JEAN RHYS

WIDE SARGASSO SEA-A considerable tour .de force by any su,ndud.- -Htw York Times Book Review

A NOVE l

~

'.

THEY SAY WHEN TROUBLE comes close ranks, and so

the whin: people did. Out we were not in their ranks. TheJamaic:m ladies had never approved of my mother. 'becauseshe prctry like pretty sclr ChristOphine said.

he was my fdlthers second wife. far fOO young for him theythought. and. worse srill, a Marrinique girl. When 1 asked herwhy so few people came lO see us, she told me that the roadfrom Spanish Town to Coulibri Estate where we lived W3S

very bad and that road repairing was now a thing of the pase.(My father. visitors, horses, fecling safe in bed - all belongedto the past.)

Another day I heard her talking to Mr LuttreU. our neigh­boUT and her only friend. 'Of course they have their ownmisfortunes. Still wailing for this compensation the Englishpromised when the Emancipation Act was passed. Some willwait for a long time:

How could she know that Mr Lunrell would be the first

who grew tired of waiting? One calm evening he shot hisdog. !'wam out to sea and was gone for always. No agent came

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JEAN RHYS

from England to look after his property - Nelson's Rest it wascalled - and litrangcrs from Spanish Town rode up to gossip

and discuss the tragedy.'Live at dsoll's Rest? Ot for love or money. An unlucky

place:Mr Luttrell's house was left empty, shutters banging in

the wind. Soon the black people said it was haunted. theywouldn't go ncar it. And no onc came near us.

I got used to a solitary life, but my mother still planned andhoped - perhaps she had to hope every time she passed a

looking glass.She still rode about every morning not caring that the

black people stood about in groups to jeer at her, especiallyafter her riding clothes grew shabby (they nonce clothes. they

know about money).Then onc day, very early, I saw her horse lying down under

the frangipani (ru. I went up to him but he was not sick, hewas dead and his eyes were black with flies. I ran away and didnot speak of it for I thought if I told no one it might not betrue. But later that day, Godfrcy found him, he had been poi­soned. 'Now we arc marooned: my mother said, 'now what

will become of ustGodfrey said. 'I can't watch the horse night and day. 1 tOO

old now. When the old time go, let it go. No use to grab at it.The Lord make no distinction between black and white, blackand white the same for Him. Rest yourself in peace for therighteous arc not forsaken.' But she couldn ·t. She was young.How could she not try for all the things that had gone so sud­denly, so without warning. 'YOll 're blind when you want to beblind: she said ferociously, 'and you're deaf when you want tobe deaf. The old hypocrite: she kept saying. 'He knew what

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they were going to do.' 'The devil prince of thi world: God­frey said, 'but this world don't last so long for mortal man.'

She persuaded a Spanish Town doctor to ViSit my youngerbrother Pierre who staggered when he walked and couldn'tspeak distinctly. J don't know wh:1t the doctor told her orwhat she said to him but he never came again and after thatshe changed. Suddenly, not gr.ldually. She grew thin and ilent.and at 13st she refused to leave the house at all.

Our garden was large and beautiful as that garden in theBible - the tree of life grew there.Dut it had gone wild. Thepaths were overgrown and a smell ofdead flowers mixed withthe fresh living smell. Underneath the tree ferns, tall as foresttree ferns, the light was green. Orchids flourished out of reachor for some reason nOt to be touched. One \vas snaky look­ing, :mothcr like an octopus with long thin brown tentaclesbare of leaves hanging from a twisted TOOt. Twice a year theoctopus orchid Oowered - then not an inch of tentacleshowed. It was :J bell-shaped mass of white, mauve, deep pur­pies. wonderful to sec. The scent was very sweet and strong. Inever went near it.

All oulibri Estate had gone wild like the brardcn, gone tobush. No more slavery - why should aflylwdy work? Thisnever saddened me. I did not remember the place when it wasprosperous.

My mother usually walked lip :lI1d down the glads, a pavedroofed-in terrace which ran the length of the house andsloped upwards to a clump of bamboos. Standing by the bam­boos she had a clear view to the sea. but anyone p3ssing couldstare at her. They starcd. sometimes they laughed. Long after

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JEAN RHY5

the sound W;lS r.... r ~W;ly and faint she kept her eyes shut andher hands clenched. A frown came between her black eye­brows, deep - it might have becn cut with a knife. 1 hated thi.o;frown and once 1 touched her forehead trying to smooth it.But she pu~hed me away, not roughly but calmly, coldly, with­om a word, as if she had decided once and for all that I wasmdess to her. She W3nted to sit with Pierre or walk where shepleased without being pestered. she wanted peace and quicL Iwas old enough to look after myself. 'Oh, let me alone; shewould say, 'let me alone: and after I knew that she talkedaloud to herself I W3S a little afraid of her.

So I spent most of my time in the kitchen which was in anoutbuilding some way off. Christophine slept in the little

room next to it.When evening came she S:lI1g to me if she was in the

mood. I couldn't always understand her patois songs - she alsocame from M:minique - bue she taught me the one thatmeant 'The Iitde ones grow old. the children leave us. willthey come back?' :md the one about the ccdar tree flowen

which only last for a day.The music was gay but the words were sad and her voice

often quavered and broke on dIC high notc. 'Adieu.' Not adieuas we said it, but J dieJl. which made 1110re sense after all. Theloving man was lonely, the girl w~s deserted, the children

never came back. Adieu.Her songs were not like Jamaican songs. and she was not

like the other women.She was much blacker - blue-b13ck with a thin face and

straight features. She wore a black dress, heavy gold e;llrringe;and a yellow handkerchief - carefully tied with the twO highpoints in front. No other negro woman wore black, or tied

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her handkerchief Martinique fashion. She had a quiet voiceand a quiet laugh (when she did laugh), and though she couldspeak good English if she wanted to, and French as well aspatois, she tOok care to calk as they calked. But they wouldhave nothing to do with her and she never saw her son whoworked in Spanish Town. She had only onc friend - a womancalled M"ilIotte, and MaiUotte was not a Jamaican.

The girls ITom the baysidc who sometimes helped with thewashing and cleaning were terrified of her. That, I soon dis­covered, was why they came at all - for she never paid them.Vet they brought presents of fruit and vegetables and afterdark I often heard low voices from the kitchen.

So I asked about Christophine. Was she very old? Had shealW3Ys been with us?

'She was your father's wedding present [0 me - one of hispresents. He thought I would be pleased with a Martiniqucgirl. I don't know how old she was when they brought her coJamaica, quite young. J don't know how old she is now. Doesit matter? Why do you pe.ster and bother me abollC aU thesethings that happened long ago? Christophine stayed with mebecause she wanted to stay. She had her own very good rea­sons you may be sure. I dare say we would have died if she'dturned against us and that would have been a better f.... te. Todie and be forgotten and ~t peace.. Not to know that one isabandoned, lied abouc, helpless. All the ones who died - whosays a good word for them now?'

'Godfrey stayed too,' I said. 'And Sass.''They stayed; she said angrily, 'bt:cause they wanted some­

where to sleep and something to eat. That boy Sass! When hismother pranced off and left him here - a great deal slle cared- why he was a little skeleton. Now he'.s growing into a big

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strong boy and away he goes. We shan't s~c him again. God­frey is a rascal. These new ones aren't too kind to old peopleand he knows it. That's why he stays. Doesn't do a thing but

eat enough for a couple of horses. Pretends he's deaf. He isn'tdeaf - he doesn't want to hear. What a devil he is!'

'Why don't you tell him to find somewhere else to live?"

said and she laughed.'He wouldn't go. He'd probably try to force us out. I've

learned to let sleeping curs lie,' she said.'Would Christophine go if you told her to?' I thought. But

I didn't say it. I "'..as afraid to say it.It was too hot that afternoon. I could sec the beads of per­

spiration on her upper lip :md the dark circles under her ey~.

I scarted to fan her, but she turned her head away. She might

rest if I left her alone, she said.Once I would have gone back quietly to watch her aslee?

on the blue sofa - once I made e.xcuses to be near her whenshe brushed her hair. a soft black cloak to cover me, hide me,

keep me safe.Dur not any longer. Not ;my more.

These were all the people in my life - my mother and Pierre.Christophine, Godfrey, and Sass who had left us.

I never looked at any strange negro. They hated us. Theycalled us white cockroaches. Let sleeping dogs lie. One day alittle girl followed me singing, 'Go away white cockroach, goaway, go away.' I walked (1st, but she walked faster. 'Whitecockroach, go away, go away. Nobody want you. Go away.'

When [ was safely homc I sat close to the old wall at theend of the garden. It was covered with green moss soft as vd-

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vet and 1 never wanted to move ab"3in. Everything would beworse if I moved. Christophine found me there when it wasnearly dark, and I was so stiff she had to help me to get up.She said nothing, but next morning Tia \\12S in the kitchenwith her mmher Maillotte, Christophine's friend. Soon Tiawas my friend and I met her nearly every morning at the rum

of the road to the river.

Sometimes we left the bathing pool at midday, sometimeswe stayed tiU late afternoon. Then Tia would light a fire (firesalways lit for her, sharp stones did not hurt her bare feet, Jnever saw her cry). We boiled green bananas in an old ironpot :md ate them with our fingers out of a calabash and afterwe had eaten she slept at once. I could not sleep. but J wasn'tquite awake as I lay in the shade looking at the pool - deepand dark green under the trees, brown-green if it had rained.but a bright sparkling green in the SUI1. The water was so clearthat you could see the pebbles at the bottom of the shallowpart. Blue and white and striped red. Very pretty. Late or earlywe parted at the turn of the road. My mother never asked mewhere I had been or what I had done.

Christophine had given mc some new pennies which Ikept in the pocket of my dress. They dropped out one morn­ing so I put them on a stone. They shone like gold in the sunand Tia stared. She had small eyes, very black. set deep in herhead.

Then she bet me three of the pennies that I couldn't turna somersault under water 'like you say you can'.

'Of course I can:'1 never see you do it,' she said. 'Only talk:'Bet you all the money I can: I said.DU{ after one somersault I still turned and came up choking.

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J [ AN RHYS

Tia laughed and told me that it certainly look like ( drowndead th.at rime. Then she picked up the money.

'( did do it: 1 said when 1 could speak, but she shook herhead. I hadn't done it good and besides pennies didn't buy

much. Why did I look at her like that?'Keep them then, you cheating nigger,' ( said, for 1 was

tired, and the water I had sW2IJowed made me feel sick, 'I can

get more if I want to.'That's not what she htar. she said. She hear all wc poor like

beggar. We ate salt fish - no money for fresh fish. That oldhouse so leaky, you run with calabash to catch water when itrain. Plenty white people in Jamaica. Real white people, theygot gold money. They didn't look at us, nobody see themcome near us. Old time white people nothing but white nig­ger now, and black nigger better than white nigger.

I wrapped myself in my torn towel and sat on a stone withmy back to her, shivering cold. But the sun couldn't warmmc. I wanted to go home. I looked round and Tia had gom:.I searched for a long time before I could believe that she hadtaken my dress - not my underclothes, she never wore any ­

but my dress, starched, ironed, dean that morning. She had leftme hers and I put it on at last and walked home in the blaz­ing sun feding sick, hating her. I ploanned to get round theback of the house to the kitchen, but passing the stables (stopped to stare at three smnge horses and my mother sawme and called. She was on the glaos with two young ladies anda gentleman. Visitors! I dragged up the steps unwillingly - 1had longed for visitors once, but thar was years ago.

They were very beautiful l thought and they wore suchbeautiful clothes that I looked away down at the flagstones andwhen they laughed - the gentleman laughed the loudest - I

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ran into the house., into my bedroom. There J stood with myback against the door 2nd I could feel my heart all throughme. J heard them talking and I heard them leave. I came our

of my room and my "lather was sitting on the blue sofa. Shelooked at me for some time before she said that I had behavedvery oddly. My dress was even dirtier than usual

'Its Tia's dress.'

'But why are you wearing Tia's dress? Tia? Which one ofthem is Tia?'

Chriscophinc, who had bt:cn in the pantry listening, cameat once and was told to find a clean dress for me. 'Throwawaythat thing. Dum it.'

Then they quarrelled.

Christophinc So,id I had no clean dress. 'She gOl twodresses. wash and wear. You W;;Ult clean dress to drop fromheaven? Some people crazy in truth.'

'She must have another dress: said my mother. 'Some­where.' Dut Christophine told her loudly that it sh:ullefid. Sherun wild, she grow up worthless. And nobody care.

My mother walked Over to the window. ('Marooned,'said her straight narrow back, her carefully coiled h3ir.'Marooned.')

'She has an old muslin dress. Find that.'

While Christophine scrubbed my face and tied my plaitswith a fn.."Sh piece of string, she told me that those were thenew people at Nelson's Rest. They called themselves LuttreU,but English or not Englidl they were not like old Mr Luttrcll.'Old Mr Lurrrell spit in their face if he sec how they look atyou. Trouble walk into the house this day. Trouble walk in.'

The old muslin dress was found and it tore as I forced it on.She didn't notice.

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No more slavery! She had to laugh! 'These Ilew ones have

Letter of the Llw. Same thing. They got l1lagistnte. They gO(fine. They got jail house and chain gang. They got treadmachine to masb up people's feet. New ones worse d13n old

ones - more cunning, that's all.'All that evening my mother didn't speak to me or look

at me and I thought, 'She is ashamed of mc, what Tia said

is true.'I went to bed early and slept at once. I dreamed that' was

walking in the forest. at alone. Someone who hated me w·...s\v;th me, out of sight. I could hear heavy footsteps comingcloser and though I struggled and screamed I could not mov(.) woke crying. The covering sheet was on the floor and my

mother was looking down at me.'Did you have a nightmare?'

'Yes, a bad dre:II11.'She sighed :l11d covered me up. 'YOll were making such a

noise. I must go to Pierre, you 've frightened him.'I lay thinking, 'j am S3fe. There is the corner of the bed­

room door and the friendly furniture. There is the tree oflifein the garden and the \OnU green with moss. The barrier of thecliffs and the high mountains. And the barrier of the sea.) am

safe. I am ~afc from strangers.'The light of the candle in Pierre's room was still there

when I slept again. I woke next morning knowing that noth­

ing would be the same. It would change and go on changing.I don't know how she got money to buy the white

muslin and the pink. Yards of muslin. She Illay have sold her

last ring, for there was one left. I saw it in her jewel box ­that, and a locket with a shamrock inside. They were mcnd-

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ing and sewing first thing in the morning and still sewingwhen I went to bed. In a week she had a ncw dress and sohad I.

The Luttrclls lent her a horse, and she would ride off veryearly and not come back till latc next day - tired out because

she had been to a dance or a moonlight picnic. She was gayand laughing - younger than I had ever seen her and thehouse was sad when she had gone.

So ) too lefr: it and staycd away till dark. I was never long atthe bathing pool. I never met Tia.

) took anothcr road, past the old sugar works and the waterwheel that had not turned for years. I went to part.'i ofCoulibri that I had not secn, where there was no road, nopadl, no track. And if the razor grass cut my legs and arms)would think ')['s better than people.' Black antli or red ones,tall nests swarming with white ants, rain [hat sO:lked me to [hcskin - once) S:lW a snake. AU berter than people.

13cner. Better. better thall people.

Watching the red and yellow flowers in the sun thinking ofnothing, it was as ifa door opened and I was somewhere dsc,something else. Not myself any longer.

I knew the time of day when dlOugh it is hot and blue andthere are no clouds, the sky call havc ... very black look.

I was bridesmaid when my mother married Mr Mason inSpanish Town. Christophine curled my hair. I carried a bou­quet and everything I wore was ne - even my beautiful slip­

pers. But their eyes slid away from my hating face. I had heardwhat all these smooth smiling people said about her when she

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was not liscclling and they did not guess I was. Hiding fromthem in the garden when they visited Coulibri, I listened.

'A fantastic marriage and he will regret it. Why should avery wealthy man who could take his pick of aU the girls inthe West Indies, and Illany in England tOO probably?' 'Whyprobably?' the other voice said. 'Ctrraitlly.' 'T~en why should hemarry a widow without a penny to her name and Coulibri awreck of a place? Emancipation troubles killed old Cosway?Nonsense - the estate was going downhill (or ~ars beforethat. He drank himself to death. Many's the time when - weU!And :ill those women! She never did anything to stop him ­she encouraged him. Present~ and smiles for the bastards everyChristl11a . Old customs? Some old customs are better deadand buried. Her new husband wiU have to spend a prettypenny before the house is fit to live in -leaks like:1 sieve, Andwhat about the scabIes and the coach house dark as pitch, andthe servants' quarters and the six-foot snake I saw with myown eyes curled up on the privy scat last time J was here.Alarmed? I screamed. Then that horrible old man she har­bours came along, doubled up with laughter. As for thosetwo children - the boy an idiot kept out o( sight 31,d mindand the girl going the same way in my opinion - a 100vrrillg

t::<pression:'Oh I agree,' the other one said. 'but Annctte is such a pretty

woman. And what a dancer. Reminds me of that song "light ascanon blossom on the something breeze", or is it air? I forget.'

Yl..'S, what a dancer - that night when they came home fromtheir honeymoon in Trinidad and they danced on the gflllis

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to no music, There was no need for music when she danced.They stopped and she leaned backwards over his arm, downtill her black hair touched the flagstones - still down, down.The,~ up again in a flash, laughing. She made it look so easy- as If anyone could do it, and he kissed her - a long kiss. [was there that time too but they had forgotten me and soonI wasn't thinking of them. I was remembering that womansaying 'Dance! He didn't come to the West Indies to dance­he came to make money as they all do, Some of the bigestates are going cheap, and one unfortunate's loss is always aclever man's gain. No, the whoJe thing is a mystery. It's evi­dently useful to keep a Martinique obeah woman on thepremises.' She meant Christophinc. She s.aid it mockingly, notmeaning it, but soon Other people were saying it - and mean­ing it.

While the repairs were being done and they were in Trini­dad. Pierre and I st:lyed with Aunt Cora in Spanish Town.

Mr Mason did not approve of Aunt Cora, an ex-slave­owner who had escaped misery, a flier in the face ofProvidence.

'Why did she do nothing to help you?'

I raid him that her husband was English and didn't like usand he said, 'Nonsense.'

'It isn't nonsense. they lived in England 3nd he was a.ngry ifshe wrote to us. He hated the West Indies. When he died notlong ago sh~ came home, before that what could she do? Shrwasn't rich.'

'That's her story. I don't believe it. A frivolous woman. Inyour mother's place I'd resent her behaviour.'

'None of you understand about us: I thought.

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Coulibri looked the S3me when I saw it again, although it wasclean and tidy, no grass ben-veen the flagstones, no leaks. Butit didn't feel the same. Sass had come back and I was glad.They can smell money, somebody said. Mr Mason engagednew servants - I didn'r like any of them excepting Mannie thegroom. It was their calk about Christophine that changedCoulibri, nOt the repairs or the new furniture or the strangt:

faces. Their talk about Christophine and obeah changed it.I knew her room so weU - the pictures of the Holy Fam­

ily :md the prayer for a happy death. She had a bright patch­work counterpane, a broken-down press for her clothes, andmy mother had given her an old rocking-chair.

Yet one d.1Y when I was waiting there I was suddenly verymuch afnid. The door was open to the sunlight, someone waswhistling near the stables. but I was afraid. I was certain thathidden in the room (behind the old black press?) there was a

dead man's dried hand, white chicken feathers, a cock with itsthroat cut, dying slowly, slowly. Drop by drop the blood wasfalling into a red basin and I imagined I could hear it. No onehad ever spoken to me about obeah - but I knew what Jwould find if I dared to look. Then Christophine came insmiling and pleased to see me. Nothing alarming ever hap­

pened and I forgot, or told myself I had forgotten.Mr Mason would laugh jf he knew how frightened 1 had

been. He would laugh even louder than he did when mymother told him that she wished to leave Coulibri,

This began when they had been married for over a year.

They always said the S3mc things and I seldom listened tothe argument now. I knew that we were hated - but to goa"vay ... for once I agreed with my stepfather. That was not

possible.

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WID( SARGASSO S(A

'You must have some reason: he would say, and she wouldanswer 'I need a change' or 'We could visit Richard'.(Richard, Mr Mason's son by his first marriage, was at schoolin Barbados. He was going to England soon and we had seenvery IinJ~ of him.)

'An agent could look after this place. For the time being.The people here hate m. They cenainly hate me: Stnight OU[

she said that one day and it was then he laughed so heartily.'Annenc, be reasonable. YOll were the widow of a slavc­

owner, the daughter of a slave-owner, and you had been liv­ing here alone, with two children, for nearly five years when

we met. Things were at their worst then. But you were nevermolested, never harmed:

'How do you know that I was not harmed?' she said. 'Wewere so poor then: she told him, 'we were something to laughat. Out we are nOt poor now: she said. ~You are not a poorman. Do you suppose that they don't know all about yourestate in Trinidad? And the Antigua property? They talkaboU[ us without stopping. They invent stories about you, andlies about me. They try to find out what we eat every day.'

'They are curious. It's natural enough. You have lived alonefar too long, Annette. YOll imagin~ enmity which doesn'texist. Always one extreme or the other. Didn't yotl fly at melike a little wiJd cat when I said nigger. Not nigger, nor evennegro. Black people I must s:ay.'

'YOll don't like, or even recognize, the good in them,' shesaid, 'and you won't believe in the other side.'

'They're too cbmn lazy to be dangerous: s:aid Mr Mason. 'Iknow that.'

'They are more alive than you are,lazy Or nOt, and they canbe dangerous and cruel for reasons you wouldn't understand.'

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J[AN RHYS

'No. I don't understand,' Mr Mason always said. " don't

understand 2t all.'But she'd speak about going away again. Persistently.

Angrily.

Mr Mason pulled up near the empty hurs on our way homethat evening. 'All gone to one of those dances,' he s,1id. 'Young

and old. How deserted the place look'i.''We'll hear the drums if there is a dance.' I hoped he'd ride

on quickly but he stayed by the huts to watch the sun godown, the sky and the sea were on fire when we left UertnmdBay at last. From a long way ofT I saw the shadow ofour househigh up on its st.one foundations. There was a smell of fernsand river water 2nd 1 felt safe ;again, 3S if I was one of therighteous, (Godfrey said that we were not righteous. One daywhen he was drunk he told me thilt w~ were all damned aDd

110 use praying.)'They've chosen a very hot night for their cbnce,' Mr

Mason said, and Aunt Cora came on to the glacis. 'Whlt

dance? Where?''There is some festivity in the neighbourhood. The huts

were abandoned. A wedding perhaps?''Not a wedding; I said. 'There is never a wedding.' He

frowned at me but Aunt Cora smiled.When they had gone indoors I leaned my arms on the cool

glads railings and thought that I would never like him verymuch. I still called him 'Mr Mason' in my head. 'Goodnightwhite pappy,' 'I said one evening and he was not vexed, helaughed, In some ways it was better before he came thoughhe'd rescued us from poverty and misery. 'Only just in time

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too.' The black people did not hate us quite so much whenwe were poor. We were wrute but we had not escaped andsoon we would be dead for we had no money left. What w'asthere to hilte?

Now it had started up again and worse than before, mymother knows but she can't make him believe it. I wish Icould tell him that out here is not at all like English peoplethink it is. I wish ...

I could hear them talking and Aunt Cora's laugh. I was gladshe was staying with us. And I could hear the bamboos shiverill1d creak though there was no wind. It had been hot and stilland dry for days. The colours had gone from the sky, the lightwas blue and could not last long. The ~/aris wa~ not a goodplace when night was coming, Christophinc said. As 1 wentindoors my modler was talking in an excited voice.

'Very well. As you refuse to consider it, I wiU go and takePierre with me. You won't object to that, I hope?'

'You are perfectly right, Annette,' said Aunt Cora and thatdid surprise me. She seldom spoke when dley arb'Ued.

Mr Mason also seemed surprised and not at all pleased.'You talk so wildly,' he said. 'And you are so mistaken. Of

course you can get away for a change if you wish if. I prom­ise you.'

'You have promised that before,' she said. ·You don't keepyour promises.'

He sighed. 'I feel very well here. However, wc'lI arrangesomething. Quite soon.'

'I will not stay at Coulibri any longer,' my mother said. 'Jtis not safe. It is not safe for Pierre.'

Aunt Cora nodded.

As it \.v:lS late I ate with them instead of by myself as usual.

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JEAN RI1VS

Myra, onc of the new servants, was standing by the sideboard,waiting to change the plates. We ate English food now, beef

and mutton, pies and puddings.I was glad to be like an English girl but I missed the taste

of Christophine's cooking.My stepfather calked about a plan to import labourers ­

coolies he called them - from the East Indies. When Myra

had gone out Aunt Cora said, 'I shouldn't discuss that if I w~re

you. Myra is listening.''But the people here won't work. They don't want to work.

