During Mathew’s first few days back, he kept reminding himself about the strength of his recent emotions for Antonia Clinton-Kemp and to be guarded in his affections towards Lucienne in case he gave the impression he wanted a committed long-term relationship. However, in spite of such a righteous intention, he was surprised how quickly his deep feelings for her were rekindled and how very much he enjoyed her ebullient company.
So it was on a hot and rather humid August evening, with thunder in the air, that Mathew had picked Lucienne up in a taxi from her small flat. As they drove through midtown Atlanta, they shared their excitement about the evening ahead.
‘I must say I feel very honoured they’ve asked us for dinner at their home,’ said Mathew. ‘I’ve never been invited before so it’ll be interesting to see Osman Hill in his own environment. He’s supposed to be an excellent host.’
‘I’ve spent quite a bit of time with Yvonne, she’s been so kind to me, but it will be great to get to know the professor on a more personal level,’ replied Lucienne. She took Mathew’s hand and began to speak in a hushed tone. ‘I was thinking that it might be best if we project our relationship as friendly but professional. If they think there’s anything going on between us it might not look good, you know. . . They might think it will get in the way of our work.’
‘That’s a good point. Well, there’s no reason for them to think anything other than that we developed a friendship while I was studying the gorillas of Kahuzi-Biega and that we share a professional interest.’
‘And in many ways that’s true, but I think we should emphasise that we have a mutual ambition to do as much as possible to promote the future conservation of the eastern lowland gorilla in the wild. In fact, we could jointly organise some fundraising activities in support of Adrien’s anti-poaching patrols in Kahuzi-Biega . . . What do you think?’
In spite of Mathew’s previously vowed intention to become more reserved during his meetings with Lucienne, throughout their taxi ride they had held hands with the enthusiasm and intensity of two young lovers. It was almost as if their almost six months of separation had only been a matter of a few hours, with the intimacy of Mathew’s rescue of Lucienne from Lake Kivu fresh in their memories.
Mathew had always found his professor to be extremely supportive to any student of natural history, no matter what their background or what level of education they had achieved, as long as they showed enthusiasm and dedication to the subject. Osman Hill was well respected for his eagerness to help young researchers in any way he could. The more Mathew got to know his mentor away from his academic teachings, the more he came to recognise his strong sense of humour and his quick and ready wit. Also, within his small, close-knit academic circle of friends, he was well acknowledged to be an excellent host, a connoisseur of good wines and the producer of a variety of exotic dishes. Mathew had been amused to hear a rumour that some of Osman Hill’s colleagues and staff at the Yerkes Center viewed him as ‘the archetypical English scholar-gentleman who was inclined to view those from the “colonies” as a step below the British!’
‘Put me out of my misery, Mathew – I must hear all about those gorillas in Kahuzi-Biega – I want every detail, don’t leave anything out,’ smiled Osman Hill almost as soon as they sat down. Mathew was in his element as he described the make-up and social grouping of his study family; the way they interacted with one another and his interpretation of their vocalisations, facial signals and eye flashes. ‘Apart from George Schaller’s excellent observations on the mountain gorilla, and some more recent papers by Dian Fossey, there’s really been little research and even less published about the eastern lowland gorilla,’ explained Mathew. ‘That’s what made this particular species of such interest to me.’ After almost an hour of quite intensive questions and answers, it had been obvious to Lucienne that Osman Hill had been totally absorbed in and had very much enjoyed what his doctorate student had been able to tell him.
‘I would very much like to see your sketches of the facial patterns next time we see you . . . I did the anatomical figures for the first six volumes of the primate monograph,’ said Yvonne, finally getting a word in edgeways in the question and answer session between her husband and Mathew.
‘When I was first a visiting scholar at Emory,’ continued Osman Hill, ‘it must have been 1958, we had Jane Goodall studying here.’ Jane Goodall had studied primate behaviour under him in preparation for her long-term and now famous field studies of wild chimpanzees at the Gombe Stream Research Centre in Tanzania. ‘Have you seen her book In the Shadow of Man? It’s just been published, and she’s done a very professional job of presenting her field studies – fascinating, you must read it.’
