The Ten Incarnations of Adam Avatar (32 page)

Father cleared his throat. ‘Yes, captain. No doubt you're right.'

Edward came over to me and took my hand and kissed it. ‘I apologize for ruining your ball. But better safe than sorry.'

I said, ‘Do you remember my name now?'

He grinned. ‘I believe so, Miss Rackham.' He paused. ‘Mary-Anne.'

My name sounded like music on his lips – those firm yet soft lips which had stolen my first kiss. I smiled and said, ‘Then I forgive you.' He was, after all, quite handsome and quite wealthy.

‘Why thank you. And here I thought I would have to pay a tithe.'

And so concluded my sixteenth birthday. After that, life became interesting indeed. This, I discovered, is not always – or even usually – a good thing.

For several months, my life followed its accustomed course. Had I left well enough alone, perhaps all would have been well. But, gradually, I became furious. After all, I had expected at least one crucial difference in my routine: Edward was supposed to be courting me! Instead, I heard from him not at all. After the first week passed – this, I felt, being sufficient for decorum – I assumed that he must have been called away from the island on urgent business (though even so I thought common courtesy would have enjoined him to send me a note). But not so: I saw him rush by on horseback as I was shopping in town three weeks later.

I was amazed and hurt. I was also very angry: I saw myself as a woman clearly scorned. It even occurred to me that Edward might have made up the story about the nigger in the woods, just to steal a kiss from me. But that did not explain why he had not returned to get more kisses. I spent all my days trying to figure out what the explanation for his apparent lack of interest in me might be. Slowly, the suspicion grew upon me that Edward Henry was hiding some dark secret. I had several thoughts as to what that secret might be.

I thought that perhaps he was the disgraced son of a nobleman, who had killed another nobleman. His father had spirited him out of England before he could be arrested, giving him enough of the family jewels to keep him comfortable in far Jamaica. Unsure whether he was yet safe from the other family's revenge, he was hesitant to court me.

I thought that perhaps Edward had refused to marry the woman chosen for him by his aristocratic father. The father had cut him off without a penny but his mother, whose favourite son he of course was, had given him enough of her jewellery so he could live without working in the far colonies. Naturally, he was hesitant to court me since he could not properly introduce me to his family.

I thought that perhaps Edward had married the woman chosen for him, but his wife had gone mad when she realized he did not return her love and had tried to kill him. He had come to Jamaica to escape the scandal, and now kept the raving lunatic he had been forced to marry hidden in the attic of his Great House. Naturally, courtship in such a situation would be difficult.

I thought that perhaps he was a trusted agent of the King, scion of an old and noble family, sent by him sent to keep a secret eye on the colonists. Naturally, he was hesitant to court me because his great love for me would conflict with the oath of secrecy he had made to his King.

But none of these thoughts lessened my vexation at him. I felt he should be perceptive enough to know that I was not so superficial to care about the nobleman he had killed and that I was brave enough to stand at his side against them; that I would respect him all the more for not marrying a woman he didn't love and his family did not matter once we had each other; that the Jamaican courts would easily grant him a divorce from his mad wife, especially with my father's influence; and, most vexing of all, that he should know that our great love far superseded any oath to King and Mother Country.

At any rate, I decided that I needed to know what was what. Once Edward knew that I knew his secret, there would be no barriers to our love. And so I dispatched my trusted friend and servant, Anne-Marie, to find out. It may seem strange that I would involve a Negro in my romantic life, but Anne-Marie was more than a slave to me. Although I have said that father bought her for me, I cannot remember a time when she was not my companion. She was an energetic, bright-eyed girl with a shrill laugh. She was not as dark-skinned as the other niggers, having a more coffee-brown complexion. We had played together constantly when we were children, making mud pies in the garden, stealing cookies from the pantry, and bathing together in the pool whose green water matched my eyes.

