Coffee (38 page)

Etty
fondled it affectionately. “It’s not my father’s.”
She turned it over, relishing its weight and finely honed metal.
“But thank you.”

Clorice
leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You and I are alike.
We have no blood family, and we have strong ambition. Both of us
would get what we want with this merger.” She tried to speak
but he motioned for silence. “I will train you. You will be
completely in charge of the daily activities, just as you described
in your paper. Without you, I have no one, I will die alone knowing
my company will be split by the lawyers and run by whomever they
choose. Heaven help me, maybe even the Portuguese Brazilians. But
if you stay, think of your future. We will be family. When I pass
on, you will run, and own, one of the largest companies on earth.”

Etty
withheld her questions, not sure now which one to ask first.
Clorice capitalized on the silence, and dismissed himself. “Please,
think about it. Stay here and eat as long as you wish. Milpeau, my
head of security, is waiting on the beach. He’s smoking a
cigar, you won’t miss him. When you are ready to return to
your cottage, he will escort you.” He took Etty’s hand,
and kissed it tenderly. “Thank you for joining me. I hope you
give my offer great consideration. We will talk again tomorrow.”

Clorice
left, his dinner barely touched. Etty’s plate brimmed with
broken lobster shell. She sat still for some time, rubbing the face
of the watch with her thumb. She finally sat up and pulled over his
untouched lobster. She couldn’t let the delicate claw meat go
to waste, and eating helped her think. She chewed slowly,
mesmerized by the blinking lights of ships and buoys.

Another
extraordinary proposal. But Clorice’s certainly surpassed
McKinsey’s - if for nothing else, because she could revive her
identity from the dead. Or could she? Would he really let her go?
Not without significant restrictions. Bringing down Global Growers
was surely out of the question. What other lies would she have to
carry?

“But
President!” she said aloud. The powerful rum drinks, a stomach
full of the sea’s gourmet selections, and lungs bathed in salt
air, helped produce an exhilarating rush. Something deep inside
begged her to consider the offer, pushing kind hearted images into
her mind of an odd but kind old man searching for help with his
destiny. ‘If he were so bad, why would he want a person like
me to follow in his footsteps,’ she whispered.

But
what if she said no? A new vision surfaced, of Clorice as a Mafia
Godfather, making offers she couldn’t refuse. She might be
executed on the spot. ‘I don’t even exist, I am already
dead, in a foreign country, with no name, hidden on a private
island. If I decline, they’ll never let me leave - I know too
much. They could kill me with a cannon at noon and no one in the
world would notice,’ she thought.

After
a few more minutes of contemplative nibbling, she defiantly pushed
out her chair, wiped her face, and headed toward the beach stairs.
Around the corner of the verandah, three guards and two servants
stood smoking cigarettes. They stiffened nervously when she came
into view, obviously assigned to watch her. She waved, and they
awkwardly nodded back.

A
few hundred feet beyond the bottom of the stairs, Etty saw a large
man sitting in the sand, leaning back with one arm wrapped around a
knee. When he puffed on his cigar, the red tip illuminated his deep
black face. He spoke without looking as she approached. “Good
evening. I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”

Etty
continued around to face him. “You must be from security.
I’m Harriet Bishop.” She reached out. Milpeau stood,
and formally shook with his husky black hand, rough from years of
field work.

“My
name is Milpeau.”

“Mill-pu,
I’m sorry, what again?”

“Mill-pay-you.
It’s Garifuno. It means ‘swallow.’”

“What’s
Garifuno?”

“I
am descendent of the Africans brought here to do slave work for the
Portuguese. Garifuno is the language of my ancestors.”

“Why
‘swallow?’”

“My
grandmother watched my birth, and said she had to swallow hard when
she saw how big I was.”

“Your
mother probably swallowed even more.”

Milpeau’s
gravelly laughter pleased her. “So, you know the way back to
my house?” she asked playfully. More deep tones from
Milpeau’s throat.

“Yes,
we walk.” They headed south.

Nature’s
refuse speckled the sand - coconut husks, twisted driftwood, shells,
crispy seaweed. Phosphorus churned by the small waves created long
white glowing lines of froth. The dim light shined just enough to
see ahead where crabs scurried down toward the surf from their
nighttime sand caves.

