The Ten Incarnations of Adam Avatar (26 page)

I had been out running an errand for the widow and, because it was so lovely a day, I decided to take the long way back. I knew the widow would scold me, perhaps even beat me with the broad leather strap she kept for that purpose, but I decided 'twas worth it. The sky was a deep blue with occasional masses of high white cloud that would not yield rain. The wind was steady, cooling and I thought that if Sean was free we could talk a little or, if he wished and 'twere possible, I would stand against a wall, raise my dress, and let him go at me from behind. (He liked when I was wanton and I liked the way his breath deepened when I made bold to be so.) I approached his master's house from the back, over the fields. Sean's room was to the back and I heard the little cries even before I came up and peered through the closed shutters. She was on top of him, her skirts gathered about her waist, her broad white buttocks clenching and unclenching like waves uncurling upon the shore. My breath choked in my breast and I remembered the time when I had almost drowned. As I stood watching them, a voice spoke in my head:
You did not almost drown, you did drown
, it said.

I fled, weeping, across the green and empty fields.

I did not see Sean for some day after this nor did he seek me out. When he did come into the widow's shop to get some goods for his master, he kissed me and I let him. 'Twas as though all was usual. When he was leaving, I said, ‘Sean, you remember once you said you would buy me away from the widow?'

He nodded. ‘But you know I must end my own service first and even then I'll be able to do it only after my own farm is set...'

He had not listed these provisos back then. But I only nodded and said I understood. Later than day Captain Ketteridge came in, again when the widow had stepped out. I stood close so my bosom brushed his sleeve. ‘I'd very much like to see thy estate some time,' I told him, looking into his eyes. He swallowed and asked when. I felt some little astonishment that such an experienced and important man should become as a callow youth simply because I made my meaning clear.

‘Tuesday, after dark,' I said.

He nodded and left. His face, I noted with amusement, was as red as though he had spent the afternoon under the open sun.

When, one month later, I paid the widow the full sum of my contract, 'twas the most pleasurable moment of my life. Her mouth actually unpursed, becoming loose and trembling, while her small black eyes darted about like flies.

‘And where'd you get this, I'd like to know,' she said, but the whip in her voice trailed off without a snap. The gold and silver coins lay on the counter of her shop, glittering irrefutably.

‘That be not thy concern,' I said. ‘Thy concern is to sign my paper.'

‘I'll not be taking any stolen coins. I am an honest Christian woman, I'll have you know.'

My pleasure doubled and 'twas all I could do to stop myself laughing out loud. I took out from my bosom an official document with Captain Ketteridge's seal on it. The widow read it, her hands shaking slightly and not from age. Her lips were once again a thin line. Then, without a word, she signed my paper. She guessed where my money had come from, but she could not speak against an important man like the captain. Yet she could not resist a hissed ‘Hussy!' when I left her home with my small bag of belongings slung over my shoulder. I laughed and walked down the road and out of the town under the bright sunshine.

The captain had wanted to buy over my contract. I had refused. I was willing to sell my favours, not myself. A little kiss, a little groping at my young bosom, and he was lost. Not that 'twas any great loss, because what was for me my freedom was for him a pittance. His house had a wooden floor and the wooden floor had carpets thrown across it. The shutters closed on lead-paned windows and the windows had glass and the glass was covered by lace curtains. There was a drawing room and a dining room and three separate bedrooms. All were filled with furniture – chairs, tables, dressers, cabinets – from England and there were more dishes and cutlery than the captain could ever use. And he did indeed have a shelf filled with books. He let me hold one once, a thick leather-bound book with gold letters on the front that, he said, spelled ‘The Holy Bible'. I was amazed, almost afraid, to think that I was holding the Word of God in my hands, and I thought how wonderful it would be to be able to read. But I was not there to read.

Although I was as careful as could be, people still found out that I was going to the captain's estate house. One evening, Sean came to see me. We spoke in the garden. He asked me questions which I answered evasively or not at all. He grew angrier and angrier, his lips pressed together whitely, two red spots burning high on his cheeks, his eyes the colour of the sky on a heated day. I could not fathom why he was so enraged when 'twas to the Irish girl he was now making love.