Indeed, her exalted status as my playmate made her get ideas above herself. Once, in a silly argument about who should carry a nosegay of flowers we had picked, she so far forgot herself as to slap me. I went crying to my mother, father being out of the island, and she immediately had Anne-Marie tied to the whipping post and personally beat her with a horsewhip. I watched from the verandah as the weals rose like wriggling worms across Anne-Marie's bony back, soon becoming thin red snakes. I was six years old and so was she. Anne-Marie cried and cried and cried, and I was torn between satisfaction at her getting punished for slapping me, mortification at the severity of the punishment, and happiness that my mother was making this rare demonstration of concern for me.

After the whipping, Anne-Marie looked upon me with new respect. I knew this was how it was supposed to be, but I almost regretted my newfound power over her. In fact, after that incident, I was very careful not to get into quarrels with her because I did not want to see her beaten again. As we grew up, the puckered scars left on her back by that whipping also grew, elongating like the thin branches of a dead tree. Father, I remember, was not too pleased when he returned. He was always very adamant about taking good care of his property. But I did go out of my way to share my toys, treasures and clothes with Anne-Marie thereafter; later, I shared my most personal feelings and thoughts. I even asked that she be tutored with me, although this was partly to relieve the boredom of the lessons, and she actually wrote my letters to my relatives in England. So she was a close and clever companion who could be trusted to help me win the captain's love.

Edward lived on a small estate about twenty-five miles from our own. I gave Anne-Marie a pass so she could leave the plantation, supposedly to sell the fine coffee which we grew and sold throughout the islands. We even shipped some back to England, along with cocoa. The plan was that Anne-Marie would go to Edward's place in the morning, spend as much time there as possible, and contrive to pass back late enough in the evening to ask to stay overnight. She could not go with a cart, I decided, for that would require her getting a driver, which might lead to embarrassing questions from father. Also, there would be no reason for her to stay overnight on Edward's estate. Yet it would look suspicious if she were out selling only a small bag of beans. However, Anne-Marie herself resolved the problem, saying she could carry two large bags on a staff and another smaller bag on her head, as the slave-women did when going to market. I had not even known Anne-Marie had that skill, and I realized that was why she held her long neck so elegantly. We had great fun discussing every small detail: how she would act, what she would ask, what she would try and see. (She was to especially try and detect any signs of the mad wife.) I felt like a general laying out a military campaign.

Anne-Marie left at mid-morning, right after father had gone out. Mother did not see her go, for it was harvest-time and the plantation was abuzz with activity. Slaves were cutting canes in the field, others bundling and loading them into the heavy carts. I could hear them singing as they worked and, occasionally, the sharp crack of the driver's whip came to my ears. Laden carts pulled by the stolid oxen trundled ceaselessly along the deep-rutted tracks between field and mill house. Thick white smoke poured from the chimney of the boiler-house. There was always a sense of urgent excitement at harvest-time, from which I always kept myself aloof. But this time I stood and watched from my bedroom window; though my own excitement was focused several miles away, I needed to contain myself.

I imagined her greeting Edward politely. ‘Good morning, Massa. Me have some fine fine coffee beans 'ere. Would you care for some?' Anne-Marie had been concerned that he would recognize her as my servant, thus ruining the plan, but I pointed out that all darkies looked alike. True, her pass would say she was from the Cohiba Plantation, but slaves often went around selling produce. Anne-Marie would say she had stopped off for a rest on her way to the market. Later, she would return, speak to Edward, or his overseer if he had one. That was when she would ask all the questions about Edward that I had told her to ask. If she got a chance, she would get as close as possible to his house, to see whatever she could see. Maybe she would hear the mad wife. Maybe she would see the coat-of-arms (I had told her what a coat-of-arms looked like) on the wall of his hall. Maybe she would even get hold of a draft of one of his letters to the King (he had blotted it and thrown it into the bin to be burnt but a cat had fished it out of the bin and dropped it outside for Anne-Marie to find and read to me).

