The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel (45 page)

Then I noticed the sounds of conversation. I asked whether the dinner guests had already arrived. She hesitated, but I stepped into the house. There were twelve guests. Catching sight of me, de Groot beckoned me to his side. He introduced me jovially as his new assistant and good friend from the old days: the African prince Aquasi Boachi. The company was made up of Auditor-General Dijkstra and his wife, the draughtsman of the Botanical Gardens at Buitenzorg, Mr. Galant, accompanied by his wife and daughter, two army officers and an almoner. There was also a lady wearing a fashionable dress that left her shoulders bare. She introduced herself as a titled member of the van Ketelaar family, but I had never heard the name mentioned before. Finally, there were the deputy head of the civilian medical service, and Mr. van Ophemert, trader in coffee, who had brought along his eldest son.

Drinks were being served. Cornelius offered me a glass of papaya juice mixed with Dutch gin. It dealt a sharp blow to my empty stomach, but animated the exchange of courtesies. When Cornelius revealed my connections with the royal family, which he did with gusto, the guests were all ears. Fortunately I am discreet by nature.

The gong for dinner sounded shortly before seven. The guests rose to take their places at the dining table. I was engaged in a conversation with Miss Galant at the time, and escorted her to her seat. I looked round the table and discovered that all the chairs were taken and that there was no place setting for me. Cornelius motioned for serving to begin, and addressed me across the table in a loud voice: “Cook is counting on you in the kitchen. He is bound to have something to your taste. Bon appetit!”

All I could do was to wish the company a pleasant dinner in return.

It was dark. On the grassy area by the kitchen I saw a circle of domestics squatting around a large pan, laughing and chattering in high-pitched voices. They ate with their fingers. By this time my mouth was watering, and I plucked up courage to join them. When I came near they all fell silent. Urip rose from their midst. She took a bowl which she filled with rice topped by a spoonful of reddish-brown stringy meat. She lowered her eyes in embarrassment as she offered it to me. I thanked her kindly. She sat down again, but did not eat. The others, too, paused in their supper. Some stared, others averted their gaze. I was nonplussed, and considered seeking refuge in my room. But then I hitched up my trousers and squatted down in the circle. The youngest servant moved aside with a friendly smile to make room for me. He showed me how to eat the rice with my fingers. I imitated his gestures, after which he nodded and began to eat. Two of the servants stood up and withdrew, followed soon after by a third. Those who remained resumed their supper in silence. I ate a few mouthfuls. The taste was quite pleasant, but the sauce was so hot that it gave me a runny nose and watery eyes.

“Your hand! Give me your hand, Boachi, dammit! And tell that nincompoop I’ll chop his head off if we hit those rocks. Is he blind? My God, it’s too late, there we go. We’re going. Let me go, you fool. Do you want me to drown with you hanging round my neck?”

There were two things Cornelius never mastered: how to open a bottle of drink properly and how to keep his dignity at sea. In both circumstances he relied on me. Whatever the type of stopper or cork, whatever the instrument he was using, he never managed to prise open a bottle of wine or champagne without mishap. Not that Cornelius was all thumbs, but his sheer strength and impatience defeated him. Still, he always insisted on trying, and when he did not succeed he would push bottle and corkscrew into my hands, spluttering as if he had been required to perform an impossible task. When I had removed the remains of the cork or had sieved the wine to get rid of glass splinters, he would growl a word of thanks, despite his annoyance at his own clumsiness. I did not mind helping him out. In these matters he really needed me.

He also needed me on board ship. Even if the sea was as smooth as glass when we sailed out of the harbour, Cornelius would turn deathly pale and rigid with fear. He would scan the horizon for possible tidal waves, and if the sails creaked in a gust of wind he would ask, in a timid voice: “Is anything wrong?” In heavy weather he was the first to panic.

“Are you mad? Boachi, man, steady on, hold me tight, hold me tight! Dear God, this is the end.”

