The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  ‘”Ma’am, I find you to be a very insolent person, and while I’ll gladly waiver our fee, I do have one question. When you visit your thunder mug at night, your face all contorted as you wrestle to squeeze out that diabolical giant turd, no doubt caused by your luxurious lifestyle and a true reflection of your physique, please tell me, does your shit stink or does it have a whiff of roses about it?”’

  Silence followed as more than one pair of eyes glanced at the lady at the table, and when a smile formed on her lips, the room erupted all at once with the lot bursting out in bouts of laughter. Wine spilled on the table, chairs and clothes. Body parts jerked uncontrollably, sending plates and cutlery clattering to the floor. One man fell off his chair, cackling hysterically and sending the others into a renewed frenzy.

  Finn, himself in a fit of laughter, struggled to finish the story. ‘I…I didn’t know where the calm outburst came from. Maybe my good friend here had listened in on one too many conversations by the nobles who had attended the bawdyhouse. Nonetheless, neither of us cared if we lost her business or not. In fact, a slammed door nearly flying out of its frame confirmed it for us. But gentlemen, and ma’am,’ – he touched his fingers to his forehead, acknowledging Isabella – ‘the look on her face…oh dearie me…the look on her face was worth all the money in the world.’

  Tristan loved the story. He could remember saying most of those things. Whether it had happened exactly as described was a different story, but he liked Finn’s account better.

  As the night wore on, conversation weaned off, and it was Isabella who excused herself first, causing those who had been seated for most of the night attempting in vain to find their legs. Those who succeeded tried their best to look and sound respectable as they bid the lady a good night. Tristan followed shortly after, leaving his officers with a firm request. ‘Gentlemen, get some rest, for who knows what tomorrow will bring.’

  When he arrived at the cabin, he knocked softly and entered. Isabella was standing by the new commode, her naked back to him. She had placed her golden knife on the stand, within arm’s reach. She had loosened the cotton shirt, which was bundled around her middle, while she washed herself with water from a ceramic basin. The flickering candlelight danced patterns across her olive skin, giving it a lively bronze glow as it jumped from arm to shoulder to back to breasts to neck with each movement she made.

  Tristan stood rooted to the spot, mesmerised and afraid that anything he did or said would wake him from the dream that unfolded in front of him. Isabella glanced at him seductively, undid her breeches and then proceeded to lower all her clothing to the ground. She stood upright and proud, her pert breasts riding high on her chest before she placed one foot on the chair, gently sponging her long, toned leg with the cloth. Her leg gleamed in the dull light, and after she had rubbed it dry, she proceeded with the other one, painstakingly slow, glancing at him, smiling when she saw the lust in his eyes.

  When she was done, she faced him in all her newborn glory, held out her arm and signalled with her finger for him to come closer. He could not remember walking to her. It was like an invisible force dragged him gently across the wooden floor and delivered him right in front of her, and once there, he stood like a statue, watching her fingers loosen the strings of his weathered coat.

  ‘Are you—‘

  ‘Shhh,’ she whispered, placing a finger on his lips.

  Are you sure? thought Tristan.

  It did not take long for him to join her, standing naked, his skin pale compared to hers. They marvelled at each other, enjoying the moment, like they were discovering each other all over again, without a single touch.

  ‘Love me,’ she whispered and stepped backwards, pulling him on top of her as she lay down. Her skin was warm and still damp under his. When his lips searched hers out, he found them soft and inviting. They kissed passionately, rolled around feverishly on the bedding, and made the straw mattress rustle noisily underneath their entwined weight.

  Her breasts rubbed across his chest, setting her nipples on fire, the tiny nubbins pressing into his flesh and letting him know her hunger. Tristan suddenly pulled away and looked into her eyes questioningly. She responded. Her hand grabbed his penis and guided it to the wet opening between her legs.

