A Distant Hope

by Ellin Carsta

“Raimund Leffers,” a young man, a bit under twenty, introduced himself. “How nice to finally see some younger faces here.”

  “I’m Luise.”

  “And I’m Martha, her older sister.”

  Luise felt a jab in the ribs as Martha pushed her aside.

  “Well, Raimund, what do you do here? Are you also in cocoa?”

  “No, my father’s in the kaiser’s service. His commission is to keep Cameroon stable.”

  “How interesting!” Martha, obviously interested in something, walked over to Raimund and took his arm. “Tell me more. We’ve seen nothing but beans since we arrived.”

  She gave a sharp laugh, and Luise rolled her eyes.

  “Well, all right,” Raimund agreed with a shrug.

  Luise smirked. He clearly didn’t care to talk about it much but was too polite to say so.

  After several hours, they all began to say goodbye and set off across the vast country in every direction. Luise enjoyed meeting her compatriots more than she’d expected. She no longer felt she’d have to choose between her homeland in the German Reich and her new home. She had both right there.

  “Did you see how Raimund looked at me?” Martha gushed in the carriage with Elisabeth and Luise.

  “I suppose.” Luise shrugged.

  “I was very pleased with that,” Elisabeth said. “He could hardly keep his eyes off you.”

  “No, he couldn’t.”

  “Have you arranged to see each other again?” Elisabeth asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. He’s too busy as his father’s assistant. I won’t see him again until next Sunday.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Elisabeth played with Martha’s hand.

  “Yes. He’s extremely attractive, isn’t he?” Martha said.

  “If you say so.” Luise shrugged again. “He looks like any other young man in Hamburg.”

  “Oh, you’re just jealous he spent the whole time with me and not you.” Martha arched her eyebrows.

  Luise sighed. “I’m definitely not jealous.”

  “Oh no?” Martha snapped back. “Well, I would be if I were in your shoes.”

  Luise had no wish to argue with her sister.

  “Yes, you’re right. I’m terribly jealous that he didn’t pay any attention to me. All right?”

  “Don’t be so patronizing, Luise Hansen!” Elisabeth rebuked her sharply.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Luise turned her eyes in the opposite direction and took in the beautiful landscape while Elisabeth and Martha discussed what a good match Raimund would make.

  Luise was happy when they arrived at the plantation, and she could finally escape from her mother and sister.

  “I’m going over to see the beans.”

  “You speak as if you were visiting real, live people.” Elisabeth shook her head in disapproval. “But you certainly are not going there in that dress—change your clothes first!”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Luise ran into the house just as Malambuku was leaving it.

  “Jambo, Malambuku.”

  “Jambo, nyango.”

  Luise went to her room, removed her uncomfortable white dress, and put on pants and a blouse. She liked those more than anything she used to wear in Hamburg. She’d sewn two pairs of pants for herself, much to her mother’s displeasure. Unlike in respectable clothes, she felt really comfortable in pants and a blouse—much more herself. She tolerated having to wear a dress for show on Sundays, but she was delighted to slip out of it.

  She opened her desk drawer, took out the portfolio, and reached for the penholder that was once her grandfather’s.

  September 23, 1888

  Today we went to church for the first time here. The church is white brick with arched windows and an entrance through a pointed arch. The steeple is almost exactly in the center, nothing at all like the Hamburg churches, as if it had been added just before the rest of the building was finished. There’s a large wooden lean-to near the church big enough for about sixty people. We met the other Germans there. Everybody was very friendly, and Martha got to know a young man called Raimund Leffers, whose father is in the kaiser’s service, and she rhapsodizes about him. I think his enthusiasm for her is rather modest, though Martha and Mother claim otherwise, naturally.

  She put down her pen. She didn’t want to get worked up about Martha and her mother right now, so she folded up the portfolio. She considered locking the drawer but decided against it. If Martha was going to snoop in her things and come across what she wrote, then she’d learn how Luise felt. And would she ever! She went downstairs.

  Her father and Johann were talking with Malambuku a little ways off, so Luise couldn’t hear them. She went over where the cocoa beans were piled, but none of the natives were at work. She didn’t know whether that was Johann’s doing or whether it was the local custom not to work on Sunday. At any rate all the natives were in their huts on the eastern border of the plantation.

  Luise went into the shed where the beans were poured into long wooden tubs just over three-by-ten feet and chest high. There they were stirred to sift out even the tiniest stone or wood chip that might have fallen in when the boxes were being filled. Once they had removed all the debris, the beans were packed.

  Luise picked up a wooden rake and stirred the beans for a bit. Then she put the tool aside and slipped her hand into the beans. She took some out, rubbed them between her hands, and raised them to her nose to take in the aroma.

  “Jambo, nyango.”

  Luise gasped, startled, and dropped the beans back into the tub.

  Hamza, who hadn’t before spoken a word to her, had slipped into the shed unnoticed.

  “Jambo,” she quickly responded.

  Hamza laughed.

  “What?” Luise asked, a bit displeased. He had never said a word to her, never responded when she asked him a question, and now he was making fun of her after he had startled her.

  “Your nose, nyango. The cocoa grabbed you.”