Look at this place - it's enough to break your heart.''Hearts have been broken: she said. 'Ue sure of that. I sup­

pose you all know what you are doing.''Do you mean to say - ''I said nothing, except that it would be wiser not to tell tbat

woman your plans - necessary and merciful no doubt. I don't

trust her:'Live here most of your life and know nothing about the

people. It's astonishing. They are children - they wouldn't

hurt a fly.''Unhappily children do hurt flies,' said Aunt Cora.Myra came in again looking mournful as she always did

though she smiled when she calked about hell. Everyone wentto hcll, she told mc, you had to belong to her sect to be saved:lIld even thcn - just as well not to be too sure. She had thinarms and big hands and feet and the handkerchief she woreround her head was always white. Never striped or a gay

colour.So I looked away from her at my favourite picture, 'The

Miller's Daughter', a lovely English girl with brown curls andblue eyes and a dress slipping off her shoulders. Then I looked

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across the white tablecloth and the vase of yellow roS(''S at MrMason, so Sure of himself, so without a doubt English. And atmy mother, so without a doubt not English, but no white nig­ger either. Not my mother. Nt..'Ver ha.d been. Never could be.Yes, she would have died. I thought, if she had not met him.And for dle nest time I wa grateful and liked him. There aremOre ways than olle of being happy, better perhaps to bepeaceful and comented and protected. as I feel now, peacefulfor years and long years, and afterwards I may be saved what­ever Myl.l says. (When I asked hristophinc what happenedwhen you died, she said, 'You want to know too Illuch.') Iremembered to kiss my stepfather goodnight. Once AuntCora had told me, 'He's very hurt because you never kiss him.'

'He does not look hurt,' I argued. 'Great miscake to go bylooks,' she said, 'one way or the other.'

I \Vel}[ into Pierre's room which W:lS next to mine, the lastone in the house. The bamboos were outside his window. Youcould almost touch them. He still had a crib and he slept moreand more, nearly aU the time. He was so thin d13t I could lifthim easily. Mr Mason had promised to take him to Englandlater on, there he would be cured. made like odlcr people.'And how will you like that' I thought, as I kissed him. 'Howwill yOll like being made exactly like other people?' Helooked happy asleep. But that will be !:leer on. Later on. Sleepnow. It \VdS then I heard the bamboos creak again and a soundlike whispering. I forced myself to look out of the window.There was a full moon but I saw nobody, nothing butshadows.

( left a light on the chair by my bed and waited forChristophine, for I liked to see her last thing. Out she did notcome, and as the candle burned down, the safe pea<.:eful fee1-

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J E A N R H Y 5

ing left mc. I wished I had a big Cuban dog [Q lie by my bedand protect me, I wished I had not heard a noise by the bam­boo clump, or th:lt I were very young again, for then 1believed in my stick. It was not a srick, but a long narrowpiece of wood. with two nails sticking out at the end, ashingle. perhaps. 1 picked it up soon after they killed our hOrieand 1 thought 1 e;an fight with this, if the worst comd to theworst I can fight to the end though the lx.'St ones fall and thatis another song. Christophine knocked the nails out, but shelet me keep the shingle and I grew very fond of it, I believedth:n no onc could hanll me when it was near me, to lose itwould be a great misfortune. All this was long ago. when I wasstill babyish and sure that everything was alive, not only dleriver or the nin, but chairs, looking-glasses. cups, saucers.

everything.I woke up and it was still night and my mother was there.

She said. 'Get up and dre."5 yourself. and come downstairsquickly.' She \WS dressed, but she had not put up her hair andone of her plaits was loose. 'Quickly,' she said again. then shewen! into Pierre's room. next door. I heard her speak to Mynand I heard Myn answer her. I lay there. half asleep. lookingat the lighted candle on the chest of drawers, rill I heard anoise 3S though a chair had fallen over in the little room, then

I got up and dressed.

The house was on different levels. There were three stepsdown from my bedroom and Pierre's to the dining-room :lIldthen three steps from the dining-room to the rest of thehouse. which we called ·downstairs'. The folding doors ofthe dining-room were not shut :md 1 could see that the big

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WIDE SARGA550 5tA

drawing-room wa... fun of people. Mr Mason, my mother,Christophinc and Mallnie and Sass. Aunt Cora was sitting onthe blue sofa in the corner now, wearing a black silk dress, herringlets were carefully arranged. She looked very haughty, Ithought. But Godfrey was nOt there, or Myn, or the cook, orany of the others.

. 'There is no reason to be alarmed; my stepfather was say­mg as I came in. 'A handful of drunken negroes.' He openedthe door leading to the,{!/tJcis and walked out. 'What is all this,'~e shouted. 'What do you \v.lnt?' A horrible noise swelled lip.like allinuls howling, but worse. Wc heard stones falling on tothe g/acis. He was pale when he came in again, but he tried tosmile as he shut and bolted the door. 'More of them than Ithought, :md in 3 nasty mood tOO. They will repent in themorning. I foresee gifts of t:un:mnd.. in syrup and gingersweets tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow will be too late: said Aunt Corn, 'too bte forgin~er sweets or anything else: My mother was nOt listeningto either of them. She s.1id, 'Plerre is a...lecp and Myra is withhim. I thought it bener to Icave him in his own room. a\v:lYfrom this horrible noise. I don't know. Perhaps.' She was twist­ing her hands together, her wedding ring fell otf and rolledinto a corner near the steps. My stepfather :md Mannie bothstooped for ir. then Mannie straightened up and s.1id, 'Oh, myGod, they gce ar the back. they sct fin: to the b:lck of rhehouse.' He pointed to my bedroom door which I had shutafter me. and ...moke was rolling Out from underneath.

1 did not SCe my mother move she was so quick. Sheopened the door of my room ;md then again I did not sec hernothing bue smoke. Mannie rnn after her, so did Mr Masor:but more slowly. Aunt Cora pm her arms round me. She said,

35

Jf.AN RHYS

'Don't be afraid, you are quite safe. We :are all quite safe: Just

for a moment I shut my eyes and rested my head against hershoulder. She smelled of ,,·~milla, I remember. Then there W2,Sanother smell, of burned hair, and I looked and my motherwas in the room carrying Pierre. It was her loose hair that had

burned and was smelling like that.I thought, Pierre is dead. He looked dead. He was white and

he did not make a sound, but his head hung back over her arm

as irlte had no life at all and his eyes were rolled up so that youonly saw the whites. My stepfather said, 'Annette, you are hurt_ your hands .. : Bm she did not even look at him. 'His cribw~s on fire,' she said to Aunt Cora. 'The little room is on fireand Myra was not there. She has gone. She was not mere.' .

'That does not surprise me at an: ~id Aunt Cora. She l;udPierre on the sofa. bent over him, then lifted up her skirt,stepped out of her white petticoat and began to tear it into

strips.'She left him, she ran away and left him alone to die,' said

my mOther, still whispering. So it was all the more dreadfulwhen she began to scream abuse at Mr Mason, calling him a

fool, a cruel stupid fool. 'I told you.' she said, 'I told you whatwould happen again and again.' Her voice broke, but still shescreamed, 'You \vould not listen. you sneered at me, you grin­ning hypocritc, you ought not to live either, you know somuch, don't you? Why don't you go out and ask them to letyou go? Say how innocent you arc. Say you have alw:lYs

trustcd them,'I was so shocked that everything was confused. And it hap­

pened quickly. I saw Mannie and Sass staggering along withtwo large earthenware jars of water which were kept in the

3.

"IOl SARGASSO SlA

pantry. They threw the W2ter into the bedroom and it made ablack pool on the floor, but the smoke rolled Over the pool.Then Chrisrophine, who had run into my mother's bedroomfor me pitcher there, came back and spoke to my aunt. 'It

seems they have fired the other side of the hOll.o;c: said AuntCora. 'They must have climbed that tree outside. This place isgoing to burn like rind!:r and there is nothing we can do toStop it. The sooner we get out the better.'

Mannie said to the boy, 'You fTightcned?' Sass shook hishead. 'Then Come on: said Mannie. 'Out of my way.' he saidand pushed Mr Mason aside. arTOW wooden stairs led downfrom the pantry to the outbuildings, the kitchen, the servants'rooms, the st'Jbles. That was where they were going. 'Take thechild,' Aunt Cora told Christophine, 'and come.'

It was very hot on the ~,!Iacis too, they mared as we cameout, then there was another roar behind liS. I had not seen anyflames, only smoke and sparks, but now J 501W t.111 flamesshooting up to the sky, for the bamboos had caught. Therewere same tree ferns ne:lr, green and damp, one of those wassmouldering too.

'Come quickly,' said Aunt Con, and she went first, holdingmy hand. Christophinc followed, carrying Pierre, and theywere quire silent as we Went down the glacis steps. Uut whenI looked round for my mother I saw that Mr Mason, his facecrimson with hcat, seemed to be drJgging her along and shewas holding back, struggling. I heard him say, 'It's impossible,too late now.'

'Wants her jewel case?' Aunt Cora said.

'Jewel case? Nothing so sensible,' bawled Mr Mason. 'Shew211ted to go back for her damned parrot. I won't allow it.'

37

J[AN RHYS

She did not answer, only fought him silently, t\'1isting Like a Cll

and showing her teeth.Our parrot was called Coca, a green parrot. He didn't ~lk

very well, he could say Qui est la? Qui estlO? and answer hll11­self Clu! Co<o, CIJe Coco. After Mr Mason clipped his wings hegrew very bad tempered. and though he would sit quietly onmy mother's shoulder, he darted at everyone who came near

her and pecked their feet.'Annette,' said Aunt Cora. 'They are laughing at you, do not

allow them to laugh at you.' She stopped fighting then and hehalf supported, half pulled her after us, cursing loudly.

Still they we're quiet and there were so many of them Icould hardly see any grass or trees. There must have beennlany of the bay people but I recognized 110 one. They alllooked the same, it was the same face repeated over and over,eyes gleaming, mouth half open to shout. We were past. themounting stone when they saw Mannie driving the carTl~ge

round the corner. Sass followed, riding one horse and leading:mother. There was a ladies'saddle on the one he wa.s leading.

Somebody yelled, 'But look the black Englishman! Lookthe white niggers!', :md then they .......ere all yelling. 'Look .thewhite niggers! Look the cbnm white niggers!' A scone JUSt

missed Mannie's head, he cursed back at them and theycleared away from the rearing, frightened horses. 'Come on,for God's sake,' said Mr Mason. 'Get to the carriage, get to thehorses.' But we could not move for they pressed tOO closeround us. Some of them were laughing and waving stick~,

some of the ones at the back were carrying Oambeaux and itwas light as day. Aunt Cora held my hand very tightly and herlips moved but I could not hear because of the noise. And Iwas afraid, because 1 knew that the ones who laughed wO'-lld

38

~ID[ SARGASSO SEA

be the worst. I shut my eyes and waited. Mr Mason stoppedswearing and began to pray in a loud pious voice. The prayerended, 'May Almighty God defend us.' And God who isindeed mysterious, who had made no sign when they burnedPierre as he slept - nOt a clap of thunder, not a flash oflightning - mysterious God heard Mr Mason at once andanswered him. The yells stopped.

I opened my eyes, everybody was looking up and pointingat Coca on the g/ads r.ailings with his feathers ;alight. He madean effort to fly down but his clipped wings f;ailed him and hefell screeching. He was all on fire.

I began to cry. 'Don't look,' said Aunt Cora. 'Don't look:She stooped and put her arms round me ;and J hid my face.but I could feel that they wen: not so near. J heard someonesay something about bad luck and remembered that it wasvery unlucky to kill a parrot, or even to see a parrot die. Theybegan to go then. quickly, silently, and those that were leftdrew aside and watched us as wc trailed acro~ the grass. Theywere not laughing any more.

'Get to the carriage, get to the carriage,' said Mr Mason.'Hurry!' He went first, holding my mother's arm, then Chris­tophine carrying Pierre, and Aunt Cora was laSt, still with myhand in hers. None of us looked back.

Mannic had stopped the horses at the bend of the cobble­stone road and as we got closer we heard him shout, 'What allyou are, eh? Drute beasrs?' He was speaking CO a group ofmenand a few women who were standing round the carriage. Acoloured man with a machete in his hand was holding thebridle. 1 did not see Sass or the other t't.vo horses. 'Get in,' saidMr Mason. 'Take no notice of him, get in:The man with thelI13chete said no. We would go to police and tell a lot of danm

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JEAN RttYS

lies. A woman said to let us go. All this an accident ilnd theyhad plenry witnl.~s. 'Myrn she witness for us.'

'Shut your mouth,' the man said. 'You mash centipede,Illash it,leave onc little piece and it grow again ... What yOJthink police believe, eh? You, or me white nigger?'

Mr Mason stared at him. He seemed not frightened, buttoO astounded [Q speak. Mannie took up the carriage whipbut onc of the blacker men wrenched it out of his hand.snapped it over his knee and threw it away. 'Run away, blackEnglishman, like the boy rUIl. Hide in the bushes. It's betterfor you.' It was Aunt Cora who stepped fonvard and said.'The little boy is very badly hurt. He will die ifwe cannot gethelp for him.'

The Illan said, 'So black and white, they burn the same, eh?''They do; she said. 'Here and hereaficr, as you will find oul.

Very shortly.'He let the bridle go and thrust his faCl: dose to hers. He'd

throw her on the fire, he said. if she put bad luck on him. Oldwhite jumby, he called her. But she did not move an inch, shelooked straight into his eyes and threatened him with eternalfire in a calm voice. 'And never a drop of sangoree to coolyour burning tongue: she said. He cursed her again but hebacked tlway. 'Now get in,' said Mr Mason. 'You, Chris­tophine, get in with the child.' Christophine got in. 'Nowyou: he said to my mother. Dut she had rurned and was look­ing back at the house and when he put his hand on her arm,she screamed.

One woman said she onJy come to see what happen.Another woman began to cry. The man with the cutlass said,'You cry for her - when she ever cry for you? Tell me that.'

But now I turned too. The house was burning, the yellow-

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WIDr SARGASSO SEA

red sky was like sunset :lIld J knew that I 'vould never set'Coulibri 3brain. Nothing would be left, the golden ferns andthe silver ferns. the orchids. the ginger lilies and the roses, therocking-chairs and the blue ..ofa. the jasmine and the honey­suckle, and the picrure of the Miller's IJaughlCr. When theyhad finished, there would be nothing left but blackened wallsand the mounting stone. That was always left. That could l10t

be nolen or burned.

Then, nOt so f.,r off, , saw Tia and her mother and I ranto her, for she was all that was left or my life as it had bel'n.We had eaten the same food, slept side by side, bathed in thesame river. As I ran, , thought, , will live with Tia and' willbe like her. Not to leave Coulihri. Not to go. ot. When I

was dose I saw the jagged stone in her hand but I did nOtsee her throw it. , did nOt fed it either. only something wct,running down my face. I looked at her and' saw her facecrumple up as she began [0 cry. We stared at each otherblood on my face, tears 011 hers. It was a... if' \3W myself. Lik~in a looking-glass.

'r SAW MY PLAIT, tied with red ribbon, when I got up,' Isaid. '111 the chest of drawers. I thoughr it was :I sn3ke.'

. 'Your hair had to be cut. You've been very ill, my darling;said Aunt Con. 'But you are safe with me now. We art" all safeas , told you we would be. You must stay in bed though. Whyare you WCtndering about the room? Your hair will growagain,' she said. 'Longer and thicker.'

'Blit darker,' I said.'Why nOt darker?'

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JCAN RHYS

She picked me up and I W:lS glad to feel the soft mattre~

and glad to be covered with a cool sheet.'It's rime for your arrowroot,' she said and went out. When

that was finished she took the cup :lway and stood looking

down :lt me.'I got up because I wanted to know where I W3S.''And you do know, don't you?' she said in an anxious voice:.

'Of course. Dut how did I get to your home?''The Lunrells were very good. As soon as Mannie bl"()t to

Nelson's R.est they sent 3 hammock and four men. You wereshaken about a good deal though. Dut they did their best.Young Mr LUllrd} rode alongside yOll all the way. Wasn't that

kind?''Yes,' J uid. She looked thin and old and her hair wasn't

arranged prettily so I shut my eyes, not wanting to see her.

'Pierre is dead, isn't he?''He died 011 the way down, the poor little boy.' she said.

'He died before that,' I thought but was tOO tired to speak.'Your mother is in the country, R.esting. Getting well again.

You will see her quite soon.''I didn't know: 1said. 'Why did she go away?''You've been very ill for nearly six weeks. You didn't know

anything.'What was the use of telling her that I'd been awake before

and heard my 1110ther screaming 'Qui est la? Qui est llt?', then'Don't touch me. I'll kill you if you touch mc. Coward. Hyp­ocrite. I'll kill you.' I'd put my hrmds over my ears, her screams

were so loud and terrible. I slept and when I woke up I!.very­

thing was quiet.Still Aunr Cora stayed by my bed looking at me.

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WIDE SARGASSO SEA

'My head is bandaged up. It's so hot: I said. 'Will I have amark on my forehead?'

'No, no.' She smiled for the first time. 'That is healing verynicely. It won't spoil you on your wedding day,' she said.

She bent down and kissed me. 'Is there anything you w'ant?A cool drink to sip?'

'No, not 3 drink. Sing to me, I like that.'She began in a sh:.ky voice.

'Every '*'11 at half past eightComes tap tap tapping - '

'Not thac one. I don't like that one. Sing &forc {was 5('1 free.'She sat near me and sang very softly, '1Jefore I was set free.'

I heard as far as 'The sorrow that my hearc feels for - ' I didn'thear the end but I he:m1 that before I slept, 'The sorrow thatmy heart feds for.'

I was going to see my mother. J had insisted thou ChristophincI11US[ be "vith me, no one else, and as 1 was not yet quite- wellthey had given way. J remember the dull feeling as wc drovealong for I did not expect to see her. She \v.lS part of Coulibri,that had gone,so she had gone,l was certain of it. Out when wereached the ridy pretty little house where she lived now (they

said) I jumped out of the carriage and ran as fan as I couldacross the lawn. One door was open on to the verancb. J wemin without knocking and stared at the people in the room. A

coloured man, a coloured woman, and a whitt' woman sittingwith her head bent so low that I couldn't see her face. Out I

JCAN RHYS

recognized her hair. one plait much shorter Utan the other. Andher dress. I put my arms round her and kissed her. She held meso righdy that 1 couldn't breathe and I thought. 'It's not her.'Then. 'It must be her.' Sht" looked :11 me door, then at me, then3t the door again. 1 could not say. 'He is dead: so I shook myhead. 'Dut I am here, I am here: I said. 3nd she said,; 0,' qui­edy. Then' 0 no no' very loudly and flung me from her. I fellagainst the partition and hurt myself The man and the womanwere holding her arms and Christophine was there. Thewoman said, 'Why you bring the child to make trouble, trou­ble, trouble? Trouble enough without that.'

All the way back to Aunt Cora's hOllse wc didn't speak.

The fiT!t day I had to go to the convent, I clung to Aunt Conas you would cling CO life if you loved it. At last Shl' gO[ impa­tient. so I forced myself away fmm her and through the p~­

sab~, down the steps into the street and, :1.\ I knew they wouldbe. they weTl:.' w:aiting for me under the sandbox tree. Therewere two of them, a boy and a girl. The boy was about four­teen and taU and big for his age, he had a white skin, a dullugly white covered with freckles, his mouth was a negro'smouth and he had small eyes, like bits of green glass. He hadthe eyes of a dead fish. Worst. most horrible of all, his hair wascrinkled, a negro's hair, but bright red, and his eyebrows andl'yelashes were red. The girl was very black and wore no headhandkerchief. Her hair had bcen plaited and I could smellthe sickening oil she had daubed on it, from where I stood onthe steps of Aunt Cora's dark, clean, friendly house, staring atthem. They looked so harmless and quiet, no onc would havenoticed the glint in the boy's eyes.

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WIDC SARGASSO SEA

Then the girl grinned and began to cnck the knuckles ofher fingers. At each Cr3ck I jumped and my hands began tosweat. I was holding some school books in my right hand andI shifted them to under my arm, but it was too late, there wasa mark OD the palm of my hand and a stain on the cover ofthe book. The girl began to laugh, very quietly, and it wasthen that hate came to me and courage with the hate so thatI W3S able to walk past without looking at them.

I knew they were following, I knew too that as long as Iwas in sight of Aunt ora's house they would do nothing butstroll along somc distance after me. OUl I knew when theywould draw dose. It would be when I was going up the hill.There were walls and gardens on each side of the hill and noone would be there at this hour of the morning.

Half-way up they closed in on me and started talking. Thegirl said. 'Look the crazy girl, you crazy like your mother.Your aum frightened to h:lVe you in the house. She send youfor the nuns to Jock up_ Your mother walk about with noshoes and stockings on her feet, she smu culottes. She try to kmher husband and she try to kill you too that day you go to seeher. She have eyes like zombie and you have eyes like zombietoo. Why you won't look at me.' The boy only said, 'One dayI catch you alone. you wait, one d.ay I catch you alone: WhenI got to the tOP of the hill they were jostling me, I could smellthe girl's hair.

A long empty street stretched away to the convent, theconvent wall and a wooden gate, I would have to ring beforeI couJd get in. The girl said, ·You don't want to look at mc,eh, I make you look at me.' She pushed me and the books Iwas carrying fell to the ground.

1 stooped to pick them up and saw that a tall boy who was

J[AN RHYS

walking along the mher side of the street had stopped andlooked to'....ards us. Then he crossed over, running. He had long

legs, his feet hardly touchcd the ground. As soon as they sawhim, they turned :md walked aw:.y. He looked ;after them, puz­

zled. 1 would have died sooner than run when they werethere, but as soon as they had gone, 1 ran. I left one of mybooks on the ground and rhe t,11J boy came after mc,

'You dropped rhis; he said, and smiled. I knew who he was,his name was S.:mdi, Alexander Cosway:~ son. Once I wouldhave said 'my cousin Sandi' bue Mr Masons lectures had mademe shy about my coloured relatives. I muttered, 'Thank you.'

'I'll talk to that boy,' he said. 'He won't bother you again.'In the distance I could set.' my enemy's red hair as he pelted

along, but he hadn't a chance. Sandi caught him up before hereached the corneT. The girl had disappeared. I didn't "',>ait tosce what happened but I pulled :md pulled at the bell.

At last the door opened. The nun W;'lS a coloured womanand she seemed displeased. 'You must not ring the bell likethat,' she said. 'I come as quick as I c;m.'Then 1heard the doorshm behind me.

I collapsed and began to cry. She asked Inc if 1 was sick, butI could not :lI1swer. She took my hand, still clicking hertongue and Illuttering in an ill-tempered way. and led meacross the yard, past the shadow of the big tree. not into thefront door but into a big. cool, srone-fbgged room. Therewcre pots and paIlS hanging on the wall and a stone fireplace.There was :mother nun at the back of the room and when thebell rang again, the first one went to answer it. The secondnUll, also a coloured woman, brought a basin and water bur asfast as she sponged my face, so fast did I cry. When she SOlW myhand she a ked if I had fallc.:n and hurt myself. I shook my

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WID[ SARGASSO S[A

head and she sponged the stain away gently. 'What is the mat­ter, what are you crying about? What has happened to you?'And still I could not answer. She brought me a glass of milk,I uied to drink it. but I choked. 'Oh la la: she sa.id, shruggingher shoulders and went out.

When she came in again, a third nun was with her who saidin a calm voice, 'You have cried quite enough now, you mustnap. Have you got 3 handkerchief?'

I remembered that I had dropped it. The new nun wipedmy eyes with a large handkerchief, gave it to me and asked myname.

'Anroincrte; I said.

'Of course; she said. '1 know. You are Antoincrtc osway,that is to say Antoinette Mason. Has SOmeone frightened you?'

·Yes.'

'Now look at me: she said. 'You will not be frightenedof me:

1looked at her. he had large brown eyes, very soft, and wasdressed in white, not with a starchcd apron like the othcrshad. The band round her face was of linen and above thewhite linen a black veil of some thin material, which feU infolds down her back..Her cheeks were red. she had a laughingface and two deep djmples. Her hands were small but theylooked clumsy and swollen. not like th~ rest ofher. It was onlyaft~rwards that I found out that they were crippled withrheumatism. She took me into a parlour furnished stiffly withstraight-backed chairs and a polished rabic in the middle.After she had talked to me I told her a little ofwhy I was cry­ing and that I did nor like walking to school alone.

'That llluSt be secn to: she said. 'I will write to your aunt.Now Mother StJustine will be waiting for you. I have sent for

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JLAN RHYS

a girl who has been with us for nearly a year. Her name isLouise - Louise de Plana. If you feel strange, she will explam

everything:Louisc and I walked along a paved path to the classroom.