  Tristan entered her tentatively, pushing into her tight sheath little by little, driving them both to the brink of insanity. Her hands strayed down to his back, grabbed his buttocks and pulled him towards her while she lifted her hips, burying him to the hilt and filling her yearning void. A loud gasp stopped him from moving.

  ‘No, don’t stop!’ she demanded.

  There was an ancient rhythm to their lovemaking, rising and falling, teasing each other with short and gentle thrusts, followed by deep and powerful ones. Isabella lifted her legs and encircled his waist, the heels of her feet digging into the back of his thighs as she drew him in deeper and faster.

  Suddenly she cried out, reaching the point of no return and Tristan followed soon after, collapsing on top of her heaving chest as the throes of ecstasy reverberated through their bodies. He slid off her, and they lay entwined in each other’s arms surrounded by a peaceful bliss, neither of them speaking, too afraid they might spoil the moment.

  Their naked and sweaty bodies soon felt the night’s chill, and they covered themselves with bedding, lying close together, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat which had finally returned to normal.

  ‘Are you feeling fine? Did I hurt you?’ asked Tristan finally.

  ‘No. It was like our first time together, if not better.’ Her voice was one of content.

  Tristan sighed with relief. ‘I remember that well. I’d never seen anyone more beautiful in all of my life. And again tonight, when you were standing there, washing yourself. I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds.’

  She smiled and snuggled up to him. ‘I wish we could stay here. Like this. Forever.’

  ‘We can try. I’m sure I will find some hardtack, perhaps even jerked beef in my chest over there. There’s still water left in the jug. Love, hardtack and water…that should last us a while. Command me, and I will lock the doors.’

  She laughed. He loved hearing her laugh.

  ‘I get to command the captain? Is this because I have my hand on his whipstaff?’ Isabella asked facetiously, while her hand crept between his legs, cradling his flaccid penis.

  ‘Aye. That too.’ His mood was jubilant and his heart warm, for he saw shades of the old Isabella that had returned over the past few weeks, and it was close to coming full circle. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘To see and to know that you’re feeling better fills me with so much joy.’

  ‘That makes two of us. You should thank the doctor. If it weren’t for him—’

  ‘I know, I owe him much. Nevertheless, I’m pleased that you’re well again.’

  Still lying down, she shuffled, propping herself up on one elbow. Then she spoke, and he listened, her husky voice bewitching his whole being. ‘It feels strange now, knowing how much power one has in oneself. I remember the doctor and I talking about that particular night, my parents, those men, and what they did to me. He explained to me that all the darkness, the dark thoughts that clogged up my mind, were, and still are, actually controlled by me, no one else. And that I also have the power to make them go away by focusing on those things and people that are good in my life, starting with the smallest of things. A smile, a laugh, a friendly face, the warmth of the sun, the smell of the rain, the dawn of a new day, the funny little man,’ – she smiled to herself, then looked up at him – ‘you.’

  Tristan ran his fingers endearingly through her tangled hair while she carried on. ‘He said the good in your life, things that one could be thankful for, will always outweigh the evil that haunts you. Where does a man of science learn such things?’ Before Tristan could answer, she said, ‘Thank you for letting me spend so much time with him.’

  ‘I’m glad you have found comfort in the do
ctor’s teachings. You should know that he’d offered his time willingly and that I gladly accepted.’ Then he remembered. ‘Many years ago, a good friend of mine was killed by some savages. I struggled with his death and wanted to take revenge on an African chief. Jabari stopped me just in time. I fought many demons that particular day, and on some days thereafter. I can still call to mind, the two of us sitting on the beach and talking well into the night. He told me a story. I can’t recollect it all, but he said, “When your ship is sinking, all broken up, you swim for the nearest rock, for safety and to get your breath back. That rock becomes your salvation, a place that provides refuge and gives you a clear mind to assess your options. Every man needs to find his rock in this life. But to get there, you might have to go through stormy waters.” I’m afraid I don’t have the wisdom to help you, and even if I had, love would surely murk my mind, but I am just thankful that you have found your rock.’