  “The cocoa grabbed me? What does that mean?” Luise was still cross.

  Hamza seemed not to notice, but laughed a little louder.

  “Stop,” Luise said, but the way he was grinning made her smile as well. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and realized what he meant—her hand was covered with dark-brown cocoa dust.

  “This is no laughing matter,” Luise said, trying to hold herself together, but then she snorted with a chuckle. They doubled over with laughter, though Luise could only imagine how she looked. Finally she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face.

  Hamza was still chuckling.

  “Better?” Luise asked.

  He nodded, and Luise put her handkerchief away.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “There’s no work on Sunday.”

  “The beans want me to visit them.”

  Luise giggled. “Do they? Did they ask you to?”

  “Beans don’t speak, they sing,” he replied. “Sing a melody only I can hear.”

  “You speak our language very well, Hamza.”

  “You, too, nyango.”

  The quick comeback made Luise laugh again. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t spoken to her before, but refrained.

  “Do you like your work?”

  “Yes, nyango.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully. She didn’t know if it was a good idea, but before she could decide, she had already asked, “Could you call me Luise?”

  Hamza formed a U with his mouth, trying to pronounce her name correctly.

  Luise opened her mouth and placed her tongue behind her front teeth.

  “Lllll,” she enunciated slowly and clearly. “L-uuuu-iiii-se.”

  “Luuiise,” Hamza repeated.

  “Exactly. Luise. Just Luise.”

  Hamza hesitated. “Just Luise,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Luise.”

  “Very good, Hamza.”

  “Luise?” She heard her
father’s voice nearby.

  “Yes?”

  She went outside.

  “Can you please come here?”

  “Yes, coming.”

  She turned to Hamza. “It was nice meeting you. I hope we can talk again sometime.”

  “We can talk again. Luise.” He smiled. She returned his smile.

  “Goodbye, Hamza.”

  “Goodbye, Luise,” he said, with a little bow.

  Luise smiled, not exactly knowing what to make of their brief encounter. But she sensed how determined Hamza was to perfect his German and was genuinely delighted that the ice between them was broken.

  Chapter Six

  Hamburg, End of October 1888

  Cameroon, September 23, 1888

  Dear family,

  Along with this letter you will receive the first shipment of cocoa beans from our Cameroon plantation, and we can scarcely believe our luck that the crop was a bumper one. In two weeks we’ll send you more on the next ship and ask you to give the captain any money you can spare so that we can meet our commitments here.

  We hope you, like us, are all enjoying the best of health. Life in Africa is different—quieter but more demanding—from what I would have imagined. People here live in harmony with nature and animals and pay heed to the wind and weather. There’s a lot to learn about these things we find strange. I have the impression that the Duala—the natives here who work the plantation—are learning just as much about us as we are about them. Some hold back and are quite reserved, even distrustful. But I think it’s only a matter of time before everyone realizes that we don’t mean them any harm.

  The Germans here are open, forthcoming people, easy to get along with. We met many of them today when we went to church.

  Johann Meyerdierks will have left Africa by the time you get this letter. I hope we’ll be able to keep running the plantation according to his way of thinking and so maintain what he’s built over the last three years. So much for my first impressions.

  Elisabeth, Martha, and Luise will add their own letters. Please write and keep us informed. And please give me the address of our new Vienna office as soon as Karl finds a suitable location. Let me know as well how the shipments are to be split. For now I’m sending everything to Hamburg and leaving it all to your sales expertise.

  Stay well and write soon!

  With heartfelt wishes,

  Yours,

  Robert

  Georg put down the letter and looked at his family, rubbing his eyes.

  “Here are the letters for you,” he said. “One for you from Elisabeth,” he said, handing Vera the envelope. “One for Frederike and Richard from Martha and Luise, and another from Martha to Frederike, and one from Robert to Karl and me. There now.”

  “How much cocoa has Robert sent?” Vera inquired. “Are you as pleased as he is?” She looked from her husband to Karl.

  “Robert took on the heaviest burden of all of us,” Karl answered. “And we owe him and his family our gratitude. It’s still being weighed, but it might come to two hundred tons.”

  “And when you take into account that they were only in Cameroon for two weeks before the ship was loaded, it’s all the more amazing,” Georg added.

  “Will it be enough to pay our bills?” Vera asked a little anxiously.

  Richard and Frederike looked at their father as expectantly as Vera, who instantly regretted bringing it up before the children.

  “Karl and I have been looking for buyers. But around Hamburg the demand is still for coffee. It won’t be easy.”

  “That’s why I should go to Vienna straightway,” Karl said.

  “When can you leave?”

  “Tomorrow would be best, as soon as we’ve put everything in order. We’ve no time to lose.”

  “Can I do anything?” Richard asked, to his father’s surprise.

  “I’m delighted you asked, son.” Georg thought for a moment. “You could help me with the paperwork and begin to get an overview of the business.”

  “Of course.”

  “I would like to do something, too,” Frederike offered, not wanting to be bested by her brother.

  “This is not woman’s work.” Vera sounded stern. “The men will take care of it, Frederike.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Georg stood up. “Karl, would you come with me to the study?”

