’ The house slave pulls back one of the chairs and Tula sits down.

  ‘So you must be Mr Tula, if I’m correctly informed? I’ve heard a lot about you.’ The woman has a slightly French accent. ‘Welcome to my home. I’ve asked my people to open the provisions store. You’re welcome to stop for a while and let your people build up their strength. I want you to know that you’re not alone. If there’s anything I can do for you please let me know.’ She points to the house slave who is still waiting by the table. ‘Jantji is at your disposal. He always knows where to find me.’ Tula nods, still a little taken aback.

  ‘I’ll leave you now if you don’t mind,’ Miss Lesire continues. ‘I imagine you need some space. I wish you every success with your mission.’ She stands, shakes Tula’s hand, and exits by the rear door, where she steps into a waiting carriage and leaves the property in the company of three black men. Tula is astonished. At that moment the front door flies open. ‘Tula, everything alright?’ Bastiaan is standing in to doorway. ‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ Tula answers. ‘Everything’s just fine.’ He joins Bastiaan at the door and the two men walk outside. ‘We have to camp here for the night. Louis will be on his way by now and this is the ideal place to wait for him.’ Bastiaan nods. ‘It’s not going to be easy calming everyone down and feeding them. The group�
�s much bigger than it was when we set out.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ says Tula. ‘The more people the better.’

  Bastiaan sets about organizing the camp with a couple of men, making sure everyone gets something to eat and a place to sleep. Feeding everybody is a task in itself, especially with the plantation’s very limited provisions, but Bastiaan sees to it that everyone gets his fair share. The people are tired from the long journey, but their spirits are high and the atmosphere is excellent. Up to now, not a single white man has put the slightest obstacle in their way and many see that as a confirmation of Tula’s words. They’re finally free. Free to live their own lives.

  Tula and Speranza have retired for the night to one of the rooms in the manor house. Tula stares out of the window at the people in the garden. He hasn’t spoken in a while.

  ‘What’s wrong, Tula?’ Speranza asks. ‘Aren’t you happy with the way things are going?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Speranza. I’m not sure if we’re doing the right thing.’

  ‘But Tula. Look outside. Look at how happy you’ve made everyone. You’ve rekindled the flame in their hearts. You’ve given them back the passion they had lost, you’ve given them hope… a future. A future beyond their wildest dreams. They have a reason to live. Their hearts are burning. And you’re responsible… you gave them all this.’

  ‘I just hope I did the right thing,’ says Tula.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Speranza stares at her husband, unable to comprehend.