  Isabella nodded discerningly, then moved back on top of him, resting her elbows on his chest, head in her hands and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Do you love me?’

  The sudden change in subject caught him off-guard, yet the answer came with ease. ‘Unequivocally.’

  ‘Even after everything that happened?’

  ‘Now even more so.’

  ‘Why?’

  Tristan propped himself up against the wall, resting his back against the very same pillows he had acquired to make the cabin more epicene. She lay waiting in anticipation. ‘The day we first met, on the pier at Embomma, when I first lay eyes on you, I was immediately smitten. That has never happened to me before. Well, perhaps once. But in my defence, I was young and foolish, and she was my first love, but that is a story for another day.’ Suddenly he had so much that he wanted to tell her. Since he had found her in Loanda that night, there had also been so many questions that he had wanted to ask, on so many nights, for such a long time. The words came flooding almost faster than he could blurt them out.

  ‘We arrived in Africa to hunt exotic, beautiful and dangerous animals, and the first thing that I saw was you, the most exotic, beautiful and quite possibly the most dangerous creature God has put on this earth, for you’ve captured all of me without pulling a sword or a gun.’ His voice turned serious as he wondered if she knew the sway she held over him. ‘Isabella, you’re not like any other woman I’ve ever met. There’s passion and mettle in you, the kind that I’ve never seen before.’ Tristan had heard the words in La Boutique, and they had stuck, so he tried out what little French he knew. ‘You have a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about you.’ He loved the surprised look on her face. ‘I knew it the day we first met when I heard you speak for the first time. Your voice can make a boy feel like a man. The smell of roses when you walked past. Your fiery eyes. And you almost pulled your dagger on me. Remember?’ As she cast her mind back, she smiled with him, her dimples accentuated by the dim light.

  Tristan cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘Even throughout the vile things that have occurred at Embomma, your mother and father, your disappearance, not once did I give up hope. Fate delivered me to your doorstep, but ‘twas our faith in each other that brought us back together. And amidst it all, your resilience drove me, and it will undoubtedly help you conquer this ordeal.

  ‘But then I became too complacent. The other day when you drank the bottle of medicine, I’d been too busy with other shit – the ship, the crew – so I am partially to blame. No one should face such adversity alone, and I should’ve been there for you. I almost lost you. God knows if I had…but that’s done now, and it belongs to the past.’

  Her warm body next to him was quiet. He knew it would be difficult for her to ever talk about that day, to acknowledge the guilt and hurt, so he let her be. Some things were better left alone.

  ‘Are you ready to return home, to Embomma?’ he wondered out loud. Immediately he felt her tense up and fearing he had just unleashed an unnecessary storm of dark clouds, he hugged her tightly and gradually felt her body relax.

  ‘I’m not returning home. Embomma is just another place now, where there is nothing of interest to me. But the doctor said it would be good to go. “Closure,” he called it. To go to our old house, salvage what I can and close the door behind me. Like you’ve said, it belongs to the past now, and we should look ahead, at what the future may hold.’

  Together they lay, quietly dreaming of what that future might be, to each his own.

  She was breathing deeper now. ‘Isabella?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied sleepily.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there…I’m sorry I wasn’t there the night that it happened.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Nobody could’ve foretold it.’

  Tristan looked through the small gap between the curtains into the darkness outside while he gently stroked her hair, waiting for her to fall asleep. It was the first proper conversation they had had in a long time, and he had a feeling of contentedness deep inside, knowing that everything would be fine.