When we sailed into the bay of Amboina on 22 June 1852 we were feeling the worse for our rough passage. In sight of the capital our ship had been buffeted by sudden blasts of wind during a dangerous manoeuvre between a cliff and a sandbank. The small vessel that had brought us from Banda was not really suited to sailing in the heavy rains, which reach the Moluccas later than the rest of the archipelago and cause a severe swell. We had endured the stormy monsoon throughout the voyage. Cornelius was in a very bad temper. From the start he had regarded the whole venture as futile. He was convinced that tin mining in the Moluccas, which was the motive for our expedition, would not prove profitable, much less worth risking one’s life for.

Once we had arrived in the harbour of Amboina on the north coast of the Ley-Timor peninsula, Cornelius gradually regained his composure. He soon regretted his faint-heartedness and found some excuse to reassert his authority over the crew. I kept a discreet distance on such occasions. In my capacity as secretary I had accompanied him on numerous tours of inspection of the diverse mining districts throughout the islands, where we visited the respective governors and administrators. I knew exactly when he needed me at his side and when it was better to stay out of his way.

The jetty was virtually deserted because of the downpour. We could see knots of people huddling in the shelter of the gateway to Fort van Capellen. There was no one to welcome us except for a few Chinese peddlers and the warehouse inspector making his inventory of cargo and men. Our anchor being useless on the rocky bed of the cove, the ship’s ropes were secured to the sturdy bollards. The gangplank was lowered. As I spoke Malay better than Cornelius—thanks largely to my daily meals with the servants—he sent me into the town to discover why we had not had an official welcome. Leaving the fort behind, I found myself in a large square with several straight roads leading from it. I soon sighted Government House, where I presented myself. However, the governor of the Moluccas was absent. No one seemed to know of our arrival, and there was no message awaiting us. I concluded that we would have to apply to the assistant resident, but his whereabouts were unknown. I was told that he lived on the road between Tanah Tinggi and the military hospital, near the bridge over the Wai Tomo. I asked for a carriage, but all I could obtain was a pair of saddled horses.

I was not looking forward to reporting the discouraging news to Cornelius, and lingered on my way back to the harbour. As I walked towards the jetty I noticed a native boy standing in the rain at some distance from the ship. He had no intention of coming any closer, it seemed, so I beckoned him. He took a few steps in my direction, then stopped, pretending he had not seen me. When I went towards him he barely returned my greeting. The lad was drenched. His sarong clung tightly to his legs, and his face and shoulders were plastered with strands of wet hair. He did not look very bright. I could not tell whether he was silent out of shyness or impudence. I had to repeat my question three times before he replied that his master was the assistant resident. He had been charged with guarding our possessions until a carriage was sent to fetch us. At that moment de Groot came ashore. I told him a carriage was on its way, but he refused to wait. He mounted one of the horses and summoned the boy, who was clearly frightened of horses, to approach. I could hear the anger in de Groot’s voice, and tried to warn the lad to do as he was told. When he held back, Cornelius dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks causing it to rear. De Groot acted in this way for the benefit of the crew watching the scene from the ship’s railing. Their laughter egged him on, and he imitated the boy’s terrified expression. He pointed at the pile of luggage and ordered him to carry it. The boy turned his eyes on me. When I did not come to his rescue, he said: “The assistant resident told me to guard your suitcases, tuan, until they are collected.”

“There are only three cases, and those bags over there,” said Cornelius. “You must carry them.”

“Please, the carriage will come soon.”

“What’s the matter with you? Take them and follow me.”

The boy looked miserable. He stepped gingerly to the mound of luggage and tried to lift one of the suitcases, which he could barely get off the ground. He glanced at us over his shoulder to see whether we were watching, then tried a large package, which was no less heavy. He gave up and stood with his back to us, his head bowed. Finally he did as his master had ordered and squatted down next to our belongings. He wore an earnest expression, so as to leave no doubt that he would guard them with his life.

This was not good enough for Cornelius. Perhaps he would have softened if the crew had not been watching his every move, but as it was he turned his horse and approached the boy once again, slowly and menacingly. The boy held his head down in fear of the hooves, but did not move away.

“Please, tuan!”

I could bear it no longer, and took hold of the horse’s bridle.