‘Thy face looks like the smithy's fire,' I told him with a giggle. He slapped me. I staggered back with the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. He had slapped me so hard that my teeth had cut my cheek inside. I had a sudden feeling of satisfaction that, oddly, felt like memory. Sean slapped me again, bursting my lip. I fell to the earth, and now there was horror in me. It was as though that hard slap had opened a shutter in my mind, and I saw a garden of death filled with dying and dismembered bodies. I screamed, and Sean ran away. By the next day, most of the swelling had gone down, though my lip was still burst; but even the cut inside my mouth had healed when I went to the captain that night.

After I bought my freedom, I went to live on the deserted western side of the island where the great Atlantic roared. The captain lent me two of his slaves to build a house. It was a simple hut, made of cleverly braided twigs that the Negroes called wattle, sealed with straw and mud. I had built close to a low copse through which ran a streamlet, alongside a path that twisted through the dipping plain. Some few hundred yards away the edge of a cliff overlooked a desolate shore. When the last twig was set and I had sent the Negroes on their way with two unexpected silver coins, I stood on the edge of that cliff, looking out. The crashing waves thrashed the massive red boulders that were scattered like a giant's playthings along the beach and into the sea. The lowering sky stretched like an ironed sheet above me, and the surf spat and hissed, as though cursing my invasion. I stood there and smiled and smiled and smiled. I felt alone upon the earth, supreme in the eye of the heavens, mistress of my own rough mansion. There was nothing more in life that I desired, save furniture.

This I got, and a few other items, over the next two years. A solid oak chair and a small cyp table, as well as a copper pot, an iron frying pan, a straw-filled mattress and a down-filled pillow. I got these items from the captain the same way I had got the money to buy my contract. But, other than this, I lived quite simply. The Widow Simmons would have said I lived like a heathen, and I suppose she would have been right. After a few months, I stopped seeing the captain and I rarely went into town for anything – when I say rarely, I mean that I went about once in the year. For food, I fished or set snares in the forest or picked fruit. I planted cassava, which I pounded into flour and baked into bread on a clay griddle. My food was seasoned with salt from the sea and herbs that grew wild right in my yard. I even made myself a fishing spear and a bow. These skills, this knowledge, seemed to come to me naturally. My few clothes became tattered. Sometimes I patched them, more times I went almost naked. My white skin surrendered to the insistent sun and turned a pale gold. In the wet season, my thatched roof withstood the wind and rain well. Months passed when I would forget that there were even other people on this small island. No one else was stupid enough to live on that wild coast. Another woman, or even a man, would have died several times over. Once, I fell when the cliff edge crumbled beneath my feet. When I awoke, black-feathered vultures were picking at my flesh. I got one before it could fly away and twisted its neck. I plucked and roasted the bird but the meat was tough and stringy. Another time, a sudden tide caught me while I was swimming and threw me against one of the giant boulders, breaking some ribs. But they mended by the following week. Other accidents happened. I always survived. I was happy.

One day a man met me on the path as I was returning from the sea with my catch. I had by then been living there for three years and never had I seen another living soul on that part of the island. It was late afternoon and we came upon each other suddenly, myself coming up the cliff, he approaching its edge. I was holding a large fish in my right hand and, seeing a man right in front of me, swung it by reflex. Its scaly body slapped him on the side of the head and he fell backwards like a cut cane.

‘No, no
mujer!
' he said, holding up his hands and laughing. ‘
Estoy un amigo. Amigo!
'

I lowered my fish and looked at him. He was a youngish man, with a mop of black hair, soft beard and a sunburned face. His eyes were a honey-coloured brown. He wore canvas trousers and a leather jerkin and carried a knapsack on his back which had broken his fall. Then he looked at me and his face grew serious. I was wearing only a scrap of cloth around my hips and my breasts were bare. For the first time in several years, I felt embarrassed. My breasts had grown to the size of grapefruits since I had been there. The man glanced back along the path. My hovel stood out with its yellow thatch brave against the brown-green plain.

