It was the end of May; June came along. Rain and still more rain. Hard rain; soft drizzly rain. Everything wet through. Now Sarith usually stayed in her room all morning. If the rain stopped she would go out after all. If not, she would come down again only when Rutger came home from the office. And it happened more often that Rutger failed to come for his siesta in the afternoon or that Elza was alone in the bedroom at night because he still had some matters to attend to. And then she knew that he was with Sarith. Elza sometimes felt like gouging her stepsister’s eyes out. That Sarith – she could happily have done something to her. If only she would leave. But apparently Sarith had no plans whatsoever to depart. At the end of the day Elza knew one thing for certain: she did not intend to carry on in this way. But she was also aware that she did not know how she could put an end to the situation.
Each time she talked to Rutger about it, he assured her that it was nothing and that these things blow over of their own accord. She must be patient and above all remember that she had promised not to be a jealous wife. On each occasion Elza determined to talk to Sarith, but she never got the chance, for Sarith ensured that she was never alone with Elza.
Elza also noticed a gradual change in Sarith’s attitude. If she had in the past taken care never to make an intimate move towards Rutger in Elza’s presence, these days she had no problem with touching his hand, placing her hand on his shoulder, or even leaning on him when Elza was around and could observe everything. It was as if she were demonstrating, “He is mine.” All the time there was that provocative laugh, and when the three of them were sitting in the front room, her hand would find its way often enough in Rutger’s direction. When Elza was alone and contemplating the whole situation, she saw constantly before her those possessive little gestures and Sarith’s triumphant gaze cast in her direction. Elza tried to talk to Rutger about this, but he said that Elza was imagining it all. How could Sarith be making covetous gestures? He most certainly was not hers! Nothing escaped Maisa’s all-seeing eye. Elza heard how she often mumbled something in Sarith’s presence. She hardly spoke to Sarith, and was usually very abrupt with Rutger. To Mini-mini she did make all kinds of remarks that clearly were not intended for Mini-mini but rather for her mistress.
One morning, Felix, the nine-year-old futuboi30, Lena’s son, was called by Mini-mini to run an errand. He must go and buy a few things for Misi Sarith from a shop in the Saramaccastraat. When Felix came downstairs, Maisa was waiting for him at the bottom. Maisa asked, “And where do you think you’re going?”31
“I’m going to the shop,”32 answered Felix.
“Is Misi Elza sending you?”33 asked Maisa.
“No, the other misi,”34 said Felix.
“You’re going nowhere. This is Misi Elza’s house and you are Misi Elza’s futuboi. She and she alone can send you on an errand. Take the money back.”35
Maisa’s sturdy arm pointed upstairs. Felix hesitated: what must he do now? He knew full well that every slave in the house did what Maisa said, but now that white misi upstairs had sent him on an errand: who should he obey? But Maisa, who had noticed the hesitation, grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted, “Get going – take the money back, or I’ll throw you against the wall so hard that you’ll be knocked into the middle of next week.”36
And she gave him a push, so that he flew upstairs. It could not be said that Maisa had spoken softly. At the top of the stairs stood Mini-mini. She took the money back from Felix. Sarith, in her room, had also heard everything that had been said, as had Elza, in the front room. When Felix came downstairs again, Maisa took his ear between her thumb and index finger and said, still very loudly, “Listen well, boy. If I ever again see that someone else is sending you on an errand, I’ll give you such a good hiding that you’ll not be able to sit down for three days.”37
Elza smiled briefly in the front room, for she knew that Maisa wasn’t at all angry with Felix: it was her way of making it clear to Sarith that she, Sarith, had no authority in this home and that Elza alone was the lady of the house. Felix would probably now get an extra large biscuit from Maisa in the kitchen to show that she wasn’t angry with him.
