A Distant Hope

by Ellin Carsta

  “My son has nothing but good things to say about your grandson,” Georg lied. “He’s an excellent student, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is,” Palm added after some reflection. “But unfortunately a little unworldly. I’m afraid my daughter was overprotective, since she only has one child.” He sipped his coffee. “It’s worthy of you to initiate Richard into the world of business this early. The sooner young people learn how the world works, the better.”

  “That’s exactly how I see it. And I see that everything is not always simple. That’s the reason we’re here,” Georg said.

  Palm nodded. “I know about your situation,” he said. “Reidel briefed me thoroughly. Regrettable, the whole thing. Truly regrettable.”

  “Our father was a customer at this bank his entire life. He trusted you, just as this bank could trust him,” Robert reminded him.

  “That’s right,” Palm agreed. “Your father was a marvelous businessman, and I had boundless respect for him as a person as well. I was very sorry when he passed away.”

  “Then you also know that a Hansen’s word can be relied upon,” Robert pursued.

  “Yes, I know. And I do not believe this bank has ever refused to take your word.”

  “Well then,” Georg observed. “We’ve asked for a postponement, but your colleague refused.”

  Palm raised a finger and waggled it. “That’s not exactly right. You have asked as of now for a third extension. We granted your request twice. But we have our own obligations toward our clients. Herr Reidel was following regulations, his actions are beyond reproach.”

  “Of course,” Robert calmly noted. “We learned from our father that we can always trust your bank. And we have come now to ask for your trust one more time.”

  Palm shook his head. “I really do not see how that’s possible.”

  “Not yet.” Robert seemed sure of a win. “Because you don’t know yet about the superb business deal we just concluded.”

  Palm leaned forward. “Really? You have prospects?”

  “More than that,” Robert assured him, and then told him about purchasing the plantation in Cameroon. “Johann Meyerdierks knows so certainly what the profit will be that we won’t begin paying installments—which are spread over eight years—until after the first harvest,” Robert concluded.

  “A genuine vote of confidence, indeed,” Palm applauded. “But what if the plantation suffers losses?”

  “Meyerdierks has worked his property for three years, expanded the cropland, and was able to increase his income. He can be generous with us because he’s earned more money from it than he can spend in his lifetime.”

  “Hear, hear!” Palm grew thoughtful. “I’ll be frank: I don’t support Bismarck’s exploitation of the Dark Continent. We’ve plenty of trade opportunities here in our own country. Let the French and the English and the Belgians seek their fortune in Africa. That has nothing to do with us Germans.” He took a sip from his cup.

  “Oh no?” Georg rejoined. “Do you like your coffee, Herr Palm? The beans might well have come from that very continent you don’t think is significant.”

  The bank manager put his cup down.

  Robert threw Georg a stern look. They didn’t need lectures at this point, and Robert thought Georg’s remark was counterproductive.

  “What my brother means to say, Herr Palm, is that the Dark Continent has already been part of the German Reich for a long time. Whether it’s coffee, cocoa, cotton, or palm oil—you can’t conjure those commodities out of our lives. And consumption’s rising. That’s exactly why the step we’re taking is not only a bold one, but it points to the future.”

  Palm looked at him, pondering.

  “Father always told us that you’re a man who understands what his clients envision. That’s why we are here. We need six-months’ grace period. Then we’ll be able to pay back every last mark.”

  “Half a year?” Palm gasped. “Impossible.”

  “Herr Palm, we are speaking to you as our father’s trusted friend. Maybe you considered the relationship between you two differently, but that’s exactly how he saw you: as a friend. What do you think he would have said if your daughter had asked his help in some matter?”

  Palm rubbed his chin in contemplation. Robert sensed that he must keep up the pressure.

  “He was a man who liked to help others. If he had one hand climbing up the ladder of success, he always held the other below to help those who hadn’t come as far as he had.”

  “Yes, I know,” Palm said. “Did you know I do have something I’m very grateful to your father for? That’s the reason I agreed to have this meeting today.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Your father was already a good client of the bank when I was a new employee. I made an error, and your father, who had every reason to lodge a complaint, did not. It even cost him some money. It wasn’t much, but his silence made it possible for me to get a promotion, which would have been out of the question after my mistake.”

  Robert smiled. He sensed that recollecting those past events could nudge Palm into changing his mind.

  “I thanked your father, but he didn’t want to hear of it. He told me that one should never forget to be a mensch.”

  “That sounds like our father,” Karl commented.

  Palm shook his head. “I wouldn’t have called us friends, but now that you say the word . . .” He smiled to himself. “We knew each other over thirty years, always sharing our mutual trust. He was probably a better friend to me than I was aware of.” He sighed, then raised his eyes. “Nevertheless, my hands are tied. I’d like to help you with all my heart, believe me, please.”

  The brothers looked at one another. Georg had a bitter remark on his lips but kept it to himself.

  “Then we won’t take up any more of your time.” Georg stood up, followed by Robert and Karl. Palm was the last to push back his chair.

  “May I ask what your plans are?”

  “We will have to sell the villa,” Georg replied.

