The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel (40 page)

In three days I have learnt no fewer than forty-five new words of Twi, including the names of a variety of kitchen utensils and several diseases. That bodes well.

21 February 1850

You should have seen their faces. At luncheon today I surprised the officers by addressing them exclusively in Twi. It was quite easy, the words and phrases came tumbling out of my mouth of their own accord. Opening the shutters and letting fly, that is all it takes.

Note in the governor’s log book at Fort Elmina:

22 February 1850

Today our small community has su fered a most sad loss. At eight-thirty a.m., in his private room, the Ashanti Prince Quame Poku
took his life by shooting himself through the brain. The impact was so great that the poor fellow’s face was mutilated beyond
recognition.

The four walls of the room, the bed-curtains and the ceiling were
splattered with blood and brain tissue. He was dressed in the ceremonial
kente
cloth, which was woven by him personally.

He appears to have put the weapon to his head directly behind
the left ear. The weapon, which was found next to the body, is the
same hunting rifle that was presented to him by the Ministry of
Colonies upon his arrival here. It seems that he used loose gunpowder, as there was no trace of a bullet.

No motive for this desperate deed has been found, other than that
his mind seemed strangely confused during the past three days.
Yesterday at the commander’s mess, for instance, all he did was
babble unintelligibly.

PART FIVE

JAVA 1900

Buitenzorg,
3
August

Mrs. Renselaar burst in on me yesterday morning at an unearthly hour wearing her travelling costume. I was still in my dressing-gown having breakfast—much to her annoyance.

“There is very little time,” she snapped, “for we are off to Batavia today!”

“Well then, I wish you a good journey,” I said, “and do not hurry back on my account.” She stood and watched open-mouthed as I peeled my mangosteen. I divided the fruit carefully into eight equal parts, and proceeded to eat one of them slowly.

“Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”

“Certainly, in good time. But by then you will be halfway there.”

“I have no intention of going on my own. You are coming with me.”

I choked on a piece of fruit and spat it out into my napkin. “Madam, the last journey I took was to the Salak foothills. From there I had a good view of my house and the plantation, and yet my only desire was to return home as quickly as possible.”

“Nonsense, you travelled halfway across the world when you were only a child.”

“And you can see what good it did me.”

“You have criss-crossed the world all your life, and never complained.”

“Those days are over. I have arrived at my destination.”

“Don’t be absurd. We are going by rail. You can be back by evening.”

“Out of the question. I am too old for pleasure-trips.”

“Ah,” she said, “but it is not pleasure that we seek.” She turned away briefly, fumbled in her blouse and produced a small brass key, which she waved at me triumphantly. She seemed to expect me to applaud, and when I did not oblige she dropped her arm, drew up a chair and deposited the key on the table with a flourish.

“Now listen carefully. My husband left the house in the early hours to attend to his business in Batavia. Half an hour ago a courier arrived with a summons for Mr. Renselaar to travel at once to Bandung, where the governor is meeting with a delegation of high officials from The Hague. I told him my husband was already on his way to Batavia. The matter appears to be so urgent that the young man departed at once to go after him.”

“Most interesting, I’m sure,” I drawled.

“Yes, isn’t it?” She beamed.

“How does that concern me?”

“The courier will soon catch up with my husband, who will barely have had time to sit down at his desk when he hears of the governor’s summons. He gathers together his necessities at once, notifies his subordinates that he must absent himself, and departs for Bandung post-haste.” She mimed the entire scene for my benefit. I interrupted her when she launched into a description of her husband tearing his hair out while consulting his watch.

“Very good,” I said, “and what of it?”

“Well, hardly will he have gone when my presence is announced. I will be told that he has been called away on urgent business. This is exceedingly annoying. I fly into a rage. They try to appease me, in vain. I have an appointment to meet him, and have come all this way for nothing.”

“So why go there, for heaven’s sake?”

“I insist on taking a rest in his office. With you.”

“Me?”