I slept only fitfully that night, impatient for Anne-Marie's return. When she had not returned by noon, I was fretting with frustration. I thought that maybe assassins sent by the family whose son Edward had killed had come just as she was spying at Edward and she had fought them and been killed, but her dying scream had given Edward sufficient warning for him to escape. (
Oh faithful slave
,
Anne Marie!
I thought.) I thought that Maroons might have waylaid her on the road, and she had run off into the mountains with them with my precious letter. (
Oh treacherous Anne-Marie!
thought I.) Or I thought that she might have lost her pass and been thrown in jail and the letter had been confiscated and Edward's secrets now revealed so he would be forced to leave the island. (
Foolish Anne-Marie!
said I.)

With such dire imaginings did I torture myself throughout the day, knowing full well that Anne-Marie was probably just dawdling along the road. Eventually, around late afternoon, she returned. I hurried her up to my room immediately. ‘Well, you see him, you see him?' I asked excitedly.

‘Yes, me saw im,' she answered, and proceeded to give her account. She had not, in fact, seen him until the night. He had been out of the island and only returned that very evening. When she had arrived in the morning, she had spoken to the bookkeeper, who was also manager of the estate. The plantation was quite small. Edward grew very little sugar cane; he actually had more acres planted with cocoa, coffee and even cotton. It seemed that he did work, after all. He was some sort of merchant, for the slaves said he regularly left the island for a few weeks, returning with goods to sell. I felt rather disappointed to learn that Edward was a mere agent, who did not even own a ship for his cargo business. Since he was only gone for a few weeks, he obviously traded only between the islands. Father was always gone for several months. On the other hand, there could not have been much profit to be gained from such short trips, so I realized that Edward must be involved in business only to keep himself occupied and had to have inherited wealth.

‘So when you did see him?' I asked Anne-Marie.

‘Ah sneak outa de barracks dat night an went up to de house. It have a tree growing right outside and I climb up till I coulda see troo de window into de hall. Massa Edward was inside wit im shirt off, fighting with im sword.'

I caught my breath. ‘Fighting?' I almost shrieked. ‘Who im was fighting with?'

‘By himself, fren. Just doing same ting over and over again. Cut and trust and block and ting.'

‘Hmm,' I said, thinking. ‘And im shirt were off, eh?'

‘Yeh. Sweating like im under waterfall.'

‘Im must a look like a god!' I said.

Anne-Marie shrugged. ‘Im look all right, for a white man.'

I giggled. ‘I wish I coulda bin there. You wun appreciate the sight.'

‘Oh, im nice-looking. Nice yellow hair.'

I frowned. ‘Edward av black hair.'

‘Not when im come back from im trips, im maid say.'

‘You sure was him?'

‘Of course am sure,' she replied, frowning back. ‘And ah din see no mad wife an no armcoats.'

‘But im keeps in fighting condition and im dyes im hair,' I said thoughtfully. ‘I know was sometin strange bout im!'

‘Something strange 'bout all all-yuh white people,' said Anne-Marie, taking off her frock. ‘Yuh like de man, go an see im yourself.'

‘That is not how a lady does things, Anne-Marie,' I said primly.

‘No, a lady does send she nigger-girl to spy pon de man.'

‘That different. You lucky, you know. You could just fren with who you like, like how you does fren with Caesar.'

‘Just leave my man outa dis, tanks. Anyway, I goan an wash off all dis road dust.'

Since I could not bear any pause in our discussion about Edward, I had Anne-Marie fill the huge porcelain bathtub in my room and we talked while she scrubbed my back. This was nothing unusual, for we had bathed together since we were children. Anne-Marie was a very clean nigger. She even smelt white.

I made her repeat her story. I had her describe again how Edward looked practising his swordplay, particularly his chest, which she said was hairy (and black not yellow) and muscular (for a white man). I had her give me every detail of his estate grounds and what she had seen of the Great House.

‘So what you going to do nex?' she asked, when we were drying ourselves off.

‘Write him love letters, of course. That is how the courtiers do it in France.'

‘But you's not a courtier in France.'

‘Is the same principle.'

‘It look to me like your principles same or different accordin to your convenience,' Anne-Marie retorted. She was often rude to me like this, having privileges beyond the ordinary nigger.