by Sarah Lark
Doug wondered where the young woman came from, and thought briefly about following her, but that was surely not easy. In any case, the swimmer had now disappeared back into the undergrowth, was undoubtedly getting dressed, and would then get back onto her horse. Doug had hoped that she would do all this on the beach, so he could catch another glimpse of her, but he was left disappointed. The horse disappeared between the trees.
The woman had to ride the path that would first lead to the Fortnam plantation, then to the Hollisters’ property — and then three or four more plantations. Such a horse would be fast, and such a bold swimmer would probably also be a courageous rider. She could have come from anywhere and also must have felt quite safe, or else she wouldn’t have so naturally and shamelessly undressed like that.
Doug wasn’t surprised by her actions. After all, he had spent half of his childhood on this beach and no one had ever bothered him and Akwasi. Akwasi had actually been forbidden from going to the beach. At most, the slaves were permitted to catch a few fish for the master’s table under supervision. There were strict penalties for going alone — it would be too easy to swim out from the bay, be carried away from Kingston by the waves, and then hide somewhere in the jungle. Naturally, there were sharks outside of the bay, but slaves took a lot of risks to escape. Aside from the fact that there was enough wood lying around in the jungle to construct a raft within a few hours. Akwasi and Doug had even done it themselves. He smiled at the memory of the huts they had built from leaves and branches, and their attempt to carve out a tree trunk to make a canoe.
Doug commanded Amigo, who had reacted to the departure of the black mare with a snort of disappointment, to go, and then turned the horse back onto the beach. But he no longer had the desire to gallop. Instead, he let the horse go at a gentle trot, and hoped he’d be able to catch up to the young beauty and speak with her naturally.
Amigo seemed to be able to take quite a bit of pleasure in this idea.
The little stallion trotted on, ready for adventure.
Christmas Day was Akwasi’s only free day of the year, and he used it the same way he used every spare moment since the day of his punishment: to follow Nora Fortnam around. Akwasi knew that it was stupid, as well as risky, to covet a white woman, but he couldn’t restrain himself. No matter how hard he worked and how exhausted he was, and no matter how many times he told himself that she was one of the hated backras who had enslaved him — he dreamed of her every night, and could not think clearly during the day if he didn’t see her. In the morning, he was happy to meet her when she was examining the sick — for the past few weeks, he’d even dared to greet her. After all, Máanu was always with her and at some point he had simply done the usual “hello, Máanu” and then added a “good morning, Missis.” The overseer had snapped at it, but the missis seemed to like it. In any case, she graciously said, “Hello, Akwasi!” back to him. With that, Akwasi floated off into a blissful dreamland that carried him through the entire, miserably hot day that he spent planting sugar cane cuttings. The job was even harder than the harvest, since one had to work in the blazing sun, whereas the long stalks of sugar cane at least provided shade while harvesting.
Both Máanu and the missis always smiled back when Akwasi greeted them from that point onward, and Akwasi would be intoxicated by the sweet sound of Nora’s voice. The missis also seemed to have nothing against him approaching them in the evenings and offering to help care for the sick. From time to time, Akwasi dared to hope that she returned his affections. She couldn’t possibly love the backra. It was absolutely unthinkable that such an angelic creature felt anything for the man who had put Akwasi through hell fourteen years earlier.
On this Christmas Day, the gods had set aside a special gift for the young man, although he feared not being able to see Nora. In the evening, the Fortnams hosted a party and, of course, the missis oversaw the preparations. The field slaves were free — as far as the house slaves were concerned, because their own free day had been suspended until further notice — and Nora didn’t come to the slave quarters that morning. In turn, Akwasi had strolled over to the kitchen of the manor house. Maybe he could at least see Nora from there — and if not, then maybe a little treat would fall from the backra’s table. Máanu readily pampered Akwasi whenever she had the opportunity — this time she smiled, put her finger to her lips, and led him out from the hustle and bustle in the kitchen toward the stream. Then she produced a piece of honey cake from the folds of her dress.
“Here, have a taste!” she laughed. “It’s unbelievably sweet, the missis had the recipe and my mother baked it for the first time today. Once you’ve tried it, you’ll never want anything else …”
“Where is the missis?” He then asked, nonchalantly.
Máanu answered, unsuspectingly. “Oh, she’s just taking another hour off. For as long as the backra controls the wine supply, and refills the rum, and lays out the cigars, or whatever else a fine gentleman does before a Christmas party. She wants to get her horse and go for a ride — alone, as the stable boys are also off today. She said she could saddle it herself. And I think she can manage it!”
“Where is she riding on her own?” Akwasi asked, although he could think of the answer.
He had never been able to accompany Nora to the beach — it was impossible to escape the work group — but he knew that she took walks there. Now, she was undoubtedly taking advantage of the hour to visit her favorite place before the guests arrived. And Akwasi would finally get a chance to see what she did there!