  When her breathing finally became deeper, and her body relaxed into his, he slowly manoeuvred himself away and out of the bed. For the first time, he had possibly left the ship in charge of some very intoxicated men and he needed to check for himself that they were still on the right bearing, and not making head for the nearest land, where a rugged and unforgiving coastline, strewn with rocky outcrops, would await them. How ironic it would be, he smiled at the thought.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Darling! I thought the day would never come. Not so soon anyway, but here you are in flesh and bone.’ Cuthbert’s face beamed, and it took every ounce of reservation he possessed not to run around the table and hug the blond-haired man. When he had first heard that Silveira’s ship was sailing up the river and that a white man fitting Tristan’s description had been spotted on her deck, his heart had fluttered a few times. The drums rarely got it wrong, and on this occasion, he was extremely grateful.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Cuthbert,’ said Tristan smilingly. The old merchant’s jubilation was catching, and Tristan returned the podgy man’s blithe welcome with equal buoyancy, his happiness strangely elevated by setting foot on land for a change. ‘If I didn’t know any better we would’ve sailed past the place. Such has been the sea change.’

  ‘Renewal and progress go hand in hand most of the time, Mr Conway. Isn’t it splendid what can be achieved in such little time?’

  Tristan nodded. Spring had truly sprung in Embomma. Green seedlings from recently sown crops dotted the freshly tilled fields all around the settlement. Trees and brushes were in full bloom, filling the air with an array of sweet and spicy fragrances, almost too pungent for an inexperienced nose. Flowers were everywhere. Even on the desk behind Cuthbert, a vase filled with freshly cut lilies gave colour to the normally bland interior of the warehouse. The once partially filled warehouse was now bursting at the seams with goods and workers.

  But it was not Embomma’s flora that had attracted his attention first. Walking to the warehouse, he had noticed many changes. Gone were the hovels of those who had been banished from the village. Where they had gone, Tristan did not know. Up the road, the derelict tavern had been pulled down, and in its place, a larger building with a distinct African tone to it had taken shape. From the bottom of the street, it still looked like a tavern, but it was a far cry from the original sty that had occupied the space. New faces had greeted him the further he had walked down the main road on his way to Cuthbert’s warehouse, foretelling of the progress that had been made in his absence.

  The hollowed-out shell that used to be the Morgan mansion had been removed, and in its place, a quaint cottage with much less exuberance had risen up from the rubble and ashes. It did not scream of pre-eminence. Instead, it portrayed a much subtler picture, one that spoke of equality. The most noticeable change had been the Portuguese fort, the large structure seemingly swallowed up by the African village, itself now a vast settlement, which stretched from just beyond the town’s boundary to t
he foot of the large hill to the north.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it, Mr Cuthbert, perhaps over dinner tonight. But I’m afraid the reason for this particular visit is purely business and the quicker we can get it out of the way, the sooner we can move onto trivial matters.’

  ‘Darling, you must be confusing my place of work with a British coffee house, those places where the London hens and roosters go for their daily dose of clack. And while your affairs sound rather urgent, I can assure you that Embomma’s progress isn’t a trivial matter to me.’ Cuthbert’s attempt at scorn contained a good measure of genuineness.

  ‘My sincere apologies, Mr Cuthbert. I meant no disrespect. ‘Tis just…what I’m about to ask is critical for our next voyage and knowing the amount of time such intricate matters take to arrange, I fear there’s not a minute to spare.’

  Cuthbert quickly softened up for he could not stay mad at the lad with the boyish charm. Deep down though he knew that the town owed much of its newfound prosperity to the young man in front of him, a selfless act that they would be eternally grateful for. Furthermore, he would be lying if he said that he was not slightly intrigued as to the nature of this urgent business. ‘Well, if you put it that way, I guess we’ll have to get on with it then.’ He offered Tristan a mug filled with lukewarm tea, flavoured with lemon and honey, and invited him to take a seat.

  Tristan explained everything that had transpired since they had last spoken and much to Cuthbert’s surprise, he managed to keep relatively calm amidst the young man’s intriguing tale, one that was told with brutal honesty and clarity, exactly as eyes had borne witness to it. When Tristan had finished, Cuthbert could not have had a clearer picture in his mind of what the young man intended to do and the exact help he needed in the form of patronage and coin. We need a stronger drink, he thought. Miguel was summoned, and not long after, the two men sipped on a spiced rum, favoured by the merchant for special occasions or when deep contemplation was required.