The Shallow Seas
Page 35
Such is the world’s great harmony, that springs
From order, union, full consent of things;
Where small and great, where weak and mighty made
To serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade;
More powerful each as needful to the rest,
And, in proportion as it blesses, blest;
Draw to one point, and to one centre bring
Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king.
For forms of government let fools contest;
Whate’er is best administer’d is best:
For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;
His can’t be wrong whose life is in the right.
In Faith and Hope the world will disagree,
But all mankind’s concern is Charity:
All must be false that thwart this one great end,
And all of God, that bless mankind or mend.
Charlotte had recently completed the papers to divide the trading house into equal shares between all of Tigran’s children by both herself and his nyai. She had set out with absolute determination to find out if he had other children in the villages at Brieswijk, but none had been found. She had arranged a fund invested at the Javische Bank to help former slaves and to provide funds where need be to compensate those owners of slaves who agreed to manumission.
She ordered that the plantations at Buitenzorg and elsewhere should be managed as to increase the benefit to the native population, all taxes on rice land to be one fifth of the revenue and paid labour to replace the corvée duty. She knew from her new Dutch-English mandoor at Brieswijk that this produced far greater productivity than the corvée. She had appointed mestizo overseers, vetted by Nathanial, to all the estates and factories and enjoined them to propriety and good offices. The indigo farms were closed. The native villages were empowered to grow crops which could bring them profit and reject those which were unprofitable and caused harm, leaving this decision to consultation and their enterprise.
She had devoted herself to reading at the library of the Society and had come to believe in the liberal policies of Adam Smith, Von Horgendorp, Raffles and Muntinghe. Above them all was Nicolaus, Tigran’s eldest son, responsible for all the business of the Manouk house, in whom she had absolute trust. She had given the shipping fleet to him, drawing a percentage of its revenues and keeping only Queen of the South as her ship, at her command.
She had made a generous bequest to Valentijna and a donation of sufficient largesse to the coffers of the Orphan’s Chamber to ensure, finally, with the backing of Pieter Merkus, her husband’s promotion to the position of Resident somewhere. She had kept to herself and her two sons absolutely Brieswijk and its revenues and the properties in Singapore. Takouhi and Miriam would live at Brieswijk, where their children and beloved brother reposed. Charlotte had made an annuity to Takouhi and Miriam’s school and a grant of funds for the Armenian Church of the Holy Resurrection. It had taken more than a year, but she had learned a great deal, and the constant activity had helped her through her grief.
Now she contemplated her future. She knew she must go back to Singapore. She wanted to see Robert, take her sons to him. They could not stay here and be raised by Javanese maids. There were no proper schools in Batavia. They needed an English education if they were to take their place in society. She wanted them in the Institution at Singapore, learning Chinese and Malay perhaps, these little children of the East. She had already written to ask Aunt Jeannie to come to Singapore, to visit at least, perhaps to stay. And she wanted to sit by George’s grave and talk to him. She wanted … she was no longer sure what she wanted, or would even receive, from Zhen.
The pony trap arrived at the river. The sun was sinking slowly behind the great trees along the bank. A flock of white birds wheeled suddenly in the sky and swept in an elegant arc down to the water. She thought they must crash, for the river here at its very centre was shallow and ran clear and bright over the shingly bottom. At the last instant, though, they swung into a perfect formation, their white breasts and underwings flashing green and blue, reflecting the colours of the water in the light as they raced past. The luxuriant trees hung over the river, bamboo and wild sago, with leaves like ostrich feathers. In the forks of trees were tufts of lush green leaves living off the watery bark of their hosts and creepers spread long, flowering arms from branch to branch. The beauty of the ancient Javanese countryside suddenly overwhelmed her with its passionate wildness, its riotous and abandoned growth. Charlotte saw it as if for the first time, as if a veil had lifted. A rustling breeze brushed its fingers over the green rice stalks in the village paddies.
Nathanial turned to Charlotte. “You will go to Singapore?”
Charlotte looked at him. How she loved him, this perfect friend. She shrugged and took his hand. He did not know it yet, but she had also arranged a large sum to be paid to Nathanial after she left—for his studies, for his independence. She knew she was divesting herself of this money to pay back, to give back, to lessen her constant feelings of blame. This money, which was simply the material manifestation of Tigran’s love for her, she was determined should be used only for whatever good she could do.
“I must,” she said.
Nathanial nodded and fell silent. Now was not the time, but one day he would like to tell her how much he loved her.
