Caryl Phillips - Crossing the River

Some hours later, Edward heard a light knocking upon his door, and he jumped from the bed, startled by this unadvertised interruption to his slumber. Realizing that it must be Charles returning with news of Madison, he called to the black retainer, ordering him not to stray from his present position. Edward pulled about himself a loose gown, and then gently cracked the door and ushered in a sheepish-looking Charles. Edward thought it best to say little, and to give the chance to the young man, which proved to be the correct decision. No sooner had the door been pushed to behind him, and Edward guided him into a chair, than Charles immediately set forth on his tale of disappointment. Apparently he had, with little difficulty, located the house of Madison Williams, but when he arrived there he discovered the abode to be in a state of abandonment. It was not that it was either broken-down or weather-beaten in its appearance, but merely that it looked as though whosoever had formerly occupied the premises had departed in some haste. By standing on the tips of his toes and staring through the window, Charles was able to see that everything had been left in a state of disarray. It was at this moment that Charles was apprehended by a well-dressed man, in the company of his lady wife, who, pointing an umbrella in the direction of the younger and less worldly man, demanded of him an explanation as to his behavior. Charles had stammered a little before blurting out the information that he had been sent by his master to convey a message to one Madison Williams. On hearing this, the well-dressed man let it be known that Madison Williams had indeed left suddenly, to go up-river to attend to some business, the full nature of which the gentleman was unsure about. He was polite with his information, and further explained that he imagined that his friend, Madison, would be returning to Monrovia in the next day or two, for it was unknown that he should be absent from home for any protracted period of time. Edward listened carefully to all that the animated Charles related, his eyes never leaving the young man’s face. At the conclusion of the tale, Edward stood, reached into his pocket and pressed a coin upon Charles, who in turn muttered his thanks and made ready to take his leave. Edward informed young Charles that he expected him to visit at Madison’s house three times each day, morning, noon and evening, until the fellow returned. When he did so, Charles was to inform him immediately that his former master requested an audience with him as soon as possible. In the mean time, should Charles want for anything, he was to make it his business to appear at Edward’s lodgings, at any suitable hour, and reveal to Edward, without fear or embarrassment, the full nature of his needs. At this, Charles expressed gratitude, promised to do as instructed, and retired from the room.

The evening was suddenly upon him. An overheated Edward, sweat sliding from his armpits and down his sides, examined his ashen flesh, observing with some distaste his stomach, where the skin was wrinkled like paint. After the departure of Charles, he had once more fallen asleep, but this time he had choked on a succession of unpleasant dreams and awoken in a fury, the sheet knotted about him as though he had fought with the bed in his sleep. Certain that further sleep would elude him for some hours yet, he dressed quickly, pausing only to inspect his ageing body and to listen as a rat ran across the thin boards of the ceiling. Then, satisfied that he was attired in a proper manner, he stepped out into the streets in search of some innocent amusement. In this Africa it appeared that both dawn and dusk were brief and ambiguous, as though there were little time to waste, and Edward soon found himself enveloped in gloom. In the distance, he heard the quiet engine of the sea continually renewing itself, and echoing across the night. Then he momentarily stiffened with fear as a dog whose sick-eye ran with water stepped casually out of the darkness. The ribbed mongrel hobbled awkwardly and eyed Edward in the hope of some morsel of food, but Edward glared back and thought about tossing a stick, for he considered it undignified to beg, and for this reason he found dogs repellent.

Pausing at the first tavern, Edward glanced through the open door and was pleased to discover the place mercifully free of clientele. He entered, removed his hat, and sat at the nearest table. He signalled to the boy with his cane, and he came quickly to him, over-delighted in a childish manner to see custom in the form of a white gentleman. Edward made his demands known and settled back to cast his mind forwards and backwards across this problem of his former slave, Nash. That he had banished not only Nash, but many of his other slaves, to this inhospitable and heathen corner of the world disturbed Edward. The boy arrived and delivered a foaming tankard of beer to Edward’s table, and Edward rewarded him with a generous coin. The buffoon smiled and capered into the comer, and Edward supped carefully at the beer, his elbow bending like a stubborn hinge. Perhaps, thought Edward, this business of encouraging men to engage with a past and a history that are truly not their own is, after all, ill-judged. The light in the candle flickered, shadows danced against the white stone wall, and Edward drew again on his beer. It occurred to him that perhaps the fever, the sleepless nights, the complex welter of emotions that he had been subjected to since his arrival in Africa, were nothing more complex than manifestations of a profound guilt.

In a vain effort to banish the despair of this moment, and hopefully ensure a peaceful night’s sleep free of demons, Edward raised his hand and once more summoned the boy to him. An hour or so later, his person much refreshed by consumption, and risking offence by leaving a tankard unfinished, Edward struggled out and picked his way down to the harbor. Once there, he gazed upon the tranquil sea, the moonlight sparkling on the water so that it looked like a liquid case of jewels. And then his attention was seized by the echoing of heels upon flaggings, and the loud protestations of a woman who declaimed lunatic phrases as though speaking some foolish part she had written for herself. Judging her an Irish whore by dint of her accent, Edward stared at her as she trembled in her cloud of wounded indignation, the thick powder on her face channeled with tears, her mouth set in a twist, and he felt pity and despair in equal part.

The following morning the braying of the traders and the incessant barking of dogs roused Edward from a troubling sleep. He fetched a deep sigh and cast a glance towards the small window, through which he could see that the clear, unclouded blue of the sky promised a murderously hot day, at least the equal of those he had already endured. He turned in the bed, careful not to disturb the mosquito netting, and realized that last night he had forgotten to pinch out the candle. A lump of misshapen wax overflowed the shallow dish. Then, a series of stifled coughs rattling through his body, Edward stepped urgently from the bed and first poured and then drank a glass of water. Perching on the edge of a chair, he soothed his dry throat with a further glass, and wondered if the boy Charles had left any message for him. Abandoning his desire for more slumber, he dressed quickly and sought out the innkeeper in order that he might make enquiry of Charles. Having located his host, he was informed by him that there was neither message, nor had there been any visit by Charles or any other, which caused Edward momentarily to panic and wonder whether the black bondsman had for some reason chosen to abandon him. Choosing not to dwell upon this unpleasant thought, Edward enquired after a club in which he might discover the company of white men and share with them some words, reasoning that if he was to be expected to pass yet more time in this savage environment, then he ought at least to be exposed to some of the pleasantries which civilized company can bestow upon a man’s otherwise wretched African existence. The negro innkeeper, his face suddenly closed and his eyes lowered, informed Edward that he knew of a colonial club whose members were, as he termed them, masters .