As the friends enjoyed the generous supply of fine Californian wine, the conversation became more general. Yvonne suggested Mathew and Lucienne might enjoy a visit to the town of Macon, some 140 km to the southeast of Atlanta. ‘It’s known for having a Cherry Blossom Festival and as the home of the Georgia Music Hall, but the reason I’m suggesting that you visit is to see a major private collection of African-American art and historical and cultural artefacts. There are some fascinating pieces. The owner is one of our friends, Dr Murray Cohen – I’m sure he’d be delighted to show you around.’
‘We may well think about that,’ said Mathew, winking at Lucienne across the table. ‘I could do with a break. Now, Professor, enough about me. Why don’t you tell us about your career before you ended up at Emory?’
Osman Hill went on to give a fascinating account of his early days after qualifying as a doctor at the University of Birmingham’s medical school. In 1930, his career had taken him to Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) where he had been appointed as Professor of Anatomy at the University of Colombo Medical College. What Mathew had found of particular interest is that apart from the professor’s university teaching and academic responsibilities, he had taken the opportunity to pursue anthropological studies of the indigenous people as well as researching the comparative anatomy of some of the local primates.
Although Osman Hill’s international reputation was that of a distinguished anatomist and eminent primatologist, Mathew had found it most revealing to hear about his breadth of interests in so many other aspects of natural history. He had managed to maintain a private menagerie of exotic and native species in Colombo comprising lorises, purple-faced leaf monkeys, cockatoos, red-fan parrots, star and leopard tortoises, a giant Galapagos tortoise and some ruddy mongooses. In the past, Mathew had rather struggled with the fact that to date, his academic studies had been rather restrictive and had prevented him from looking into other aspects of the natural world.
‘Coffee, anyone?’ asked Yvonne, carrying a tray into the room. It was then that the professor picked up a small museum-type specimen jar full of formalin, which had been partly hidden by a bowl of flowers in the middle of the dining room table and overshadowed on either side by bottles of Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Noir. Although Mathew had noticed the presence of the bottle containing what looked to him like a foetus of some type of diminutive primate, he had not drawn Lucienne’s attention to it. Osman Hill’s deep-blue eyes were twinkling as he had held the bottle of formalin up to the light, rather like a small boy with his favourite conker.
‘I’ve got something special here, take a look at this!’ he said as he started to point out the anatomical features of a neonate of the threatened South American Goeldi’s monkey, Callimico goeldii. He clearly regarded this rare specimen to be the jewel in the crown of his collection. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I was to get it – this neonate arrived from a research laboratory in Miami, just in time for tonight.’ It was his pièce de résistance for the evening. ‘I’m currently writing a paper on obstetric mishaps in marmosets,’ he informed them with the enthusiasm of a surgeon about to carry out his first operation. ‘Now I can include comparative observations of Goeldi’s monkey. So little is known about the species, it’s going to be fascinating,’ he said, turning the jar around to lo
ok at the specimen from every angle.
After having thanked the Hills for the most enjoyable of evenings, Mathew had suggested in the taxi back to Lucienne’s flat that they should take Yvonne’s advice and hire a car to visit Macon. Lucienne was very enthusiastic and so the following morning, Mathew phoned Macon’s tourist office who recommended that he make reservations at the Lakeside Inn. He duly reserved two rooms for the coming weekend, with views of Lake Tobesofkee.