‘
Alli
,' he said. ‘
Su casa? Su bohio?
'

I nodded and said, ‘
Si
.' But the word gargled and I cleared my unused throat and said, more loudly, ‘
Si
.'

The man got to his feet. I quickly pulled loose the scrap of cloth I used to tie my hair My hair had grown waist-long, its curls tangled like seaweed, and I spread it like a cloak about me. When the man turned, he kept his eyes on my face. But I saw the new lump at the front of his canvas trousers.

‘
Me llamo Will
,' he said, putting his hands to his chest.

I pushed past him and began walking towards my house. I was suddenly very aware of the plump swing of my buttocks under the ragged skirt. The man came up and walked at my side.

‘
Como se llama?
' he asked.

I cleared my throat again and, for one panicked moment, found myself unable to remember my name. ‘Sarah,' I said finally.

‘But that's an English name' he said.

‘I am English,' I said.

His eyes widened. ‘You're English!'

I continued walking, clutching the fish to my bosom.

The man said, ‘I'm sorry. I thought you were a mestizo.'

‘No,' I said.

We walked on in silence. When we reached my house, I went inside and put down my fish and put on my only cotton dress. The man was sitting on the stool I kept outside my door. He got up as I came outside.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I didn't expect to find anyone living out here.'

I said nothing but sat on my stool and gazed out at the reddened horizon. Sea gulls wheeled over the cliff and I could hear their faint cries on the wind. I had forgotten how to talk to people.

He said, ‘You speak Spanish well. Where did you learn?'

I shrugged. I did not know how I had understood him. I thought of the pale Jew who had been at my mother's funeral. He had never taught me to speak Spanish, but I thought that perhaps the language was absorbed through the blood.

‘My name is Will Powell,' said the man. ‘I'm a sailor.'

I said, with some effort, ‘Where's thy ship?'

Will Powell grinned. ‘I fell out with the first mate. So I jumped ship. I decided to explore the countryside before I sign on another one. I certainly didn't expect to find a woman living all the way out here. Certainly not a beautiful one.'

I said, ‘Yes. I live out here.' I really had forgotten how to talk to people. But Will Powell did not seem to mind. It was getting dark and I offered to let him stay. He agreed readily and scaled the fish which I baked and served with greens.

Because he was a guest, I lit one of the few candles I had. I usually went to sleep with the sun and arose likewise. He talked and I listened. He spoke of England and other far-off lands like Spain and Africa. He was a good talker, for I felt as though I had been to those places. Yet, strangely, he did not speak as well of the country I most wished to know, my mother's homeland and his, England. Perhaps it was because that which was to me a land of wonders was to him dull with familiarity. Yet was I still taken with his talk of palaces and playhouses and busy ports.

When he tried to kiss me, I pushed him away. He was not a bad-looking lad, but I had bought my freedom with my favours and, if I understood nothing else in life, I understood that my favours were too valuable to be given free.

‘I'm sorry, Sarah,' he said. ‘'Tis only that you are so beautiful and I have been so long without a woman.'

I did not understand what he was apologizing for. I said, ‘You may have what you want, Will Powell. But I have need of a mill.'

‘A mill?'

‘To grind corn. I have planted some maize out back. I need a mill to make flour to bake bread on my
buren
.'

For some moments he looked quite blank. Then his face cleared. ‘You want me to pay?'

‘Nothing is free in Barbados, Will Powell. People least of all.'

He had some silver coins in his sack. I believe he left the next morning well-satisfied. So was I: I went into town the very next day and got my mill.

I never saw Will Powell again. Yet that chance meeting had important results. I discovered that Captain Ketteridge was not exceptional: yet still was I amazed that men would trade their silver merely to stick their thing into my hole. But if men were so easily contented, who was I to argue? More importantly, though, Will Powell had filled my head with pictures of wider world. I wanted to see that world before I died. And, perhaps unknowingly, Will Powell also provided me with the means to do so.