A Place of Meadows and Tall Trees (21 page)

The colonists look at each other then talk quietly together while Edwyn turns again to Rawson, talks and then turns to them again. ‘He says he thinks it is too soon to give up. He thinks you should give it another try.' Then he lowers his voice. ‘He seems to think he could persuade the government to come to some sort of arrangement over supplies.'

‘Would they give us a ship?' Caradoc asks.

Edwyn Lloyd turns to Rawson again. ‘He says he thinks that might be possible. He says to go away and think about it.'

‘But how do we know what Rawson said?' Silas asks everyone later. ‘How do we know Edwyn's telling us the truth? How do we know what he's telling Rawson?'

‘I trust him,' says Jacob, ‘I don't think he'd set out to lie.'

‘Well, I think he would. In fact I think he's rather good at it. Do you remember seeing trees in our little paradise? Or lush meadows?'

Jacob is silent.

‘Perhaps he exaggerated a little...' Caradoc says.

‘A little? A little?' Silas is shouting now.

‘Hush boy, everyone will hear you.'

They are in one of the plazas in the centre of the city. They are sitting together on a shaded piece of dried grass to keep out of the sun. Silas is thirsty, hot and angry.

He waves Caradoc's words away with an impatient flick of his hand, and continues even more stridently, ‘He's obsessed, mad. Doesn't care how much he twists things... he'll do anything to make us stay in his precious valley, anything at all. He doesn't care if we starve to death or we drown in the river or Indians come and murder us all in our beds. He doesn't care how many of us die, how many children...' His voice breaks abruptly. The sob that he is trying to fight back makes his throat hurt. Richard. It hits him again. The smell of that fetid hold and the boy's hand in his, the grip weakening. Gwyneth's pale cold head resting on her mother's heaving chest. The emptiness is expanding, thoughts falling into it like the banks of a river in spate. It is all there is, nothing else. ‘We can't stay,' he manages to say. ‘We can't. We've tried long enough.'

Jacob reaches over to him and draws him close.

Caradoc coughs. ‘We'll sort it out,
bachgen
,' he says stiffly, ‘don't you worry. We'll find someone in the embassy to help us. It's too much for Edwyn Lloyd to do on his own anyway.'

Buenos Aires' river, the Río de la Plata, is the result of a confluence of two only slightly smaller monsters: the Río Paraná and the Río Uruguay. They flow through the land north of Buenos Aires. It is a wild place, tamed only at strategic intervals with forts, monasteries and small domed churches, and in this stretch of land, sandwiched between the two great rivers, is the area known as Pájaro Blanco. It is popular with settlers, one of the government officials tells them, they might want to take a look, so Silas together with Jacob and Selwyn travel along the Paraná river to investigate.

After the cool dryness of Patagonia the delta of the Paraná river is steamy and tropically hot. The river is immense, more like a slowly flowing lake, and the land each side seems well watered and fertile. Silas sits on the deck and stretches out. The sun is hot but there is a pleasant breeze from the water. There are cattle and horses in every direction and Silas wonders if it is true what he has heard – that they are the result of a few escaped horses and cattle which bred so successfully on the nourishing land that there are now thousands running wild, belonging to no one.

Living off these rich pickings are the gauchos, solitary men on horses, their dress so similar it has now become an unofficial uniform: small hard hats, brightly coloured neckerchiefs and wide-legged leather trousers with belts and sashes. They have a reputation for hard living and wildness, but as Silas passes them they look peaceful enough and contented, one or two of them waving and shouting a greeting when they are close. He imagines living here, owning his own estancia and clearing the land for more cattle. He would build one of these vast whitewashed buildings with their low red-tiled roofs. Then he imagines Megan and Myfanwy standing outside, scrubbed, clean, smartly dressed and well fed. They could even have servants and then Megan could be like those women he saw in Buenos Aires sipping indolently from a delicate cup. Yes, he decides, he could live here. The air is warm, the area lush and fertile. The work might be hard at first but it would not be the unrelenting grind that there was in Chubut. They could afford to relax a little, smile again, and talk.