With approximately three months to go before it was time to submit his dissertation, Mathew returned to his Hartington Hall weekday routine in order to finalise the writing up of his thesis. He had to restrict socialising with his university friends as much as possible. Whenever he had time to reflect on Lucienne and Antonia, he found it almost impossible to reconcile his respective deep feelings for them. This had not been helped at all when he had received a rather romantic letter from Antonia, who had written to say how much she missed his company, especially when she had returned home to Yorkshire, and that she did so much hope he would be back in the UK by Christmas. What with Lucienne’s regular expressions of love for him, Mathew found himself in an emotional tug of war. He felt that he had adopted somewhat of a ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ attitude in his relationship with them both. However, with no foreseeable solution to his emotional disarray, Mathew decided to concentrate as much as possible on his priority; preparing his doctorate dissertation.
On Friday afternoon, Mathew collected an excited Lucienne from the Yerkes Center’s reference library, and although the heat of the day was still intense, the drive down to Macon through the rolling hills proved to be a very enjoyable journey. They followed a sign to the shores of Lake Tobesofkee and soon arrived at the small, quaint-looking Lakeside Inn. While Mathew removed their overnight bags from the boot, he noticed that the ‘Vacancies’ sign behind a glass panel on the front door was being turned around.
As they entered the reception area of the hotel, a middle-aged man with the appearance of a bull mastiff glared at Lucienne.
‘Did you read the sign?’ he snarled at Mathew. ‘There’s no vacancies here tonight.’
‘I’ve booked and paid for two lake-view rooms on my Amex card. Here’s the confirmation reference.’ Although taken aback by such a rude reception, Mathew was quick to find the slip of paper in his wallet and hand it to the increasingly angry-looking man, who then disappeared into a back office where he could be overheard almost screaming at someone. He returned a few minutes later.
‘Well, there’s been a mistake with these reservations. There’s only one room with a lake view available, which you can have, but the black girl will have to take a room at the far end of the building. If the lady doesn’t like it,’ he sneered sarcastically, ‘she can try a hotel in another part of Macon which she may find more . . . appropriate.’
Shocked by such aggression, Mathew had to do everything possible to control his anger. Glowering back at the hotelier, after a long pause, he replied as calmly as he was able, ‘Could we see the rooms?’ The man returned to the office and after more angry words from within they were joined by an agitated and tearful-looking lady, who took them upstairs.
‘These will just about do – as long as my friend has the lake view room,’ Mathew insisted. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree the other room is far from acceptable for a lady to sleep in.’
‘I’m afraid you have to take the lake view room. My husband, Jed Jarman, he’s the owner and he sticks to his rules. There’s a notice at the entrance which says “Rights of Admission Reserved”. It states that only Europeans are allowed to stay in this part of his hotel, non-Europeans have to be accommodated elsewhere.’ The woman looked at the floor. ‘I’m really sorry I can’t help you, but those are the rules.’
Mathew was tempted to contact the local sheriff’s office immediately and cite the 1964 Civil Rights Act that had officially ended such public segregation in the USA almost ten years before, but decided against it. Prior to leaving Atlanta (he had not considered it necessary to mention it to Lucienne), one of his friends had warned him that Macon was in a district of the Deep South where there was still quite a sizeable percentage of the white population who resisted change. His friend had warned him that should he encounter any ‘rednecks’ in Macon while out with Lucienne, to be careful not to overreact in case the situation should escalate.
That evening, in spite of the hotel restaurant being only half full, as soon as they arrived at the dining room they were immediately guided to a table in the far corner, as if Jarman wished to completely hide the presence of Lucienne from the rest of his hotel guests. However Lucienne, being the level-headed, mature mortal that she had always been, acted as if everything was in order and during the course of the meal she was as cheerful and as charming as ever. After taking coffee in the hotel lounge, where they had also been directed to a table in a secluded corner and received a few disapproving looks as they walked through the room, Mathew had accompanied Lucienne to her room at the far end of the building, passing as they went a bathroom with a ‘Whites Only’ notice on its door. After giving Lucienne a quick hug and kissing her gently on her lips, he said ‘I’m so sorry to have brought you here . . . I’ll take this whole despicable racist attitude up with the appropriate Civil Rights authorities in Macon before we go back. I can’t believe people still think like this, I never expected it.’
