by Tess Enroth
“I want to tell you I feel marvelous and to thank you. Now I know why you wanted me to show Sam how I felt.”
“Yes, well, that’s all taken care of. But don’t forget about contraception. I hope I was sufficiently specific.”
“You were, but I confess I didn’t think about that at the time. But Sam did.”
“I should hope so. He is, after all, a father, many times over. You two have talked about it?”
“No, not exactly.”
“I don’t quite follow the exactly part, Florence.”
“I didn’t think. But he took care -with a handkerchief. He stopped, just before, I didn’t think, wasn’t sensible.”
“Hmmm. I know what you mean, Florence. The method has a nice Latin name, but it will not work, not in the long run.”
Adrianna frowned, and Florence knew from the authority in her friend’s voice, that she hadn’t been as sensible as Adrianna had hoped.
“I am astonished,” Adrianna said. “You must insist Sam be better prepared. It is very, very important for you, Florence.”
“Adrianna, you cannot imagine how ignorant I am and how little I understood these things. You are truly my friend to try to help.”
“Thank you, dear. Now just listen and remember: even though there is no perfect defense, you can lessen the risk. It is really Sam’s responsibility, too.”
Florence didn’t remember ever having being so happy. Each morning, after Sam was gone, she exercised the horses and came to know and love the countryside. Often, she rode where farmers carted their garden crops to town, and other times she followed the seashore. In the house, she adapted easily to her role and developed skills as she worked beside Yesil in the kitchen.
She learned to do things Nana had never let her try. She now could plunge a fowl into boiling water and pull off its smelly feathers by the handful, draw out entrails and clean the gizzard, too, and never flinch. She saw that, like Nana, Yesil did what needed to be done and seemed to take satisfaction in it.
Afternoons when the weather was very warm, the house stayed cool, and Florence had the house all to herself. She read books in English, keeping a big dictionary at her side and a notebook on her lap, and she wrote out questions to ask Sam when he came home.
On the days Sam didn’t go into town, they rode together. He taught her to handle guns and a rifle, but, although her aim was good, she seldom killed anything. She liked to watch him as he cleaned the guns and polished their boots. At summer’s end they tramped the meadows while Sam brought down pheasants, which Florence learned to cook and season well.
They always spoke in English now, and Florence propped her vocabulary cards against vases, candleholders, salt box, and tea caddy – wherever she might easily see them. He teased her about keeping some at their bedside for the words he used in making love, and for which she knew of no translation.
One Sunday they rode the horses along the beach and into Constanta and stopped near the market square to look at a stone monument, the life-sized figure of a man in a toga.
“The Greeks founded this city,” Sam said, “and later, a Roman emperor exiled a great poet here.”
The Poet’s image faced the sea, his flowing garments pitted and his features blunted, yet his words remained clear. Sam read and translated their ancient Latin:
OVID
DIED IN THE PORT CITY OF TOMIS
18 A.D.
All things change; Nothing dies.
The spirit wanders, Comes now here—
Now here—
“Sad, sad and forlorn,” Florence said. The wind suddenly felt cold and she shivered.
Sam held her hand as they rode home, and he spoke of the poet’s exile:
“Emperor Augustus banished Ovid because his love poems were too erotic – they turned love into sport or lessons in seduction. Ovid lived here for years and wrote about his yearning for home. However, he also learned the language of a people he had called barbarians, and they listened when he read ‘Tristia’ and his other works to them.”
“Then maybe his banishment wasn’t so bad, after all,” Florence said. “It is wise to make your home wherever you must be, don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed.”
That evening Sam told Florence about his own yearning, not for home, but for places he’d never seen. He dreamed, he said, of exploring Africa and finding the source of its great river.
She told him she understood his dream and showed him a poem she’d found in the Tennyson book.
“Ulysses was like you, Sam,” she said, “always wanting to travel, to go beyond the horizon and ‘follow knowledge like a sinking star.’“
Later with Sam sleeping beside her, Florence thought about the Greek hero who wanted to go away again, leaving his faithful wife alone. Was Sam that restless, too?
* * *
After dinner Florence tucked her feet up on the seat of the big leather chair facing the desk where Sam was reading practice sentences she had written. After that they did the questions and answers to work on verb tenses and vocabulary. Only English was allowed, and no dictionary. Florence framed an easy question:
“Tell me about a place you want to visit, and why.”
“I would like to explore the tombs of Egypt.”
“For how long have you wanted to travel there?”
“I dreamed of going there when I was ten.”
“Does that mean you no longer do?”
“Good! You caught the simple past – which did not tell you that I did and still do. Yes, I have dreamed of it, always. Now you tell me two things about yourself, using different tenses.”
“I had dreamed of seeing a sea. Now that I have seen one, I would like to see an ocean.”
“Very, very good. Where would you go, given a choice?”
“Given by who?”
“By whom. Given by fate or by me.”
“If I were to choose, I would go wherever you go.”
“Dear one, lessons aside, I want to talk about going to Africa, about the mystery of the Nile. All the places I read about as a boy: statues tall as buildings, vast deserts, great pyramids. I had books with photos taken by a Frenchman in Luxor and a book about Champollion, who deciphered hieroglyphs.”