  Palm wrinkled his brow. “I’m sincerely sorry. I know what the house meant to your parents.”

  “To them and to us,” Karl said.

  “May I be of assistance in finding a buyer?” Palm offered. “It would be the least I could do.”

  “No need.” Georg extended his hand. “We already have an offer. The bank will get its money right on time.”

  The brothers said their goodbyes and walked to the door.

  “I hope we can meet again under more fortuitous circumstances,” Palm observed after Georg had opened the door. “For curiosity’s sake—and to make sure that the buyer has the funds—who is it?”

  “Frederiksen. I’m sure he has the money.”

  “August Frederiksen?” Palm walked quickly around Georg and shut the door. “Your father’s former partner?”

  “Quite right.”

  “Your father hated him!” Palm looked at the brothers, one after the other. “And for good reason!”

  “We know. But we have no choice.” Robert shrugged.

  The banker’s expression changed. He pursed his lips. “Out of the question,” he declared, and pulled open the door. “Fräulein Handtke, dictation, if you please.” He pointed to the conference table. “Please be seated, gentlemen. I will, in your presence, dictate to my secretary that payment of your liabilities be postponed for a full nine months. You will surely have sold the cocoa harvest within that time, right?”

  “Certainly!” Robert said enthusiastically.

  “Good.”

  The secretary came in.

  “Please take down my words, with copies to Herr Reidel, Herr Müller, and Herr Wirts.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fräulein Handtke sat down and flourished a pencil.

  “Heading: approval for postponement of all debts belonging to the firm of Peter Hansen & Sons and for payment of bridging funds,” the manager began.

  The brothers beamed.

  Chapter Five

  Camero
on, End of September 1888

  It was very early in the morning, the moon still in the sky, and the sun just beginning to announce the coming day. Luise had woken at this same time for the last four days. The first two days, she’d marveled at the sky’s varied colors from her window. But on the third, she realized that nobody else was awake and that the plantation—swarming with people by day—looked completely uninhabited. She’d thrown on a bathrobe, made sure that no one saw her, and hurried to the stump next to the cocoa trees where the workers sat to eat their midday meal. There was a wonderful view over the wide landscape all the way to Mount Cameroon. While the scenery was bathed in a delicate pink that grew brighter by the minute, the sky over the mountain was blue gray, seeming to challenge the massif itself. That hour was, for her, the most beautiful one in the day, and it became a ritual. She couldn’t quite describe it, but it felt as though the time between night and day belonged to her alone. The colors, the sounds of animals waking, the vastness of the steppe just beyond the plantation and jungle, and even the mountain: everything seemed to exist just for her. Luise felt calm and settled as never before in her life. She had no idea what the future would bring, but she knew it would be in this place.

  She’d been trying to help with the harvest, despite her mother forbidding her to. She’d asked Hamza to show her how, but he’d just stared at her and turned away. Maybe he didn’t understand her language as well as Meyerdierks had said. So instead she watched the natives work, then found a machete and tried cutting the oval fruits off the tree herself. The harvesters watched her skeptically, but neither helped nor hindered her.

  The harvested fruits were gathered together and opened with a single skillful machete blow. Luise watched this over and over, and even tried it herself, but the effortless movements of the natives eluded her. So she limited herself to watching closely and was glad when Meyerdierks appeared beside her one day and explained the various operations. She learned that after the fruit was opened, the seeds, or beans, were removed from the surrounding white flesh in their husk. The fresh, wet cocoa beans were stacked on banana leaves and covered with more leaves to protect them from contamination. She was surprised when Johann explained that the fermentation process was started by heat and the beans were only fermented for a week. In that time, he continued, the flesh still clinging to the beans was liquefied and drained off. The beans were then roasted, sometimes as hot as 120 degrees Fahrenheit, altering the bitter-tart flavor and changing their color from whitish-yellow to a deep brown. Luise was grateful to Johann for educating her and showing her beans in different stages of processing; she’d thought the beans were dark brown straight from the fruit and would simply be packed into sacks and shipped all over the world.

  She sensed that Johann was the only person who didn’t find her interest in cocoa production peculiar but took sincere delight in it and even encouraged her. Her father was too busy calculating yields for him to learn how cocoa beans were actually processed. Luise understood that her father had to manage the overall operations and the revenue the plantation would generate. But she did think the beauty of processing the precious beans from the fruit deserved more appreciation. The idea of her sister, Martha, let alone her mother, being excited about such things had been banished from Luise’s mind the day after they arrived in Cameroon. They had nothing good to say about the wonderful landscape or the inhabitants. And so Luise was glad to be able to keep out of their way on the sprawling plantation.

  In the evenings she wrote about the stages of cocoa production and her impressions, before filing the notes in her portfolio. She hoped she would reread it all someday, and she hoped with all her heart it wouldn’t be in distant Hamburg that she’d recall her first days in Africa. After being in Cameroon for a few days, the fear of having to leave the colony was her constant companion.