So, the young slave trotted out to the beach, anxious, and careful about not being seen. He came upon Nora’s mare, Aurora, and nimbly climbed a palm tree nearby. The young slave was burning with desire when he saw his mistress slip out of her dress and undergarments, untie her hair, and then dive naked into the sea without any inhibition. He would have never expected it — it was more the type of thing that Máanu would do. But now the white woman was actually swimming into the middle of the bay, letting herself float on the water, playing with the waves like … well, like a completely normal woman. Akwasi had often seen the young slave girls go out to the beach. Secretly, of course — or at least under the guise of being unnoticed, as the girls’ constant giggling inevitably lured the boys after them. Was Nora perhaps doing this now in order to lure Akwasi here? Did she think of him, did she pine after him just as he did her? Akwasi watched his mistress dry her hair and lost himself in the idea that she could take him in her arms if he came out from his hiding place.
After her swim, Nora was clearly in a hurry. She skillfully mounted her horse. She didn’t need any help swinging herself into the sidesaddle. Then the horse trotted towards the plantation, and Akwasi slowly followed, always remaining the shadows of the trees. He would certainly not get to see any more of her today, and she would probably be entertaining the overnight guests in the morning. Máanu would come to the slave quarters alone. Akwasi sighed. He always found it annoying when Máanu came alone. She would show up earlier and visit his hut. Of course, the tasty morsels that she brought along were always welcome, but the others he shared quarters with seemed to thoroughly misconstrue the situation. They would always quickly clear out of the hut with some sort of flimsy excuse, grinning or whispering dirty jokes to Akwasi. And then he had to see how to fill the time until the start of work with conversation, as Máanu did everything to make herself seem as tantalizing as possible. It was quite clear that she was after him — but he couldn’t just snub her, as she was the only reason he had for appearing at the house without the missis getting suspicious.
Akwasi wandered absentmindedly toward the plantation, when he heard hoof beats behind him. Startled, the slave threw himself into the bushes. Was it a patrol? Had one of the overseers grown suspicious? Had there been a roll call and he was not present?
Doug Fortnam probably wouldn’t have even noticed the man in the undergrowth, as he was also preoccupied, torn between the pleasant memory of the woman at the sea and his in
creasing anxiety about the upcoming encounter with his father. Amigo, however, saw the black man and was spooked. Doug had already noticed it in Kingston: the little horse was not accustomed to dark-skinned people. He had probably only recently been shipped from Spain. Doug peered into the forest.
Akwasi fluctuated between wanting to run away and attempting to seem innocent. Strictly speaking, he had done nothing wrong, as he was not forbidden from walking in the forest on his free day. He just couldn’t get caught at the beach.
“Come out front here, I won’t hurt you!”
Something about the voice or the words caught Akwasi’s attention. In any case, it was not a Scottish accent and thus not the overseer. The slave stepped as calmly as possible out onto the road. The white man’s horse sidled about.
Akwasi looked at the man on the nervous, brown horse. Average height, muscular, blond locks that could hardly be confined to a modern braid. The angular, sympathetic face had a dark tan and was dominated by vibrant, blue eyes. A face that Akwasi didn’t like. It reminded him too much of the hated backra …
Doug would not have recognized Akwasi. However, when the strong, black man stepped out into the sunlight, he saw a scar on his cheek, below his right eye.
It had long been healed, but it caught Doug’s attention, because the injury had still been fresh at the time and because he had given it to the boy himself. Naturally, it had been an accident — the boys had been practicing fencing with wooden swords and Doug’s weapon slipped and broke into pieces. The jagged wood tore open Akwasi’s cheek. Doug could still feel how ashamed and worried he had been about the boy.
“Ak … Akwasi?” he whispered.
Akwasi looked up at him, but he was not smiling back at Doug, as he would have expected upon their reunion.
“Backra Douglas,” he said curtly, and bowed.
Doug jumped down from his horse. “Akwasi! What is this? Are you not happy to see me again? Heavens, I would have never expected that you were still here! I thought that Father must certainly … Akwasi!” The young man started towards Akwasi to put his arms around him.
Akwasi took a step back. “His very happy nigger, see Backra Douglas again,” he remarked, but the hateful expression in his eyes belied his words.
Alarmed, Doug furrowed his brow and persisted. “But what’s wrong, Akwasi? Why are you talking so … so … have you forgotten your English?” He tried to smile.
“Nigger not good in speech of Backra,” Akwasi said, bowing again. He glared at Doug. “Backra know, nigger stupid.”
“Akwasi, this is crazy!” Doug looked at his old friend in disbelief. When they were separated, both boys had been the same size, but now Akwasi towered over him by half a head. “And look how big you are!” Maybe it would ease the tension if he approached the conversation differently. “I certainly couldn’t defeat you at wrestling these days!”
“Nigger don’t wrestle with Backra.”
“Akwasi!” Doug rubbed his forehead helplessly. “Akwasi, what shall I do? Why are you angry with me? Of course, I was away long, but that wasn’t my choice, I can assure you of that. And now I am back … I am so glad to be back. … I was never so happy as I was here. And you—”
Akwasi snorted. “As I say, welcome, Backra,” he forced out between his clenched teeth, “to happiest place in world.”