There "vas grass on each side of the par.h and uecs and shad­ows of uees and sometimes a bright bush of flowers. he ..vasvery pretty and when she smiled at me I could scarcely believeI had ever been miserable. She said, 'Wc always call Mother StJustine, Mother Juice of a Lime. She is nOt very intelligent,

poor woman. YOll will see.'

Quickly, while I can, I must remcmber the hot classroom. Thehot classroom, thc pitchpine dcsks, the heat of the benchstriking up through my body, along my arms and hands. ButoutSide I could see cool, blue shadow on a white wall. Myneedle is sticky, and creaks as it goes in and out or the canvas.'My needle is swearing,' I whisper to Louise. who sits next to

me. We an: cross-stitching silk roses on a pale background.Wc c:ln colour the roses as we choose and mine are green,him." and purple. Underneath, I will write my name in fire red.Antoineue Mason, nec Cosway, Mount Calvary Convent.Spanish Town,jamaica, 1839.

As wc work, Mother St justine reads us stories from thelives of the Saints, St Rose. St Darbara, St Agncs. But wehave our own Saint, the skeleton of a girl of fourteen underthe altar of the convent chapel. The Relics. Dut how did thenuns get them Out here,l ask myself? In a cabin trunk? Spe­cially packed for the hold? How? But here she is, and StInnocenzia is her name. We do not know her story, she isnot in the book. The saint.~ we hear about were all very

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WIDf. SARGASSO 5th

beautiful and wealthy. All were loved by rich and handsomeyoung men.

' ... more lovely and more richly dressed than he had everseen her in life,' drones Mother St justine. 'She sullied andsaid. "Here TheophiJus is a rose fi-om the g.mlen ofmy Spouse,in whom you did not believe." The rose he found by his sidewhen he awoke has never faded. It still exists.' (Oh, blU where?Where?) 'And Theophilus w:lS converted to Christianity,' saysMother St justine. reading very rapidly now. ':md became oneof the Holy Martyrs.' She shuts the book with a clap and talksabollt pushing down the cuticles or our nails when we washour hands. Cleanliness. good manners and kindness to God'spoor. A flow of words. (,It is her time of life; said Hclene dePlana, 'she cannot help it. poor old Jusrine.') 'When you insultor injure the unfortunatc or the unhappy, you insult ChristHimself and He will not forget. for they are His chosen ones.'This remark is made in a casual and perfunctory voice and sheslides on to order and chastity, that flawlcss crysraJ that, oncebroken, can never be mended. Also deportment. Like every­onc else, she has faUen under the spell of the de Plana sistersand holds them up as an example (0 the class. I admire them.They sit so poised and imperturbable while she points outthe excellence of Miss Helene's coiffure. achieved without alooking-glass.

.Please. Helene. tell me how you do your hair, becausewhen I grow up I want mine to look like yours.'

'It\ very easy. You comb it upwards, like this and then pushit a little forward, like that, and then you pin it here and here.Never too many pins.'

'Yes, but Helene, mine dol."S not look like yours, whateverI do.'

49

JEAN RHYS

Her cyela~hes flickered, she turned away. [00 polite to saythe obvious thing. Wc have no looking-glass in the dormitory,once I saw the new young nun from Ireland looking at her­self in a cask of 'vater, smiling [Q see if her dimples were stillthere. When she noticed me, she blushed and 1 thought. now

~he will always dislike me.ometimcs it was Mi s HeIenes hair and sometimes Miss

Germaine's impeccable deportment. and sometimes it was thecare Miss Louise took of her beautiful teeth. And if we werenever envious. they never seemed vain. Helem: and Germaine.a little disdainful, aloof perhaps, but Louise. not even that. Shetook no part in it - as ifshe knew that she was born for otherthings. Helenes brown eyes could snap. Germaine's grey eyeswere beautiful, soft and cow-like. she spoke slowly and, unlikemost Creole girls, was very even-tempered. It is easy to imag­ine what happened to those two. bar accidents. Ah but Loui5e!Her slllall waist. her thin brown hands. her black curls whichsmelled of veaver, her high sweet voice. singing so carelcs51yin Chapel about death. Like a bird would sing. Anythingmight have happened to you. Louise. anything at all, and I

wouldll't be surprised.Then there \vas another saint, said Mother St Justine, she

lived later on but still in Italy, or was it in Spain. Italy is whitepillars and green water. Spain is hot sun on stones. France is alady with black hair wearing J. white dress because Louise wasborn in France fifteen years ago, and my mother, whom 1must forget and pray for as though she were dead, though she

is living, liked to dn:ss in white.No one spoke of her now that Christophine had left us to

live with her son. I seldom saw my stepfather. He seemed to

50

WIDf. SARGASSO SEA

dislike Jamaica, panish Town in particular, and was oftena\vay for months.

One hot afternoon in July my aunt told me that !ihe wasgoing to England for a year. Her health was not good and sheneeded a change. As she talked she was working at a patchworkcounterpane. The diamond-shaped pieces of silk melted oneinto the other, red, blue, purple. green, yellow, an one shimmer­ing colour. Hours and hours she had spent on it and it \vasnearly finished. \Vould I be lonely? she asked and I said 'No',looking at the colours. Hours and hours and hours I thought.

This convent was my refuge. a place of sunshine and of deathwhere very early in the morning the clap of a wooden signalwoke the nine of us who slept in the long dormitory. Wewoke to see Sister Marie Augustine l;itting, serene and neat,bolt upright in a wooden chair. The long brown room was fuUof gold sunlight and shadows of trct.'S moving quietly. I learntto say very quickly as the others did. 'offer up all the pf<lyers.works and sufferings of this day.' Bur what about happiness.r thought at first. is there no happiness? There must be. Ohhappiness of course, happiness, well.

But I soon forgot about happiness, running down the stairsto the big stone bath where we splashed about wearing longgrey cotton chemises which reached to our ankles. The smellof soap as you cautiously soaped yourself under the chemise,a trick CO be learned, dressing with modesty, another trick.Great splashes of sunlight as wc ran lip the wooden steps ofthe refectory. Hot coffee and rolls and melting butter. But afterthe meal. now and at the hour of our death, and at midd1Y and

51

JEAN RHYS

at six in the evening, now and at the hour of our death. Letperpeluallight shine on them. This is for my mother, I wouldthink, wherever her soul is wandering, for it has left ht:r body.Then I remembered how she hated a strong light and lovedthe cool and the shade. It is a different light they mid me. Still,I would not say it. Soon we were back in the shifting shadowsoutside, more beautiful than any perpetual light could be. andsoon I learnt to gabble without thinking as the others did.Abollt changing now and the hour of our death for that is all

we haw.Everything was brightness, or dark. The walls. the blazing

colours of the flowers in the garden, the nuns' habits werebright, but their veils, the Crucifix hanging from their waists,the shadow of the trees, were black. That was how it was,1ightand dark, sun and shadow, Heaven and Hell, for one of thenuns knew all about Hell and who does not? But another oncknt:w about Heaven and the attributes ofthe blessed, ofwhichthe least is transcendent beauty. The very least. I could hardlywait for all this ecstasy and once I prayed for a long time to

be dead. Then remembered that this was a sin. It's presump­tion or despair, I forget which, but a mortal sin. So I prayedfor a long time about that tOO, but the thought came, so manythings are sins, why? Another sin, to think that. However, hap­pily, Sister Marie Augustine says thoughts are not sins, if theyare driven away at once. You say Lord save me, I perish. I findit vcry comforting to know exactly what must be done. Allthe same, I did not pray so oftcn after that and soon, hardly atall. I felt bolder, happier, more free. But not so safe.

During this tilTIC, nearly eighteen months, my stepfatheroften came to see me. He interviewed Mother Superior first,then I would go into the parlour drt:ssed ready for a dinner or

52

WIDE S,4,RGAS5Q 5["

a visit to friends. He gave me presents when we parted, sweets,a Jocket, a bracelet, once a very pretty dress which, of course,I could not wear.

The last time he came was different. I knew that as soon asI gOt into the room. He kissed me, held me at ann's lengthlooking at me carefully and critically, then smiled and said thatI was taller than he thought. I reminded him that I was averseventeen, a grown woman. 'I've not forgotten your present,'he said.

Because I felt shy and ill at ease I answered coldly, 'I can'twear all these thinb"S you buy for me.'

'You can wear what you like when you live with me: hesaid.

'Where? In Trinidad?'

'OfCOurse not. Here, for the tjmc being. With me and yourAunt Cora who is coming home at last. She says another Eng­lish winter will kill her. And Richard. You can't be hiddenaway all your life.'

'Why not?' I thought.

I suppose he noticed my dismay because he began to joke,pay me compliments, and ask me such absurd questions thatsoon I was laughing too. How would I like to liw in England?Then, before f could answer, had I learnt dancing, or were thenuns too strict?

'They arc not strict at all,' I said. 'The Bishop who visitsthem every year says [hey 3re lax. Very lax. It's the climate hesays.'

'I hope they told him to mind his own business.''She did. Mother Superior did. Somc of the others were

frightened. They arc not strict bur no one has taugh[ me todance:

53

J(/II'I RHYS

'That won't he the difficulty. 1 want you [0 be happy,Antoinette, secure, I've tried to arrange, but we'll have rime to

talk about that later.'As we were going out of the convent gate he said in a care­

less voice, 'I have asked some English friends to spend nextwinrer here. You won't be dull.'

'Do you think: they'll come?' I said doubtfully.'One of them will. I'm certain of that.'It may have been the way he smiled, but again a feeling of

dismay, sadness, loss, almost choked me. This time I did not let

him see it.It was like that morning when I found the dead horse. Say

nothing and it may nOt be true.But they:tll knew at the conwnt. The girls were very curi­

ous but I would not answer their questions and for the first

time J resented the nullS' cheerful f..ces.They are safe. How can they know what it c..n be like

ourside?This was the second time I had my dream.Again I have left the house at Coulibri. It is still night and

I am walking towards the forest. I am wearing a long dr~ss

and thin slippers, so 1walk with difficulty, following the manwho is with me and holding up the skirt of my dress. I1 iswhite and beautiful and I don't wish to get it soiled. I followhim, sick with fear but I make no effort to save myself; ifanyone were to try to save me. I would refuse. This musthappen. Now we have reached the forest. We are under thetall dark trees and there is no wind. 'Here?' He turns andlooks at mc. his face black with hatred, and when I see thisI begin to cry. He smiles slyly. 'Not here. not yet,' he says. andI follow him, weeping. Now I do not try to hold up my

54

WIDE SARGASSO SEA

dress, it trails in the din, my beautiful dress. WI: are no longerin the forest but in an enclosed garden surrounded by ascone wall and the trees are different trees. I do not knowthem. There are steps leading up ....vards. It is coo dark to seethe wall or the steps, but I know they are then~ and I think,'It will be when I go up these steps. At the top.' l stumbleover my dress and cannot get up. I touch a tree and my armshold on to it. 'Here, here.' But I think I will not go any fur­ther. The tree sways and jerks as if it is trying to throw meoff. Still J cling and the seconds pass and each one is a thou­sand years. 'Here. in here,' a strange voice said, and the treestopped swaying and jerking.

Now ister Marie Augustine is leading: me our of the dormi­tory, asking if I am ill, telling me that I must llot disturb theothers and though I am still shivering I wonder ifshe \",iIl takeme behind the mysterious curtains CO the place where shesleeps. Blit no. She Seats me in a chair, vanishes, and after awhile comes back with a cup of hot chocolate.

I said, 'I dreamed J was in Hell.'

'That dream is evil. Put it from your mind - never think ofit again: and she rubbed my cold hands to warm them.

She looks as usual, composed and neat, and I want (0 askher if she gets lip before dawn or hasn't been to bed at all.

'Drink YOllr chocolate.'

While 1 am drinking it J remember that after my mother'sfuneral, very early in the morning, almost as early as this, wcwent home to drink chocolate and eat cakes. She died lastyear, no one [old me how, and I didn't ask. Mr Mason wasthere and Christophine, no one else. Christophinc cried bitterly

ss

JEAN RHV5

but I could not. I pnyed. but the words fell to the ground

meaning naming.Now me thought of her is mixed up with my dream.I saw her in her mended habit riding a borrowed horse,

trying to wave at the head of the cobblestoned road :on

Coulibri. and tears came to my eyes again. 'Such terrible

things happen,' I said. 'Why? Why?''You must not concern yourself with that mystery; said Sis­

ter Maria Augustine. 'We do not know why the devil must

have his little day. Not yet.'She never smiled as much as the others, now she was not

smiling at all. She looked sad.She said, as if she was talking to herself. 'Now go quietly

hack to bed. Think of calm, peaceful things and try to sleep.Soon I will give the signal. Soon it will be tomorrow

morning.'

56

PART Two

SO IT WAS All OVER, the advance and retreat. the doubtsand hesitdtions. Everything finished, for better or for worse.There we were, sheltering from rhe heavy rain under a largemango tree. myself. my wife Amoi.nette and a Iitde half-casteservant who was called AmHic. Under a neighbouring tree J

could see our luggage covered with sacking, the two porters

and a boy holding fresh horses. hin:d to carry us up 2,000 feetto the waiting honeymoon house.

The girl Amelie said this morning, 'I hope you will be very

happy, sir, in your sweet honeymoon house.' She was laughingat me J could sce. A lovely little creature but sly, spiteful,malignant perhaps, like much else in thi place.

'It's only a shower; Antoinc:ttc said anxiowly. 'It will soon

StOP.'

I looked at the sad leaning coco:mur palms, the fishing boatsdrawn up on the shingly beach, the uneven row of white­washed huts, and asked the name of the village.

'Massacre:'And who was massacred here? Slaves?'

'9

JEAN RHYS

'Oh no.' She sounded shocked. 'Not slaves. Something musthave happened a long time ago. Nobody remembers now.'

The rain fell more heavily, huge drops sounded like hail onthe leaves of the cree, and the sea crept stealthily forwards and

backwards.So this is Mas..<;acrc. Not the end of the world, only the last

stage of our interminable journey from Jamaica, the stan ofour sweet honeymoon. And it will all look very different in

the SUIl.

It had been arranged that we would leave Spanish Townimmediately after the ceremony and spend some weeks in oneof the Windw:m.l Islands, at a slllall estate which had belongedto Amoinettc's mother. [ agreed. As I had agreed to every­

thing dse.The windows of the huts were shut, the doors opened into

silence and dimness. Then three little boys came to stare at us.The smallest wore nothing but a rel.igious medal round hisneck and the brim of a large fisherman's hat. When I smiledat him, he began to cry. A woman called from onc of the huts

and he r:J.n away, still howling.The other two followed slowly, looking back several times.As if this was a signal a second woman appeared at her

door, then a third.'It's Caro,' Antoinette said. 'I'm sure it's Caro. Carolinc; she

cal.led, waving, and the woman waved back. A gaudy old crea­mre in a brightly flowered dress, a striped head handkerchief

and gold ear-rings.'You'll get soaked, Antoinettc,' I said.'No, the rain is stopping.' She held up the skirt of her rid­

ing habit and ran across the street. I watched her critically. Shewore a trieornc hat which became her. At least it shadowed

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WIDE SflRGASSO SeA

her eyes which are too large and can be disconcerting. Shenever blinks at all it seems to me. Long, sad, dark alien eyes.Creole of pure English descent she may be, but they are notEnglish or European either. And when did I begin to noticeall this about my wife Antoinette? After we left Spanish TownI slIppose. Or did 1 notice it before and refuse to admit whatI saw? Not that 1 had much time to notice anything. 1 wasmarried a month after I arrived in Januica and for nearly threeweeks of that time I was in bed with fever.

The two women stood in the doorway of the hut gesticu­lating, talking not English bm the debased French patois theylIse in this island. The rain bebran to drip down the back of myneck adding to my feeling of discomfort and melancholy.

I thought about the letter which should have been writtento England a week ago. Dear Father ...

'Caroline asks if yOll will shelter in her house.'This was Anroinette. She spoke hesitatingly as if she

expecred me to refuse, so it was easy to do so.'But you are getting wet: she said.'I don't mind that.' I smiled at Caroline and shook my head.'She will be very disappointed,' said my wife, crossed the

5treet again and went into the dark hut.AmeJie, who had been sitting with her back to us, turned

round. Her expression was so full ofdelighted malice, so intel­ligent, above aU so intimate that I felt ashamed and lookedaway.

'Well,' r thought. 'I have had fever. r am not myself yet.'The rain was nOt so heavy and I went to talk to the porters.

The first man wa.<; nOt a native of the island. 'This a very wildplace - not civilized. Why you come here?' He was called theYoung Bull he told me, and he was twenty-seven years of age.

61

J[AN RHYS

A magnificent body and a foolish conceited face. The o:hcrman's name was Emile, yes, he was born in the village, he hvedthere. 'Ask him how old he is,' suggested the Young Bull.Emile said in a questioning voice, 'Fourteen? Yes I have four­

teen years master.''Impossible: I said. I could see the grey hairs in his sparse

beard.'Fifty-six yeus perhaps.' He seemed anxious to please.The Young Bull laughed loudly. 'He don't know how old

he is, he don't think about it. 1tell you sir these people are not

civilized.'Emile muttered. 'My mother she know, but she dead.'Then

he produced a blue rag which he twisted into a pad and put

on his head.Most of the women were oucside their doors looking :ilt us

but without smiling. Sombre people in a sombre place. Someof the men were going to their boau. WhC'n EmiJe shouted,(\.'10 ofthem came towards him. He sang ill a deep voice. Theyanswered, then lifted the heavy wicker basket :md swung it onto his head-pad singing. He tested the balance with one handand strode off, barefooted on the sharp stones, by far the IPycsrmember of the wedding party. As the Young Bull was I02dedup he glanced at me sidevnys boastfully and he tOO sang to

himself in English.The boy brought the horses to a large stone and I saw

Antoincttc coming from thl' hut. The sun blazed out andstc;un rose from the green behind us. Amelic took her shoesofT, tied them together and hung them round her neck. Shebalanced her small basket on her head and swung amy aseasily as the porters. We mounted. turned a corner and thevillage was OUt of sight. A cock crowed loudly and I rtl1lem-

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WID[ SARGASSO SlA

bered the night before which wc had spent in the town.Antoinette had a room to herself, she was exhausted. J layawake listening to cocks crowing all night, then gOt up veryearly and saw the \vomen widl tr.l)'S covered with whitecloths on their heads going to the kitchen. The woman widlsmaIJ hot loaves for sale, the woman widl cakes, the womanwith sweets. In the street another called &" siropJ &" sirop,and I felt peaceful.

The road climbed upward. On one side the wall of green. onthe other a steep drop to the r.lvine below. We pulled up andlooked at the hills, the mountains and the blue-green sea.There was a soft warm wind blowing but J understood whythe porter had called it .:I wild place. NOt only wild but men­acing. Those hills would close in on you.

<What an extreme green: was all I could say, and thinkingof Emite calling to the fishermen ;lI1d the sound of his voice,J asked about him.

'They rake short cuts. They will be at Granbois long beforewe are.'

Everything is too much, I felt as I rode wearily after her.Too much blue, too much purple, too much green. The flow­ers too red, the mountains too high, the hills coo near. Andthe woman is a stranger. Her pleading expression annoys mc.I have not bought her, she has bought mc, or so she think... Ilooked down at the coarse mane of the horse ... Uear Father.The thirty thousand pounds have been paid to me withoutquestion or condition. No provision made for her (that mustbe seen to). J have a modest competence now. I will never bea disgrace to you or to my deilr brother the son you love. No

63

JEAN RHYS

begging letters, no mean requests. None of the furtive shabbymanceuvres of a younger son. I have sold my soul or you havesold it, and after all is it such a bad bargain? The girl is thought

to be beautiful, she is beautiful. And yet ...Meanwhile the horses jogged along a very bad road. It was

getting cooler. A bird whistled, a long sad note. 'What bi~ isthat?' She was too far ahead and did not hear me. The birdwhistled again. A mountain bird. Shrill and swcet. A very

lonely sound.She stopped and called, 'Put your coat on now.' I did so and

realized that I was no longer pleasantly cool but cold in my

sweat-soaked shirt.We rode on again, silent in the slanting afternoon sun, the

waJI of trees on one side, a drop OH the other. Now the se:l

was a serene blue, deep :md dark.We c:une to a little river. 'This is the boundary of Gran­

bois.' She smiled at mc. It was the first time I had seen hersmile simply and naturaUy. Or perhaps it was the first time Ihad felt simple and natural with her. A bamboo spout juttedfrom the cliff, the water coming from it was silver blue. She

dismounted quickly, picked a large shamrock-shaped tC<lf to

make a cup, and drank. Then she picked another leaf, foldedit and brought it [Q mc. 'Taste. This i.<; mountain water.' look­ing up smiling, she might have been any pretty English girland to please her I dr.lnk. It \-vas cold, pure and sweet. a beau­

tiful colour against the thick green leaf.She said, 'After this we go down then up af,1:Jin. Then we

arc there.'Next time she spoke she said, 'The earth is red here, do you

notice?''It's red in parts of England too.'

WIDE SARGASSO SEA

'Oh England, England,' she called back mockingly, and thesound went on and on like a warning I did not choose tohear.

Soon the road was cobbles toned :lnd wc Slopped at a flightof stone steps. There was a large screw pine CO the left and to

the right what looked like an imitation of an English summerhouse - four wooden posts and a thatched roof. She dis­mounted and ran up the steps. At the cop a badJy Cllt, coarse­grained lawn ~lI1d at the end of the lawn a shabby white house.'Now you are at Granbois.' I looked at the mountains purpleJgainst a very blue sky.

Perched up on wooden stilts the house seemed to shrinkfrom the (orest behjnd it ::lI1d crane eagerly oue to the distant

sea. It was more awkward than ugly, J. litde S<ld as ifit knew itcould not last. A group of negroes were standing at tht: foorof the veranda steps. Antoinettc ran across the ]:lWIl and as rfollowed her I collided with a boy coming in the oppositedirection. He rolled his ey~s, looking alarmed and went ontowards the horses without a word of apolob'Y' A man's voicesaid, 'Double up now double up. Look sharp: There werefour of them. A woman, a girl and a tall, dignified man weretogether. Antoinette was sranding with her arms roundanother woman. 'That was Uertrand who nearly knocked youdown. That is Rose and Hilda. This is Daptisre.'

The servant~ grinned shyly as she named [hem.

'And here is Christophinc who was my da, my nurse longago.'

Baptiste said [hat it was a happy day and that wc'd broughtfine wC<lther with us. He spoke good English, but in the mid­dle of his address of welcome Hildl began to giggle. She wasa young girl of about C'.velve or fourteen, wearing a sleeveless

65

JEAN RHYS

white dress which juSt reached her knees. The dress was spot­

less but her uncovered hair, though it was oiled and braided

into maoy smal) plaits. gave her a savage appearance. [}apti~te

frowned at her and she giggled morc loudly, then put her

hand over her mouth and went up the wooden steps into the

house. I could hear her bare feet running along the veranda.

'Doudoll, che (('leone,' till: elderly woman said to Antoinette.

I looked at her sharply but she seemed insignificant. She wasblacker than most and her clothes, even the handkerchief

round her he<ld, were subdued in colour. She looked at IIlC

steadily, not with approval, I thought. We stared at each othcr

for quite a minute. I looked away first :md she smiled to her­

self, gave Al1toinette a little push fOr\V4rd :lIld disappeared into

the shadows at the back of the hOllse. The other servants had

gone.Standing on the veranda I breathed the sweetness of the air.

Cloves I could snle11 and C1nn:Ullon, roses and or:lnge blossom.

And an intoxicating freshness as if all this had never beenbreathed before. When AntQinette said' OIBe, 1 will show

you the house') went with her unwillingly for the rest of the

place seemed neglec(t~d and deserted. She led me into a large

unpaimed room. There was a small shabby sofa, a mahoganytable in the middle. some straight-backed chairs and an old

oak chest with brass feet like lion's claws.Holding my hand she went lip to the sideboard wllt're IWO

glasses of rum punch were waiting for us. She handed me onc

:md said, 'To happiness.''To happiness,' I answered.The rool11 beyond was larger and emptier. Th~re were tWO

doors, one leading to the veranda, the other very slighdy openinto a small room. A big bed, a round table by its side, twO

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WIDE S,o\RG,o\SSO S[A

chairs, a surprising dressing-table with a marble top and a

large looking-glass. Two wreaths of frangipani lay on the bed.

'Am I expected to wear one of these? And when?'

I crowned myself with one of the wreaths and made a face

in the glass. 'I hardly think it suits my handsome face, do you?''You look like a king, an emperor:

'Cod forbid,' I said and took the wreath off. It feU on the

floor and as I went towards the window I stepped on it. The

rOOI11 was full of the scem ofcrushed nowers. I saw her reflec­

tion in the glass fanning herself with a sl11:111 p:J.IIl1-leaf f.'\11

coloured blue and red at the edges. I felt swear on my fore­

head and sat down, she knelt near me and wiped my f.'\ce withher handkerchief.

