Carolyn Harnanan In just four steps anyone can enter, anyone can leave. Or so it was, once. I've been here since the house was built, and there's so much I've seen. Mostly now, I am alone. It's when the wind blows through the grounds of this estate, blows and whistles through the palm trees out front and the bamboo reeds at the back, and brings with it the sound of serene water moving past the river plants - it's then I feel suddenly alive.
It's becoming breezy again. The air bears ribbons of voices; the words are clear, yet distant, like echoes. With them is memory. I know the year.
It was 1835. Mr. Sutton was standing on my lowest step; he was speaking to Maurice.
'So much to do for the wedding on Sunday, boy. No time off this week, sorry.' Soft voice, hard face. 'When you're done with these crotons, go down riverside, clear the bushes. And help Amelie clean the eaves and the drains.'
There was silence; silence.
Then Maurice smiled.
'Is there a problem, boy? No idling. How often do I have to say that for you to understand?
Maurice laughed low, briefly, spat - spatwhenhisbackwasturned - and kept on snipping away, levelling the hedge. I flinched as the Master stepped heavily up to the porch. From the sway in his gait I knew he had already over-indulged his evening habit of Demerara rum.
The Montserrat hills rise around the estate gracefully, offering a daily study of green. Tonight the wind comes in from the north and gets trapped here by our hills. No shadeof green tonight, but black; more black than the night sky that's lit with cold stars and a distant moon. The wind is fierce and heavy and cold. It brings more voices. I remember.
1830. Soft, early-morning voices drifted up from the barracks, just fifty yards away. Kumbaya my Lord, Kumbaya ...Oh Lord ...
Damned bastards. Kill my property. As if their offspring belong to them! As if they belong to themselves! If I could prove it, Maurice would be hanged this instant ... You'd think they'd be happy to have children. Blessed with twins. Heartless beasts. Monstrous ...
Gunshot roared through the valley, but Sutton had the sense to point at no one, and the bullet rushed through the edge of my bottom step, leaving engraved lines. They buried three that day: the infants, and their mother, too.
I heard Amelie talking to Cook that night, whispering against the rustling leaves.
Maurice so brave. Now they free.
All that talk they talking about this thing they call emancipation - who could believe that?
If Sutton wasn't bad before, he go be bad now!
Emancipation came, and what the master called Apprenticeship. He drank and cursed continuously, until the curses were replaced by talk of the pure-bred English gentleman: Miss Elizabeth Sutton to marry Mr. Arthur Charles Willoughby. English peau-de-soie, sewn in England. English patent leather, stitched in England. Soaps, linen, shipped from England.
Arthur Willoughby seemed to love the land. Each morning, that week before the wedding, he came to the porch, stood and looked around at the garden, then out into the distance. Sometimes Mr. Sutton stood listening.
Trinidad cocoa fetches an excellent price. You have a sizeable property here. Teak and mahogany too - quite valuable. Such a wonderful island. With the right labour we can make this place profitable again. Cocoa can make you a prince. We should soon be able to appoint a manager and return home.
English lanterns stood at my sides that Sunday evening. Out on the lawn were tables set up for thedinner guests. Torches threw shadows and light about the garden. I could not remember when last we'd been so festive. Champagne - from France! - and rum and wine were lavishly passed to laughing guests, who danced or feasted as they pleased. I felt that Mr. Willoughby would be good for us. He himself was imperially dressed, and next to him Elizabeth seemed more elegant than her seventeen years should permit. Even Amelie, Maurice and Cook wore new clothes.
Mr. Sutton quieted his guests and began to speak. His voice grew louder as he spoke.
'Dear relatives and friends, thank you for coming to Montserrat this evening. I speak on behalf of my late wife as well when I say that Elizabeth has done us proud. The marriage between my daughter and this gentleman - of pure British blood - is truly an occasion for celebration. Elizabeth has dutifully, joyfully accepted my guidance to marry as I did, to look beyond this little island to the metropolis. Indeed, she has always chosen wisely.
Some of our children end up mixing with animals, as you know - with the type that would kill their own when they get the chance - but not my Elizabeth. Arthur and Elizabeth, congratulations!'
He raised his champagne glass and drank deeply. And then there were sounds of gunshot and shattered glass and he fell. Flickering torch in hand, Maurice walked lightly past him up to the porch. Suddenly flames were everywhere. Mr. Willoughby began shouting. 'Crazy fool! Get water. Water! We'll lose everything!'
The air was stunningly hot. People drew away, but Elizabeth ran to the back screaming, she had to save the house.
The estate belongs to Mr. Willoughby. He stayed long enough to deal with the three deaths, and complete the legal arrangements . No house left, just four stone steps. The barracks still stand, though, and the mountains around have not changed.
END
- Carolyn Harnanan