Upstairs, Mini-mini slowly entered her mistress’ room. Now she would have to go to the shop in the Saramaccastraat, and that was something she did not do willingly, for she was scared of all the men, white and coloured, who were always making remarks and all kinds of suggestions to her. Even before she was in the room, she was greeted with Misi Sarith’s words:
“What are you doing, still here? Hurry up and come straight back or I’ll make you pay.”
Since there was no-one else on whom Misi Sarith could vent her anger, Mini-mini knew full well that she ran a good chance of getting a thick ear, and so hurried off.
22 A warm dish based on grated taro stem, with chicken and vegetables, eaten mainly on festive occasions.
23 Fiadu (fiadoe or viadoe) is a (pastry) tart filled with raisins, almond slivers, amongst other things. Keksi is a sponge-cake, but also with raisins and currents. Inglish boru (or Engris buru, Ingris boroe), similar to keksi but sometimes with pineapple.
24 A brew with a very high alcohol content.
25 “A betre misi srefi gowe tu.”
26 Brought directly from Africa, or born during the voyage.
27 Three-quarters negro, one-quarter white, or the a child of a negro and an indian.
28 “Misi, o, mi Tata, misi Elza, san eh pesa?”
29 This was a bitter citrus fruit that was used for many purposes.
30 A younger boy who would attend constantly to every whim and fancy of his master or mistress. In this respect the term is untranslatable, for this degree of servitude is these days inconceivable. ‘Footboy’ or ‘footman’ simply does not do justice to the concept.
31 “Dan pe y’e go?”
32 “M’e go na winkri.”
33 “Na misi Elza seni yu?”
34 “Nono, na a tra misi.”
35 “Yu n’e go no wan pe. Dyaso na misi Elza hoso, yu na misi Elza futuboi, na en wawán kan seni yu go du boskopu. Tyari a mono go baka.”
36 “Mars go tyari a moni baka, noso m’é hipsi yu meki na sé wanti naki yu di fu tu.”
37 “Hartyi bun boi if wan tra leisi m’é si taki tra sma seni yu go du wan boskopu, m’e fon yu yere, m’e fon fy tak’ dri dei yu no man sidon.”
CHAPTER IV
RUTGER
When Rutger arrived at his office one morning in the last week of June, Mr van Omhoog was waiting for him impatiently. The administrator had been visited the previous evening by Daniel Jeremiah, owner of the Jericho Plantation on the Cottica River.
An uprising had broken out among the slaves on this plantation two weeks earlier. They had set the cane in the fields on fire, as well as the warehouse and the sugar mill. The damage had been limited to a section of the fields. The warehouse had been burnt down; the sugar mill had been saved. This had been due to the timely arrival of soldiers and to the fact that overseer Vredelings had immediately shot and killed the instigators. The main instigator’s head had been displayed on a stake in the middle of the slave village as a deterrent. The owner Daniel Jeremiah had now travelled to Paramaribo to ask administrator Van Omhoog for a bank loan.
Mr van Omhoog wanted Rutger’s advice. Daniel Jeremiah already had a considerable debt at the bank. The total debt was greater than the value of the plantation. The owner was known as someone who was more often drunk than sober and who spent most of his time playing dice.
What should be done now?
“Don’t give any further loan,” advised Rutger. “Take the plantation and either improve it or sell it.” That might well be the best thing to do, Mr van Omhoog also thought, but then the undertaking might not earn all its money back, and could one in fact do such a thing? It would mean that Mr Jeremiah would be made bankrupt in his old age, with no plantation and no income.
“That is his own fault,” said Rutger.
Mr van Omhoog hesitated. “He will
say that I have refused him a loan because he is Jewish. You know how these things go here: people are always ready to find fault.”
For the rest, Mr van Omhoog had the feeling that there was something not quite right with Mr Jeremiah’s story. He had claimed that the uprising was due to the Boni-negroes having raided the Voorspoed en Uitzicht38 Plantation on the Cottica River about three weeks previously. They had killed the owner and overseer, but had left the wife and children unharmed. Most of the slaves had, however, joined the raiders and they had taken with them everything they could use from the plantation. The uprising on the Jericho Plantation was, according to the owner, inspired by this raid, but Mr van Omhoog had a strong impression that there was more behind it.