'Don't you Hke it here? This is my place and everything is

on our side. Once,' she said, 'I used to sleep with a piece of

wood by my side so that I could defend myself if I wereattacked. That's how afraid I was:

'Afr:J.id of what?'

She shook her head. 'Of nothing, of everything.'

Someone knocked and she s<lid, 'It's onJy Christophille.''The old woman who was your nurse? Are you afl.lid of

her?'

'No, how could 1 be?'

'If she were taller; I said, 'one of these Strapplllg womendressed up to the nines, I might be afr:J.id of her:

She laughed. 'That door leads into your dressing-room.'I shut it gently after me.

It seemed crowded after the emptiness of the rest of the

house. There was a carpet, the only one I had seen, a press

made of some beautiful wood I did not recognize. Under the

open window a small writing-desk with paper, pens, and ink.

67

JEAN RHYS

'A refuge' I was thinking when someone said, 'This was MrMason's room, sir, but he did not come here often. He didnot like the place.' Baptiste, standing in the doorway to the

veranda, had a blanket over his arm.'It's aU very comfortable,' I said. He laid the blanket on the

bed.'It can be cold here at night: he said. Then went away. Bur

the feeling of security had left me. I looked round su~pi­

ciously. The door lnw her room could be bolted, a stoutwooden bar pushed across the other. This was the last room inthe house. Wooden steps from the veranda led on to anomerrough lawn, a Seville orange tree grew by the steps. 1 wentback into the dressing-room :md looked out of the window. Isaw a clay road, muddy in places, bordered by 3 row of talltrees. Beyond the road various half-hidden outbuildinb"S. Onewas the kitchen. No chimney but smoke was pouring out ofthe window. I sat on the soft narrow bed and listened. Not asound except the river. I might havc been alone in the house.There was a crude bookshelf made of three shingles strungtogether over the desk and I looked at the books, Byron'spoems. novels by Sir WaIter Seatt, ConfessiollS oJ all Opium

Eater, some shabby brown volullles. and on the last shelf, Lifeand Letters of . .. Thl..' rest was eaten away.

Dear Fatller, we Ilave tmived from Jamaica afler tltJ IHlCOII!fon­

a1JfeJew days. "lllis Iirtle estate in ti,e I,f/i"dumrd Islands is parIcif lhe fillllil)1 properly and Amoiflctte is tllllell atIaehed to itShe wished fa get I,ere as soot! as possible. All is well and I,as

•~(llle accordiflg la ),our plans a"d Ivis/les. I dealt C?f cOl/rse lIlilh

Richard Mason. His fiuher died 50011 qfrer I left Jar (he WestI"din as you probably kflow. He is a good fellow, hospitable

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WIDE 51lRG1l550 5[A

and friendly; he seemed to bewme artached 10 me and (n/sEed

I1It' completely. n,fs place is very bealltiful bllt my illtle$s lUll leftlIIe roo exhausted to appreciate it fllf/y. I will IlIrite a.gain in a

few days' (ime.

I reread this letter and added a postscript:

I feel ,hat I Iwve left yOIl too long lVithouT "ell'S for Ihe bareaWIOI/t/(('l1leflt cif my approachi,t'! marria~e i,fflS hardly 'JeIllS. Iwas down lVith fever for two !/leeks (ifrer IgOl to Spanish «)IVU.

Nothill.'( seriolls bllt I felt wretched enough. I SIfl)//,{/ with the

Fmsers,Jriettds of the Masolls. M, Fraser is all Englisllllltl/l, (/retiretl ma,{!istrate, alld fIe imisted all telJill,{! me at lellgtll aboutsome oJhis cases. It lIIas difficuIJ to think or write coherCII")~ III

litis cool alld remme place it is called Gm"bois (the High r.{loads

I SIIppose). Jfeel better already and lily 1lext letter Itlill be IOl/germId more explicit.

A cool and remote place ... And I wondered how [hey gOtthe-ir letters posted. 1 folded mine and put it imo a drawer ofthe desk.

As for my confused impressions they willncver be written.There are bbnks in my mind that canner be filled up.

IT WAS ALL VERY BRIGHTLY coloured, vcry strange, butit meant nothing to me. Nor did she, the girl 1 was to marry.When at last I met her I bowed, smiled, kissed her hand,danced with her. I played the part 1 was expected to play. Shenever had anything to do with me at all. Every movement I

69

JEAN RHYS

made was an effort of will and sometimes I wondered that noonc noticed this. I would listen to my own voice and marvel

at it, calm. correct but toneless, surely. But I must have givena faultless performance. If I saw an expression of doubt or

curiosity it was on a black face not a white onc.I remember little of the actual ceremony. Marble memorial

Giblets all the walls commemorating the virmcs of the lastgeneration of planters. All benevolent. All slave-owners. Allresting in pe3ce. When we C31l1e. out of the church I rook her

hand. It was cold as ice in the hot SUII.

Then I w.as at a long table in a crowded room. Palm leaffans, a mob of servant~, the. women's head h:lOdkerchiefsstriped red and ydlow, the men's dark faces. The strong tastcof punch, the cleaner taste of champagne, my bride in whitebut I hardly remember what she looked like. Then in anotherroom women dressed in black. Cousin Julia, Cousin Ada,Aunt Lin3. Thin or fat they all looked alike. Cold ear-rings in

pierced ears. Silver bracelets jangling on their wrists. I saidto onc of thcm, 'Wc are leaving Jamaica tonight,' and she

answered after a pause, 'Of course, Antoinene does not likeSpanish Town. Nor did her mother.' Peering at me. (Do thcireyes get smaller as they grow older? Smaller, beadier, moreinquisitive?) After that I thought I saw the same expression onall their faces. Curiosity? Pity? Ridicule? HlIt why should they

pity mc. I who have done so weU for myself?The morning before the wedding Itichard Mason burst

into my room at the Frasers as I was finishing my first cup of

coffee. 'She won't go through with it!''Won't go through with what?'

'She won't marry you.''But why?'

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WIDE 5ARGASSO SEA

• he doesn't say why:

'She mUSt have some reason.'

'She won't give a reason. I've been arguing with the littlefool for an hour.'

We stared at each other.

'Everything arranged, the presents, the invitatiollS. Whatshall J tell your f.1ther?' He seemed on the verge of tears.

I said, 'Ifshe won't, she won't. She can't be dragged to the

altar. lct me get dressed. I must hear what she has to say.'He went out meekly and while I dressed I thought that this

would indeed make a fool of me. I did not relish going backto England in the role of rejected suitor jilted by this Creolegirl. r must certainly know why.

She was sitting in a rocking chair with her head bent. Herhair was in two long plaits over her shoulders. From a littledistance l spoke gently. 'What is the matter, Antoinette? Whathave I done?'

She said nothing.'You don't wish to marry me?'

'No.' She spoke in a very low voice:.'But why?'

'I'm afraid of what may happen.'

'Out don'r yOll remember last night I told you that whenyou arc my wife there would not be any more reason to beafraid?'

'Yes,' she: said. 'Then Richard came in and you laughed. Ididn't like the way you laughed.'

'But I was laughing at myself, Ancoinette.'

She looked at me and 1 took her in my arms and kissed her.'You don't know anything about me,' she said.

TU truSt you if you'U trust me. Is that a bargain? You will

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JEAN RHVS

make me very unhappy if you send me: away without tellil'gme what I have done to displease you. I will go with a sad

heart.''Your sad heart: she said, and tOuched my face. I kissed her

fervently, promising her peace, happiness, safety, but wh~'n I

said, 'Can I tell poor R.ichard that it was a mistah? He is sad

too.' she did not :mswer me. Only nodded.

THINKING OF All THIS, of Richard's angry face. her

voice saying, 'Can you give me peace?', I muSt have slcpc.

I woke to the sound of voices in the next room, laughter

and water being poun'd out. I listened, still drowsy. Antoinettc

said, 'Don't put Jony more scent on my hair. He doesn't like it.'

The other: 'The man don't like scent? ( never hear that

before.' It was almost dark.

The dining-room was brilliantly lit. Candles on the table, a

row on the sideboard. three-br.mch candlesticks on the old

sea-chest. The two doors on to the veranda stood open butthere was no wind. The flames burned straight. She was sitting

on the SOL1 and I wondcred why I had never realized how

be:mtiful she was. Her hair was combed away from her face

and fell smoothly (If below her waist. I could sce the red and

gold lights ill it. She seemed pleased when I complimcntcd

her on her dress and told me she had it made in St Pierre,

Marrinique. 'They call this f.1shion d la )osep1li"e:'You talk of St Pierre as though it were Paris,' I said.

'But it is the Paris of the West Indies.'

72

WIDE SI\RGI\SSO SEA

There were t,railing pink flowers on the table and the name

echoed pleasantly in my head. Coralita Coralita. The food

though too highly seasoned, was lighter and more appetizil1~than anything I had tasted in Jamaica. We drank ch;lInpagn~'.

A great many moths and beetles found their way into the

room, flew into the candles and fell dead on the tablecloth.

AJm~lie swept them up with a crumb brush. Useles.~ly. Moremoths and beccles came.

'Is it truc,' she said, 'that England is like a dream? Because

one afmy friends who married an Englishman wrote and toldme;: so. She said this place London is hke a cold dark dreamsometimes. I want to wake up.'

'WeU,' I answered annoyed, 'that is precisely how yourbeautiful island secms to me, quite unreal and like a dream.'

'Out how can rivers and mountains and the sea be unreal?'

'And how can millions of people, their houses and theirstreeu be unreal?'

'More easily,' she said, 'much more easily. Yes a big city mustbe like a dream.'

'No, this is unreal and like a dream,' I thoughc.

The long veranda was furnished with canvas chairs, two

hammocks, 3nd a wQoden table on which stood a tripod rele­scope. Amelic brought Out candles with glass shades bue the

night swallowed up the feeble light. There was a very strong

scent of flowers - the flowers by the river that open at night

she told me - and the noise, subducd in the inner room, was

deafening. 'erae-eracs,' she explained. 'they Illake a sound liketheir name, and crickcu and frogs.'

I leaned on the railing and saw hundred~ of fireflies - 'Ah

yes, fireflics in Jamaica, here they call a firefly La belle.'

A large moth, so large that I thought it was a bird, blundered

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JEAN RHYS

into one of the candles, put it out and fell to the floor. 'He's a

big fellow; I said.

'Is it badly burned?'

'More stunned than hurt.'I tOok the beautiful creature up in my handkerchief and put

it on the railing. For a moment it was sdlJ and by the dim can­

dleliglu 1 could see the soft brilliant colours, the intricate pat­

cern all the wings. I shook the handkerchief gently and it flew

away.'I hope chac gay gentleman wiU be safe: I said.'He will come back if we don't put che candles OUL Ic's

light enough by che stars.'Indeed the starlight was so bright that shadows of the

veranda poSts and the trees outside by on the floor.'Now come for a w:J.lk: she said, 'and I wiU tell you a story:

We wal.ked along the veranda to the steps which led to the

lawn.'Wc used to come here to get away from the hot weather

in June, July :md August. I came three times with my Aunt

Cora who is ill. That was after .. .' She stopped and put her

hand lip to her head."fthis is a sad story, don't teU it to me tonight.'

'It is not sad,' she said. 'Only some things happen and are

there for always even though you forget why or when. It was

in that little bedroom.', looked where she was pointing but could only see the

outline of a narrow bed and one or two chairs.'This night I can remember it "vas very hot. The window

was shut but I asked Chriscophine to open it because the

breeze comes from the hills at night. The land breeze. Not

from the sea. It was so hot that my night chemise was stick-

74

WIDE SARGASSO SE'

ing to me but I Wt:nt to sleep all the same. And then suddenly

I was awake. I saw two enormous rats, as big as cats, 011 the sillscaring at me.'

'I'm not astonished that you weTe frightened.'

'Bur I was not frightened. That was the strange thing. I

stared at them and they did not move. I could see myself inthe looking-glass the other side ofthe room, in my white che­

mise with a frill round the neck, staring ac those rats and theIrlts quite stiU, staring at me.'

'WeH, what happened?'

'I turned over, pulled up the sheet and wem to sleepinstantly.'

'And is that the story?'

'No, I woke up again suddenly like the first time and the

rats were not there but I felt very frightened. I got Out of bedquickly and ran on to the veranda. r tay down in this ham­

mock. This one.' She pointed to a flat hammock, a rope ateach of the four corners.

'There was full moon that night - and I watched it for a

long time. There were no clouds chasing it, so it seemed to be

standing still and it shone all me. Next morning Christophinc

was angry. She said thae it was very bad to sleep in the moon­light when the moon is fitU.'

'And did you tell her abollt the r:us?'

'No, I never told anyone till now. Due I have never forgot­ten them.'

I wanted to say something reassuring but the scent of theriver flowers was overpoweringly strong. I felt giddy.

'Do you think that too.' she said, 'that I have slept too longin the moonlight?'

Her mouth was set in a fixed smile but her eyes were so

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J e AN RHY5

withdrawn and loncly that I put my arms round her, rockedher like a child and sang to her. An old song I thought I had

forgonen:

'Hail to the quen, C!.f the silent /light.

SMile bright, shim' bright Robi" as yOIl die.'

She listened, then sang with me:

, hiue bnght, slli"! bright Robi" as you die.'

There was no one in the house and only twO candles inthe room which had been so brilliantly lit. Her room \vasdim. with a shaded candle by the bed and another on thedressing-table. There was a bottle ofwine on the round uble.It was very late when I poured out two glasses and told herto drink to our happiness, to our love and the day withoutend which would be tomorrow. I was young then. A short

youth mine- \vas.

I woke next morning in the green-yellow light, fecling uneasyas though someone \",ere watching me. She must have beenawake for some time. Her hair was plaited and she wore afresh white chemise. I rurned to take her in my 3.r1ll5, I meantto undo the careful plaits, but as I did so there was a soft dis­

creet knock.he said, 'I have sent Christophine away twice. We wake

very early here. The morning is the best time.''Comc in,' she called and Christophine came in with our

coffee on a tray. She was dres-lied up and looking very impos-

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WIDe SARGASSO 5[1\

ing. The skirt of her flowered dress trailed after her making :l

rustling noise as she walked and her yellow silk turban waselaborately tied. Long heavy gold ear-rings pulled down thelobes of her ears. She wished us good morning smiling andput the tray of coffee, ('assava cakes and guava jelly on theround table. I got out ofbed and went into the dressing-room.Someone had laid my dres ing-gown on the narrow bed. Ilooked out of the window. The cloudless sky was a paler bluethan I'd imagined but as I looked I thought I saw the colourchanging to a deeper blue. At noon I knew it would be gold.then br:J.ss)' in the heat. ow it was [re.lih and cool and the airitself was blue. At last I turned away &0111 the light and spaceand went back into the bedroom. which \vas still in the halfdark. Antoineuc \vas leaning back against the pillows with hereyes closed. She opened tht'1ll and smiled when I callle in. It

was the black woman hovering over her who said. 'Taste lilybuU's blood, master.' The coffee she handed me \vas ddiciowand she had long-fingered hands, thin and beautiful I suppose.

'Not horse piss like the English madams drink,' she said. 'Iknow dlem. Drink drink their yellow horse piss, talk, talktheir lying talk: Her dress trailed and rustled as she walked tothe door. There she turned. 'I send lhe girl to dear up themess you make with the frangipani, it bring cockroach in thehouse. Take care not to slip on the flowers, young master: Sheslid through the door.

'Her coffee is delicious bur her language is horrible and shemight hold her dress up. It must get vcry dirty, yards of it trail­ing on the Ooor.'

'When they don't hold their dress up it's for respect: saidAntoineue. 'Or for feast days or going to Mass.'

'And is this a feast day?'

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J[AH RHYS

'She wanted it to be a feast day:'Whatever the reason it is not a clean habit.''It is. You don't understlnd at all. They don't care about

getting a dres.~ dirty because it shows it isn't the only dressthey have. Don't yOll like Christophine?'

'Sh~ is a very worthy person no doubt.l can't say I like her

language.''It doesn't mean anything,' said Amoinette.'And she looks so lazy. She dawdJes about.''Again you are misuken. She seems slow, but every move

she makes is right so it's quick in the end.'I drank another cup ofbulJ's blood. (Dull's blood, I thought.

The Young BuU.)

'How did you get that dressing-table up here?''1 don't know. It's always been hen: ever since I can remem­

ber. A lot of the furniture was stolcn, but not that.'There were two pink roses 011 the tray, each in a snlall

brown jug. Onc was full blown and as I (Quched it the petals

dropped.'Ros~ flit a vfm; I said :md taught-·d. 'Is that poem true?

Have all bcautiful things sad destinies?', 0, of course not.'Her little fan was on the table. she took it up laughing. lay

back and shl![ her eyes. 'I think I won't get up this mornlllg:

'Not get up. Not get up at all?''I'll get lip when t wish to. I'm very Lazy you know. Like

Christophine. I often stay in bed all day.' She flourished herfall_ 'The bathing pool is quite ncar. Go before it gets hot,Baptiste will show you. There are two pools, one we call thechampagne pool because it has a w:uerfall, nOt a big one youunderstand. but it's good to feel it all your shoulders. Undcr-

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WID[ SARGASSO SlA

ne'ath is the nutmeg pool, that's brown and shaded by a bigllutmcg tree. It's just big enough co swim in. But be careful.

Remember [0 put your dothes on a rock and before youdress again shake thcm very well. Look for tht.' n:d ant, that.i.~

the worOit. It is very smaIJ but bright red so yOll will be :.bleto see it e:'lsily if you look. Bc careful,' she said and waved herlittle: fan.

One morning soon after we arrived, the row of tlIJ trees out­side my window we.re covered with small pale flowers toofragile to resist the wind. They feU in a day, and looked like

snow on the mugh grass - SIlOW with a f.1.int SWl.'ct scent. Thentht'y were blown 3\V:lY.

The fine wC~l[her lasted longer. It lasted all that week andthe next and the next and the next. No sign of a break. Myfever weakness leH mc, so did all m.isgiving.

I went vc:ry early to the bathing pool and stayed there forhours, unwilling to leave the river, the trees shading it, theflowc.'rs that opened at night. They were rightly shut, droop­ing, sheltering fmm tlIe sun under their thick IcaVt.'s.

Jt \V:lS a bcautiful place - wild, untouched, above alluntouched, with an alien. disturbing. secret loveliness. And itkept its secret. I'd find myself thinking, 'What I see is nothing- I want what it hides - that is nor nothing.'

In the late afternoon when the water was warmer shebathed wirh mc. She'd spend some time throwing pebblesat a flat stone in the middle of the pool. 'I've seen him. Hehasn'r died or gone to any other river. He's still there. The landcrabs are hanlllc~, People sa)' they are harmless. I wouldn'tlike to - .

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J["N RHVS

'Nor would I. Horrible looking creatures.'She was undecided, uncercain about facts - any face. When

I asked heT if the snakes we sometimes saw wen: poi$onous,she said, 'Not those. The jf'r de lance of course, but there arenone here; and addcd, 'bur how can they be sure? Do youthink they know?' Then, 'Our snakes arc nO( poisonous. Of

course nor,'

However, she was certain abour the monSter crab and oncafternoon when I was watching her, hardly able to believe shewas the pale silent CTl..'3ture I had married, watching her in herblue chemise, blue with white spots hitched up f.,r above herknees, she stopped laughing, called a warning and threw alarge pebble. She threw like a boy, with a sure graceful move­ment, and I looked down at very long pincer claws, jagged­

edged and sharp, vanishing.'He won't come after you if you keep away from that stonc.

He lives thcre. Oh it's another sort of crab. I don't know the

name in English. Very big, very old.'As we were walking home I asked her who had taught her

to aim so well. 'Oh, Sandi taught me, a boy you never met.'

Every evcning we saw the sun go down from the thatched

shelter she called the ajoflpa, in the summer house. Wewatched the sky and the distant Sl:3 on fire - all colours were

in that fire and the huge clouds fringed and shot with fhlll1C.Uut I soon tired of the display. I was waiting for the scent of

the flowers by the river - they opened whcn darkness cameand it came quickly. Not night or darkness as I knew it butnight with blazing stars, an alien moon - night full of strange

noises. Still night, not day.

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WIDE SARGASSO SEA

'The man who owns Consolation Estate is a hermit; shewas saying. 'He never sees anyone - hardly ever speaks, theysay.'

'A hermit neighbour suit!; me. Very well indced.''There are four hermits in this island,' she said. 'Four real

ones. Others pretend but they leave when the rainy seasoncomes. Or el!;C they arc drunk all the time. That's when sadthings happen.'

'So this place is as lonely as it feels?' I asked her.'Yes it is lonely. Are you happy here?''Who wouldn't be?'

'I love it more than anywhere in the world. As jf it were aperson. More than a person.'

'But you don't know the world,' I leased ht'r.

'No. only here, and Jamaica of course. Coulibri, SpanishTown. I don't know the other islands at all. Is the world morebeamiful, then?'

And how to answer that? 'It's different: I said.She told me that for a long time they had not known what

was happening at Granbois. 'When Mr Mason came' (shealways called her stepfather Mr M3son) 'the forest was swal­lowing it up: The overseer drank, the house was dilapidated,all the furniture had been stolen, then Uapriste was discovered.A butler. In St Kitts. But born in this island and willing tocome back. 'He's a very good overseer,' she'd say, and I'd agree,

keeping my opinion ofBaptiste, Christophine and all the oth­ers to myself. '13aptistc says ... Christophine w;lnts , . .'

She trusted them and I did not. Dut I could hardly say so.Not yet.

We did nOt see a great dea.l of them. The kitchen and theswarming kitchen life werc some way off. AI. for the money

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J [ • N RHV5

which she handed out so carelessly, nor counting it, notknowing how much she gave, or the unfamiliar faces thatappeared then disappeared, though never without a large mealeaten and :l shot of rum I discovered - sisters, cousins, :mnes.md uncles - if she asked no questions how could I?

The house waS swept and dusted very c.arly, usually beforeI woke. Hilda brought coffee and there were always (WO roseson the tray. Sometimes she'd sllliJ", a sweet childish smile.sOlllcrilllcs she would giggle very loudly and rudely, bang thetray down .lIld run away.

'Stupid little girl,' I'd 5.1Y.

'No, 110. She is shy. The girls here are very shy.'After breakfast :tr 1100n thcrc'd be silence rill the evcning

meal which was served Illllch I:uer thall ill Engl:md. Chris­caphine's whims and f.1.ncies. I was sure. Then we were leftalone. Sometimes a sidelong look or a sly knowing glance dis­turbed me. but it was never for long. 'Not now,' 1would think.

'Not yet.'It was often raining when I woke during the night, a light

capricious shower, dancing playful rain, or hushed muted,growing louder, more persistent, more powerful, an inex­orable sound. Bur alw::J.ys music, a music I had never heardbefore.

Then 1 would look at her for long minures by candlelight,wonder why she seemed sad asleep, and curse the fever or thecaution that had made me so blind, so feeble, so hesitating. I'dremember her effort to escape. (NoJ I am sorry, J do tlOI wish 10

marry yOIl.) Had she given way to that Illal} Richard's argu­

ments, threats probably, I wouldn't trllst him far. or to my half­serious blandishmenLli:md promises? In any case she had giwn\.vay, but coldly, unwillingly, trying to protect herself with

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WIDl. SARGASSO SEA

silence and a blank face. Poor weapons, and they had not

served her well or lasted long. If 1 have forgotten caution, shehas forgotten silence and coldness.

Shall 1 wake her up and listen to the things she says, whis­pers, in darkne~s. Not by day.

'I never wished to live before I knew you. I always thoughtit would be better if r died. Such a long time to wait beforeit's over.'

'And did yOll ever teH anyone this?'

'There was 110 one co tell, no one to listen. Oh you can'timagine Coulibri.'

'Out after Coulibri?'

'After Coulibri it was too late. I did not change.'

All day she'd be like any other girl, smile at herself in herlooking-glass (d(l YOlllike this SCl'IIt?), try to teach me her songs,for they haunted mc.

Adiell foulard, adiell madras, or Ma belle ka di mamatl Ii. Mybeautiful girl said to her mother (No it is 1101 like rlltJ/. Now lis­

tet/. Ir is l1Ii.s llIc1Y). She'd be ilent, or angry for no reason, andchatter to Christophine ill patois.

'Why do you hug and kiss Christophine?' I'd say.'Why not?'

'f wouldn't hug and kiss them,' I'd say, 'I couldn't.'

At this she'd laugh for a long time and never td! me whyshe laughed.

But at night how different, even her voice wa!> changed.Always this talk of death. ({s she trying to tell me that is thesecret of tlus place? That there is no other way? She knows.She knows.)