“Certainly. You will have made the journey for nothing as well. You just stand there, helplessly. You, a poor old man! They cannot simply turn us away after all our effort. It would be most uncivil. Where would we go? I feel quite faint. I make a scene.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“Just so as to be left alone for a short while. In his office. At his desk. We sit down.”

“At last.”

“We ask for some refreshments and tell them we are not to be disturbed. Then I take out this key. It is the key to the drawer of his desk, where he keeps the case containing the dossiers he is currently engaged in. Yours is among them. You will have half an hour to read it.” She swept the key off the table and slipped it back into her blouse. “Just half an hour and the mystery will be solved.” Feeling she deserved a reward, she pulled my plate towards her and devoured the fruit I had prepared. Meanwhile the implications of her plan began to dawn on me.

“So you purloined your husband’s key on my account?”

“Good gracious no, I had a copy made when he was taking his afternoon nap the other day. One never knows when such things will come in handy. Well now,” she said, smiling so broadly that the mangosteen juice trickled down her chin, “are you going to get properly dressed or do you intend to parade the streets in dishabille?”

I went to my room in a daze. Ahim came running to help me wash and dress, but I could not bear him touching me and sent him away. I was very agitated, my whole body was shaking. As usual I cursed the woman for making such a fuss, but at the same time I was touched by the trouble she was taking on my behalf. I needed a few moments to compose myself. I pressed my bolster to my mouth to stifle a cry.

The truth is that I have felt no desire to see anyone at all lately. I have been totally immersed in my self-imposed task. Having embarked on my personal memoir—which gave me little pleasure—I started rereading Kwame’s letters. I could not bring myself to take out more than one each day. By the time I reached the end I was so sad that my stomach could not tolerate any food. My body rebelled against the torment in my brain. Thoughts can ferment. They are like gin: you keep taking yet another sip in the hope of rinsing your mouth of the taste, but the blood curdles. The older you get, the harder your heart has to work to pump away the toxin.

Last week Ahim ignored all my orders. We had our umpteenth altercation over luncheon. I was unable to eat the food he had prepared. He blamed my lack of appetite on my memoir and on my reclusive ways. I was more inclined to blame his cooking skills, but had the sense not to tell him so. I said he should mind his own business. He lost his temper, and stalked off into the kampung. He searched out my little daughter, whom he took from her mother and brought back to me. He came into my room carrying the child on his back. He pushed aside the papers scattered on the table and sat Quamina down in front of me. All this time he did not say a word. She was lively, and delighted to see me. She stretched out her little arms to hug me. I was nonplussed. I drew her on to my lap, gently, because with children and animals I am always afraid I might harm them. Ahim rolled up the blinds, after which he brought a piece of cardboard and some crayons. He handed me the musical box. I turned the handle and watched the child’s fascination at the tinkling notes. After a while we took her to the garden, and for the next few hours my mind was happily free from preoccupying thoughts. When it was time to take Quamina back to her mother, Ahim had to pull us apart. To please him, I ate the food he served me that evening. The next morning I awoke without a headache for the first time in weeks.

Quamina’s sudden appearance had moved me much as Mrs. Renselaar’s show of concern did now. I hastened to put on the clothes that Ahim had laid out on the bed.

Batavia was thronged with people. Perhaps I am less tolerant of crowds than I used to be, but to me it seemed that everyone was at each other’s throats. The close array of stalls encroached on the carriageway, while the vendors vied for attention with a chaos of garish signs and banners. We were jostled by people on all sides, running and shouting. Children played at our feet, and here and there an aged person slept on the ground. The stinking open sewers were choked with filth, and their banks were lined with chickens, rats and stray dogs. It was a madhouse. There was no rest for the eyes. The dust raised by the porters, horses and carts didn’t have room to settle, so that it formed a yellow haze which constricted my throat. Besides, the thick evil fumes from the heaps of refuse smouldering on every street corner poisoned each breath I took.