“He’s only a boy,” I said, “just let him be, Cornelius. I can carry the cases with documents myself, then the rest will follow later. What difference does it make?”

There was no reply. Cornelius jerked at the reins to make the horse turn its head, so that I lost my grip on the bridle. Then he kicked the flanks again to make the animal charge ahead over the boy. The horse lifted its forelegs, but refused to jump. For an instant I saw the boy celebrate his small victory with an insolent grin. My heart leaped for him. One of our sailors applauded, which enraged Cornelius all the more. He took his whip and raised it above his head. Without stopping to think I dashed forward and shielded the boy’s face with my arm. The leather thong cut into the back of my left hand. The wound was deep, and yet it took a few seconds for me to feel any pain and even longer for the blood to flow. Cornelius did not wait to see the damage he had done. He turned his mount in the direction of the fort, and rode away at a walking pace. I bandaged my wound with my handkerchief, left the boy where he was, and followed my superior.

During my first weeks in Java I had taken a cautious attitude towards Cornelius’s erratic behaviour. Bernhard of Saxe had been surprised that I should prefer de Groot’s chicken-coop to his own guest room—indeed this had roused his suspicions. When he realized that Cornelius kept making excuses to prevent me from meeting him, he grew indignant at the way I was being treated. He was shortly to return to Holland and offered to speak to the king on my behalf, but I would not have it. Not wishing to arouse his pity I pretended that my secretarial post was to my satisfaction. Somewhat confused by my attitude, Bernhard let the matter rest. However, prior to his departure he arranged for me to lodge with a friendly German family, which was a consolation even though I was too busy with my work to spend much time in my rooms.

Disillusioned by the lack of responsibility of my post, I wrote several letters to the governor-general. At first I requested relocation, then put in applications for research activities, but my bids were unsuccessful. Although I received replies to all my letters, the concern shown for my predicament amounted to little more than prevarication and subtle subterfuge. For example, I would be granted a small extra for my labours: a place of honour in the New Year’s parade or a uniform with gold piping on the lapels and cuffs. Each time I wrote back saying that this was not quite what I had in mind.

A few months later I received a note from The Hague informing me that I had been appointed chief of administration in the Department of Mines. My friend the duke had evidently complained to the Ministry of Colonies. The next morning I went to the office in high spirits, eager to hear what my new post entailed. The brief was devastating in its simplicity: the foremost duty of the chief of administration was to assist Cornelius de Groot. As his personal secretary.

This made me realize that nothing is achieved in the East Indies without the right connections. Linse and Lebret were far away. I met few people outside my work, and whenever any public officer took a personal interest in me he would be sure to be posted elsewhere within weeks of making my acquaintance. I was suspicious about this coincidence, but had no proof of deliberate action against me. After a while I took care never to spend too much time in the company of the same person and not to draw attention to myself in public. In order to avoid causing unrest I would refrain from discussing any subjects other than my work, especially if my conversation partner was someone I liked.

Yet there were evenings when Cornelius and I spent hours sitting on the veranda together, in relative harmony. He would smoke and stare into the distance. I preferred reading. If he showed interest in my book I would tell him what it was about and would read out a passage. He would laugh at my sensitive nature when I told him why a certain novel appealed to me, but I did not mind. When we were alone he was not out to impress, but meant what he said.

On such occasions we would get tipsy together as the evening wore on. Drink always loosened his tongue. He would ramble on about women and share his fantasies with me. Now and then he would sing snatches of love songs for my benefit. He had a good voice, which was surprising in a man who was so loud-mouthed in public.

When he felt truly at ease he would talk about his home village on the bank of the river, where his father maintained a ferry service. He would glow with pleasure, picturing the riverside inn where he had played in the stables as a lad and where his passion had been fired by a girl called Frieda. But if the drink made him morose he would speak bitterly of the hardship suffered by his family during severe winters, when the river froze and there were no earnings from the ferry. When that happened the schoolmaster would collect pennies from his classmates during the week, which would be presented to Cornelius on the Saturday afternoon in full view of the children, and he would be obliged to thank each of them in turn, cap in hand.