'Why did you make me want to live? Why did yOll do thatto me?'

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J[AN RHYS

'Because I wished it. [sn't that enough?'~Yes, it is enough. But if one day you didn't wish it.\\'hat

should 1 do then? Suppose you took this happiness away

. when I wasn't looking .. .''And lose my own? Who'd be so foolish?''I am not used to happiness: she said. 'It makes me afr..id.'

'Never be afraid. Or if you are tell no one.''I understand. Dut trying does not help me:'What would?' She did IIOt answer that, then one night

whispered, 'If I could die. Now, when I am happy. Would youdo that? YOll wouldn't have to kill mc. Say die and I will die.You don't believe me? Then try, try, s.1.y die and watch mc die.'

'Die then! Dicl' I watched her die many timcs. In my way,not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candle­

light.ln the long afternoons when thc house was empty. Onlythe sun was there to keep lIS company. We shut him out..&\nd

why not? Very soon she \'V3.S as eager for what's c:lilled 10'ling

as I ",..-as - more lost and drowned afterwards.he said, 'Here I can do as I like,' not J, and then I uid it

too. It seemed right in that lonely place. 'Here I can do as I

like.'We seldom met anyone when we left the house. If we did

they'd greet us and go on their way.I grew to like these mountain people, silent, reserved, never

servile, never curious (or so I thought), not knowing that their

quick sideways looks saw everything they wished to sec.It was at night that I felt danger and would try to forget it

and push it a\vay.'You are safe,' I'd say. She'd liked thM - to be told 'you are

safe.' Or I'd touch her face gently and touch tears. Tears ­"ot~ng! Words - less than noming. As for the happiness 1

8'

WIDC SARGASSO S[A

gave her, that was worse than nothing. 1did not love her. 1was

thirsty for her, but that is not love. I felt very little tendernes.lifor her, she W3S a smnger to me, a stranger who did nm thinkor feel as I did.

One afternoon the sight ofa dress which she'd left lying onher bedroom floor made me breathJess and savage with desire.When 1 \'V3.S exhausted I turned away from her and slept, stillwithout a word or a caress. 1 woke and she was kissing me ­soft light kisses. 'It is late: she said :md smiled. 'You must letme cover yOll up - the land breeze can be cold:

'And yOll, aren't you cold?'

'Oh J will be ready quickly. I'll wear the dress you liketonight:

'Yes, do wear it:

The floor \vas strewn with garmenL'i, hers and minc. Shestepped over them carelessly as she \Yalkcd to her clothespress. 'I was thinking, I'll have another made exactly like it;she promised happily. 'WiU you be pleased?'

'Very pleased.'

If she was a child she was nm a stupid child but an obsti­nate one. She often questioned me about England and lis­tened attentively to my answers, but [ \'V3.S cert.1in that nothingJ said made much difference. Her mind was already made up.Some romantic novel. a stray remark never forgottell, a sketch,a picture, a song, a W2lrz. some note of music, and her ideaswere fixed. About England and about Europe. I could notchange them and probably nothing would. Reality might dis­concert her, bewilder her, hun her, but it would not be real­ity. It would be only a mistake, a misfortune, a wrong pathGlken, her fi.xed ideas would never change.

othing that I told her influenced her at aU.

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JEAN RHVS

Die then. Sleep. It is all mat I can give you.... I wonder ifshe ever guessed how near she came to dying. In her "\laY. notin mine. le was not a safe game [0 play - in mat place. Desire.Hacred, Life, Death came very dose in the dark.ness. [letter notknow how close. Better not think, never for a 1110ment. Notclose. The same ... 'You are safe; I'd say to her and to myself.

'Shut your eyes. Rest:Then I'd listen to the rain, a sleepy tune that seemed as if it

would go on for ever ... Rain. for ever raining. Drown me in

sleep. And soon.Next morning there would be very littlc sign of these

showers. Ifsome of the flowers were battcred. the others smeltswecter, the air was bluer and sparkling fresh. Only the claypath outside my window was muddy. Little shallow pools ofwater glinted in the hot sun, red earth does not dry quickly.

'It came for you this morning early, master: Amclie said. 'Hildeatake it.' She gave me a bulky envelope addressed in cuefulcopperplatc. 'By hand. Urge"" was written in the corner.

'One of our hermit neighbours,' I thought. 'And an enclo­sure for Antoinctle.' Then 1 52W Oaptiste standing near thever::tnda steps, put the letter in my pocket and forgot it.

I was later thean usual that morning but when I was dressedI sat for a long time listening to the watcrfall, eyes half dosed,drowsy and content. When I pur my hand in my pocket formy watch, I touched the envelope and opened it.

Dear Sir. I take up my pe" after lon~ 'houglrt a"d "'editlUiotlbllt ill t/lf elld Ihe Inltl, is bmcr tI,all a lie. I haw this 10 !aY,

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'WIDl SARGASSO ·.IA

You halJt beell shamfjillly dccfived by Ihe 1WasOtl family. "l11/")'

tell yOll JJfr/lops that your IIIjie's tJmtl(' is COSl/IQy, Ihe EIW.h~"

gmt/ema" Mr A1asotl bei'~e her slrpjalher cmlr, bllt Ihey lit", 'Itell YOII what sorl '!f people ",.-re Ihese Cosuuys. Wuked milldeteslable slaw-owners since g~"eratiollS - }'('S ('fIf'rybody htllc'

Ihem ill Jamaica and also if, tltis beauliflll islatld where / IIOJ~'

YOllr Slay will be 10,,~ mId plrasafll ill spire ofall,jor some "(If

1II0rlll sorrow.l¥'i(kedlless is 1I001he IIIOr!t. nlt~" is maduess in

Ihat family. OM Cosway die ravi"ll like Ms jllhrr b<:.{ore him.You ask what prooj I have aIId why I ",ix myself lip in YOllr

affiirs. ll/lill mlS/ver YOII. I am YOllr Ullft's brother by anolherlady, Jw!fl/lay house as we say. Her fathl'r alld mi/lt' IMU ashameless mall alld ofall his ilIegitimates I alii ti,e mosl IItl{or-till/tile alld pOlJfrty slritkeJl. .

iVly momma die III/u:II I was 111ill' small a"d my godmolherlake care of me. 17,e old mister IImul Ollt som, mOlley for IhatIhollgh he do,,', /ikt' me. No, Ihat old devil do" 'I like me at all,

a"d IVIIt'II I grow older I see il and I lI,ink, ut him wait myday will come. Ask Ihe older peoplr sir abolll Ms disgusti,,)!,f!oi,,~s Oil, so",~ will remember.

W7U:1I tHada", his lvift dir Ihe rt'probate marry agai" quick,10 a yoUllg girfJrom Mtlrtittique - ils loo //IlIch (or him. Deltddnmk from 1II0millg lill night and he die raving and cursillX.

"I1,efl tomes the .f!lorious Emandpaliofl Aa and 'rouble for

sO/lle cif the !Jig!J al/d mighties. {''''obody would work for Ihe}/Olll/g woman "lid her 11110 dllUTetl and thal plntt: COl/libr;goes quickly (0 busl, as all does ollr !,ere Ill/Iell "obody (oil andlabour Qn the lalld. She have "0 mOl/ey al/d she' hall(' lto jrieuds,for Frel/clJ alld Ef~f!lish like (at alld dog ill Ihese islallds sinceloug time. Shool. Kill, Ewrytllillg.

TI,e woman (all C/lristophitle also flo", Mar/illiquc Slay

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J[AN RHY5

witlr her al/d (HI old man Cotlfrey, too silly to know IVllat hap­pen. So",e like that. TIlis young Nlrs CosUJI1Y is lvorthless (DIdspoilt, sire (all't lift a handfor herselfand SOOll the madllen thatis ill hn a"d ill all these white Creoles, come out. SI,e sllllt h!'r-,self army, lallglli"g dud ,alkit~~ to nobody as many ca" blarwitness. As for the little girl, Atlfoitleua, as SOOIl as she ta" walkslrt hide herself if sire see arlybody

We all .vuit to hear the !Vomarl jump owr a precipice 'finibau'e' as .w say herr which /lfi'atl :finish to fi.~/It'.

Bill no. She marry a"ga;n to the rich E,~~lishmatl A4r "rvtasw,ami tllere is mllch I could say about that but YO" IVO"', belirvtso / Slrllt my mour/,. TI,ey say he lollt her so mudl t1lnl iflreImllt tile world Oil a plate he giw it 10 IIf.'r - but 110 use.

TI,e madness Rits worst' and she has to IH' shut away for shetry 10 kill her husband - madness "ot bei,~~ all either.

TIml sir is your wifts IPIothcr - Ihat ImJ ht'T father. /let'VfJamaica. / dOIl't k"ou) wllat happen to the woman. Some sayshe is drad, orhl'r de"y il. Blit old Mason take agrrat fimcy fortire Kirl A"toi"ellfl t",d givc her half Ms money wllf.'tl he die.

lis for me I ulOlJdfr hi.f!h and Iou" IIOt much IrKk bllt a lil­tie money Pllt by and I get to kllolV oJ a '''IIlse Jor sale in Ihisislmu/ IIear Massacre. Its going very (heap so I buy it. Ne'vsiravef even to tllis wild pface and nexl/hillg I hearfrom jllmai(,(lis ,Iwt old Nlnson is dead and fhat family plall to marry tire girl

fO a young Etlj!lisl""ml IVIIO know lIotlri",~ ofher. '!1um it seemsto me tlwt it is lily Christia" duty to llIafll ,Ill' ge"lIemmr IlIafshe is no girl to marry wirll ti,e bad blood slle hawfrom brJtl,

sides. Bllt they are white, I am colollYed. 111ey are rid" 1 ampoor. As I thi"k about these thillgs tlley do it quick while Ylmstilllvcak utilll fever at ti,e "'a.~istrate's. before yOIl (,(Ill ask qlItS­tiotlS. if Ihis is tmc or Ilot yOIl must Imoll) for yourself.

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WIDE 5ARGASSO Sf A

TI,e" you come to this island for y011Y hotltyttlooll and it'scertai" II,at the Lord put the tlli"g Oil my sllOlIlt/rn (md that it

is I must speak the t",th to yOIl. S,ill / "t'sitatf'.

I hear YO" youttl? olld hOlldsome ",ilh a killd won! for all,black, rvhite, also co!ollYed. Blit I hear 100 tllat the ,,,,irl is beau.

tifll! like ',er mother lrnJ beautiful, a"d yOIl bcutitch wirh her.he is i" your blood and YOllr bones. By Pliglrl ami by day. Blit

YO", alt honourable mallI Jmolv well that for ma"ia.gc more isneeded Ihatl all this. W1Ii(h JOfS not last. OId Mason bewitchso with her motluT and look tvI,al happetr to hi".. Sir I pray Iam in time to wa", you ",'wt to do.

Sir ask yoursr!! IIow I (an make up tltis st0l)' alld for "I/lat

reason. HI1,CII I lealJCjtJmaiea I (a" read write and cypher a lit.tie. n,e good mall i" Barbados teodl me more, lit: gilJf mebooks, he tt.'J1 me read the Bible rvtry day aud I pick up know!.ed,-~f' lVithollt ejJort. He is sllrprist llOw qllick I am. StilI I

relllai" all ignorant mall aud I do flat make lip Ihis slory. I (Otl­

liar. It is f",f'.

I sit at my wi"dolv alld the ul<m/s fly pasl lilt' like birds _lvilll Cod's lIelp I (Qull som('.

A week IlIis !rtter Mkt. me. I ((J//tlol sleep at 1I(l(lIt lI,i"ki"R",hat to say. So quickly 110111 / draw 10 a dose tmd cease mytask.

Still you don't believe me? TIlftl ask tllat df!lIil of a man

RicJUlrd Masoll tllree queslions and makt· him answer YOII. Isyour IVfie'! mOlher slllll (IlImy, a fdgillg IIlt/oti( a"d worse!Jesit/es? Dead or alive I do /lot kllow.

ltMu yOHr lIIifes brotller all idiot from bin/I, tllOllglI Godmercifillly take !rilll early all?

Is your wife lIerselfgoitlK fhe same IlJQY as her motller atldall knowing it?

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Jf:AN RHYS

Richard iWasOIl is a sly mall and he will tell yOIl a lot oft!allry stories, which is what we call lies here, about what Imp­petl at Coulibri alld this and thm. DOII't listen. Make hi",otlSllIcr - yes or IW.

if he keep his IIlOlIth sh"t ask otl,us fOr lIlauy thillk ilshamifitl hoUl tlwt family Irem yOIl ami YOllr re/atilles.

I beg yOIl sir come to see me for tl,err is more rlltH you

should klJom Bur my IWlld arhe, my head ache (lIId lily !Jecrt

is like a stont' for the ~riif I brit~~ yOIl. Money is .'!tlod bm 110'lIolley can payIor a cmzy wtfe itl YOllr bed. Crazy atld lI'OrSl?besidrs.

I lay dow" my prll with olle last reql/est. Come atld sec mefllIickly. Ynllr obt savant. DmlieJ CosllIay.

Ask rhe ,t?irl AmeJie wherl' !Iivc. SI,f kllOll1S, a"d she ktlowsme. She beloll.t!s to rlll's islat/d.

I folded the lener carefully and put it into my pockct. I felt 110

surprist:. h was as if I'd expected it, bcen waiting for it. For atime, long or short I don't know, I sat listening to the river. Atlast I stood up, the sun \Vas hot now. I waJked stiffiy Ilor couldI force myself to think. Then I passed an orchid with longsprays of golden-brown flowers. One of them touched mycheck and I rcmcmbered picking somc for hcr onc day. 'Thcyare like you: I told her. Now I stopped, broke a spray off andtrampled it into the mud. This brought me to my senses. Ileaned against a tree, sweating and trembling. 'Far too hottodJy; I said aloud, 'far too hot.' When I came in sight of thehouse I began to walk silently. No onc was about. The kitchendoor was shut and the place looked deserted. I went up thesteps and along the verand.a and when I heard voices stoppedbehind the door which led into Amoinette's room. r could sce

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J{ reflected in the looking-glass. She was in bed and the girlAmelie was sweeping.

'Finish quickly: ~id Anroineuc, 'and go and tdl Christo­phine ( want to see her.'

AmeIie rested her hands 011 the broom handle. 'Christo­phine is going,' she said.

'Going?' repeated Antoinette.

'Yes, going; said AmcHie. 'Christophine don't like this sweethoneymoon house.' Turning round she saw me and laughedloudJy. 'Your husb:lIl' he outside the door and he look like hesee zombi. Must be he tired of the sweet honeymoon too.'

Amoinctte jumped out of bed and slapped her face.'I hit you back white cockroach. I hit you back,' said

Amelie. And she did.Ancoincttc gripped her hair. An1(~lic, whose teeth were

bared, seemed to be trying ro bite.'Antoinette, for God's sake,' I said from the doorway.She swung round, very p:lle. Amelie buried her f.1ce in her

hands and pretended to sob, but r could SCt.' her watching methrough her fingers.

'Go away, child,' I said.

'You call her child,' said Antoinette. 'She is older than thedevil himself, and the devil is not more cruel.'

'Send Chrisrophine up,' I said to Al11eJic.'Yes master, yes master,' she answered softly, dropping her

eyes. But as soon as she was out of the room she began to ~ing:

'TIle wllite cockroach she marry71le wliite cockroadl she It/arry

The white cockroach she blly yOllllg fila"TI,e lvhite cockroacll she marry:

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J(AN RHY5

Antoinette took a few steps forward. She walked unste-:adily.I went to help her bue she pushed me away. sat on the bed andwith clenched teeth pulled at the sheet, then made a clickingsound ofannoyance. She took a pair ofscissors from the roundtable, cur through rlu: hem and torc the sheet in half, theneach half into strips.

The noise she made prevented me from hearing hristo-phine come in, bue Antoincne heard her.

'You're not leaving?' she said.'Yes.' said Christophine.'And wl13t wilJ become of me?' said Amoinette.'Get up, girl. and dress yourself. Woman must have spunks

to live in this wicked world.'She had changed into a drab cotton dress and t2ken ofiher

heavy gold ear-rings.'I sec enough rrouble.'she said. 'I have right to my rest. I have

my house [h:)[ your mothl:r give me so long ago and I have mygardl:n :md my son to work for me. A lazy boy but I makehim work. Too besides the young mastcr don't like me, andperhaps I don't like him so much. If I stay here I bring trou­ble and bone of contention in your house.'

'If you are not happy here then go.' S2id Antoinette.AmeIie camc into the room with twO jugs ofhot water. She

looked at me side'\vays and smiled.Chriscophine said in a soft voice, 'Amelie. Smile like that

once more,just once more, and I mash your face like I mashplantain. You hear me? Amwer me, girl.'

'Yes, Christophine: Amelie said. She looked frightened.'And tOO beside I give you bellyache like you never sec

bellyache. Perhaps you lie a long time with the bellyache I

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WIDe SARGASSO 5eA

give you. Perhaps you don't get up again with the bellyache Igive you. So keep yourself quiet and decent. You hear me?'

'Yes. Christophine,' Alllelie said and crept uut of the 1'00111.

'She worthless and good for nothing,' said Christophinewith contempt. 'She creep and crawl like centipede.'

She kissed Antoinette on the cheek. Then she looked at me,shook her head, and muttered in patois before she went out.

'Did you ht."3r what that girl w:as singing?' Amoinette ,said.'I don't always underst:l.nd what they say or sing.' Or any­

thing else.'It was a song about a white cockroach. That's mc. Thats

what they call all of us who were here before their ownpeople in Africa sold them to the slave traders. And I've heardEnglish women call us white niggcrs. So between you I oftenwonder who I 3111 and where is my country and where do Ibelong and why \"'35 I ever born at all. Will you go nowplease. I must dress like Christophine said.'

After I had waited half an hour I knocked at her door. ThereW3S no 3115wer 0 J asked Baptiste to bring me something toeat. He \V:l.S sitting under the Seville orange tree at the end ofthe verand2. He served the food with such a mournful expres­sion that I thought these people are very vulnerable. How oldwas I when I learned to hide what I fdt? A very small boy.Six. five, even earlier. It was necessary,l was told, and that viewI have always accepted. If these mountains challenge mc, orBaptiste's face, or Antoinette's eyes, they are mistaken, melo­dramatic, ullreal (England must be quite unreal and like adream she said).

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HAN RHY5

The rum punch I had drunk W3S very strong 2nd after chemeal was over I had a great wi'ih to sleep. And why noe Thisle; the time when everyone sleeps. r im3gincd the dogs rre catsthe cocks and hens all sleeping. even the water in the river

running more slowly.I woke up. thought at once of A.ntoinette and opened the

door into her ro0111, but she was sleeping too. Her back \YaS

towards me and he was quite still. I looked out of the win­dow. The silence was disturbing, absolure. I would have wel­comed the sound of J dog barking, a nun sawing wood.

Othll1g. Silence. Heat. It was five minutes to three.

I wellt out following the path I could see fmm my window.It must have rained heavily during the night for the red clay\V3S very muddy. I passed a sparse plancation of coffee trees,

then straggly guava bushes. As I walked I remembered myfather's face and his dlill lips, my brodler's round conceitedcy<'''S. They knew. And R.ichard the fool, he knew too. And thegirl widl her blank smiling face. They a.l1 knew.

I began to walk very quickly, thcn stoppcd bcc3usc thelight was different. A green light. I had reached the forest andyou cannot mistake the forest. It is hostile. The path was over­grown but it was possible to follow it. I went on withoutlooking at the rail trees on either side. Once I stepped Over afallen log swarming with white ants. How can one discovertruth I thought and thac thought led mc nowhcre. No oncwould tcH me the truth. Not my father nor Richard Mason,

certainly not the girl I had married. I stood still, so sure I wasbeing watchc::d that I looked over my shoulder. Nothing butthe trees and the green light under the tred. A track W4lS just

9.

WIDt. 5ARGASSO 5[A

visible and I went on, glancing from side to side and some­times quickly behind me. This was why I stubbed my foor ona stone and nearly feU. The Stone I had tripped on was nOt aboulder bur part of a paved road. There had bt:en a paved road

through this forest. The track led to a large clear space. Herewere the ruins of:1 stone house and round the ruins rose rrees

that had grown to an incredible height. At the back of theruins a wild oT2nge tree covered with fruit. the leaves a darkgn-cn. A beautiful place. And calm - so cairn that it seemedfoolish to think or plan. What had I to think about and howcould I plan? Under the ordnge tree I noticed little bunchesof flowers tied with gr.J.ss.

I don't know how long it was before I beb"31l to feel chilly.The light had changed and the shadows were long. I had bet­ter get back before dark, J thought. Then I saw a little girl car­rying a Iar~ basket on her head. I met her eyes :md to myastonishment she scrc4Illled loudly. threw up her arms and ran.The basket fell off, J called aftcr her, but she screamed agdinand r.J.n fa.~ter. She sobbed as she ran, a small frightencd sound.Then she disappeared. J rnu<;t be wilhin a few minutes of Ihepath I thought, but :lfter f had walked for what seemed a longtime J found dl:lt the undergrowth :lnd creepers caught at mylegs and the trees closed over my head. I decidcd to go backto the clearing :lnd start again, with the S:ll1le result. rt was get­tlllg dark. It was useless to tdl myself that I was not far frolllthe hOllse. I was lo.~t and afraid :l111ong these em:my trees, socertain of danger that when I heard footsteps and a shom I did

not answer. The footsteps and the voicc callle nearer. Then Ishouted back. I did nOI recognize Baptistc :u first. He waswearing blue cotton trousers pulled up above his knees and 3

broad ornall1cnted belt round his slim waist. His l11:lchetc was

95

J(AN RHYS

in his hand and the light caught the razor-sharp bluc-white

(,.-dgt:. He did not smile when hc saw me.'We look for you a long time: he said.'I gOt lost.'He grunted in answer and led the way, walking in front of

me very quickly and cutting off any bnnch or creeper that

stopped us with an easy S\lJing of his machete.1 said, 'There was a road here once, where did it Ic:ul co?'

'No road: hc said."Dut I saw it. A pavi road like the French made in the

islands.''No road.''Who lived in that house?''They say a priest. Pere Lilievre. He lived here a long time

ago.''A child passed: I said. 'She seemed very frightened when

she saw me. Is there something wrong about the place?' H~

shrugged his shoulders.'Is there a ghost. a zombi there?' I persisted.'I on't know nOthing about all that foolishness.'

'There was .:I; road here sometimc.''No road: he repeated obstinately.It was nearly dark when we were back on thc red day path.

He walkcd more slowly. turned and smiJed at me. It was as ifhe'd put his service mask on the ~vage reproachful face I had

seen.'You don't like the woods at night?'He did not answer. but poinred to a light and said. 'It's a

long time I've been looking for you. Mi.ss Antoinette fright­

ened you come to harm.'

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WIOf SARGASSO S(A

When we reached the house I felt very weary.'You look like you catch fever: he said.'I've had that already.'

'No limit to times you catch f(Over.'

There was no onc on the veranda and no sound from thehouse. We both stood in the road looking up, then he said, 'Isend the girl to yOll. maner.'

Hilda brought me a large bowl of soup and some fruit. Itried the door into Antoinctte's room. It \vas bolted and therewas 110 light. Hilda giggled. A nervous giggle.

I told her th:u J did not wam anything lO cat. to briJlg methe decanter of rum and a glass. I dr.lnk, then took up thebook 1 h,ld been reading, 711t! Clittering CorOl/ct of Isles it wascalled, and I turned to the chapter 'Obeah':

'A zombi is a dead prrsOfl IIIho seems 10 bf alive or a liviug

prrsOIJ wllo is dead. A zombi (a" also be ,ht spirit of a phut.usually mal(r("1I111 but sometimes to be propitiated with sam'­

jilts or C!fferi"gs offlowers andlm;t: 1 thought at once of thebunches of flowers at the priest's ruined house. l "71lt'y

cry OHt i" the lviutl tlUlt is their IJQjee, 'hey rase i" the sea rlwtis their tIItr(er. ,.

'So I u.otJS told, bill I have Il01iltd that "t,gror..s as 0 nllen;(llse ro disnus tlte bJa(k magi( ill lV"ilh so mallY btliew.Voodoo as it is called ill Haiti - Obeah in SOlllt of ,ht> islauds,(HIother I/I1/11e ill Sowlt America. n,ey cOllji,se matters flY tell­i"/( lies if prt'ssed. The Ivhitf people, some/imf'S cred,llous, pre­teud ro dismiss tilt 1Il/lOle thillg as nouse"sc. Cases of suddenor mys~rjous deatlr art attributed 10 Q poison knOll,.,. 10 tire"egrOfs Iv/,ie" cam.ot btt troctd.lt isjimlltrcomplicQled by . . .'

