Caryl Phillips - Crossing the River

Armed with directions to this place, which lay not too far off, Edward set forth across the town, the sun hanging above him like a bright lamp. He could feel small beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his temples, and others sliding about the bridge of his nose and then down and under his chin to his collar. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed furiously at his face as he walked. Having located the door to the club, Edward raised the brass knocker and struck it three times with force. A black man, clearly of American origin, answered and asked after his business, to which Edward answered that he had been given to believe that this was a Gentleman’s Club for white people. As a visitor, he simply craved some companionship and some information as to how things went in these parts. Edward was surprised to discover the degree of hostility that this experience occasioned in his soul. Never before had he had to explain or ask anything of a colored man, and to have to do so now, and in order to gain access to the company of other white men, he found extremely difficult. The colored man listened carefully and then announced that he would soon return, a reply calculated to check, not encourage, enquiry. He closed in the door and left Edward standing in the street like a beggar.

Some moments later, the door was opened by the same fellow, and Edward was ushered into the comfortable and well-appointed vestibule of the brick house. Only when he surveyed the prints, and other wall décor, did it become apparent that this must be the abode of one of the principals of the American Colonization Society. Edward followed the servant into a drawing-room that was cluttered with books and papers, and well-finished with couches and loungers. Three white men, their skins grown dark through familiarity with the sun, rose as he entered, and hands were proffered and enquiries made. The already uncorked wine was poured into a glass, which was then thrust into Edward’s willing hand. Thereafter followed an engrossing session, in which a cautious Edward shared his circumstances with those that came and went, and sought from them similar stories all relating to the common question of how it was they had come to find themselves adrift and washed up on this furthest shore of civilization. Anecdotes and faint memories were traded, and some attempts were made to swell them into order with dates and places. Edward stayed for lunch, then coffee, but thought it wise to retire before dinner, for by now he was fearful that news of the personal tragedy that had recently enveloped his name might somehow have crossed the waters and reached the ears of these gentlemen. He reasoned that before the confessional urge took hold of any tongue, he should request his cane. Edward stood, thanked them most warmly for a splendid day, and made ready to return to his lodgings.

Slightly merry on account of the good wine, a contented Edward asked the innkeeper after Charles, only to be informed that up until this very moment there had been no sign of the young bondsman. Edward returned to his hot and airless room with a bottle of claret, his mood rudely transformed by this news. Slipping into an involuntary sleep, he found his mind populated with images of Amelia, her face decorated with pond-like sores where flies and other creatures drank greedily. As dawn began to break over Monrovia, Edward awoke in a sweat and thrashed the covers off himself. Tears misted his eyes, for indeed his love for Amelia had festered and become stamped with a self-pity that was near-cousin to self-loathing. He simply craved to be offered the unconditional love of a child, could she not understand this? He looked ashamedly at the mauve contusions that decorated the several folds of his skin, and realized that the years had descended and smothered him like a fog. What else now but to submit to the indifferent squalor of old age, and give himself up to his fears? Edward let his feet fall over the side of the bed and brush the wooden floor, then he decided that if Charles did not show himself by the end of the day, he would go in person to Madison Williams’s home and make enquiry. In the interim, he would do the next best thing, which was to spend another day in the company of his civilized countrymen.

As Edward dressed, his mind turned back again upon Amelia. Clearly she would have hated this Africa that Edward now felt marooned in. It had struck him, while at the club, that the lack of civilized white women in these parts would only have served to drive home her suspicion of all things African. Not only would curious, perhaps desperate, white eyes have traveled the length of her body, but black eyes would no doubt have made her the object of much unwanted attention. Edward ceased his wardrobe, fell to his knees, and prayed to the Lord that he might be forgiven for his indifference towards Amelia, for in truth no harm or misery had been intended. That she took it upon herself to sabotage her husband’s friendship with Nash by destroying the colored man’s letters was a painful discovery for Edward, but had he not found it in his heart to forgive her? Her accusation that in the wake of Nash’s departure he was now making a fool of himself by lavishing an excess of affection upon a new retainer, was this not again met with forgiveness? That she had subsequently chosen to flee his home, then her mind, then this mortal world at the instigation of her own hand, was a tragedy the responsibility for which could not reside at Edward’s doorstep. Surely his dear father understood this? A half-dressed Edward reached for his Bible, and clumsily fingered the pages until he reached the relevant verse. Thereafter, his wretched body burning with faith, he began to recite aloud.

Late in the morning, having left instructions with the innkeeper that he should, at all costs, delay Charles if he chanced to arrive during Edward’s absence, a somewhat despondent Edward stepped out into the street and followed much the same route as the previous day. When he arrived at the club, Edward seized the brass knocker and rapped three times, and the same colored man soon appeared before him. Only this time the man informed Edward that the members, having last night convened an extraordinary meeting which lasted into the small hours, had decided that Edward was not welcome, either as a visitor or as a member, should he choose to linger on these shores. Edward stared at the liveried servant and asked if he might be blessed with a reason, but the colored man, clutching self-righteously at his lapels as though they were a badge of some importance, simply eyed him with the manner of one who is happily charged only to deliver decisions and not to share with the unfortunate recipient the highways and byways that were explored in order to reach the proffered conclusion. Edward tarried a moment, scratched the skin under one eye, then, realizing that he was making little headway, turned on his heels, anxious that he should avoid having to suffer the ignominy of the door being slammed in his face.

Edward reached the inn, his mind in a daze, and discovered Charles standing with a travel-weary but finely dressed man whom he instantly recognized as Madison Williams. Immediately, Edward’s gloom abated, and he shook hands firmly with his former slave, who, by all appearances, appeared to be well suited to the life of a free man. Edward dismissed Charles with a proffered coin, but the young man looked a little forlorn and asked if there might be some other way in which he could be of service to the master . Clearly Edward’s curt dismissal had stung the young man like a lash, and the hurt that was now painted across his boyish face begged the older man to be kinder to him. Edward relented, and told him that he could, if he so wished, return tomorrow, and with this news a somewhat chastened Charles smiled, nodded cheerfully, and took his leave. Anxious not to waste any more time, Edward ordered the innkeeper to prepare food and wine for Madison and himself, which they would take in due course. With this request made, they retreated into Edward’s room, and Edward signalled that Madison should make himself at ease in the more comfortable of the two chairs.