Etty
broke the silence. “Do you have a family?”

“Yes.
A wife and two boys. You?”

“No.
Not married. How did you learn to speak English so well?”

“Here.
The Meneer has trainers on staff to teach us the coffee business,
and to speak in English. It’s the only language allowed.”

“Was
this your only schooling?”

“Yes,
but in many ways, the teaching here is better than the public
schools.”

“You
speak like a professor, Milpeau, better than many in my own
country.”

“Thank
you. Clorice expects no less from his key staff.”

“What
is ‘Meneer?’”

“Meneer
Clorice, it is how we address him. It’s Dutch.”

“Excuse
me if I ask too many questions.”

Milpeau
looked over at her as they walked. “I have been instructed to
answer all your questions with complete honesty. The Meneer
expected this, so please, feel free to ask what you wish.”

His
invitation intrigued her. “Umm, there must be a lot of guards
stationed here with the President on the premises. Where exactly
have they been placed?”

Etty
noticed a flinch. “... Everywhere.”

“I
see, some topics are still taboo.” Etty looked back and
spotted a sentry silhouetted against the bright lights of the main
house, now a half a mile behind them.

They
passed a lean-to made of bamboo and palm tree fronds. Someone had
fashioned a wooden seat for ocean viewing, out of the shade. “Oooh.
I’ll have to remember to come back here.” She picked
up a shell. “Have you ever killed anyone for Clorice?”

“Yes.”

The
honesty surprised her. It chilled her to know she was alone on the
beach with a man willing to carry out the evil bidding of his
manager. “How did you feel about it?”

He
sighed. “I felt good that I was doing my job as he asked me.”

“You
felt good? Killing someone?”

His
voice lost character, reduced to a monotone. “I am proud to
be where I am. I am young for my station, as head of his guards. I
do not always agree with his decisions, but that is not my place. I
do what I am told, and do it with my best, whatever it is.”

“Would
you kill me, if asked?”

Milpeau
looked toward her. Etty saw only a large round shadow of his head
against the surf, but could guess his expression. “Why would
you ask such a question? You are not an enemy, are you?”

“You’ll
have to ask him. Is John Clorice a good man?”

“These
are not the kinds of questions I wish to answer.”

“But
you said I could ask whatever I wanted.”

“About
the plantation. About coffee. You are playing a game with me. Do
you think you are smarter than I?”

She
should hate this man, the head keeper in this strange prison world.
But she didn’t. “I’m sorry. I have been rude.”

Maybe
it was his melodious voice or his honest working hands. On the
surface, the two couldn’t be more opposite. Ironically their
one common experience was killing another human being. She recalled
the guard at Global gasping for his last breath. She did it to save
her life. Milpeau may have done it for the same reason.

A
distant ship horn blew. “Milpeau?” Her tone softened.
The words came from a deeper place. “What do you want from
your life?”

“Edigiate.”

“What?”

“It’s
Eee-digi-ahh-tay.”

“More
Garifuno?”

“Yes.
Roughly translated, it means to have ‘soft breezes blowing in
your soul.’”

Etty
turned toward the waves to weigh the answer. “Yes. That
would be nice. I’d like that too. How will you find it?”

“There
are times I do now - when I watch the sun rise as I bathe in the
waves, when I look into the faces of my sleeping boys.”

“But
you want more from your life?”

“Yes,
I dream of running a plantation. Because I am big and black, jobs
in security come readily, but not ones with real responsibility. I
wish to be more, to make the decisions, run the operations.”

Etty
twitched, embarrassed that she had just been asked to do exactly
that, without even the slightest experience. “Would you run
it differently than Clorice?”

Milpeau
was not comfortable criticizing his manager, Etty could tell by the
way he changed his stride. She simplified it for him, “Well,
is there any one thing you would do right away that he has not
done?”

“The
Carnival - I would change the work schedules for the Carnival.”

“Why?”

“The
Meneer does not appreciate the festival time in June. He forces all
the laborers to keep their schedule, and has been known to fire
people for calling-in sick. The Carnival is a time of re-birth. It
is a time when the spirit can leave the body and be free - to dance,
to spring forth, shedding the year of accumulated burdens. Without
this, the weight builds up, until our soul can hardly move.”