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JEAN RHYS

I DID NOT LOOK UP though I saw him at the window butrode on without thinking till I C3me to the rocks. People herecall them Mounes Mors (the Dead Ones). Preston shied atthem, they say horses always do. Then he stumbled badly, so Idi.smounted and '\valked along with the bridle over my arm. Itwas getting hm and I wa5 tired when I reached the path to

Christophine's two-roomed house, the roof shinglec. nOtthatched. She was sitting on :1 box under her mango tree,smoking a white clay pipe and she called out. 'It's yOtl,

Anroinettc? Why yOtl come up here so early?"

'I jwt wanted to see you: I said.She helped me loosen Preston's girth and led hll11 CO a

stream near by. He drank as if he were very thirsty, then shookhimselfand snorted. Watl'r flew out of his nostrils. We left himcropping g~ss and went back. to the mango trcl', She sat onher box and pushed :another cowards mc, but I knelt close toher touching a thin SlIver bangle that she always wore.

'You smell the same,' I said. .'You come all this long way to tell me that?' she said. Her

clothes smelled of clean cotton. starched and ironed. I hadseen her so often standing knee deep in the river at Coulibri,her long skirt hitched up, washing her dn..'SS(.."S and her whiteshifts, then beating them against the stOJl~. Sometimes therewould be other women all bringing their washing down onthe stones again and again, a gay busy noise, At last thl.'y wouldspread the wet clothes in the sun, wipe their foreheads, startlaughing and cllking. She smelled too, of their smell, so warm

and cOlnforting to me (bUl he does not like it). The sky wasdark blue through the dark green mango leaves, and I thought,

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WIDt: SARGASSO S[A

'This is my place and this is where I belong and this is whereI wish to stay.' Then I thought, 'What a beautiful tree, but it is

too high up here for mangoes and it may never bear fruit,' andI thought of lying alone in my bed with the soft silk cottonmattress and fine sheets, listening. At last I said, 'Christophine,he does not love mc, I think he hates me. He always sleeps inhis dressing-room now and the serv:mts know. If I get angryhe is scornful and silent, sometimes he does not speak to mefor hours and I cannot endure it any more, ( cannOt. Whatshall I do? He was not like that at first,' I said.

Pink and red hibiscus grew ill from of her door, she lit herpipe and did not answer.

'Answer me,' I said. She puffed out a cloud of smoke.

'You ask me a hard thing, I tell you a hard thing, pack upand go.'

'Go, go where? To some strange place where I shall neversce him? No, I will not, then everyone, not only the servantS,will laugh at me:

'It's not you they laugh at if you go, they laugh at him.''I will not do that:

'Why you ask mc, if when I answer you say no? Why youcome up here if when I teU you the truth, you say no?'

'Out there IllU t be something else I can do.'She looked gloomy. 'When m2n don't love you, more you

try, lllore he hate you, man like that. If you love them they

treat you bad, if yOll don't love them they after yOll night andday bothering your soul case out. I hear about you and yourhusband,' she said.

'But I (annot go. He is my husband after all.'

She spat over her shoulder. 'All womc"n, all colours, nothingbut fools. Three children I have. One living in this world, each

99

JEAN RHYS

onc a different father, hut no husband. I thank my God. 1keep

my money. I don 't give it to no worthless lIlan.'

'When must J go, where must I go?''But look me trouble, a rich white girl like you and more

foolish than the rest. A man don't [rt:at you good, pick: upyour skin and walk out. Do it and he come after you.'

'He will not come aner me. And you must understand I :lIn

not rich now, I have no money of my OWI1 at all, cwrything I

had belongs to him.''What you teU me there?' she said sharply.

'That is English law:'Law! The M3san boy fix it, that boy worse than Satan and

he burn in Hell one of these fine nights. Listen to me nowand I advise you what to do. Tell your husband you feeljng

sick, you want to visit your cousin in Martinique. Ask himpretty for some ofyour own money. the man not bad-hearted,

he give it. When you get away, stay a\V3Y. Ask more. He giveagain and well ~tisfy. In the cnd he come to find out whatyou do, how you get on without him, and if he see you fat

and happy he want you back. Men like that. Better not stay inthat old hOllse. Go from that hOllse, I tell you.'

'You think I must leave him?''You ask me so I ans'\ver.''Yes; I said. 'After all I could, but why should I go to Mar­

cinique? I wish to see England, I might be able to borrowmoney for that. Not from him but I know how I might get

it. I must travel far, if I go:I have been toO unhappy, I thought, it cannot last, being so

unhappy. it would kiU you. I will be a different person whenI live in England and different things wiU happen to me....

England, rosy pink in the geography book map, but on the

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WIDe SARGASSO Sf A

page opposite the words are closely crowded, heavy looking.Exports, coal. iron, wool. Then ImportS and Charaw.'r ofInhabitams. N:UllCS, Essex, Chelmsford on the Chdmer. TheYorkshire and Lincolnshire wolds. Wolds? Does that mean

hills? How high? Half the height of ours, or not even that?Cool green leaves in the short cool summer. Summer. There;are fields of corn like sugar-c:lIle fields, but gold colour andnOt so tall. After summer the trees are bare, then winter andsnow. White feathers falling? Torn pieces of paper falling?They say frost makes flower patterns on the window panes. Imust know more than I know already, For I know that housewhere I will be cold :md nOt belonging, the bed I shall lie inhas red curtains :lIld I have slept there many times before, longago. How long ago? In that bed I will dream the end of Illydream. Out my dream had nothing to do with England and Imust not think lik~ this, I must remember about chandeliersand dancing, about swans and roses and snow. And snow.

'England,' said Christophine, who was \V3tching me. 'Youthink there is such a placer

'How can you ask that? You know there is.''I never see the damn place. how I know?'

'You do not believe that there is a COUntry caUed England?'She blinked and answered quickly, 'I don't say I don't bc/ifV(',

I say I don't kllow, I know what I sec with my eyes and I neversce it. Desides I ask myself is this place Ijke they reil us? Somesay one thing, some different, I hear it cold to freeze yourbones and they thief your money, clever like the devil. Youhave money in your pocket, you look again and bam! 0

money. Why you want to go to this cold thief place? If thereis this place at all, I never see it, that is one thing sure.'

I stared at her, thinking. 'bur how can she know the besr

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JlAN RHYS

thing for me co do, this ignoram. obstinate old negro w(Jman,who is not cenain if there is such a place as England~' Sheknocked OUt her pipe and stared back at Ine, her eyes had no

expression at all.'Christophine,' I said, " may do as you advise. But nor yet.'

(Now. I lhought, I nlwt say what I came co 5.1Y.) 'You knewwhat I wanted as soon as you saw me, and you certainly knownow. \VeU, don't you?'1 heard my voice getting high and thin.

'Hush up,' she said. 'Ifthe man don't love you, I can't make

him love you.''Yes you can, I know you can. That is what I wish and that

is why I came here. You can make people love or hate. Or ...

or die: , Solid.She threw back her head and laughed loudly. (But she

never laughs loudly and why is she laughing at all?), 0 you believe in that rim-tim story about obeah, you hear

when you so high? All that foolishness and folly. Too besides,that is not for bike. Bad. bad trouble come when btki meddle

with lhat.''You must: I said. 'You must.''Hush up. Jo-jo my son coming to see me, if he catch you

crying, he tell everybody.''I will be quiet, , wiU not cry. But Christophine, if he, my

husband. could come to me one night. Once more. I would

make him love me.''No dOlUlou. No.''Yes, Christophine:'You talk foolishness. Even if I can make him come to your

bed, I cannot make him love you. Afterward he hate you.''No. And what do [care ifhe does? He hate l1\e now. I

hear him every night walking up and down the veranda. Up

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WIDC SARGAS50 Sf A

and down. When he passes my door he says, "Goodnight,Bertha." He never C;I!lS me Antoillenc now. H~ has foundOut it was my mother's namc. "I hope you wiU sleep well,Oertha" - it cannot be worse: I said. 'That one night hecamc I might sleep afterwards. J sleep ~o badly now. AndI dream.'

, 0, I don't meddle with that for you.'

Then I beat my fi~t on a Stone, forcing myself to spe:akcalmly.

'Coing away to Martinique or England or anywhere else,that is the lie. He would m'ver give me any money co go awayand he would be filrious if I asked him. There would be ascandal if J left him and he hatcs scandal. Even if I gOt :J.way(:J.nd how?) he would force me back. So would Richard. Sowould e\'C:'rybody else. Running away from him, from thisisland. is the lie. What reason could I give for going and whowould believe me?'

When she bent her head she looked old and I thought, 'OhChristophinc, do not grow old, You ;'Ire the only friend I have,do not go away from me imo being old.'

'Your husband certainly love money,' she said. 'That is nolie, Money h.:wc pretty f.,ce for everybody, but for th:lc manmoney pretty like pretty self, he can't sce nothing else.'

'Help me then:

'Listen dOl/dOli lhr. Plenty people f.1sten bad words on youand on your mOther. I know it. I know who is talking andwhat dlCy say. The lllan not a bad man, even ifhc love money,but he hear so many stories he don't know what to believe.That is why he keep away. I put no cruSt in none of thosepeople round you. Not here, not in Jamaica.'

'Not Aunt Cora?'

103

Lord has forsaken us,' she said, and shut hl..'r eyes. She .11.1 Ih"

speak again, and after a while I thought she was asleep. SIIr \\ I

too tU to come to my wedding and 1 went [Q say good h~i I

was excited alld happy thinking now it is my honeylllolH' I

kissed her and she g3ve Ille a little silk bag. 'My rillg5. Two ,Ill

valuable. Don't show it to him. Hide it away. Promise me:

I promised, but when I opened it. one ofthe rings was pIa III

gold. I thought I might sell :lllother yesterday but who wdlbuy what I have to sell here? ...

Christophinc \va5 saying, 'Your aUJlty too old and sick. andrhat Mason boy worthless. Have spunk.s and do battle for your­self. peak to your husband calm and cool, tell him about yourlllother and all what happened at oulibri and why she getsick and what they do to her. Don't bawl at the Illan and don'tmake crazy fac(."S. Don't cry either. Crying 110 good with him.

Speak nice and make him undt:rstand.'

'I have tried: I said, 'but he does nOt believe mc. It is tooIare for that now' (it is alw:tys too lau: for trmh. I thought). 'I

Will try again ifyou will do what I ask. Oh Christophine. I :tillso afraid: I said, 'I do not know why, but so afraid. AJI thetime. Help mc.'

She s.aid something I did not hear. Then she took :l sharpstlck and drew lines and circles on the earth under the eree,then rubbed them Out with her foot.

'If you ulk to him first I do wh:lt you ask me.''Now?'

'Yes; she said. 'Now look at me. Look in my eyes:

1 was giddy when I stood up, and she went into the housemuttering and came out with a cup of coffee.

'Good shot of white rum in that; she said. 'Your face likedead woman and your eyes red like solttTimlt. Keep yourself

JEAN RHYS

'Your ;Lunty old woman now, she turn her face to the wall.'

• HOIlI do you know." I said. For that is what h3ppencd.

When I passed her room, I heard her quarrelling widl Richardand I knew it was about my marriage. 'It's disgraceful: she

said. 'It's shameful. You are handing over everything the childowns to a perfect stranger. Your [adler would never aveaJlowed it. She shouJd be protccted, legally. A sculelllcnt canbe arranged ;;lI1d it should be arranged. That was his intention:

'You are talkmg about an honourable gentleman, not a ras­

cal; Richard said. ') am not in a posi6on to make conditions.as you know very well. She is damn lucky to get him, aBthings considered. Why should I insi'it on a lawyers settlementwhcn I tru....t him? I would trust him with my life: he went onin an affected voice.

'YOll are trusting him with her life, not yours,' she said.He told her for God's s.lke shut up you old fool and banged

the door when he left. 0 angry that he did nO{ notice me

<;tanding in the passage. She was sitting up in bed when I wcntinto her room. 'Half wit that rhe boy is, or pretends to bc. Ido not likc what I haw seen of this honourable gentleman.

Stiff. Hard as a board and stupid as a foot. in my opinKm.except wtl(.'re his own interests :an' concerned:

She was very pale and shaking aU over, so I g'Jve her the

smelling sahs on the dressing-table. They were in a red g1as...boule with a gilt top. She put the bottle to her nose but herhand dropped as though she were too tired to hold it ste:ady.Then she turned away from the window, the sky, the looking­glass, the pretty thingo; on the dressing-table. The red and giltbottle fell to the floor. She turncd her face to the wall. 'The

WIDE Si\RG"SSII , .

104 105

J[AN RHY5

quiet - look,Jo-jo coming, he ta.lk to everybody 200m what

he hear. othing but leaky calabash that boy:When I had drunk the coffee I began to laugh. 'I have been

so unhappy for nothing, nothing,' I said.Her son was carrying 3 large basket 011 his head. I watched

hjs strong brown legs swinging :uong the padl so easily. Heseemed surprised :md inquisitive when he saw mc, bUl heasked poLitely in patois, was I well, was the master in goodhealth?

'Yes,Jo-jo. thank you, we are both well.'Christophine helped him with the b2sket, then she brOl.ght

out the bottle of white rum and poured out half a nllllblerful.He swallowed it quickly. Then she filled the glass with wltcr

and he drank that like they do.She said in English. 'The mistress is going, her horse at the

back there. Saddle him up.'I followed her into the house. There was a wooden t.'\ble in

the OUler room, a bench and t'vo broken-down chairs. Herbedroom \v.l.S large and d:uk. She still h:ld her bright patch­work countcrp:lne, the palm leaf from Palm Sunday :md the

prayer for .3 happy death. But after I noticed a heap of chickenfeathers in onc corner, I did nor look round any more.

'So already you frightened eh?' And when I saw her expres­sion I lOok my purse from my pocket :md threw it on the bed.

'You don't have to give me money. I do this foolishness

because you beg me - not for money.''Is it foolishness?' I s<'\id. whispering and she laughed again.

bur softly.'IfMkt say it foolishness, then it foolishness. Bike clever like

the devil. More c.Icver than God. Ain't so? Now linen and 1

will tell you what to do.'

'06

WIO[ 5/1RG/l550 5[11

When we came out into the sunlight. Jo-jo was hold ill).!.Preston near a big stone. I stood on it :lnd mounted.

'Cood-bye, Christophine; good-bye,jo-jo:'Good-bye, mistress.''You will come and see me very soon, Christophine?''Yes, I will come.'

J looked back at the end of the path. She was talking to Jo­jo and he seemed curious :md amused. Nearby a cock crewand I thought, 'That is for betrayal, but who is the traitor?' She

did not want to do this. I forced her with my ugly money.And what does anyone know about traitors. or why Judas didwhat he did?

I can remember cvery second of that morning, if I shut myeyes I can see the deep blue colour of the sky and the mangoleaves, the pink and red hibiscus, the yellow handkerchief shewore round her head, tied in the Martinique fashion with thesharp points in front, but now I sec everything still, fixcd forever like the colours in a stained-glass window. Only theclouds move. It was wrapped in a leaf, what she had given me,and I felt it cool and smooth against my skin.

'THE MISTRESS PAY A VISIT,' Daptiste told me whenhe brought my coffee that morning. 'She will come backtonight or tOlllorrow, She make up her mind in a hurry :lndshe has gone.'

In the afternoon Amclie brought me a second letter.

W'1IY you dOIl't atl$lVCr. You dot! 't believe me? TllfII ask some­

one dst! - t!tJtrybody ill Spanish Town k"OIv. W'1lr you thi"k

'07

JEAN RHYS

rlley bri,,~ yOIl ro rMs plMe?YolIlVottt me ro come ro your IIOH5tand bawl out your bllsi"eSi bef01't tvcrybody? You (DlPle ro meor I cOllie -

At this point I nopped reading. The child Hilda came intothe roOI11 and' asked her, 'Is Amelie here?'

'Yes, master.''Tell her I wish to spe:tk to her:'Y<'"S, master:She pUt her hand over her mouth 35 if to stifle laughter, but

her eyes, which were the blackest I had ever seen, so black th:ttit was impossible to distinguish the pupils from the iris, werealarmed and bewildered.

I sat on the vcr.lIlda with my back to the sea and it was asif I had done it all my life. I could not imagine differentweather or a different sky. I knew the shape; of the mountainsas well a I knew the shape of the tWO brown jugs filled withwhite swect-scented flowers on the wooden table. I knew thatthe girl would be wearing 3 white dress. Brown and white shewould bc. her curls. her white girl's hair she called it, half cov­cred with a red handkerchief. her feet bare. Then: \""ould bethe sky and the mountains, the flowers and thc girl and thefeding that all this was a nightmare, the faim consoling: hopethat I might wake up.

She leaned lighdy against the veranda post, indifferently. graceful, just respectful enough, and waited.

'Was this letter given to you?' I asked.'No, master. Hilda take it:'And i this man who writes a friend of yours?''NO( my friend,' she said.'UlIt he knows yOll - or says he does:

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WID( SARGASSO Sf-A

'Oh yes, [ know Daniel:'Very well then. Will you tell him that his letters annoy me.

and that he'd better not write again for his own sake. If hebrings a letter give it back to him. Understand?'

'Yes, master. I understand:5tiJIleaning against the POst she smiled at me, and I felt that

at any mOment her smile would become loud laughter. It wasto stop this that I went on. 'Why does he write to me?'

She answered innocently. 'He don't teU you that? He writeyou two letters and he don't say why he is writing? rf yOlldon't know then I don't know.'

'Bur you know him?' I said. 'Is his name OS\V3y?''Some people say yes, some people say no. That's what he

calls himself.'She added thoughtfully that Daniel was a very superior

man, always reading the Oible and that he lived like whitepeople. I tried to find out what she meant by this, and sheexplained that he had a house like white people, with oneroom only for sitting in. That he had two pictures on the wallof his father and his mother.

'White people?''Oh no, coloured.''But he told me in his first letter that his father was a white

nun.'She shrugged her shoulders. 'All that too long 3b'O for me:

It was easy to see her contempt for long ago. '[ tell him whatyou say, master.' Then she added, 'Why you don't go and seehim? It is much better. Daniel is a bad man and he will comehere and make trouble for you. It's better he don't come. Theysay one time he was a preacher in Barbados, he talk like apreacher, and he have a brother in Jamaica in Spanish Town,

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JeAN RHVS

Mr AJexander. Very wealthy mall. He own three rum shopsand [WQ dry goods Stores.' She flicked 3 look at me as sharp as

a knife. 'I hear one time mat Miss Amoinctle and his son MrSandi ge[ married. but that all foolishness. Miss Antoinette awhi[l' girl with a lot of money, she won't marry wi[h acoloured m.an even though he don't look like a coloured man.You ask Miss Amoinc[te. she tell you.'

Like Hilda she put her hand over her mouth as though shecould not stop herself from laughing and w31ked away.

Then turned and said in a very low voice, 'I am sorry foryou.'

'Wh3t did you say?'" don't say nothing, master.'

A large table covered with a red fringed cloth made the smallroom seem hotter; the only window was shut.

'I put your chair near the door; Daniel said. '3 breeze comein tTom underneath.' UU[ there was no breeze, nOt a brealh of3ir, this place was lower down the mountain almost at sea­level.

'When I hear you coming I take a good shot of rum. andthen 1 take a glass of water to cool me down, but it don't coolme down, it run out of my eyes in tears and lamentations.Why don't you give me an answer when I write to you thefirst time?' He went on talking. his eyes fixed on a framed texthanging on the dirty white wall, 'Vengeance is Mine'.

'You take too long, Lord,' he told it. " hurry you up a bit.'Then he wiped his thin yellow face and blew his nose on acorner of the tablecloth.

'They eaU me Daniel; he S3id, still not looking at me, 'but

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WID[ SARGASSO '11"

my llame is Esau. All I gC[ is curses and get-outs from th,IIdamn devil my father. My father old Cosway, with his: wlIlLt·marble tablet in the English church at Spanish Town for all III

sec. It have a crest on it and a motto in Latin and words ill bigblack letters. I nevcr know such lit-os. I hope that stone tll'round his neck and drag him down to Hell in the end."Pious", they write up. hl3elovcd by all". NOt a word aboutthe people he buy and sell like cattle. "Merciful [Q the weak",they write up. Mercy! The man h3ve a heart like stone. Some­times when he get sick of a woman which is quickly, he free

hcr likl' he free my mother, ewn he give her 3 hut and a bitofland for herself (a f,oardcn some call that), bur it is no mercy,it's for wicked pride he do it. , never put my eyes on a manhaughty and proud like that - he walk like he own the earth.'" don't give a damn," he says. Let him wait.... , can still seethat tablet before my eyes because I go to look at it often. Iknow by heart all the lies they tell - no One to sL1nd up andsay, Why you write li~ in the church? ... , tell you this soyou can know what sort of pt:ople you mix up with. Theheart know itS own bitterness bur to keep it lock up all therime. that is hard. I remember it like yesterday the morning heput a curse on me. Sixteen years old I was and anxious. I startvery early. , walk all the way to Coulibri - five six hours ittake. He don't refuse to see me; he receive me very cool ;mdcalm and firu thing he te.1I me is I'm always pestering him formoney. This because sometimes J ask help CO buy a pair ofshoes and such. at to go barefoot like a nigger. Which I amnot. He look at me like I was: dirt and I get angry too. "1have my rights after aiL" I tell him and you know what he do?He laugh in my face. When he finished laughing he caUme whats-your-name. '" can't remember all [heir names - it's

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J[AN RHYS

too much to expect of me," he says, talking to himself. Veryold he look in the briglu sunshine [m[ morning. ''It's youyourself call me Daniel," I tell him. "('m no slave like mymother was,"

'''Your mother was a sly-boots if ever there \\135 one," hesays, "and I'm not a fool. However the woman's dead andthat's enough. But if there's onc drop of my blood in yourspindly carcass I'll cat my hat:' By this time my own blood :Itboiling point, I tell you, so I bawl back at him, .1 Eat it then.Eat it. You haven't I1lllch uml:. Not much rime citJlcr to kissand love your new wife. She tOO young for you."" reatGod!" he said and his f.1ce go red and thl:" a kind of greycolour. He try to get up but he falls back in his chair. He have:a big silver inkstand on his desk, he throw it at my head andhe clIrse mc, but I duck and the inkstand hit the door. I haveto laugh but I go off quick. He send me some money - nOt aword, only the money. It's the last limc I sec him.'

Daniel breathed deeply and wiped his f.,ce abrain ;andoffered me some nlm. When I thanked him and shook myhead he poured himself half a glassful :md swaUowed it.

'All that long time ago,' he said.'Why did you wish to see me, Daniel?'The laSt drink seemed to have sobered him. He looked at

me directly and spoke more naturally.'I insist because J have this to say. When you ask if wl12t I

tell you is true, you will ask though you don't like me, I scethat; but you know well my letter was no lie. Take care whoyou talk to. Many people like to say things behind your back.to your face they get frightened, or they don't want to mixup. The magistrate now, he know a lot, but his wife veryfriendly with the Mason family and she Stop him if she can.

1\2

~IDl SARGASSO SEA

Then there is my half brother Ale'xallder. coloured Like mebut not unlucky like me, he will want to tell you all sorts oflies. He was the old mans favourite and he prosper right fromthe sUrt. Yes, Alexander is a rich man now but he keep quietabout it. Because he prosper he is two-faced, he won't speakagainst white people. There is that woman up at your house,Christophine. She is the worst. She have to leave Jamaic3because she go to j ..iJ: you know that?'

'Why was she selll to jail? What did she do?'His eyes slid aw:ay from mine. 'I te.ll you I leave Spanish

Town. J don't know all that happen. It's something very bad.She is obc3h woman and they catch her. I don't believe in allthat devil business but many believe. Chric;tophine is a badwoman and she will lic to you worse th:m your wife. Yourown wife she taJks sweet talk and she lies:

The blJ.ck and gilt clock on a shelf struck four.I must go. I must get away from his ycUow sweating face

and his hateful little room. I sat till, numb, staring at him.'You like my clock?' said Daniel. '( work hard to buy it. But

jt's to please myself,l don't have to please no woman. Buy methis and buy mc that - demons incarnate in my opinion.Alexander now, he can't keep away from them. and in the endhe marry a very fair-coloured girl, very respectable f.llllily. Hisson Sandi is like a white man, but more handsome than anywhite man. and received by many white people they say. Yourwife know Sandi since long time. Ask her and she tell YOll.

But not everything I think.' He laughed. 'Oh no, not every­thing. I see them when they think nobody see them. I see herwhen shc ... You going eh?' He darted to the doorway.

'No you don't go before I tell you tht: last thing. You want

me to shut my mouth about what t know. She start with

113

.JfAN RHYS

Sandi. They fool you well about that girl. She look you straight

in the eye and talk sweet talk - and it's lies she tell you. Li~s.