  All this whirled in her thoughts as Luise watched the sky change from pink to a bright orange. She looked at the mountain while lingering for one more moment at the tree trunk. Then she walked slowly back to the house with a smile on her face. She crept into her room, slipped off her bathrobe, and crawled under the thin sheet that served as a bedcover. She still saw the pink sky over Cameroon in her mind’s eye as she drifted off to sleep.

  They were having breakfast on the veranda. It was Sunday, and they were getting ready to leave for church with Johann. The little church was at least an hour away by carriage, although their plantation was one of the closest to the church.

  “You don’t look well, Luise.” Elisabeth held her daughter’s chin and examined her face. “Pale and sickly.”

  “Oh, Elisabeth, please,” Robert said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve all got more color from the sun lately than we’ve gotten in all our Hamburg summers put together.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” his wife answered, irritated. “Tiredness and lethargy cannot be hidden under even such a dark tan.”

  “I’m feeling fine, Mother.” Luise managed a smile, which wasn’t easy, because her mother’s carping really got on her nerves.

  “I think Mother’s right,” Martha said. “To be honest, I don’t feel well either. Maybe the food here doesn’t agree with me or I’ve picked up something, though I try to keep my distance from those people.”

  Johann looked at Robert. He clearly wanted to say something, but he refrained.

  Luise thought her attitude disgraceful, and it made her furious. “I think they don’t want to have anything to do with you either.”

  “Luise!” her mother shouted, banging her hand on the table. “Don’t talk to your sister like that! Robert, would you please handle your daughter?”

  “Luise, your tone of voice is inappropriate,” Robert began. “But I understand your outrage over what your sister said.” He looked at Martha. “Perhaps it would be good for you to work alongside them for a day, to appreciate them the way they deserve.”

  Martha was wide-eyed. “But, Father!”

  “You absolutely do not have to do that,” Elisabeth interjected.

  Robert studied his wife for a moment, placed his napkin next to his plate, and stood up. “Johann, would you excuse my wife and me for a minute?” He turned to Elisabeth. “Come with me, if you please?”

  Elisabeth’s expression froze; she rose and turned without a word, following her husband into the house.

  Martha and Luise looked at each other anxiously. Luise had never seen her father react like that before. He usually simply took her mother’s behavior in stride. Luise feared that the discord could turn into a larger argument that would only exacerbate the situation, hardening the separation between Robert and Luise on one side and Elisabeth and Martha on the other. And yet she had to confess she was pleased that her father had reached his limit and was finally declaring her mother’s behavior toward the natives unacceptable.

  “And are you looking forward to your teacher’s arrival in three weeks?” Johann made an attempt to ease the tension.

  Luise smiled gratefully. “I’m curious to see how it will go. We’ve never had a private tutor, Martha, have we?”

  “No, never.” Her sister answered in a monotone.

  “I hope I’ll still have enough time for the harvest and helping around the plantation,” Luise remarked.

  “Certainly. There’s always something to do on a plantation, usually more than you can keep up with.”

  “Why did you come to Africa? Was it business?”

  Johann contemplated the ceiling. “Well . . . I think it was for the adventure. When Africa was divided at the Berlin Conference in 1884 and 1885, I wanted to get involved and was one of the first Germans to set foot in Cameroon. But I came to realize the natives were as friendly as they were suspicious. It was a time of awakening for me. I was naively glad to be part of it.”

  “Do you think that time has passed?” Luise inquired.

  “No, I’m afraid a greater push hasn’t even begun. But I no longer want any part of it.”

  “What do you mean?”


  “The French, English, Belgians, Portuguese, and we Germans have gone and divided up Africa. The people here weren’t asked, weren’t involved. There’s already unrest in places where the natives are subjugated and abused by Europeans.” He studied Martha with a penetrating gaze. “That’s why I appeal to you to rethink your attitude toward the people who do the work on the plantation for you.”

  Martha opened her mouth, then closed it. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Johann nodded toward Martha, who instantly lowered her eyes.

  “Well then, the time has come.” Robert and Elisabeth came back onto the veranda. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes,” Luise replied, and hissed softly at Martha. “Now pull yourself together, or you’ll make matters worse!”

  Her sister nodded. They got up from their seats. Luise glanced at her mother. Elisabeth was stone-faced. As they went to their carriages, each driven by a native, Luise saw Elisabeth nod and link arms with Robert. She wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but one thing was clear: her father had spoken harshly to his wife. Although Luise knew schadenfreude was never good, she had to admit she was secretly glad.

  “May I introduce the Hansen family?” Johann Meyerdierks led them to the large awning a bit away from the church, where the Germans gathered to chat, have a drink together, and exchange ideas after service. Luise estimated that about forty people were there.

  “Robert Hansen and his wife, Elisabeth.” Meyerdierks gestured toward them. “And their charming daughters, Martha and Luise. The Hansens will be taking over my plantation.”

  “So you’re serious about it, then?” A man of about fifty shook hands with Robert. “Admiral Heribert Bischoff, Heribert to you. Honored.”

  A woman appeared beside him.

  “This is my wife, Irmgard. The tall boy back there is our son, Manfred. Welcome to Cameroon!”

  Though there weren’t all that many, Luise immediately forgot the names of half the people she met.