She looked along the river, to the bathing pavilion. Slowly, she stepped down from the carriage and went into the Arjuna grove. The trees were in flower: masses of tiny white buds hanging like snowy tresses amidst the green. She stepped between the deep buttressed roots of a tree which surrounded her like loving arms and put her hands and cheek gently against the trunk. This was his grove, planted for him.
The wind moved quietly through the leaves and sent a shower of petals floating down, carpeting the ground. She pulled off a little of the white, stringy bark and wound it around her finger. Opening the silver and pearl locket which contained the miniature drawings Nathanial had made of Tigran and her sons, she placed the coil of bark next to a lock of Tigran’s hair. She looked at his face, put his image to her lips, climbed into the carriage and sat. Waiting, waiting for something. For a sign, of forgiveness, she supposed, of peace. But all was silent, as silent as the jungle ever got, a calling of creatures, an incessant rustle. The river’s rush above all.
She took up the reins with a sigh, remembering the day Tigran had taught her to drive the carriage.
Then, without warning, a ray of late, brilliant sunlight pierced the grove and shot a gleaming arrow along the river, down, down to the sea. It was like a lava flow, turning the waters to gold. They both gasped and looked at each other.
Charlotte enclosed Tigran carefully in her heart. To the last, he had been Arjuna, the perfect knight. Whatever awaited, it was time to walk into this golden stream. Time to sail back across the warm, shallow seas to Singapore and see if she could find again Arcadia.
About the Author
Dawn Farnham was born in Portsmouth, England in 1949. Her parents emigrated to Perth, Western Australia, when she was two. She grew up a sandgroper, barefoot and free, roaming the bushy suburbs and beaches with her friends. In the 1960s she, like so many other young Aussies, left on a ship for London, aged seventeen. In the Swinging Sixties she met and married her journalist husband, moved to Paris, learned French and travelled round Europe in a Volkswagen Beetle.
As a foreign correspondent, her husband was posted to exotic locations and they lived in China, Hong Kong, Korea and Japan in the 1980s and 1990s. During this time she raised two daughters and taught English. Back in London she returned to school, doing a BA in Japanese at The School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) and a Master’s Degree at Kings College.
She and her husband now live in Singapore where she is a volunteer guide at the Asian Civilisations Museum. It is in this thriving port city-state that she found her muse and began to write, finding particular pleasure in Singapore’s colourful and often wild past. This is her second novel.
The Red Thread
A Chinese Tale of Love and Fate in 1830s Singapore
{ The Straits Quartet, Vol. 1 }
Dawn Farnham
Like Chinese silk, The Red Thread is, by turns, gentle and strong, exploring a love that breaks through the divide of race and culture, a love that is both deeply physical and a marriage of souls. Set against the backdrop of 1830s Singapore where piracy, crime, triads and tigers are commonplace, this cultural romance follows the struggle of two lovers: Zhen, once the loweliest of Chinese coolies and triad member, later chosen to marry into a Peranakan family of Baba Chinese merchants; and Charlotte, an 18-year-old Scots girl and sister of Singapore’s Head of Police. Two cultures bound together by the invisible threads of fate yet separated by cultural diversity. This is the first volume in The Straits Quartet.
By incorporating real figures from Singapore’s historical past, Dawn Farnham brings to life the heady atmosphere of Old Singapore, where exotic beliefs and customs clash and jostle in the struggle to make a life and create mutual understanding between peoples from different worlds.
The Hills of Singapore
A Landscape of Loss, Longing and Love
{ The Straits Quartet, Vol. 3 }
Dawn Farnham
Young, beautiful and wealthy, widow Charlotte Macleod leaves Batavia in the 1850s and returns to Singapore for the English education of her two young sons. She is determined not to be drawn back into a secret affair with Zhen, the married Chinese merchant, triad-member and man she loves who is, unbeknownst to him, the father of her eldest son, Alex. Charlotte is convinced she can find happiness in a respectable marriage with the attractive but reticent Captain Maitland. But when murder and death strike, Singapore erupts in the violence of triad wars and Zhen’s growing affection for Alex gives cause for alarm, she must make some hard decisions, for her children and herself. This is the third volume in The Straits Quartet.
Drawing on the real-life historical personalities of the time, Dawn Farnham mixes fact and fiction to paint a rich portrait of midnineteenth century Singapore and the realm of the White Rajah of Sarawak, at a time when triads, piracy and crime were rife and life in colonial Southeast Asia was anything but safe.
First published in print in 2008 by Monsoon Books
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Monsoon Books
ISBN (epub): 978-981-4358-41-5
ISBN (paperback): 978-981-08-1079-5
Copyright©Dawn Farnham, 2008
Cover photograph©National Museum of Singapore, National Heritage Board
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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