They stop at the larger settlements. First, the city of Rosario, with its sandy beach, flat-roofed villas, bustling with boats, proud of being the place where General Belgrano first raised the Argentinean flag forty-five years ago. It is fast expanding now with European immigrants and anxious to attract more. Then they reach Santa Fe itself. Silas wanders through the streets with his mouth open; he had thought it would be a frontier town, dirty, unkempt – like the poor part of Buenos Aires. But instead he finds shady plazas, cathedrals with domes instead of spires, beaches by the river and lakes and houses that are whitewashed and bright in the sunshine. Inside, the buildings are just as bright and immaculate. There are tiled floors, white walls, elaborately carved wooden ceilings and through each window the sunlight splashes; a reminder of God, Jacob says, and for once Silas understands exactly what he means. Santa Fe. Even the sound of the place is beginning to feel good in his ears: ‘Silas James of Santa Fe'. He could import his own piece of Wales up the Paraná river – dressers, settles, chairs, tables, blankets – he could even help to furnish a chapel and have his name on the family pew. It would have to be simple of course, like this Jesuit Iglesia, but without the domes on top, a fusion of Welsh and Spanish. They would go every Sunday dressed up in these smart severe costumes the locals wear: black and tailored, a little whiteness at the neck. Yes, that would suit the Welsh colonists very well, they would fit in, and like these colonists they are not afraid of a little hard work. All they need is a chance, and land that will respond to their labours.

‘What do you think, Silas?'

He smiles his approval.

Edwyn Lloyd is less enthusiastic. He meets them again in the lounge of their hotel when they return to Buenos Aires. ‘If we go there, we will lose our Welsh.' His voice is quiet, strained.

‘If we stay at Chubut we will lose our lives.'

Edwyn Lloyd looks at Selwyn and fastens him with his eyes. ‘You haven't given it a fair chance.'

‘We nearly starved, Edwyn,' Selwyn says, ‘you weren't there to see us.'

‘Nevertheless we should go back, try again.'

‘No, Edwyn. We've decided,' Caradoc says, ‘we are going back to the colony to tell them our choices, while you sort out the details. We'll leave it to them to decide, of course, but I'm sure I know what they'll say.'

Edwyn Lloyd sits abruptly, his face set. Silas looks at him, trying to decide what he sees there – maybe anger, defeat, or resolve – it is difficult to say. His eyes are staring into the distance, the shadows beneath them emphasising their blueness, and as Silas examines his long straight nose, his glossy lush hair and full beard, he remembers what Megan told him once – that Edwyn Lloyd's face was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful face she had ever seen. He becomes aware of Silas staring and his eyes change, flick suddenly from looking at some distant thing to something closer. He smiles tightly, ‘Ah, Silas,
ffrind
, what do you say?'

‘What I have always said, of course – we should leave the Chubut and find somewhere better.'

‘Ah, of course, you too.' The black beard shakes.

Like the Indians the colonists pack horses and ride. It doesn't take them so long to reach Port Madryn this time. They follow the scar that the Argentine soldiers made almost two years ago. There is no getting lost, no running out of water. They know exactly where they will go and exactly what they will do. First they slaughter most of the animals that remain: there is not a single pig left, and not a single sheep. Then they pack all they can carry, and then that little bit extra that they love. Then, just before they kick the rump of the nearest cow to send it on its way in front of them, they take firebrands and touch each hearth with its flames. They smell it burn. They can hear it crackling behind them and they don't look back. What they have started the Indians will finish. Then they follow the track until they reach Port Madryn again. And then they stop and look around them. The cold beach. The caves. The sea. It is as though the last two years have never happened.

 

The decision had been simple and made soon after Silas, Caradoc, Selwyn and Jacob had returned.

‘We can't stay here.'

‘The Río Negro is no better.'

‘Santa Fe might be worth a try.'

‘So we go there.'

‘Agreed.'

‘Any dissenters?'

Of course there are always some.

‘Overruled.'

Caradoc had folded his arms, nodded and told them he would return with Silas and Jacob to Buenos Aires on the new clipper that brought them here to report their decision. Dr Rawson, Caradoc reassured everyone, would be quite happy.

Selwyn would stay with his wife to help look after his child, a large, healthy boy, who had entered the world very noisily but safely.

That night Megan had clung to Silas and begged him to stay with her too. ‘Tell me about Santa Fe again,' she'd said, and her eyes had smiled as he had talked.

‘We want another child.'

And they had looked at Myfanwy asleep beside them.

‘She needs a brother or sister.'

And for the rest of that night she had been his Megan again; drawing him to her, soft and smiling, murmuring when at last she slept.

In the morning she'd clung to him again. ‘Don't go.'

But he had shaken his head. ‘I have to.'

At Patagones their ship drops anchor. They have made good time from the Chubut, but now the captain needs to take on more supplies. Patagones is not a place they particularly relish, though it is pretty enough, with steeply inclined streets of adobe houses, a church and fort. Silas leans over the rail of the modern little ship that has brought them here and waits for the instruction to disembark. There is something run down about Patagones, he thinks, the houses are not quite white, the adobe crumbles away from the walls and the scrubby vegetation has been allowed to grow unchecked over walls. Yeluc hates the people here, he reminds himself, and looks at the small taverns, each one faded, and the plaster chipped. Stray dogs wander around the place and there are a couple of lame-looking horses eating whatever weed is growing from the track. They do not appear to belong to anyone; perhaps they have strayed in from the Pampas. Silas is glad they are not staying long.