He had told Daniel Jeremiah that he would have to discuss the matter with his colleague. In fact, what he really wanted was for Rutger to travel to Jericho to see things for himself before they made a decision. How the plantation was looking, the state of the fields, what the white supervisor was like. Answers to these questions were necessary before the company could grant a loan.
A little later, Daniel Jeremiah came into the office. What a shabby type, thought Rutger, looking at the carelessly dressed individual, and how suitable his name is! For Mr van Omhoog began the conversation by saying that the company could really not grant the loan in view of the huge debts that were already on the books. Upon hearing this, Mr Jeremiah immediately started whining. Had he then worked so hard all his life for nothing? Would he have to end his days as a beggar?
He should have drunk and gambled less, thought Rutger, looking at the fat, sloppy individual and at Mr van Omhoog, who was not at all impressed with the man’s crocodile tears, but rather continued calmly to explain that Mr le Chasseur would travel back with him to Jericho to see whether the company might still be able to do something.
“Be on your guard there, Rutger, for the man is a sly type,” said Mr van Omhoog once Daniel Jeremiah had departed, relieved.
At table that lunchtime, Rutger told Elza and Sarith that he would be travelling to Jericho in two days’ time.
“Can’t we come along?” Sarith asked. But Rutger answered, “Absolutely not. It will certainly not be a pleasant journey. It’s a three-day journey before we’re there, and it’s raining so much. Who knows what I’ll find there. And in any case it would be far too tiring for Elza. You stay here and amuse yourselves. I’ll be away for only a week or two.”
Two weeks alone with Elza was something that Sarith could obviously do without, and she thought that it would then be better simply to return to Hébron. Thank goodness, thought Elza, hoping that Sarith would remain at Hébron a lot longer than two weeks! Sarith left the very next day, on the tent boat of a plantation that lay a lot further than Hébron along the Suriname River.
Daniel Jeremiah had done everything within his powers to make the journey as pleasant as possible for the man who would have to decide whether or not the bank would increase his loan. The tent boat was supplied with different wines, rum, fruit and various roast meats. It was thus a considerable disappointment to him when Rutger kindly refused the drinks and said that he enjoyed something with a kick, but never drank before evening.
Before they left home, Rutger had told Alex to use his eyes and ears well. He must try to learn from the slaves on the plantation how things were there, and he should keep a constant watch on the overseer. Rutger knew he could depend on Alex. From the moment he had been given this young slave, when he had just arrived in Suriname, he had realized what an intelligent youngster he had. For a start he understood everything in Dutch and could speak it, too. As the child of the Van Omhoog’s kitchen slave he had virtually grown up in their home, but he had always been wise enough not to let on that he understood everything they said.
Rutger had, however, realized this very quickly, and had made it common practice always to speak Dutch with Alex when they were alone together. When it became apparent that Alex was so interested in everything, Rutger had taught him to read and write. Within a few months, Alex could read fluently, and Rutger often handed him a book. If Alex wanted to know something and asked about it, Rutger would give him a book and would say, “Read about it for yourself and we’ll talk about it later.”
When Rutger refused his host’s drinks in the boat, he looked at Alex with a wink. The tent boat sailed from Paramaribo first to the other side of the river, then along the various plantations to Fort Nieuw Amsterdam, where they could navigate the bend that would take them into the Commewijne River. The tide was favourable. They had sailed on the ebb tide down to the mouth of the river and could now take advantage of the flood tide to sail up the Commewijne. The boat cruised along various plantations: everything looking really fine. A grand plantation house and other buildings; very often pleasant summerhouses at the waterside in which you frequently saw people sitting who would always look up and wave to the passing company. At five in the afternoon they arrived at the Mon Trésor Plantation, where they stopped for the night.
