Ama (47 page)

It is now or never
, Ama thought and, mustering all her strength, she drove her knee upwards into his crotch, crushing his balls. Knaggs staggered back, bellowing with agony. He was doubled up, his trousers around his ankles. Now Ama was white with anger. She felt her heart pumping. If she had had a knife she would have driven it into him and ripped his belly open. Seeing that he was defenceless, at least for a moment, she took the only chance she had to drive her advantage home. She grabbed his penis and wrenched it as if to pull it off his body. The man screamed.

“Knaggs,” came a man's stentorian voice.

It was Williams.

Knaggs was in no condition to answer. He was down on his knees, holding himself and sobbing. His friends drifted away.

Ama picked up her cloth and wrapped it round her. She stepped round Knaggs and started up the steps to the quarter-deck. Williams was standing at the railing. Then she felt her knees buckle beneath her.

CHAPTER 26

When Ama came to she was lying on the floor in the Captain's cabin. Butcher was kneeling over her, wiping her face with a damp cloth. The room was small. Above her she saw the boards of the ceiling; beside her, the legs of a chair and a desk.

“She is coming round,” she heard the surgeon say.

Then Williams' red face loomed over her.

“Give her a piece of cloth,” he said. “I can't have the wench naked in my cabin.”

“Can you sit up?” Butcher asked.

He helped her to her feet.

“Here,” he said, handing her a folded length of cloth from a pile which stood against the wall, “Wrap this around you.”

She did as she was told. Every muscle in her body ached. She lifted the cloth to examine her knees. The skin had been grazed off both.

“Let me clean those wounds,” said Butcher, getting down on his knees. She winced as he sponged the raw flesh.

Now Williams spoke.

“The men tell me that they heard you speak to Knaggs in English? Is that so?”

She nodded, but said nothing.

“I am sorry about what happened this afternoon. Do you understand me?”

Ama looked him in the eye and nodded again. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with documents on his desk. She saw paper and quills and ink; a side table covered in charts and instruments; on the wall a brass chronometer and a barometer; and behind glass doors a shelf full of books.

“Knaggs will be severely punished. The scoundrel has given me trouble since his first day on board. He will have plenty of time to reflect on his sins. And I will see to it that there is no repetition.”

He paused and looked up at her.

“You were loaded at Elmina. Why did you not reply when I asked whether any slave understood English?”

Ama said nothing.

“Do you not understand what I am asking you? Answer my question.”

She looked him straight in the eye again. Again he found an excuse to look elsewhere. She saw that he was angry. She took her time.

“Captain Williams,” she addressed him at last, “do you not know me?”

She saw him start. He pursed his brow. He looked at her face, but he did not recognise her.

“You are . . .?”

She waited for him to finish, but he just continued to look at her.

“Mijn Heer called me Pamela. You may remember that you were our guest one evening.”

“Butcher,” said Williams, “pull up a chair. Then wait outside.”

“Sit down,” he said as the surgeon closed the door behind him.

Ama noticed that he didn't say “please.”
Is it his general lack of manners
, she wondered,
or is it because I am black, a woman and a slave?
She sat down. The pain in her knees was worse. She squeezed her leg above the wound.

“I am sorry that I didn't recognise you, but . . .”

He waved his hand in a gesture intended to indicate that she would surely understand the reason.

“I was shocked when I heard that De Bruyn was dead. He must have told you that we were planning to do some business together? Tell me what happened.”

“He died,” Ama replied.

She saw him thinking,
I know that, stupid,
but all he said was, “Of what?”

“I do not know the English name. I think I heard him say he had the yellow jack. He went to Axim and brought the sickness back with him. I nursed him as best I could. Augusta helped. You remember Augusta? But we could not save him.”

“He was a good friend,” mused Williams.

“But tell me: how do you come to be here?”

“Mijn Heer made a will, giving me my freedom. Jensen,” (she spat the name out,) “tore it up. He . . . he sent me back to the dungeon from which Mijn Heer had taken me. What happened afterwards, Captain Williams, sir, I think you know better than I do.”

She bared her breast and pointed to the brand mark. He dropped his eyes. She wrapped the cloth around her and tucked the end in. Williams pursed his lips and drummed his desktop with his fingers. Ama eyed the ink and paper, thinking,
sister Ama, you dislike this man so much that you may do or say something against your own best interests
. She closed her eyes: the afternoon's events had exhausted her. Suddenly she saw Itsho. She would have liked to speak to him but if she did so Williams would think her mad.

“Would you like a drink?” Williams asked her suddenly. “A little rum or brandy, perhaps?”

He had risen to his feet and was pouring for himself. Ama's instincts advised her to refuse. She disliked the taste of liquor and it was only to please Mijn Heer that she had taken a little something from time to time. She started to say “no, thank you,” but choked the words back as she changed her mind.
Maybe
, she thought,
it will give me some strength. And what do I have to lose, after all?

He poured her a stiff rum. She took the glass and poured a draught down her throat, trying not to taste the vile stuff. The fire inside her brought tears to her eyes. She saw that Williams was watching her.

“Pamela,” he said, “I may call you Pamela, I suppose? I see your situation and I have been turning over in my mind the question of how I might possibly help you. But first, I must make it quite clear to you that, much as I may regret it, I accept no responsibility whatsoever for your predicament. Indeed I recall telling De Bruyn that he was wrong to teach you English. It has turned out badly, just as I expected and predicted. He civilises you, sets you apart from the backward, superstitious trash, like your fellows in the holds and, indeed, my own crew, scum like Knaggs; and then, by his own carelessness, he dies and leaves you unprotected and unprovided for.”