‘What's that?' Jacob grabs his arm tightly. ‘Look Silas, is that what I think it is?'

The
Denby
. They'd recognise it anywhere. They know each plank of wood, each kink in the ropes, each patch in the sails. She had been declared unseaworthy by the port authorities in Buenos Aires and they had been forbidden to return in her, yet someone has managed to sneak her out, someone who must be good at persuading people and getting his own way.

‘Edwyn Lloyd!'

Silas hangs onto the rails, a sudden feeling of dread making him weak. Jacob sounds so joyful, so excited to see the man. It is as if the sight of him causes him to lose all sense. If Edwyn Lloyd is here it can only mean that he has something to tell them, something that couldn't wait.

‘I bring great news,' he says as soon as they see him. Silas realises that his voice has regained its strength – in Buenos Aires he was intense but quiet, his voice hardly raised above an exclamation – on board the
Denby
it booms over the deck. ‘We have another agreement with the government. I have managed to persuade them to support us a little longer in the Chubut. We can stay,
ffrindiau
!' he says – as if it is what they had always wanted.

He stands with his arms raised slightly from his side as if he is going to embrace them. His eyes are wide, light, elated. ‘Isn't it wonderful? They have agreed to most of the conditions that I've asked for. We will be well-supplied, comfortable for at least another year.'

Jacob is smiling as if he has seen something he loves.

Caradoc, with a puzzled frown, looks at Edwyn and then at Jacob. ‘What are you talking about, man?' he says crossly. ‘We told you – we've had enough. We left them all packing up to go. They'll be waiting for us at Port Madryn by now.'

Edwyn's face loses its shine. ‘You've told them to leave?'

‘Yes. It was what we decided. We can't just tell them to turn round and go back.'

‘But they have to. The Argentines have decided. It's the Chubut or nothing. They won't help us go anywhere else. They won't countenance it.'

‘But… but… I thought...' Caradoc's splutterings end in silence. He presses his lips together and glares at Edwyn.

Edwyn turns to Silas. The
Meistr
's smile is wide, loose, quite unlike the tight smiles he used to smile before. It doesn't stay in one place but seems to slop around his face. A lie. Silas is certain of it. There is no new agreement, no promise of supplies – just some notion that has appeared in Edwyn's head. He's lied before, why shouldn't he be lying now?

They take a bunk in the
Denby
; as Edwyn says, it gives them more of a chance to discuss what they will do next. Silas lies in the cabin alone, thinking of the Chubut and then the Paraná: one river unpredictable, treacherous, opaque and sluggish, the other like a small languid sea, warm, the surface catching small sparks of sunlight, clean and transparent. Santa Fe was like a dream of a glittering paradise; somewhere Megan would be happy and like the girl that he married. He punches his hammock. He is determined to go. There is no reason to trust anything Edwyn Lloyd says. Even if it is true that the government will no longer help them move elsewhere there have to be other ways. There will be others who will want to come too, the Jones family perhaps or the Williams. Edwyn Lloyd has cheated them once; they will not want to be cheated again.

Yet Edwyn Lloyd seems to have lost none of his ability to persuade. Jacob, of course, had been like a faithful hound whose beloved master had returned; he had keeled over immediately, wagging his tail and exposing his pink belly. Caradoc, however, is proving more difficult to convert.

Silas sees Edwyn Lloyd eye him up, consider his strategies and decides on offering a bone. The first one proves insufficiently enticing.

‘The Argentines have been most generous,' he says, ‘they say they are going to extend our grant indefinitely.'

‘We had a grant before, Edwyn; we can't go on like that forever. We need to be independent.'

‘It was an extremely dry year. Everyone is talking about it.'

‘But that could happen again, couldn't it? What would we do then?'

The four men row ashore, walk around the streets, buy a little meat and bread from one of the traders there – a rough-looking man with a large elaborate crucifix shining from the grime of clothes – and sit on the shore to eat and drink. Behind them there are shouts and raucous laughter from one of the taverns, and presently an Indian staggers out, his face pale. He manages just a few paces before he tips over and is sick onto the track.

‘This is an evil place,' Jacob says. ‘Full of the Devil's work.'

‘And we should get as far away as we can,' Silas says.

Caradoc nods. ‘As soon as possible.'