Even by noon, Daniel Jeremiah had drunk so much that he looked really drowsy and was slurring his words. The small slave-boy whose job it was to provide him constantly with drinks had his ear twisted now and then when the glass was not filled quickly enough. Over and over again Daniel told Rutger that in past times the plantation had been a feast for the eyes. Oh yes, in the past, when his wife was still alive. Those were different times, those were. She had always cared for everything so well. Not that it was a dilapidated pile now, oh no, Rutger mustn’t imagine that. But even so, the household missed a woman’s touch. Women a’plenty for the other, that wasn’t the problem; he could have a different one every night if he wished. But women, black or white, were still the cause of most problems, didn’t Rutger agree?
The next day passed like the previous one. They departed on the flood tide and sailed on further upriver. Still plantations on both sides, but also large stretches of rainforest in between, and in some places slaves hard at work where new plantations were being laid out. Suriname gold, Rutger contemplated as he sailed along all the plantations and could sometimes see all the labour from the river. Yes, the explorers had been right. There was gold in South America. Not the yellow gold that they had first sought after, but the fertile ground that could produce goods for which there was so much demand: sugar, and now coffee, cocoa, tobacco and cotton. A golden era for the plantation owners and for the bankers in the Netherlands who generously provided credit and got richer and richer. Were the handsome mansions along Amsterdam’s famous canals not a striking proof of this? Did the owners of these fine houses have the slightest idea of how that gold was come by? Did they know anything at all about the despicable lives led by so many of the slaves?
The boat could sail as far as La Felicité Plantation on the Cottica River, where they would have to wait for the tide. La Felicité’s owners were delighted to be able to welcome the assistant of the well-know administrator’s office as a guest on their plantation. When Alex was with Rutger that evening in the bedroom, he said that they would need to sail for only two-and-a-half hours the next day. He had seen how Masra Jeremiah had sent two of his rowers on ahead in a small boat to Jericho to tell the white supervisor that everything must be properly prepared to receive an important guest.
Jericho was a sugar plantation, very large, with more than a hundred slaves. When the tent boat arrived around noon the following day, everything was indeed ready and could easily have fed a company of ten. Grilled chickens, bread, bananas, roasted meats, many kinds of vegetables and fruit. After lunch, for which they had been joined by the white supervisor, Mr Vredelings, Rutger’s host insisted that he should take a rest. A nice slave-girl would show him to his room. That evening the gentlemen would play some rounds of cards. The director and white supervisor from a neighbouring plantation had already been invited. The following day would be soon enough for the inspection to commence.
After his rest in the afternoon and with his host still fast asleep, Rutger went for
a walk outside. He took a look along the waterfront at the boathouse, then walked along the half-burnt-out warehouse and into the slave village. It struck him how quiet everything was. On the other plantations he had always seen children laughing and playing. Not here.
He was still walking in the village when the slaves returned home from working in the fields. An emaciated, gaunt group of individuals. No-one laughed, no-one talked. All silent. When he approached, the group stopped, shuffling along with bowed heads and mumbling, “Greetings, masra,” and waited until he had passed.
At cards that evening there was much drinking, shouting and laughing and the odds were amazingly high. The breasts and buttocks of beautiful slave-girls who had had to stay up to serve the masra and his company were pinched on several occasions, while the two boys got a regular kick up their backsides. Rutger said little and ensured that he drank little, and for the card games, with their high odds, he remained a patient onlooker. He was glad when the evening was over and he could go to bed. His host had said that he could choose one of the slave-girls for the night. When Rutger had answered, “Thank you, but no,” Daniel Jeremiah had laughingly asked whether he perhaps wanted a different one – there was enough choice on the plantation. He had only to say the word and overseer Vredelings would see to it. Rutger had amicably but firmly refused.
The next morning when Rutger awoke and opened the door to let Alex in, Alex wasn’t lying on his mat right next to the door where he always slept when they were travelling and staying the night somewhere. He was standing some distance away along the passage and was looking intently out through the window.
The Cost of Sugar Page 8