With that, he abruptly turned to leave. Doug went stiff when he saw his old friend’s back. He looked at the scars and fresh wounds in horror. Akwasi must have been beaten just a few days ago. Doug ran after his old friend. “Akwasi, your back! That … I didn’t know—”
Akwasi laughed derisively. “And? What would Backra have done if he know? Would rise on a cloud, fly here, and strike down overseer with sword from cloud like spirit in picture?”
Doug remembered the cheap painting that had hung over his bed throughout his childhood: a guardian angel who saved a little boy from harm with his flaming sword. Of course, it was a white boy.
“Speak properly, Akwasi!” Doug said, tormented.
He walked beside Akwasi and the two had almost reached the plantation. They could already see the slave huts in the afternoon light.
“I no speak anymore, Backra,” Akwasi replied. “Not allowed field nigger talk to Backra — and for Backra it is below his dignity to talk to nigger.” The last sentence, almost grammatically correct, belied Akwasi’s words, but now he was able to avoid conversing with Douglas anyway. There was a path leading to a secluded hut where Akwasi hardly knew the inhabitants, but would visit them now anyway. Just to get away from the main road, just to get away from Doug!
Douglas didn’t follow him — he was upset and wouldn’t be able to find the right words today. Anyway, it was time to go to the house. At least he wasn’t afraid of the encounter with his father any longer, as nothing could be worse than seeing his old friend again.
CHAPTER 2
Doug was surprised to see such hustle and bustle at the stables. He had only expected one man to be there in case of emergency, as the rest should have been free that day. Instead, the stable master and the boys were all in uniform, and all of the stalls were clean and ready for visiting horses. The stable master stepped up to Doug, whom no one there recognized.
“I’ll take your horse, sir, Backra. Surely you want to freshen up.” He glanced almost disapprovingly at Doug’s breeches, which looked quite bad next to his stately uniform. “Georgie leads you to the house …” He pointed to a small boy who was likely at the ready for errands or deliveries.
Doug shook his head, smiling. “So formal, Peter?” He teased the slave.
Peter had been the stable master when Doug and Akwasi were still giggling in the stables. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the wig. Whose idea was that?”
The slave had been wearing an elaborate, white wig, like a butler in England, ever since his master assigned him to work for the celebration. Peter looked distressed. “Backra know me?” he asked with uncertainty.
Doug nodded. “Of course, Peter. Don’t you recognize me? Think it over! Who put chains under the saddle blanket of old Hollister’s horse so that it bucked when he mounted?”
Peter surveyed Doug’s face, and then grinned.
“Backra Douglas!”
Doug made his second attempt that day to hug an old friend, and was not rejected this time. The old stable master returned the greeting a bit shyly with a clumsy but heartfelt hug.
“I didn’t know, Backra Doug, that you coming home! Backra Elias said nothing!”
Doug laughed. “So, you’re not all dressed up for me? Now I’m disappointed. Or do you always run around like this now that my father has wooed an arrogant lady from England?”
He looked with amusement at the faces of the stable boys in their blue-and-silver livery.
Peter shook his head. “Oh no! Missis good, Missis angel!” None of the workers had a bad thing to say about Nora.
“But today Christmas, big celebration in house, many backras and missis, music, dance … all dressed up nice, even nigger.” He turned to Doug, grinning.
“Well, just be careful that you don’t mess it up!” Doug began to leave. “You’ll take care of my horse, won’t you? He’s not as crazy as he’s acting now.” Amigo had begun to nervously shift around as a stable boy came over to him. “But he is afraid of black men.”
Peter made a dismissive gesture. “Was exactly the same with horse from Missis,” he then said, “that changed when we gave a bit of oat.”
Doug reassured himself on his way to the house that the party would mean his father would have no opportunity to question him right away, and after this evening, half of Jamaica would know that Douglas Fortnam was back. So, there was no way his father could transport him on the next ship back to England. Realizing this, gave Doug the courage for the encounter with Elias. He briefly thought about whether to use the main entrance, or to sneak in through the kitchen, but then he decided on the official way. He could greet Mama Adwe later, as her hands were surely ful
l now, anyway.
Even the front door was watched by a servant in livery.
“Whom shall I announce?” the servant asked stiffly, and leafed nervously through a guest list. He undoubtedly knew all of the expected guests, as it was impossible that he could read. “I don’t know if—”
“I was not actually invited,” Doug helped him out of the uncomfortable position. “But please tell the backra that his son Douglas Fortnam has arrived.”
Elias came to the door himself, apparently hardly able to believe what the slave had reported.
“Douglas!” Elias looked at his son. “I really was not expecting you. Why are you …?”
Doug tried to force a smile. “Wouldn’t you first like to welcome me in, Father? And it certainly can’t come to you as such a surprise — it was always agreed that I would come home when I’d finished my studies.”
Elias’s rather reluctant facial expression gave way to a beaming smile. “So, I have a lawyer standing before me in the flesh! Congratulations, my boy!”
Doug gave into his embrace, although he would’ve preferred to avoid it. “More or less,” he confirmed, as he followed his father into the master bedroom. Luckily, there were still no other guests present.
Elias reached for a rum decanter. “Let’s drink to that! What do you mean … ‘more or less’?“