By evening Edwyn is trying again. When he thinks there is no one else around he corners Caradoc on the deck of the ship. Silas presses himself against the cabin and watches unseen.

The
Meistr
smiles broadly and holds out his arms as if welcoming Caradoc into an embrace. ‘Caradoc! I've been meaning to speak to you.'

Caradoc plants his stick in front of him. ‘You have? What for?' His eyes travel warily over the
Meistr
's face, and the tip of his tongue licks the inner edge of his top lip.

‘Jacob believes that without you no one would have survived.'

Although he shakes his head and tuts, Caradoc is clearly pleased. He stands a little taller and a small smile settles on his lips. ‘Does he, indeed.'

‘Yes, he says that the way you dealt with the Indians was masterful.'

‘Well, I just used my common sense, and of course as a minister…'

There is a pause, and Silas shifts slightly to ease the numbness in his foot. He manages to glance at their faces – both are cautiously smiling.

Over dinner the talks begin again.

‘How many have said they wish to go to Santa Fe?' asks Edwyn, ‘It was unanimous, I think you said?'

‘No, not unanimous.' Jacob tells him. ‘There are some who wished to stay.'

‘How many?'

‘I'm not sure.'

Edwyn turns to Caradoc. ‘What do you say? More than twenty?'

‘Yes.'

‘A fair proportion then?'

Caradoc shifts warily in his seat. ‘I wouldn't say that.'

Edwyn smiles again. ‘I know, I know, it must be difficult to tell. But the rest – do they all want to go to Santa Fe?'

‘No, some of them have said they'd prefer Buenos Aires, or even this place – God help them.'

‘So the colony would be divided. Is that so?'

‘Well yes…'

‘And so there would be no Welsh spoken within a generation.'

‘Well…'

‘Reverend Gabriel Thomas has seen this, Caradoc. Unless a colony is large, self-sufficient and isolated from more dominant tongues, the language and culture are lost.'

Caradoc is silent for a few seconds and examines the watch chain threaded into his waistcoat.

‘How can you say that?' asks Silas. ‘Surely every case is different.'

Edwyn shakes his head.

‘Maybe it would be better if we were try to stay together,' Caradoc says quietly. He looks up at Edwyn and nods curtly. ‘Maybe it would be better to do as Edwyn says – stay in the Chubut and give it another try.'

Silas knows that the
Meistr
is looking at him but he refuses to look up.

‘Silas?' Edwyn says gently. It is halfway to a question.

Silas keeps his head bowed and says nothing. He is alone and defeated.

‘Silas, I need to have the assent of you all.'

It is as if something is opening inside. A gulf of nothingness, and if he moves or says anything he will fall into it.

‘Silas?' Edwyn touches him lightly on the arm. ‘Will you come with me and take some air on the deck?'

There is not much to see: land, river, land, ocean, land, river, land ocean. For two circuits neither of them speaks.

At the start of the third Edwyn stops. He smiles. ‘What's troubling you, fy
ffrind
?'

The same smile that he smiled at Caradoc. The same gesture.

Silas speaks through clenched teeth. ‘Are we friends?'

Edwyn's hands drop. ‘I would certainly hope so,' he says quietly, and for a few seconds holds Silas' eyes with his own. ‘Why are you being so obstinate, Silas?' he says at last. ‘The Chubut is our only hope now. Why do you refuse to see that?'

‘Because if we go back there we will all die. Nothing will grow.'

‘But last year was dry – an exception. Dr Rawson told you that.'

‘What has he told us? We have learnt everything we know through you – or Selwyn.'

  ‘Don't you trust me, Silas?'

Silas is looking at the ocean. It is morning and the sun is reflected there, as if it is lighting a shimmering passageway east. Home to Wales. He feels an ache in his chest. It catches his breath. He glances briefly at Edwyn. ‘No,' he says, defiantly looking at him. ‘You've lied to us more than once, deceived us and then abandoned us. Why should I believe anything you tell me now?'

Edwyn Lloyd lowers his eyes slightly and then turns away. ‘I was doing my best, Silas,' he says softly. ‘I know I made mistakes, but I was just trying to do what I could.' He pauses, takes a breath. ‘I know we shall succeed in the Chubut if we give it time.'

‘We gave it time! You haven't been there, you left us.'

‘I was exiled.'

‘You exiled yourself – to a warm civilised city.'

‘It's not what you think. It wasn't easy. I had to work hard on the colony's behalf. I had to do things I didn't like. I had to…' He pauses, breathes in deeply and continues. ‘I had to make friends, influential ones that could help us. I had to do certain things, things I didn't like… my wife, Cecilia...'