Adeline led the way, swinging her parasol like a scythe, as if she were cutting a swathe through the multitude. We picked our way across the square in front of the railway station and managed to hail a cab. Once we were sitting down I told her how much I disliked the frenzy of the city.

“Well, we are living in a new century now,” she retorted. “We cannot turn the clock back. It is only because you knew Java when it was paradise that you are shocked by the hectic pace of today.”

“Paradise? Ankle-deep in mud and decaying roots, plagued by monsoons and mosquitoes? No madam, my idea of paradise is on a somewhat higher plane.”

“Nonsense. You are devoted to this country. Why else did you stay?”

“Good question, madam.”

Our carriage drew up in front of the head office. Adeline alighted first, whereupon she took my arm to help me down. We heard a cry of anguish: an old woman trying to cross the road in front of our carriage had been knocked over by a coolie. The fellow did not stop to see what he had done and no one seemed to be about to help the old woman to her feet. She was even showered with abuse by a rickshaw driver, who had to swerve sharply to avoid running over her legs. I knew this already. All respect for life becomes smothered by the sheer magnitude of the masses. It is each man for himself nowadays in Batavia.

Mrs. Renselaar sprang into action. She tried to help the woman to her feet. The frail figure recoiled. The sight of that enormous white-faced body bending over her shocked her more deeply than her fall. Tenacious as ever, Adeline lost her balance and tumbled on top of the unfortunate old woman. When they were finally on their feet again I saw that both women had streaks of mud in their hair. I took out my handkerchief and offered it to Adeline, but she declined. Her dishevelment, she said, would come in handy. She wiped her hands at length on my lapels, so that I looked bedraggled too, after which she took my arm and drew me towards the gate of the head office.

At first all went according to plan. Mrs. Renselaar overwhelmed the sentry with a torrent of words and strode past him without even slowing her pace. She opened the cast-iron door herself, and crossed the marble hall which gave on to three corridors and a flight of stairs. Without a moment’s hesitation she made for the first floor. She thumped up the wooden staircase, with me following quietly behind her.

“Now remember,” she said, “you and I are in command today. Keep that in mind and act accordingly, then no one will ask awkward questions.” She opened the doors to two or three offices, without knocking and without the clerks raising their heads. We crossed an attendant in the corridor, who gave us a surprised but friendly nod. Adeline enquired where the archive office was. He pointed it out and went on his way. Adeline fumbled with the knob. When the door did not open she threw all her weight against it with her hip. At this point two thoughts were uppermost in my mind: I had to keep my knees from buckling and also to control the ringing in my ears which would prevent me from hearing people coming to restrain us. My eyes darted this way and that in terror, and I was just wondering why I had inflicted all this on myself when the door gave way. She stumbled into the room and found herself staring into the gaunt face of the archivist. He peered at us over his spectacles like a man neither accustomed nor partial to visitors.

“Whom have you come for?”

I could hear her sharp intake of breath. Even she was apprehensive now. She could think of nothing better to say than her name, which came out a little too loud. The archivist went to the door and ran his finger over the lock to inspect it for damage.

“Mr. Renselaar has gone out.”

“Oh no,” sighed Adeline, “no, he would never do a thing like that, not when I have come such a long way . . .”

From here on she enacted her scene just as she had planned, but the man was not easily swayed. He escorted us to Renselaar’s office. Finding it vacant and not wishing to leave us behind alone, he summoned his superior. Adeline whispered reassuringly that she had met her husband’s head of department on a previous occasion and that he would be easy to deal with, but when the short, thin man in question stood before her, the only sign of recognition he gave was that he dreaded a conversation with her. He was clearly nervous, and explained that this was an unforeseen circumstance, as the summons had come quite unexpectedly. He appreciated how distressing this must be for us, he said, and offered us a glass of water by way of appeasement. When this did not have the desired effect, he suggested we might join him and his wife in the leafy suburb of Weltevreden for luncheon.