“That’s
beautiful. And he won’t let you participate?”

“Only
if it does not interfere with production. Many of the festival
events require all day, or all night. Our people are forced to
work. They can not play any key roles in the events. Others
ridicule us.”

They
came upon the small path that led up to Etty’s house, under
the clean white light spilling out from every window. Etty turned
to face Milpeau. For the first time, she could see his big face.
In the midst of his muscular jaw, thick cheeks, black eyes, and
ruddy complexion, a simple smile showed a way into a tender heart.
“Thank you, Milpeau. Let’s hope we only meet on these
terms, and not the unthinkable ones.”

Milpeau
touched the top of her hand, and then turned back down the beach.

- Chapter Twenty Two -

Etty
awoke Saturday morning to Anna and Catalina running frantically
around her room. “Madam Ittie! You must get up! Meneer
Clorice is on his way to see you!” While one pulled clothes
from the armoire, the other pushed aside the thick curtains. Etty
sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, squinting from the bright
sunlight.

“What?
What’s all the rush?”

Anna’s
face wrinkled in concern. “The Meneer! He will be here this
minute.” Then she turned to Catalina. “Cata - run down
to make coffee and warm up cakes. Run!”

Etty
finally gained enough awareness to control the chaos. “Ladies!
Please! Slow down!” Catalina stopped in the hallway and
looked back, but Anna’s stern eyes told her to continue. She
ran off. Anna continued to create an outfit for Etty to wear.
“Anna. I appreciate your concern. I do. But I am the guest
here. If John decides to come over unannounced and wake me up from
the deepest sleep I can remember, then he damn well has to wait.”

“But
he is the Meneer!”

“Your
job is to attend to me, not to him. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“You
go down and wait for him. When he arrives, show him to the front
room, and tell him I might be a while.”

“Yes
Madam.”

“Please
call me Etty. ‘Madam’ is for fat buxom women who talk
like this,” she switched to a stuffy old rich lady voice while
dangling her hand from a limp wrist, “
Ohhh!, how DARE you
set the table with the wrong FORK! And these glasses! How
horrible! They’re on the wrong side of the plate! Run and fix
them!
”

Anna
snickered softly, then broke into hearty laughter. “You are
some girl, Ittie!”



Etty
found John Clorice in the sitting room, drinking a cup of coffee,
surrounded by untouched plates of different fruits and cakes. Anna
tried to run ahead to announce her arrival, but Etty beat her in.
“You said you’d come and see me today, I didn’t
think you’d be up before the chickens.”

Clorice
glanced at his watch. “The time is nearly seven in the
morning. Work at the plantation begins at six.”

“Six?”
She continued through the room, out onto the sun bathed deck, and
sat on a lounge chair. “Anna?” she shouted back into
the house. She came running, but slowed to a majestic gate when
passing Clorice. “Anna, I would love a cup of hot coffee.
Nothing to eat just now.”

Anna
fumbled her response. “Yes Ittie, Madam Ittie Bishop.”
Anna wasn’t sure Clorice would approve of a first name basis
by the servants. Clorice finally rose from his seat and walked out
to join her.

“You
do not function well in the morning?” he asked while taking up
a chair.

“Remember
I’ve been a professional student most of my life. My days
begin late and end late, it’s the norm. What may I do for you
this morning?”

His
lips twitched with exasperation. “What may you do? I have
given you time to think. I need to know your answer.”

“I
thought you said I had a week. It’s been less than 12 hours!”
Anna arrived with a clay hand painted pot, vapor puffing from the
little spout as she walked. She moved delicately without the
slightest clinking sound as she arranged and poured two cups. Etty
took one under her nose and breathed in the rich steam. She drew
coffee through puckered lips with a hiss. “Ahh. So fresh, so
good.” She paused to gaze toward the ocean, then began.
“John, I am truly honored with your proposal. Amazingly, even
to me, I feel I could do it. I’ve searched my soul, expecting
to find insecurity, but there is none. My ancestors must have left
me with a natural born comfort to run a large company. It feels
right.”