Her Illmht:r was so. They say she worse than her mother,3nd

she hardly more ch:m a child. Must be you deafyou don't hear

people laughing whc:n yOll marry her. Don't W:lste your anger

on mc, sir. It's not I fool you, its I wish to open your eyes....

A tall [Ule Engli~h gentleman like you. yOll don't want to touch

a little yellow rat like me t:h? Hesidl.'S I understand wdl. You

believe mc, but you want to do everything quiet like thc Eng­

lish C:ln. All right. BUl if I keep my mouth shut it See illS to meyOll owe me something. What is five hundred pounds to you?

To me it's my life.'

Now disb'l15t W:lS rising in me like sickness. Disgust and nge.

'All right: he yelled, and Illowd away fi-om the door. 'Go

then. , . get out. Now It's 1l1e (Q say it. Get Out. Get our. And

if I don't have th~ money I WJ.I1{ yOll wiB see what I C:ln do.'Give my love to your wife - my sister,' he called after me

vt'nomoll Iy. 'You are not the first 10 kiss her pretty f:<ce.

Pretty face, soft skin, pretty colour - not yellow like me. But

my sister just the s.1me .. .'At the end of the path out of sight and sound of the house

I stopped. The world WJ.S given up co heat and to nies, the

light was dazzling after his litde dark room. A black and white

goat tethered near by \Vas suring at me and for what sceme-d

minu[t.'S I stared back into its slanting yellow-green eyes. Then

I walked to the tree where l'et left my horse and rode away as

quickly as I could.

The telescope was pushed to one side of the table making

room for a decanter half full of rum and twO glasses on a tar-

114

WIDE SARGASSO srA

nished siJver tray. I listened to the ceaseles.lO night noises out­

side, and watched the procession of small moths and beetles

fly into the candle flames, then poured out a drink of rum and

swallowed. At oncc the night noises drew away, became dis­

tant, bearable, even pleasant.

'Will you listen CO me for God's sake,' Antoinette said. She

had said this before and I had not answered, now I told her,

'Of course. I'd be the brute you doubtless think me if I did

not do th:n.'

'Why do you hate me?' she said.<I do lIot hate you, I am IllOSt distres..<:,ed about you, I am dis­

traught; I said. But this W3~ untrue, I was not distraught, I was

calm, it w:as the first rime I had felt calm or self-possessed for

many a long day.She was wc:aring the whlle dress I had admired, but it had

slipped untidily ovcr one shoulder and seemed tOO large for

her. I watched her holding her left wrist with her right hand,

an annoying habit.'Then why do you never come near me?' she s3id. 'Or kiss

mc, or t:llk CO me. Why do you think I can bear it, what rea­

son have yOll for treating me like that? Have you any reason?'

'Yes; I said. " have a reason: and added very softly, 'My

God.''You arc always c:lHing on God: she said. 'Do you believe

in God?'

'Of course, of course I believe in the power and wisdom of

my creator.'She raised her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth

filrned down in a questioning mocking way. For a moment

she looked very much like Amelie. Perhaps they arc related. ,

thought. It's possible, it's even probable in this damned place.

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HAN iHVS

'And you: I said. 'Do you believe in God?''It doesn't 0l3ncr: she answered calmly, 'what l believe or

you believe. because we can do nOthing about it, we are likeulese.' She flicked a dead moth off the table. 'But I asked youa question. you remember. Will yOll answer that?'

I dnnk a~.in and my brain was cold and clear.'Very \veU, but question for question. Is your mother alive?'

'No. she is dead, she died.''When?'• ot long ago.''Then why did you reil me that she died whcn you were a

child?''Because they told me to say so and because it is truc. She

did die when I was a child. There are always two deaths, thereal one and the one people know about.'

'Two at least.' I said, 'for the fortunate.' We were silent for amoment. then 1 went on. 'I had a letter frolll a man who caUs

hil11sclf Daniel Cosway:'He has no right to that name,' she said quickly. 'His rea]

fume, if he has onc, is D:miel Boyd. He hates all whitepeople, but he hates me the Illost. He tells lies about lIS mdhe is sure that yOll will believe him and not listen to the

other side.''Is there another side?' 1 said.'There is always the other side, always.''After his second letter, which was threatening, I thought it

best to go and see him:'You saw him: she said. 'I know what he tOld you. That my

mother was mad and an infamous woman and that my littlebrother who died was born a cretin, an idiot, and that I am amad girl tOo. That is what he told you. isn't it?'

116

WIDf. 5,\RGASSO 5[11

'Yes, that was his story. and is any of it true?' I said, cold andcalm.

One of the candles flared up and I saw the hollow~ underher eyes, her drooping mOllth. her thin. strained face.

'We won't talk about it now,' I said. 'Rcst tonight:

'But we must talk about it: Her voice was high and shrill.'Only if you promise to be reasonable.'Dut this is nOt the place or the time, I thought, not in this

long dark veranda with the candles burning low and thewatching, listening night outside. 'Not tonight,' I said again.'Some other time.'

'1 might never be able (Q teU you in any other place or :It

any other time. No other time. now. You frightened?' she said,imitating a negro's voice, singing and insolent.

Then I saw her shiver and remembered that she had beenwearing a yellow silk shawl. J got up (my brain so clear and

cold. my body so weighted and heavy). The shawl was on achair in the next room. there were candles on the sideboardand I brought them on to the veranda, lit two, and pUt theshawl around her shoulders. 'Dut why not teU me tomorrow,in the daylight?'

'You have no right: she said fiercely. 'You have no right toask questions about my mother and then refuse to listen to myanswer:

'Of course I will listen, of course we can talk now, if that'swh:rt yOll wish.' But the feeling of something unknown andhOStile was very strong. " feel very much;) stranger here,' Isaid. 'I feel that this place is my enemy and on your side:

'You art: quite mistaken: she said. 'It is not for you and nOtfor me. It has nothing to do with either of us. That is why youarc afraid of it. because it is something dse. I found that out

117

J[AN ~HY5

long ago when I was a child. I loved it because I had nOlhingelse to love, but it is as indifferent 3S this God yOll call on so

often.''We can talk here or anywhere else,' I said, 'just as you wish.'

The decanrer of rum was nearly empty SO I went back intothe dining-room, and brought out another bottle of rum. Shehad eatcn nothing and refused wine, nOw she poured herselfa drink, touched it with her lips then put it down again.

'You want to know about my mother, I will tell you abouther, the truth, not lies.' Then she was silent for so long that Isaid gently, 'I know that after your father died, ~he was very

lonely and unhappy.''And very poor,' she said. 'Don't forget that. For five years.

Isn't it quick to say. And isn't it long to live. And lonely. She

"vas so lonc.ly that she grew away from other people. Thathappens. It happened to me too but it was ea ier for me

because I hardly remembered anything dse. For her it W<lS

strange and frightening. And then she was so lovely. I u~ed tothink that every time she looked in the glass she must havehoped ;md pretended. I pretended too. Different things ofcourse. You can pretend for a long timc, blll one day it all fallsaway and you are alone. We were alone in the mOSt beau:ifUIplace in the world, it is not possible that there can be ;my­where else so beautiful as Coulibri. The sea was not far offbutwe never heard it, we always heard the river. No sea. It wa.~ anold-time house and once there was an avenue of royal palmsbut a lot of them had fallen and others had been cut downand the ones that were left looked lost. Lost trees. Then they

poisoned her horse and she could not ride about any more.She worked in the garden even when the sun was very hotand they'd say "You go in now, mistress".'

118

WID[ SARGASSO S(A

'And who were they?'

'Christophine was with us, and Godfrey the old gardenerstayed. and a boy. I forget his name. Oh yes: she laughed. 'Hisname was Disa.urous because his godmOt.her thought it such a

pretty word. The parson said, "I cannOt christen this c1uldDisastrous, he must have another name," so his name was Dis­;lStroUS Thomas, we called him Sass. It was Christophinc whobought our food from the village and peuuaded some girls tohelp her weep and wash clothes. We would have died, mymother always said. if she had not stayed with us. Many diedIII those days, both white and black, l'SpeciaUy tht' older

people, but no one speaks of those days now. They are forgot­ten, except the lies. Lies are never forgotten, they go on andthey grow.'

'And you,' I 5.1id. 'What about you?'

'( was never sad in the morning,' she said, 'and every daywas a frt"Sh day for me. I remember the taste ofmilk and breadand the sound of the grandfather clock ticking slowly and thefirst time I had my hair tied with string because there was noribbon left :lI1d no money to buy :my. All the flowers in theworld were in our garden and sometimes when I was thirsty

I Ucked raindrops from the Jasmine leaves after a shower. If Icould make you sec it. because [hey destroyed it ,lIld it is onlyhen: now: She struck her forehead. 'Onc of the best things

was a curved flight of shallow lItcpS that went down from theglacis to rhe mounting stone. the handrail was ornamcnted. .Iron.

'Wrought iron: I said.

'Yes, wrought iron, and at the end of the la~t step it wascurved like a question mark and when I put my hand on it,the iron was w;arm ;and I was comforted.'

11.

J[AN RHY5

'But you s.aid you were always happy.''No, J said I was always happy in the morning, not always

in the afternoon and never after sunset. [or after sun~et thehouse \V3S haunted, some places are. Then there was that daywhen she saw I was growing up like a white mggcr and sheWIIS ashamed of me, it was after that day that everythingchanged. Yes, it was my fault, it was my fault that she startedto plan and work in a frenzy, in a fever to change otlr lives.Then people came to see us ag.lin and though I srill hatedthem and was afraid of their cool, teasing eyes, 1 learnt'd tohide it.'

'No: I s..1id.'Why no?''You have never learned to hide it; 1 said.'I learned to try: said Amoinerte. Nor very well, I thoughr.'And there was that night when they destroyed it.' She lay

back in the chair. very pale. I poured some rum out and offeredit to her, but she pushed the glass away so roughly that itspilled over her dn'Ss. 'There is nothing left now. Theytrampled on it. It was a sacred place. It was sacred to the sun!'I bcg::an to wonder how much of all this was true. how muchimagined, di!\wrted. Certainly many of the old estate houseswere burned. You saw ruins all over the place.

As if she'd guessed my thoughts she went on calmly, '13Jt Iwas teUing you about my mother. Afterwards I had fever. I wasat Aunt Cora's house in Spanish Town. I heard screams andthen someone laughing very loud. ext morning Aunt Coratold me that my mother was i~l and had gone to the country.This did not seem strange to me for she was palt of Coulibri,and if Coulibri had been de<;troycd and gone out of my life, itseemed natural that she should go too. 1 was ill for a long time.

120

WID[ 5ARGASSO SlA

My head was bandaged because someone had thrown a Stolle,It me. Aunt Cora told me that it W3S healing up and thou itwouldn't spoil me on my wedding day. Dut I think it did spoilme for lily wedding day and all the other days and nights.'

I said, 'Antoinette, your nights arc nOt spoiled, or your days,put the sad thin~ away. Don't think about them and nothingwill be spoiled, I promise you:

But my heart was heavy as Il'ad.'Pierre died.' she went on as if shc had not heard me. 'and

my mother hated Mr Mason. She would not let him go nearher or touch her. he said she would kill him. she cried to. Ithink. So he bought her a house and hired a coloured llIall

and woman to look after her. For a while he \Vas sad but heoften left Jamaica and spent a lot of tillle in Trinidad. Healmost forgot her.'

'And you (orgot her too,' I could not help saying.'I am not a forgetting person; said Antoinette. 'But she ­

she didn't want Illt'. She pusht.-cl me away and cricd when Iwent to see her. They told mc I made her worse. People talkedabout her, they would not leave her alone. they would be talk­ing aboul her and srop if they saw me. Onc day I made up mymind {Q go to her, by myself. llcfore I reached her house Iheard her crying. I thought J will kill anyone who is hurtingmy mother. I dismounted and ran quickly on to the verandJwhere 1 could look into the room. I remember the dress shewas wearing - an evening dress cut very low, and she wasbarefooted. There was a f.1( black man widl a glass of rum inhis hand. He s3id. "Drink it and you will forget." She drank itwithout stopping. He poured her some more and she took theglass and laughed and threw it over her shoulder. It sm:l.shedto pieces. "Clean ic up," the Illan said. "or she'll walk in ic."

121

J[AN RHY5

'''If she walk In it a damn good thing," the wom:m said.

"Perhaps shc keep quiet then." However she brought a pan and

brmh and swept lip the broken glass. All this I saw. My mother

did not look at them. he walked lip and down and said, "l3U(this is 3 very pleasant surprise, Mr LutrreU. Godfrey, take Mr

LunreU's horse." Then she seemed to grow tired and sat down

in the rocking-chair. J saw the man lift hcr up om of the chair

and kiss her. I saw his mouth f.'lsten on hers and she \vent all

soft and limp in his arms and he laughed. The woman laughed

tOO, but she was angry. When I saw mat I ran away.

Christophin~ was waiting for me whcll I came back crying.

"What you want to go up there for?" she said, and I said, "You

shut up devil. d:ulllled black devil from Hell." Chrismphine

said, "Aie Aie Aid Look me troublc, look me cross!'"

Aficr a long time I heard her say as if she were talking to

herself. '1 have said all I wam to say. I have tried to make yOll

llnderst:md. But nothing has changed.' She laughed.'Don'( laugh likc that, Bertha:

'My nan1t:: is not Bt:rtha; why do you call mc Bertha?'

'Uecause it is a name "Ilt particularly fond of. 1think ofyouas Bertha.'

'It dOt.."Sn't matter,' she said.

I said, 'When you went off this morning where did you go?'

'I went to sce Christophine,' she said. 'I will tell you ;my-

thing yOll wic;h to know, but in a few words because words art:

no use, I know that now:

'Why did yOll go to see her?'

'I went to ask her to do something for me:'And did she do it?'

'Yes.' Another long pause.

'You wanted to ask her advice, was th::lt it?'

122

WIOf 5ARGA5S0 5r"

She did not answer.'What did she 5.1.y?'

, he said that I ought to go away - to leave you.'

'Oh did she?' I sa.id, surprised.

'Yes, that was her advice.'

'l want to do the best for both of us: I said. ' 0 much of

what you tell me is strange, different from what I was led to

expect. Don't you fed that perhaps Chrisrophine is right? That

if you went away from this place or 1 went away - exactly as

you wish of course - for a time. it might be the wisest thing

we could do?' Then 1 said sharply, 'Bertha, are you asleep, are

you ill, why don't you answer mc?" got up, went over to her

chair and took her cold hands in mine. 'We've been sittinght:re long enough, it is very I:tte.'

'You go,' she said. 'I wish to stay here in the dark .. _whereI belong,' ,he added.

'Oh nonsense: I said. I put my arms round her to help herup, I kissed her, but she drew away.

'Your mouth is colder than my hands.' she said. 1 tried tolaugh. In the bedroom, , dosed the shutters. 'Sleep now, wewill talk things over lOllIorro\v.'

'Yes,' she said, 'of course, but will you come in and saygoodnight to me?'

'Certainly I will, my dear Oertha.'

'Not Oertha tonight,' she said.

'Of course, on this of all nights, you must be Uertha.''As you wish,' she said.

As I stepped into her room 1 noticed the white powder

screwn on the floor. That was the first thing I asked her ­

about the powder. I asked what it was. She said it was to keepcockroaches away.

123

J(AN RHY5

'Haven't you noticed that there are no cockroaches in thishouse :tnd no centipedes. If you knew how horrible thesethings can be.' She h:J.d lit all the c:J.ndles and the room wasfuU of shadows. There were six on the dres~ing-tabJe andthree on the t.able near her bed. The light changed her. J hadnever seen her look so gay or so beautiful. She poured ,"vineinto two glasses and handed me onc blH I swear it was before1 drank that I longed (0 bury my face in her haiT as ) used todo. I said, 'We are letting ghostS trouble us. Why shouldn't webe happy?' She said.' hrisrophine knows about ghosts too,but that is not what she calls them.' She need not have donewhat she did to me. I will always swear that. she need nothave done it. When she handed me the glass she was smiling.I remember saying in a voice that was not like my own thatit was too light. I remember putting out the candles on thetable near the bed and that is all I remember. All 1 willremember of the night.

J woke in the dark after dreaming that I was buried alive. :lIldwhen I W3S awake the feeling of ~uffocation persisted. Some­thing was lying across my mouth; hair with a sweet heavysmell.) threw it off but tiUI could not breathe. I shut my e"'ICS

and lay without moving for a few seconds. When I openedthem I saw the candk"S burnt down on that abom.inabledressing-tabk', then I knew where I was. The door on to theveranda was open and the breeze was so cold that J knew itmust be very early in the morning, before dawn. 1 was coldtoo, deathly cold and sick and in pain. I got Out ofhed with­out looking at her, staggered into my dressing-room :md saw

12.

~ID{ SARGASSO S[A

111V$clf in the glass. I turned away at once. J could not vomit.I only retched painfully.

I thought, I have been poisoned. Hut it w-as a dull thought.like a child spelling out the letters of a word which he cannotn:.llJ., and which ifhe could would have no meaning or con­lext. I was too giddy to stand and fell backwards on to thehed, looking at the blanket which was of a peculiar shade ofyellow. After looking at it for some time I was able to go overto the window and vomit. It seemed like hours before this~topped. I would lean up against the wall and wipe my face,then the retching and sickness would start again. When it wasover I lay on the bed too weak to move.

I have never made a greater effort in my life than I madethen. 1longed to lie there and sleep but forced myself up. I wa.<;weak and giddy but no longer sick or in pa.in. I pm on mydressing-gown and splashed \Vater On my face. then I openedthe door into her room.

The cold l.ight was on her and I looked :ou the ~d droop ofher lips. the frown between her thick eyebrows, deep as if it hadbeen cut with a knife. As I locked she moved and Aung her :lrmOu[.) thought coldly, yt.'S, very beautifill, clw dlin wrist, the sweetswell of the forearm, the rounded elbow, me curve ofhcr shoul­der into her upper arm. All present, all correct. As I '\V3tched,hating, her face grew smooth and very young again, she "ovenseemed to smile. A trick of the light perhaps. What eL'le?

She may wake at any moment, ) [old myself. I must bequick. Her tOrn shift was on the floor, I drew the sheet overher gendy as if I covered a dead girl. One of the glasses was

empty, she had drained hers. There was some wine left in theother which was on the dressing-table. I dipped my finger

t2S

JEAN RHYS

into it and wted it. It was bitter. I didn't look at her ag:ain, butholding the glass went on to the veranda. Hilda was there witha broom in her hand. I put my finger to lily lips and shelooked 3t Illt: with huge eyes, then imitated me, putting herown finger to her lips.

As soon as I had dressed and gm out of the house I reganto run.

I do not remember that day clearly, where I ran or how Ifell or wept or lay exhausted. Bur I found myself at last nearthe ruined house and the wild orange tree. Here with myhead in my arms , must have slept al1d when I woke it wasgening late and the wind was chilly. I got up and found myway back to the path which led to the house. I knew how toavoid eve.ry creeper, and I never stumbled once. I went to mydressing-room and if I passed anyonc I did not sce them andif they spoke I did nm hear them.

There was a tray on the table with a jug of water, a glassand some brown fish cakes. I drank almost aU the water, for Iwas very thirsty, but I did not touch the food. , sat on the bedwaiting. for I knew Amclie would come, Jnd I knew what shewould say: 'I am sorry for you.'

She came soundlessly on b:lTe feet. " get you something tocat: she said. She brought cold chicken, bread. fruit and abottle of wiDe, and I drank 3 glass without speaking, thenanother. She cut some of the food up and sat beside me andfed me as if I were a child. Her arm behind my head waswarm but the outside when I tOuched it was cool, almostcold. I looked into her lovely meaningless face, sat up andpushed the plate a\'.ray. Then she said, 'I am sorry for you.'

'You've told me so before, Am8ie.ls that the only song youknow?'

126

wro[ SARGASSO SEA

There was a spark of gaiety in hcr eyes, but when I laughed\ht" put her hand ovt.=r my mouth apprehensively. I puUed herdown beside me and wc were both laughing. That is what I

rcmember most about that encounter. She was so gay, so nat­tlral and something of this gaiety Sill' must have given to mc.tor I had not onc moment of remorse. Nor was I anxious toknow what was happening behind the thin p:lrtition whichdivided us from my wife's bedroom.

In the morning, of coursc, I fdt differently.Another complication.lmpossibk. And her skin was darker,

her lips thicker than I hJd thought.She W.:l.S sleeping very soundly and quictly but there was

awareness in her eyes when she opened them. and after amoment suppressed l:1ugluer. l felt satisfied and peaceful, butnot bray as she did. no. by God, lIot gay. I had 110 wish to touchher and she knew it. for she gOt up at oncc and began to dress.

'A very graceful drt'SS,' I said and she showed me the Illanyways it could be worn. trailing on the floor. lifted to show :1lace petticoat. or hitched up far above the knee.

I told her that I was leaving the island soon but thatbefore I left I wanted to give her a present. It was a l:trgepresent but she took it with no th:mks and no expre~sion on

her facc. When I asked her what she meant to do she said.'It's long time I know what I want to do and I know I don't

get it here.''You are beautiful enough to get anything you want: I said.'Yes; she agreed simply. 'BlIt not here.'

She wantcd. it seemed, to join her sister who was a dress­maker in Denu;r3r.1. but she would not stay in J)emerara, shesaid. he wanted to go to R.io. There we~ rich men in Rio.

'And when will you start aU this?' I said, amused.

127

JEAN RHY5

'I start now.' She would catch onc of the fishing boats at

Massacre and get into town.I laughed and teased her. She was running away from the

old woman Christophinc, I said.She was unsmiling when she answered, '1 have malice to no

one but I don't stay here.'I asked her how she .....ould get to Massacre. ') don't want

no horse or mule,' she said. 'My legs strong enough to carry

111e.'As she was going 1 could not resist saying, halflonging, half

triumphant, 'Well, AmClic, are you still sorry for me?''Yes,' she said, 'I am sorry for you. Blit I find it in my heart

to be sorry for her too.'

She shuc the door gently. I lay and listened for the sound Iknew I should hear, the horse's hoolS as my wife left the house.

I rurncd over and slept tiU liaptistc woke me with coffee Hisf.,ce was gloomy.

'The cook is leaving,' he announced.

'Why?'He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands open.I got up, looked out of the window and saw her stride out

of the kitchen, a sti<lppillg woman. She couldn't speak Eng­lish, or 5.,id she couldn't. r forgot this when I said, '{ must talk

to her. What is the huge bundle on her head?''Her mattress,' said Baptisrc. 'She will come back for the

rest. No good to talk to her. She won't stay in thi~ house.'

I laughed.'Are you leaving too?''No,' said Baptiste. 'I al11 overseer here.'

128

WID[ SARGA550 5[11

I noticed that he did not eaU me 'sir' or 'master'.'And the Little girl, Hilda?'

'Hilda will do as I tdl her. Hilda will stay.'

'Capital,' I said. 'Then why arc you looking so anxious?Your mistress will be back soon.'

He shrugged again and muttered, but whether he was talk­ing about my morals or the extra work he would have.: to doI couldn't tell, for he muttered in patois.

I told him to sling one of the veranda hammocks under thecedar trees and there I spent the rest of that day.

Baptiste provided meals, but he ~eldolll smiled J.nd neverspokc: except to J.Jlswcr a question. My wife did not return.

Yct I was nor lonely or unhappy. Sun, sleep and the cool waterof the river were enough. I wrote a cautious letter to MrFraser on the third day.

I told him that I was cOllsidering a book about obeah andhad remembered his story of the case he had came across.Had he any idea of the whereJ.bouts of the WOman now? Wasshe ~till in Jamaica?

This letter was selH down by the twice weekly messengerand he lllust have answered ;u once for I had his reply in a fewdays:

[ halle ofte'l tIWIt}!"t of YOllr wife lltul yorme!f. Alld was 011

lhe poi"t of writing 10 yOIl. I"dced / !mlle lW/ fo~~otrell fhccaSt. Tile woman in ql/estiotl was called joscphinc orCIJristophille Dubois, somc sHch IWlle alld shp had bec" olle

of the COSWt.y scrvants. After she cattle ollr ofjail slit.' disap­peared, bw il was (0111/1101/ ktlowlctlge that old Mr Masol/lJ~rrie"detl her. J "eard rJuu she owncd or II'''S given a smallhome alld a picce of land ncar Cranbois. She is imelligcllt ill

'19

J(AN RHY5

her way mId cou exprtss IIc(Sf'!! wtll, bUI I did '101 likt lhtlook of lIer al all, (/lId (O,fsider ha a moSI dattgerous persotl.