“You must understand that I have little room for manoeuvre. I do not own this ship; neither do I own its cargo. The owners live in England, in a great city called Liverpool. They seldom venture beyond the city limits, and none of them, to my knowledge, has ever been to sea. But it is to them, the promoters of this venture, it is to them and them alone, that I am answerable. They are bankers. Their business is money and the making of it. Consequently, as my employers, they expect me to make a tidy profit for them. So it does not lie within my power to set you free. And even if I did have that power and sent you ashore, what chance would you have? You would only end up being sold again.”

He lies
, thought Ama.

“Captain,” asked Ama when he paused, “what if someone in Cape Coast would agree to buy me?”

He sipped his rum.

“That is most unlikely. The authorities in Cape Coast are in the business of exporting slaves, not importing them.”

“Would you let me write a letter to the person I have in mind?”

“And who is that, if I may ask?”

“The chaplain, Reverend Philip Quaque.”

“Quaque, eh? Yes, I know the gentleman. And what makes you think that he would want to purchase you?”

Ama put on a show of humility.

“I thought he might put me to teaching the children in his school, sir,” she said.

Williams laughed. Ama thought:
I have never heard a laugh so totally devoid of humour
.

“No, that would not do. The Governor would not permit it. I know that he shares my views on education for Africans. He disapproves of it. And neither he nor I would want to be establishing any precedents. Precedents: do you know the word? It means 'examples to be repeated in the future.' Do you understand? No, that would not do at all.”

“But I have another idea which might suit you as well, if not better. I know a clergyman in Barbados, by the name of Jones. A Welshman like myself, but a Dissenter. He too runs a school, a school for the children of slaves. I think he might be persuaded to do me a favour. Teaching the children in his school would be better than ending up on a plantation. How does that sound to you?”

Ama nodded her silent assent. She thought,
what choice do I have? I am this man's slave, his chattel. He can do as he likes with me.

Williams continued, “I would expect some service from you in return for this favour.”

Ama dropped her eyes.

“Do you not want to ask what it is that I would want from you?”

I can guess
, she thought, but she said, “I am your slave.”

As the words left her lips, she heard in them a note of insolence. She sensed that Williams had heard it too; but he chose to take the remark at its face value.

“The Cape Coast linguists are all employed,” he said. “There are too many other ships here at present. I would want you to act as interpreter for Butcher and the first mate. I would see to it that you got special treatment as far as food and so on is concerned. Do you agree?”

“I am your slave, sir, “ she said again.

“Wait outside,” he said. “If Mister Butcher is there, please call him in.”

She stopped before the door and removed the cloth he had given her. She held up the ends and folded it in two; then she doubled it again.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “You may keep it.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and put the cloth back on the pile it had come from.

* * *

“Butcher,” said Williams to the surgeon, “There are so many ships trading here right now that it might take some time to arrange for a linguist. The wench outside understands and speaks good English; better, I have to admit, than any of our illiterate crew. Give her a try. Get her to speak to the slaves in their own lingo. Tell them that if they behave themselves, we shall treat them kindly and feed them as well as we can. Warn them that if they try anything on, it will only be the worse for them. You know the general drift. Do you understand?”

Butcher nodded.

“Then call her in.”

“Pamela,” said the Captain when she entered the cabin, “I think you know Mister Butcher. He is the ship's surgeon and as such he is responsible for keeping the ship clean and everyone on board in a good state of health. I have told him that as you understand and speak a good English he should employ you as his interpreter, his linguist. He will tell you what to say and you will translate his words to the slaves. Do you savvy, miss?”

“Yes, Master, I savvy,” replied Ama.

“Then wait outside,” he told her.

What a shit that man is
, she thought. Then it struck her that she might, must, turn this assignment to her own advantage and perhaps that of her fellow slaves too.

The short tropical twilight had come and gone. There was a full moon. The air was quite still. The white pile of the castle was reflected in the water, the image shifting in the swell. The women had been sent back to their prison. Ama had missed her afternoon meal but she felt no hunger, only a sense of exhilaration.
Perhaps it is the liquor
, she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up Itsho's image, but he would not come. She had shunned him: perhaps he had deserted her.

Butcher came out of the Captain's cabin.

“Come on,” he said.

As he let her into the female hold, he told her, “We'll start tomorrow.”

Then, holding up his lantern, “Do you need a light? Will you find your way in the dark?”

She ignored him and felt her way, step by step, across to her place on the platform.

* * *

Next morning it seemed that every woman wanted to greet Ama.

As soon as they had settled in their places on the quarter-deck a formal delegation of Tomba's party came to thank her. Ama stood up. Each woman made a little speech before shaking hands with her. The more eloquent of the brief orations earned shouts of approval. She could only guess at the meaning of their words. At last they brought the young girl whom Ama had saved from being raped by Knaggs. She alone was too shy to speak. Ama saw now how young she really was and felt a glow of satisfaction at what she had done.

“Where is your mother?” was all she could think to say.

The girl misunderstood and answered in her own language, “Yes.”

Ama tried again.

“Do you see how the bad man is being punished?” she asked, pointing to the front end of the ship, the part they called the forecastle.

Knaggs sat there, shackled hand and foot and chained to an iron ring set in the deck, as if he, too, had become a slave.
In that respect, at least
, Ama thought,
Williams has been true to his word.
The girl smiled at her now and nodded. Then she allowed herself to be led away.

At last Ama was left alone to think.

If only I could get access to the Captain's cabin,
she mused,
or if he would leave me there alone for long enough to write a short letter to Quaque. Quaque, it is true, is little more than a black Englishman. The chances that he will do anything for me are slim. But I must try.

A canoe came alongside with a consignment of new slaves. The captain was standing just below her watching idly while his cargo was discharged. She greeted him respectfully in Fanti.

“This your work is very difficult,” she flattered him.