Wilson Harris - Palace of the Peacock

Donne was the only one in their midst who carried on his sleeve the affectation of a rich first name. Rich it seemed — because none of his servants appeared at first to have the power to address him other than obsequiously. The manner of the crew could change, however, one sensed, into familiarity and contempt. It was on their lips already to declare that their labouring distress and dream was the sole tradition of living men.

He had come from a town on the coast they knew to found and settle, be baptized again, as well as to baptize, a new colony. He was careless of first name and title alike they saw. All were economic names to command and choose from (as one chose to order one’s labouring folk around). All were signs of address from a past dead investment and history with its vague pioneering memories that were more their burden than his.

They knew he had once dreamt of ruling them with a rod of iron and with a ration of rum. His design was so brutal and clear that one wondered how one could be so cheap to work for him. There was nothing he appeared to have that commended him. Save the nameless kinship of spirit older (though he did not yet apprehend it) than every material mask and label and economic form and solipsism. Vigilance had seen clear into the bowels of this nameless kinship and identity Donne had once thought he had abused as he wished, and in one stroke it had liberated him from death and adversity.

He recalled as he bowed that his father had built a new house after the second marriage. The three-roomed cabin — his first home — remained; a stone’s throw away stood the new rough-hewn spacious five-roomed cottage into which the family had moved.

It was natural to Vigilance to perceive what was going on wherever he lived. He was always there when his parents spoke, or he always seemed to see something through a half-open door or window or crack. It was a habit of fortune he possessed, ingrained and accidental as all remarkable coincidences are.

The new house was a year old, and his father was away that afternoon for a couple of days on a wood-cutting mission. The rest of the family were busy far afield outdoors.

Carroll and his mother had just come in. He saw them in the next room through an open door. They were so flustered-looking and inwardly disturbed that they had no eyes for him.

“She lose the baby, she lose me baby, she lose she baby,” Carroll was crying to his mother, all his shyness and charm fractured and gone. Vigilance knew instantly they were speaking of his sister; she happened to be a couple of years younger than Carroll who had just attained his seventeenth birthday.

“O love,” Carroll’s mother cried to him. “Is lucky,” she nearly bit her lips, broken in their emotion. “No, no, not lucky. I wrong. But I mean is just as well. Think what your stepfather would say.” She wrung her hands.

“I can marry her. She’s not my blood-sister,” Carroll spoke glumly and half-dementedly.

“No, no,” his mother cried. “She too young to marry. I going take care of her.” She smoothed Carroll’s unhappy brow. He jerked away a little. “Why, why?” he cried. “Why?”

“You got to travel and see the world,” his mother said sadly, looking at him as if she dared not touch him again. “You don’t know what is a wife feeling yet. You don’t know anything. You got to make your fortune. Look,” she wrung her hands again, “from the day you born to me I see you were different. You were a problem. I feel as if you was not even me child. A strange funny child in me hands. As if you didn’t belong to me at all, at all. If you stay here is only trouble going come under this roof. And you stepfather is a good kind man I love,” she suddenly grew quiet and spoke softly. Then she cried — “Mek yourself into a man and then come back. Is a different story then.”

Carroll’s eyes flashed and he moved further away from her still — “I is not as soft as I look. I can live and work hard. I can mek me way to the ends of the earth. I born to go far.” He was boasting and still sad. “Like you don’t know me at all.”

His mother was sadder still. “Is best you go‚” she said. Her lips were torn and they looked burnt with the sun.

“I don’t want to leave she‚” Carroll cried. “I can tek she with me and tek care of she and she tek care of me.” He cried to her louder than ever.

“Your stepfather would forbid it‚” his mother said passionately.

“I can carry she and look after she‚” Carroll said sullenly.

“You think life so simple?” his mother pleaded with him. “You got to earn you fortune, lad. Sometimes is the saddest labour in the world.”

“You mean if I mek a million dollar and come back I can claim she as me wife?” Carroll said.

“If you mek a million dollar you think you can fool the living and bring the dead alive?” His mother spoke strangely. “Is not money make me flesh and fortune.”

“I can mek it all up to she. She suffer bad-bad. She had a fall. We did plan to run and marry soon as she start to show big. She was a child yet.” His voice broke.

“Everything going be all right‚” his mother tried to soothe him. “Everything going be right as rain. Right as a song. Make you fortune and come back.” She spoke sadly as if she knew his fortune was the despair of mere flesh and blood.

“We been playing a year ago,” Carroll said musingly. “Suddenly we lose we way in the trees. We think we never find home. We started hugging, a frighten sweet-sweet feeling like if I truly come home. I wasn’t a stranger no more. She cry a little and she laugh like if she was home at last. And she kiss me after it all happen….”

“How you know she was with baby?” his mother asked after a long silence.

“One day I hear a heart, clear-clear … I wanted to tell somebody. But I was afraid even to tell you. Until today when she fall and she cry in she pain I was so afraid …” he cried and his voice sounded like hers. “Did you hear anything?” he said a little wildly, looking out of the window. “Was a terrible fall. You hear anything?”

“Impossible,” his mother rebuked him. “You couldn’t have heard that infant heart beating so small and long ago … three or four months ago….”

“I hear it,” Carroll insisted and his voice fell and broke into two again.

His mother smiled as if she had forgotten him. “Maybe is true,” she said, “I hear it too.” She rubbed herself gently on her belly.

“You‚” Carroll shot at her.

“Yes‚” she caught herself. His eyes probed hers deep. She spoke like one seeking forgiveness. “I am with child for your stepfather too‚” she expressed herself awkwardly. Her voice broke into two like his. “My first child under his roof after so long and I getting old….”

Carroll nodded his head dumbly. “Is the child as old as…?” he choked with alarm and fear.

“Yes‚” she nodded.

“A boy or a girl?” he asked foolishly.

“Was a boy‚” she said. “I saw.” They were at cross purposes. “If you go and come back you will find the child,” she sighed.

“His child borning and mine dead,” he spoke passionately, forgetting to whom he spoke.

“No,” his mother said sharply. “Is all one in the long run. You can make peace between us….”

“And go?” he demanded. He was crying. Suddenly he knew he did not want the child in her to live. A heart-rending spasm overwhelmed him, all ancestral hate and fear and jealousy.

“You are my child always,” his mother spoke softly. Her lips twisted again. “You must live and go. Is your own will if you stay to rot and die since you will start to imagine foolish things. Go I tell you.” She spoke softly again.