“I, too, had dreams. Madteos promised Rina I would be educated, but there was no school for girls. He sent me to the priest, who taught me Latin and history and let me look at his books of pictures.”
“He did well by you. Do you know the Nile floods Egypt every year, but no one knows its source?”
“Can’t it be found by going up the river?”
“In theory, yes, but all navigation stops at the big rocky obstructions they call the cataracts. The Greeks believed the Nile’s source lay in the ‘Mountains of the Moon.’ I want to try to find it, and I want you to go with me.”
Florence was awed, and could not imagine such an expedition or of what use she would be.
“I had hoped to find a companion, a congenial man who shared my interest, but I’ve known of men who start as friends and come home the fiercest enemies, like Speke and Burton.” Sam explained those men’s quarrel over trifles and eventually over their major decisions, including Speke’s claim of finding the headwaters of the Nile.
“Speke is now readying another expedition, leaving from Zanzibar with another man.”
“Such an expedition must be very complicated. What do you take with you – how do you know what you will need?”
“The preparations are arduous, but once done, and done right, the journey is exciting and satisfying. But before I get started on that, I want to know if you will consider going with me. Having someone to talk with comfortably is essential, and I cannot imagine any person more suitable than you. I would never be bored or feel at odds with you.”
“Oh, Sam, I am surprised and overcome with pleasure that you would ask me. Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Why should you be surprised?”
Sam talked some while longer
about boats and camels, the desert and tents. Florence’s attention moved from what he said to his fervor and his words, like mission, moral obligations, and service to the Empire. He spoke of his ambition to be part of – to make history.
She also noticed he often said I and seldom said we.
“You are going, I see, and would go alone, if necessary. Isn’t that right?”
“I am determined to go, Florence, and I believe you are the perfect partner. But I must be sure you know, in-so-far as it is possible, the conditions you may face.” He ran his hand across his brow and down his face. “It’s another way in which I fear I may be acting with too little regard for your interests.”
“Because you want me and I want you,” she took a very deep breath, “and because I said I would go with you to the ends of the earth, you fear it’s unfair to ask me?”
“Precisely. I also believe you will enjoy it, but if I am wrong, you must tell me.”
His “mission” continued to puzzle her, and the unknown land frightened her, but parting with him would leave her desolate.
“I believe I’ll enjoy it- and even if at times I don’t, I’ll not regret this decision.”
Duleep Singh and Adrianna came to the house for a last visit before taking a steamer to Constantinople, after which Singh would go to a port on the Red Sea. Adrianna would then take a long voyage alone to Italy or France. Florence’s heart ached for her. She wondered if she would ever see Adrianna again and said as much to Adrianna after dinner as they sat by the fire with their coffee.
“Never is a word I dislike!” Adrianna said, but her voice grew wistful. “Who can say when we may meet again? Be happy with Sam, and remember me, always.”
“I will, of course I will. But I don’t see how Duleep Singh can part with you.”
“It is what must happen. I’ve known that from the start but did not expect to care this much.”
“Is there no chance of his changing his mind?”
“None whatsoever.” Adrianna lowered her eyes, and Florence took her hand, “Don’t worry about me, dear. It’s not the end of the world. I, too, am going home. It’s a lovely place to be. Eventually I’ll give parties, see friends, travel.”
“I hope I will become as resilient as you are.”
“I believe you are. I hope you won’t require more than you have already shown. Here. I’ve written where I live, a place you may come to should the need arise, at any time, whether or not I am there. If you write, your letters will always reach me.”
Florence couldn’t speak but took her friend’s hand.
Chapter 9
Each work day brought Sam new problems. Equipment broke down and replacement parts did not arrive. For little or no cause, untrained local crews threw down their picks and shovels and went at each other with their fists. When Sam waded into a fight to pull them apart, the Barkleys made it clear they thought his behavior beneath a manager. They didn’t approve his dirtying his hands, and they regarded Sam’s interference as a lack of respect for their work.
“They cannot be satisfied! Their kind resent us if we act as if we’re their betters, and they detest us if we don’t,” Sam said, “Their distrust is irrational.”
There were good days, too, when he and Jack Barkley talked about hunting or about their fathers’ great railroad work. So after securing Florence’s consent, Sam asked the brothers to his home for dinner and was incensed by their refusal. He again blamed their resentment of class and privilege, and said he did not deserve their inverted snobbery since his own forefathers had earned their wealth and position.
So, Sam tried to steer clear of laborers trading insults and thereby to maintain the British class barriers. He tried to stay in the office, filing reports, revising plans, and requisitioning materials. The operation looked efficient on paper, yet the track-laying failed to meet deadlines.
A company director came out from England, arriving at the very moment Sam thought should have made the problem clear to all. Sam was standing above an excavation where an alert workman had found artifacts, when he saw a tall, silver-haired gentleman picking his way across the muddy ground. Charles Liddell stepped up to introduce himself, and Sam left the edge of the trench with a coin in one hand and a jawbone in the other.