‘It’s not your fault, Mathew. But we’re here now and we can’t do anything about it, so we may as well make the best of the weekend, don’t you think?’
He smiled and kissed her again, impressed at her strength and resilience under such trying circumstances.
The following morning, after an early breakfast, Mathew phoned Dr Murray Cohen. As suggested by Yvonne, Osman Hill had provided them with an introduction to this friend of his, an archaeologist by profession, who had for many years been gathering African-American art and now had a sizable collection of artefacts and documents, with the idea of establishing an African-American Museum in Macon. Dr Cohen invited them to his home that morning.
‘How lovely to meet you both! Any friend of Osman Hill is a friend of mine – come right in.’ As soon as they entered Dr Cohen’s house Mathew was tempted to tell him about Jed Jarman’s extreme racist attitude, but he decided to leave the matter until later in the day.
While they were sitting on the veranda with some ice-cold lemon drinks, Dr Cohen told them that he had been awarded his doctorate from the University of Georgia as a result of the data he had collected during the major excavations of the Ocmulgee Monument, which had taken place in the 1930s.
‘Much of the research we carried out was with a ground-scanning instrument, very primitive compared with anything in use today but it allowed us to locate shapes underground.’
‘Really?’ said Mathew. ‘Archeology fascinates me, but I’m ashamed to say I know very little about it.’
‘Well, for this dig, it was the ground scanner that led to all the other discoveries. As we found the forms underground, we could identify the unearthed dwellings of an ancient civilization of mound builders. These were near the Ocmulgee River, just to the north west of what’s now downtown Macon.’
‘So what kind of things did you find?’ asked Lucienne.
‘Pretty much what we were expecting to find – pieces of domestic ware, animal bones, axe heads, even some fine decorative pieces – but the quantity and the analysis we were able to carry out meant that the site is now considered to be one of the largest Mississippi-period settlements in the eastern USA with mounds dating back about 1000 years. It gave us an incredible amount of data on how they lived their lives.’
Although the doctor’s sizeable collection of artefacts was not currently open to the general public, he had made a room in an outbuilding available to schools as an educational resource devoted to the African-American experience as far back as 1619. As he showed them round, Mathew and Lucienne found the doctor’s commentary about African-American art, history and culture during the past 3
50 years to be enlightening and enthralling. He was generous enough to spend the majority of the morning explaining in detail the historically significant achievements of African-American inventors, military leaders, artisans, musicians, writers and artists, as well as a number of outstanding heroes.
‘Now this,’ Dr Cohen explained, ‘is one of the jewels of the collection. It’s called “From Africa to America”, a work by a contemporary Macon artist, Wilfred Stroud.’ They took in the intricate mural in front of them, depicting the journey of Africans from West Africa to America beginning in the early seventeenth century, portraying significant events up to the twentieth century. It was an incredibly moving piece in which the artist had managed to capture the suffering of slaves and degradation of African-American people and their struggle against oppression.’
‘Your collection is quite remarkable, Dr Cohen,’ said Lucienne. ‘It has a great historical value – do you have a plan for the future?’
‘My dearest wish is that it will form the main nucleus of an African-American museum in Macon for all to benefit by, so that it can help educate and promote understanding.’
Once they had seen the collection and were back on the shaded veranda, Mathew decided the time was right to bring up the problem of the Lakeside Inn.
‘Dr Cohen . . . I wanted to ask your advice on something. We arrived at the Lakeside Inn yesterday having pre-booked two rooms, and were treated with the most hostile racism I have ever witnessed. The owner, a Mr Jed Jarman, tried to pretend there were no vacancies and eventually, Lucienne was put in a room at the back of the hotel instead of one the lake view rooms I’d asked for – we were practically hidden from view at dinner. How should I go about complaining to the relevant authorities? We can’t let Jarman carry on treating people like that.’
Someone Wishes to Speak to You Page 9