  “Of course.” Karl followed him.

  As he passed Richard, Georg briefly rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

  Richard couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard his father say that. He smiled as Georg and Karl left the dining room.

  Georg stopped on the stairway before a painting of his parents about the time of their silver wedding anniversary. “I think they would be pleased with us.”

  “As they should be,” Karl responded.

  Georg sat behind the massive desk, with its leather pad, and pulled a book from the center drawer. “We have to talk about which payments are the most urgent.”

  Karl pulled up a chair on the other side of the desk. “You’re worried we won’t be able to sell the beans fast enough.”

  “Not many are familiar with the method of processing them into cocoa, at least around here,” Georg said.

  Karl lit up. “I just thought of something . . . but no, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Let’s hear it!”

  “We should take some of the beans and make chocolate ourselves. To drink, I mean, with cream and sugar, the way I had it in the cafés in Vienna.”

  “And sell it?”

  Karl hesitated. “Yes, maybe. But more importantly, we must manage to get it on everybody’s lips, in the truest sense of the word. We can try it: let’s have Anna set up a stand at the market every week and also offer cocoa to all the tearooms around here.”

  “But we’re running an office, Karl. I wouldn’t want us to spread ourselves too thin and lose sight of the big picture.”

  “You might be right, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Vera would think I’m insane.”

  “Vera can buy a new dress if we’re successful.” Karl chuckled.

  “That will persuade her,” Georg said, raising his eyebrows at the joke.

  “Then we’ll do it?”

  Georg stood up. “Yes, let’s do it. Get the carriage ready. I’ll go tell Vera that we have to go out.”

  Karl hurried to the stables to inform the coachman, while Georg went to the parlor.

  “Karl and I are going to the office.”

  “Oh?” Vera put her book on her lap. “What for?”

  “To fetch some cocoa beans. Tell Anna to get some roasting pans ready in the kitchen.”

  “Tell me what you’re planning, if you don’t mind?”

  “We’re going to roast beans to make hot chocolate.”

  “You two have gone completely mad.”

  “Perhaps. But if we’re right, you’ll soon be able to buy a couple of new dresses.”

  Vera opened her mouth, then closed it. She rose from the couch. “I’ll let Anna know,” she announced, with no further word of contradiction.

  “Are you sure we’re doing it right?” Georg eyed the blackened cocoa beans in the pan skeptically. “They have an acrid smell.”

  Karl shrugged. “That’s how the café owner showed me.”

  “We’ve done something wrong.”

  Georg took the pan off the heat. Vera, Richard, Frederike, and Anna were sitting at the kitchen table, at the brothers’ request, waiting to taste the first hot chocolate from the House of Hansen.

  “I’m not really familiar with this,” Anna said, obviously finding it difficult to be sitting at the table while the men stood at the cast-iron stove. “But it might be that the heat was too high.”

  Georg looked at her, bewildered, then back at the stove.

  “May I?” the housekeeper asked, standing.

  “Please do.” Georg put the pan down.

  Anna took th
e cloth from Georg’s hand, lifted the pan, and sniffed the beans. “These aren’t roasted, they’re burnt.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she tossed the beans into the trash, washed the pan thoroughly, then wiped it dry.

  “Sir,” she said, turning to Karl. “What did the café owner tell you about the procedure for chocolate making, precisely?”

  “That the beans first must be roasted, then shelled and ground. Then you heat the powder in water or milk. Finally, you add sugar and thin it with cream.”

  Anna nodded. “Good. With the gentlemen’s permission, I will try that.”

  Georg and Karl nodded in encouragement.

  “I beg your pardon, but would you please wait at the table? It’s difficult having somebody behind me while I’m cooking.”

  Her great displeasure at having to ask that of her masters was obvious.

  Georg and Karl grinned at each other.

  “Just like Mother,” Georg said with a touch of sarcasm as they sat down at the table.

  Anna put the pan on the stove and waited for it to warm up. Then she took it off the heat, reached into the sack, and put a handful of cocoa beans into the pan. She put the pan back on the heat, wrapped a cloth around the handle, and shook the pan continuously. The beans danced around in the cast-iron pan and gradually gave off a sweetish smell. Anna kept shaking the pan, then set it down on the tiles next to the stove. With a small spoon she took out a bean and rubbed it between her fingers. “Feels like a nut.” She pressed it a few times, pushing the kernel out of the shell and rubbing it between her fingers. She carefully licked it. “It’s a little bitter,” she declared, and took another bean out of the pan, pressed it open, and handed it to Karl. “Is this right?”

  Karl sniffed it but couldn’t tell if it was like the beans he’d tasted after the café owner roasted them. “Well, let’s put the water on. We’ll soon know.”

  Frederike helped Anna shell the beans, and even Richard did, too. Georg stood beside Karl, who crushed the beans with the mortar and pestle and dipped a fingertip into the powder and tasted it. The atmosphere that pervaded the kitchen was most unusual, as though everyone wanted to contribute to a successful outcome. Vera alone remained sitting, waiting. When all the beans were shelled and ground, Anna filled a cup with lightly boiling water and added some powder. She stirred, adding a little sugar. The drink seemed thin and translucent.