“You can see what’s going on here. Most of the workers will dig a straight line to hell and back unless they’re given directions, but one of them alerted me to this.” Sam held out the jawbone. “I’ve asked Henry and Jack to interpret blueprints for the workers and to instruct them. It’s why they’re here.”
“I can see you’re up against difficult conditions. I came because Price is fussing over too high costs and too few miles gained. He’s a desk man, you know, and has little idea what you may face out here. Can you send the Barkleys and a crew to work another section until archaeologists are found?”
“If this were the only thing!”
“Price regards the Barkleys as first rate, and, well, let’s say we had expected more progress.”
“I am impatient, myself. It’s hard not to be when you see history being obliterated.” Sam laid the Roman coin in Liddell’s hand. “What is right under our feet is not merely an annoying stretch of hardpan. It is a Roman market from Trajan’s time.”
That evening Sam told Florence a company executive had come out to investigate and had, Sam felt, reprimanded him. “He’s disappointed in me, and rightly so.”
Florence listened, and then insisted Sam should not take all the blame.
“Perhaps he would accept our hospitality. Why not ask him to come to dinner?”
“Good idea. He’s a reasonable man, and over a brandy, we might get on better terms. He is a gentleman, after all.”
During and after dinner, Sam and Charles talked of shooting and fishing and of ancient voyagers who found their way to this place so far from Rome. They carefully avoided talking railway business but touched on the obstacles to getting along with foreigners. When talk turned to horses, Liddell asked Florence if she got on well with animals.
“I was around horses as a child, I very much like riding. As Sam may have told you, he brought me a black mare. I call her Maia because Sam brought her here in May. We’ve ridden country lanes as well as the beach.”
“You are enjoying this part of Europe then?”
“I love the sea.”
Liddell didn’t follow this by asking her where her people lived, as Sam expected he might. Instead he praised her for managing splendidly in a foreign land and added, “This end of Europe, beyond Vienna, has always seemed an untamed place – Slavic and all that.”
Sam saw Florence’s eyes lose their sparkle, but she said nothing to him, neither at the moment nor later.
The rest of Liddell’s visit did seem to go well, but Sam decided, nevertheless, that he was not going to stay on the job but would resign soon. He had better things to think about.
In the study, books and papers piled up on desk, tables, and floor as Sam filled notebooks with information. He wrote dozens of queries and orders to suppliers, developed lists of scientific instruments and medical equipment, medicines and arms, tinned foods, air-tight containers, and canvas. He responded Florence’s astonishment at how many items he deemed necessary by saying she should imagine living in a tent for a month, and then list every single item she would need for comfort as well as for survival, day and night. And then multiply it by thirty.
“Write down everything, no matter how small the need or how seldom the use. Planning well is essential to survival in an unfamiliar place for long periods of time. To live well in any place, one must equip oneself well. This means instruments and medicines as well as some foods and reading material. So think, Florence! Think what you require!”
After a week she gave him a list, commenting that much of it seemed trivial.
“Ah, but a good plan lies in its details. Remember, we are not idle tourists,” he said and posited a life without markets full of familiar goods, without repairmen to fix an
ything that breaks. “In addition, every person we employ will have to be trained in the most rudimentary tasks. Also, we must be responsible observers. We have to discern the nature of the land, all it yields, vegetable and mineral, and make accurate records for those who follow us.”
“You make it sound very difficult,” she said. “I don’t know how much help I can be to you.”
“Much of it will become routine. You will find it exciting. You’ll be amazed by how much you can do, how much you’ll want to do. You and I, step by step, Florrie, will open a continent, a place so abundant in sun and water, so favored by nature, that access to it will change the world.”
“You make it seem so important, as if we would make history. It frightens me a little.”
“We will make history, Florence. Do not doubt it. And you will be splendid. I know it.”
Sam put the lists and books in order and cleaned off the desk for Florence to use for her English lessons. When Liddell left for Budapest, Sam would go with him to talk to Price about the project and his own resignation. After that Sam would meet his brother James, who was willing to come all the way to Vienna. Primarily Sam wanted to ask James to order rifles, to be made to Sam’s specifications, in Mannheim or Essen, and to ship a great many household items from England to Cairo.
Sam told Florence he would have to be away a month, perhaps more, but he did not mention his need to talk with James about her. He wanted James to know about Florence in the event that something happened to him. Sam would rely on his brother to see that she was provided for.
In addition, if all went well and he returned with Florence to England, Sam wanted James to be his ally in dealings with the family.
* * *
Florence hadn’t anticipated Sam’s going away. She wished Adrianna were still near during his absence, for she had been feeling melancholy. She hoped her moods were caused by the early darkness of autumn. Maybe it would be good for her to be alone so she might contemplate all the changes since Widdin, as well as the ones she would soon face.
Their time in Constanta had been idyllic. She and Sam had learned to be comfortable together in every way, from making love and taking leisurely rides through the countryside to doing their mundane tasks. Under Sam’s tutelage her English had truly progressed, and their life was peaceful. Yet she was moody and tired and, in Sam’s company, expended a great effort to hide it.