.I\tly wife illSiSletl tllat silt Ilad gOlle bark to JWartilliqtic llernative island, and was very "pset that I had me"riot/ed rilematlu evcn i" $lull a roundabour fashion. I happen to k""v"OW tll(/t site has tlO' rl'lUmed co Martil1iqut, so I haw writ­teu vcry discreetly to Hill, the whi'c ip/sIX'ctor cifpolice in y(lllrtOIlIll. If sllf' lives IWJr yOll twd gets "pto any ofhfr tlOllSt'Hse

lel Iti", know at Ollct. He'll se"d a (ollple lifpolicemell "l' toyour plact' and site won't gn cif[ 1((!lItly lllis timc. I'll Illllkejllre of ,//(Jt. ...

So much for you,Josephine or Chrisrophine, I thought. So

much for you, Phcena.

It was that half-hour after the sunset, the blue half-hollr Icalled it to myself. The wind drops, the hght is very bcautiful,the Illoumains sharp, every leaf on every tree is clear anddistinct. I W:lS sitting in the hallunock. \V:ltching. whenAlltoineue rode up. She passed me without looking at me,dismountcd and went into the house. I heard her bedroomdoor slam ;md her handbell ring violently. Oaptiste came run­ning along the wranda. I got out of the hammock and wentto the sitting-room. He had opened the chest and takt:n out abottle of rum. Some of this ht: poured illto a dcc:mrcr which

he put on a tray with a glass.'Who is that for?'l said. He didn't :lIlswer.'No road?' I S:lid and laughed.'I don't want to know nothing abollt all this: he said.'Baptistc!' Antoinctte called in a high voice.

i30

WIDC SflRGASSO '<1"

'Yes. mistress.' He looked str.light at me and carned lIll'

trayout .As for the old woman, I SaW her shadow before I S.1\V hl.-·r.

She too passed me without mrning her head. or did 'ihl' 1;0

into Amoincnc"s room or look towards it. She walked :lloll~

the ver.mda. down the steps the other side, and wcnt into cht'kitchen. In that short til1'lt: the dark had come and Hilda cUlle

in (Q light thl' candles. When I spoke to her she gavt'" Illl' ,Ill

3larnlt..d look and ran away. I opened the chest and looked <Itthe rows of bottles inside. Here was the rum th3t kills you illa hundred ye;lrs, the brnndy. the red and white wint: smug­gled. I suppose, from St Pierre, Martiniquc - the Paris of theW(.'St Indies. It was rum I chose to drink. Yes. it was mild in

the mouth, I waited a second for the explosion of heat andlight in lily chest, the strength and warmth running throughmy body. Then I tried the door into Amoineuc's room. Ityielded very slightly. She mU5[ have pushed some piece of fur­niture against it. that round tablt.: probably. I pushed again andit opened enough for me to see her. She was lying on the bedon her back. Her e)'l.os wcre closed and she breathed heavily.She had pulled the sheet up to her chin. On a chair bl.oside thebed there was the ~l1Ipty decamer, a gl:tss with some rum leftin it and a small brass handbell.

I shut the door and sat down With my elbows on tht.' C3blcfor I thought I knew what would happen :lnd what I must do.I found the mom oppressivel)' hot, so I blew out 1110..t of thecandles and waited in the h31fdarkness. Then I went on to theveranda to watch the door of the kitchen where a light wasshowing.

oon the littlt: girl came Out followed by Oaptiste. At thesame time the handbell in the bedroom rang. They both wcnt

131

J[AN RttY5

iuro the sitting-room and I followed. Hilda lit all the candleswith a frightened roll of the eyes in my direction. The hand­

bell went on ringing.'Mix me :I good strong one, Daptiste.Just wh:H I feel like:He [Ook a step away from me and 5.1id, 'Miss Amoinette - '

'Daptiste, where are you?' Antoinette called. 'Why don't

yOll come?''I come as quick as I can.' Baptiste 5..1id. Out as he reached

for the botde I took it away from him.Hilda ran out of the rool11. Baptiste and I stared a: each

other. I thought that his brge protuberant eyes and his expres­

sion of utter bewildcrrnem were comical.Antoinette shrieked from the bedroom, 'Haptiste! Christo-

phine! Phecna, Pheena!''Que kOlllesse!' Haptistt said. 'I get ChristOphine.'He ran out almost as fast as thl' little girl had done.The door of Antoinettc's room opened. When 1 saw her I

was toO shocked to speak. Her hair hung uncombed and dullinto her eyes which were inflamed and staring, her face was

very £JU"hcd and looked swollen. Her feet were bare. However

when she spoke her voice was low, almost inaudible.'( rang the bell because 1was thirsty. Didn't anybody hear?'Defore I could stOp her she darted to the table and seized

the bottle of rUIll.'OOl1't drink any more: I said.'And what right have you to tell me what I'm to do?

Christophine!' she called again, but her voice broke.'Chri~tophinc is all evil old woman and you know it as well

.as J do; 1said. 'She won't stay here very much longer.''She \V()n't stay here very much longer,' she mimicked me,

'and nor will you, nor will you. I t.hought you liked the black

13'

WIDf SARGASSO "A

people so much: she said. still in that mincing voic(.', 'blll dUI"lt~t a lie like everything dse. You like the light brown gill"

hctter, don't you? You abused the plantcrs and Ill.:ldl' up ~(O­

ries about them, but you do the ame thing. You send the girlaway quicker, and with no moncy or less moncy, and that'\; ,Illtht." difference.'

'Slavery was nOt a matter ofliking or disliking,' I saId. lry­lI1g to speak calmly. 'It was a question ofjustice.'

Justice,' she ~jd, 'I've heard that word. It's a cold wonl. I

tried it our,' she said, \;till \;peaking in a low voice. '1 wrole it

down. 1 wrote it down several timcs and always it looked Itkt·a cbmn cold lie to me. Therc is no justice.' She drank $C)lIlt'

morc rum :md went 011. 'My mother whom you aU talk :lbollt,

what justice did she have? My mother sitting in the rockl11~­

chair speaking :lbOUl dead horsl"S :llld dead groOllL\; and a bl,H:k.devil kissing her sad mouth. Like you kissed mine: she said.

The room \V'3S now unbeardbly hot. 'I'll open the window:lnd let a little air in: I said.

'It will let the niglu in [00,' she said, 'and the moon and till'seem of thosc flowers you dislike so much.'

Whcn I turned from the window she w:as drinking agdin.'Benha.' I said.

'l3crcha is not my name. You are trying to make me into

someone else, calling me by another nallle. I know, that'sobeah too.'

Tears streamed from her eyeco.'If my father, my real father. was aJive yOll wouldn't come

back here in :l hurry ;after he'd finished with you. If he was

alive. Do you know what you've done to me? It's not the girl.not the girl. But J loved thi.\; place and yOll have made it intoa placc I hate. I used to think tha[ if everything else went out

133

JEt\N RHY5

of my life I would still have this. and now yOll have spuilt it.It's just sOl11ewhcn.~ else where I have been unhappy, and allthe other things are nothing to what has happened here.l bateit now like l hate you and before I die I will show you howmuch I hate you.'

Then to my a5collishmclt[ she stopped crying and said, 'Issht: so much prerrier than I am? Don't you lovl' mc at all?'

'No, I do nO[: 1said (at the sallle time rcmembering Ametiesaying, 'Do yOll like my h:tir? Isn't it prettier than he~?'). 'Notat this moment,' I said.

She laughed at that. A crny laugh.'You scc. That's how you arc. A stone. But it serves me right

because didn't Aunt Cor:l say to me don't Illarry him. Not ifhe were stuffed with diamonds. And a lot of other thing; shetold me. Are you talking abouc England, I said, and ·....hatabout Grandpappy passing his glass over the water dec:mterand the tcars running down his face for all tbe friends deadand gone, whom he would never sce again. That \V<lS Ilothingto do with England rh:l.t I ever heard. she said. On the contrary:

A l3ellky fOOl and a Bellky leg1~" CI/(/r/;(' Ql!('f tilt, water.

elmr';£', Charfie,'

she sang in a hoarse voice. And lifred the bottle to drink again.I said, and my voice was not very c:llm, 'No.'I managed to hold her wrist with onc hand and the rum

with tlle other, but when I felt her teeth in my arm I droppedthe bottle. The smell filled rh(~ room. Ullt I was angry no\.\! andshe 5.1W it. She smashed another bottle against the waU andstood with rhe broken glass in her hand and Illurder in her eyes.

134

WIDE SARGAS50 SCA

'JUSt yOll touch me once. You'll soon sce if I'm a d:un' cow­;ud like you arc.'

Then she cursed me comprehensively, my eyes. my mouth,every member of my body, and it was like;) dream in the largeunfilnlished room with the candles flkkering and this red­l'yed wild-haircd stranger who was my wife shouting obscen­ities at me. It was at this nightmare moment that I heard<:hristophinc's calm voice.

'You hush up and keep yourself quiet. And don't cry. Cry­ings no good with him. I told you before. Crying's no good.'

Amoinctte collapsed on the SO(.1 and went on sobbing.Chrisrophine looked at me and her slllall eyes were very sad.·Why you do that eh? Why yOll don't take rhat worthlessgood-for-nothing girl somewhere else? But she love moneylike yOll love money - must be why yOll come rogerher. Likegoes to like.'

I cOllldn't bear any more and again' went our of the roomand sat on the ver:lOda.

My arm was bleeding and painful and I wrapped my hand­kerchief round it, but it seemed to me that c:verything roundme W;lJ; hostile. The telescope drew away and said don't touchme. The trees were threatening and the sh::ldows of the treesmoving slowly over the floor menaced me. That green men­ace. I had felt it ever since I saw this place. There was nothingI knew, nothing to comfort me.

I listened. Chrisrophine was talking softly. My wife wascrying. Then a door shur. They had gone into the bedroom.Someone was singing 'Ma belfe ka fit, or was it the song abourone day and a thousand years. But whatever they were singingor saying \.\'3S dangerous. I must protect myself J went softlyalong the dark veranda. 1 could see Antoinettt stretched on

135

WIDE 5ARGASSO St"

the first thing. Let them cry - it eas~s the he2rt. When she

C2n't cry no marc I give her ,I cup of milk - it's lucky I have

some. She won't eat, she won'r talk. 0 J say, "lie down on the

bed dOl/dOli and try to sleep, for me J can slcep On the floor,

don't matter (or mc." She isn't going to sleep Jlatl1T:l1 that's

cerrain. but J can make hcr sleep. That's what I do. A{, for whatyou do - you pay (or it one day.

'When they gct like th:lt.' she S2id. 'first they must cry, then

they must sleep. Don't talk to me about docmr, I know more

than any doctor. I undress Amoinettc so she can sleep cooland easy; it's then I see you very rough with her eh?'

At this point she laughed - a hearty merry laugh. 'All thJt

is a little thing - it's nothing. Ifyou see what I sce in th.is place

with the machete bright and shining in the corner, you don't

have such a long face for such a lirde thing. You make her love

you more if that's what you want. It's not (or that she have thelook of deJth on her face. Oh no.

'One night.' she wt.·m on, 'I hold on a woman's nose

because her husband nearly chop it off with his machete. Ihold it on, I send a boy rUllnltlg (or the doctor and the doc­

tor come ~l1oping at dead of night to sew up the woman.

When he finish he tell me, "Christophine yOll have a great

presence of mind." That's what he reU I11C. By this time the

man crying like a baby. He says, "Doctor I don't mean it. Ifjust happened." "I know, Rupcn," the doctor says, "but ilmllSrn'[ happen again. Why don't you keep the damn l1laChell,'

in the other room?" he says. They have twO small roOIllS only

'>0 I say, "No, doctor - it much worse near the bed. They chop

each other up in no time at aB." The doctor he laugh Jnd

laugh. Oh he was a good doctor. When he finished with thatwoman nose I won't say it look like before but J will say il

the bed quite srill. like a doll. Even when she threatened me

with the bottle she had a marionette quality. 'Ti mo",,: I heard

and'Doudoli dIe: and the end of a head handkerchief m:ade a

finger on the wall .•Do do J'tt!{allt do.' Listening, I began 10 feel

sleepy and cold.

I '!tumbled back into the big candlelit room which ~tilI

smelt strongly of rum. In spite of this I opened the chest and

got out another bottle. That was what I was thinking when

Christophine came in. I was thinking of a last strong dnnk in

my room. f.lstening both doors, and sleeping.

'I hope you S.1tiSfY, I hope you well satisfY: she So.1id, 'and no

good to Start your lies with mc. I know what you do with that

girl as well 2S you know. Better. Don't think I frightened of

you either.'

'So she nn 0[[ to teU you I'd ill-treated her, did she? 1ought

to have guessed that.''She don't teU me a thing: said Christophine. 'No: one

single thing. Alw3Ys the same. Nobody is to have any pride

but you. She have more pride than you and she say 1l00hing.

I see her standing at my door with that look on her f.lce andI know something bad happen to her. I know I must act quick

and 1act.'

'You seem to have acted, certainly. And what did you do

before you brought her back in her present condition?'

'What did I do! Look! don't you provoke me more than I

provoke alre:'ldy. I3cner not I rell you. You want to know what

I do? I say dOlltJOII, if you have trouble YO\.l are right to cometo mc. And I kiss her.lt·s when I kiss her she cry - nOt before.

It's long time she hold it back, 1 think. 0 I let her cry. Th;u is

136137

Jtl\N RHY5

don't notice much. R.upert that man's name wa.". PlentyRuperts here you Iloricef One is Prince;:. Rupert, and one whomakes songs is Rupert the !:tine. You see him? He sells hissongs down by the bridge there in [OWIl. le's in the [Own I livewhen J first leave Jamaic.:a. It's :l pretty Ilame eh - Rupert ­bur whete they gct it from? I think it's from old time they

get it.'That doctor :1Il old-time donor. These new oncs I don't

like them. First word in their mouth is police. Police - that'ssomcthing I don't like.'

'I'm sure you dOll't: I said. 'Out you haven't told me yetwhat happened when my wife was with you. Or exactly whatyou did?'

'~llIr wifd' she said. 'You make me bugh. I don't knowall you did bU( I know some. Everybody know that youmarry her for her money and you take it all. And then yOllwant to break her up, because yOll jealous of her. She ismorc better th:m you, she have better blood in her and shedon't care: for money - it's nothing for her. Oh I sce thatfirst time I look at you. You young but already you hard.You fool the girl. You Illake her think you can't see the sun

for looking at her:It was like that, I thought. It was like that. [Jut bctter to say

nothing. Thc.:n surely they'll both go and it wiU be my turn tosleep - a long deep sleep, mine will be, and very far away.

'And then,' she went on in her judge's voice, 'you make loveto ht'r till she drunk with it, no tum cou.ld makt: her drunk like

tbat, till she can't do \\!ithollt it. Its slle can't see the sun anymore. Only you sht: sec. Out all you want is to break her up.'

(:"01 tire way yOIl menu, I thought)

'But she hold out eh? She hold out:

138

'itllDl SI\RGA')'lll ',rA

(Yes, she held olft.A pit)l)

lSO yOll pretend to believe:111 the lies that dalllll h'I\IoIl'! 11,11you.'

(711ft1 thmm bnstard lell YOII)

Now every word she said was echoed, echoed IOlld" III Ill'

head.

'So that you can leave her alone:(Leave hN alol1C)'Not tcUing her why.'( Wit)'.')

'No more lovc, dl?'(/'/0 more lvve)

'And that: I said coldly, 'is where you rook charlll'j I'HI II

You tried to poison me:

'Poison you? Out look me trouble, the man fhl,~1 -.,.,

come to mc and ask me for something to make yOll hw.! III ,again and I tell her no I don't meddle in that for lJ~k'~ I It 11her it's foolishness.'

(rooliJ" lieS) foolislmess)

'And even if it's no foolishness, it's too strong for Mk~ I

(Too stnmgfor bckc. loo strollg)'l3ut she cry and she beg me.'(SIIe fry a"d she b(:~ l1Ie)

'So I give her something for lovc.'(For love)

'Blit yOll don't lovc. All you wam is to break her tip. Alhlit help yOll break her up.'

(Break IIer lip)

'She teU me in the middlc of all this you sran calling h('1names. Marionette. Some word so.'

'Yes, I remember, I did:

139

J[AN RHYS

(Marionette, A"roiuetft!, Marilmeua, Antoitletta)'That word mean doll. r:h? Because he don't speak. You

wam to force her to cry ;,'lI1d to speak:(Force her to cry a"d to speak)'Bur she won't. So you think up something else. You bring

that worthless girl to play with next door and you t;,'llk andbug}i alld love so that she hear everything. You meant her tohear.'

Yes, thac didn't just happen. I meant it.(/ lay awake all "~l!Il( IOt~~ rifter II/t·y wen' ash'rp, and as Sootl ItS

;1 ""'5 I~l!ht I,l!ot lip ami dressed aurl 5tlddlerl Prestol/. A"d I callI(' toYOIl. Oh Christophi"r. 0 Phee"o, PhCl'''o, help me.)

'You haven't yt:t told me exacLly what you did with my -with Amoinettc:

'Yes I tell you. J J11;,'lke her sleep.''What? AB lhe time?''No, no. I wake her up to sit in the sun, bathe in the cool

flver. Even if she dropping with sleep. I make good strongsoup. I give her milk if I have it, fruit I pick from my owntrees. If she don't want to eat I say, "Eat ic up for my sake,dOlldo,,:' And she e-.It it lip, chcn she sleep again:

'And why did you do all this?'There \V;l$ a long silence. Then she said, 'It's better she

sleep. She Illllst sleep while I work for her - co make her well3b'<lin. Out I don't speak of all that to you.'

'Unfortunacely your cure was not successful. You didn'tmake her well. You made her worse.'

'Yes I succeed: she said angrily, 'I succecd. But I gee fright­ened that she sleep too much, coo long. She is noc bfk{O likeyou, but she is beke, and not lik~ us either. There a.rc morningswhen she can't wake, or when she wake it's as if she still sleep-

140

.... IO[ SARGASSO '11 A

ing. I don't \V2IU to give her any more of- of what I giw. ~o,'she went on after anodll"r pause, 'I let her have rum insle,ld. I

know chat won't hun her. Not mllch. As soon as sht, ha!> therum she starts raving that she must go back to you and I C:tll"quiet her. She says she'll go alone if I don't com~ but she bc!!.me to come. And I hear well when you tell her that you don '(

lov~ her - quite calm and cool yOll tell her so, and undo all tht·good I do.'

'The good you did! I'm very weary of your nOIL~enSl',

Christophine, You seem to have made her dead drun.k on badrulll :lIld she's a wreck. I scarcely recognized her. Why yOIldid it I can't say - hatred of me I suppose. And as you hc;ml

so much perhaps you were listening to all she admitted ­boasted about, and to the vile names she called mc. Your ,Im/.

tl,m certainly know$ some filthy language.'

'I tcll you no. I tell you it's nothing. You make her sounhappy she don't know what she: is s:lying. Her f:lther oldMiscl'r Cosway swear like half pasc midnight - she pick it upfTOm him. And once, when she was little she run away to bewich lhe fishermen and the sailors 011 the bayside. Thosemen!' She raised her eyt"S to che ceiling. 'Never would youchink they was once innocent babit'S. She come back copyingthem. She don't understand what she says:

'I think she understood ewry word, and meant what shesaid too. But you arc right, Christophitlc - it was all a very lit­tle thing. It was nothing. No machete here, so no machetedamage. No d2mage at all by tl1is time. I'm sure you took careof that however drunk you made her.'

'You arc a damn hard man for a young man.''So you say, so you s:..y.''I teU her so. I warn her. I s.,y this is not a man who wilJ

,<1

JEAN RHYS

help you when he sees you break lip. Only the best can dothat. The best - and sometimes the worst:

'But yOll think I'm one of the worst,surdy?''No; she said indi£f(:rcnt1y, 'to me you are not the best, not

the worst. You are - ' she shrugged' - you will nOt help her.I rdl her so.'

Nearly all the candles were om. She didn't light fresh oncs- nor did I. Wc sat in the dim light. I should stop this uselessconversation, I thought, but could only listen, hypnotized, toher Jark voice coming from the darkness.

'I know that girl. She will nevcr ask you for love again, shewill die first. But I Christophinc I beg you. She love yOll somuch. She thirsty for you. Wait, and pcrlups yOll can love heragain. A little, like she say. A linlc. Like you C:lI1 lovc.'

I shook my head and went on shaking it mechanically.

'Its lies all that yellow bastard tell you. He is no Coswayeither. His mother was a no-good woman and she try to foolche old 1ll;:1Il but the old man isn't fooled. "One 1110r~' orless" he says, and I:Hlghs. He W:lS wrong. More he do for

those people, more they hate him. The hate in that manDaniel - he can't rest with it. If I know you coming here Istop you.tiut you marry quick, you leave Jamaica quick. Notime.'

'She lOld me: that all he said was true. She wasn't lying then.''Because you hurt her she W;lIlt to hurt you back, that's why.''And that her mother was mad. Another lie?'Christophin~ did not answer me at once. When she did her

voice was nOt so calm.

'They drive her to it. When she lose her son she lose her­

self for" while and they shut her away. They tell her she ismad, they act like she is iliad. Question, question. But no kind

142

WID[ SARGASSO SEA

word, 110 friends, and her husban' he go off, hc leave her. They

won't let l11e see her. I try, but no. They won't let A.ntoincnescc her. In rhe end -mad r don't know - she give lip, sht: carefor nothing. That mall who is in charge of her he rake herwhenever he wanr and his woman talk. Th:u man, Jnd others.Then they have h(,.'[. Ah there is no God.'

'Only your spirits,' I fCminded her.

'Only my spirits,' she said steadily. 'In your Bible it say Godis a spirit - it don't say no others. Not at all. Ir grieve llH,,' whath:l.ppen to her mother, and I cau't sct' it happen :l.gain. You callher a doll? She don't satisfy you? Try her onCe more, I thinkshe satisfy yOll now. If yOll forsake hcr they will tcar her inpieces - like they did hl"r morher.'

'( will not forsake her,' I &:lid wearily. 'I wiU do all I can forher.'

'You will love her like yOll did before?'

(Gill(' lily sister }'ollr wife Q kiss.from IIIf. UWi' },er as J did - ohyes I did. /-Iow rail I promise tltar?) J ~id nothing.

'It's she won't be satisfy. She is Creole girl, and she havethe sun in her. Tell the rruth now. She don't come to your

house in this place England they tell me about, she don'tCOllle to your beautiful house to beg you to marry with her.

No, it's you come all rhe long way to her house ~ it's youbeg her to marry. And she love you and she give you all shehave. Now you say yOll don't love her and you break her up.What yOll do with her money, ch?' Her voice was still quietbut with a hiss in it when she said 'money'. I thought, ofcourse, that is what all the rigmarole is about. I no longer feltdned, rired, half hypnmized, but alert and wary, ready todefend myself.

Why, she wanted to know, could I not return half of

143

JEAN RHY5

Amoinette's dowry and leave the island - 'leaw the WestIndies ifyou don't want her no morc.'

I asked the exact mm she had in mind, but she was vagueabout that.

lyou fix it lip with I3wyers and aJI those things:

'And wh:u wiU happen to her thell?'

She, Christophim" would take good care of Antoinctre(and the money of course).

'You will both sray here?' J hoped that my voice was assmooth as hers.

No, they would go to M:lrtinique. Then to other places.'I like to see the world befon: I die.'

Perhaps because I was so quiet and composed she addcd

maliciously, 'She marry with someone else. She forget aboutyou and liw happy.'

A pang of rage :lnd jealousy shot through me then. Oh no,she won't forget. I laughed.

'You l3ugh :It me? Why you laugh :lt me?'

'Of course I laugh at you - you ridiculous old WOl11an.

don't mean to discuss my afl"airs with you :my longer. Oryour

mistress. I've listencd to all you had ro say and I don't bdit,'ve

you. Now, say brood-bye to Antoincrtc, then go. You are to

blame for all that has happened here, so don't come bad.'She dn.'w herself up mB and str,light and put her hands on

her hips. 'Who you to teB me to go? This house belong toMiss Antoinettc's mother, now it belong to her. Who you totell me to go?'

'1 assure yOll that it belongs to l11e now. You'U go, or I'll gctthe men to put yOll our.'

'You think the men here touch me? They !lot damn foollike you to pur their hand On me,'

144

WIO[ SARGAS'l{) '111,

'Then I will have the police up,l warn you. There Illtl\1 h('some law and order even in this God-forsaken island:

'No police here,'she said. 'No chain gang, no tread 111;1Chlll1,:.

no dark jail either. This is free country and J am free wOlllall:

'Christophine: I said, 'you lived in Jal1l:lica for years, :lIldyou know Mr Fraser, the Spanish Town magistrate, well. f

wrOte to him :lbout you. Would you like to hear what hl'

answered?' She stared at me. 1 read the end of Frascr's lettcraloud: 'J 1/(111(' wriltetl !)ery dis(reetly 10 Hill, lhe white iflspcncJT

ofpoli(e ill YOllr tOWI/. If she lives lIear yOIl (IIld ,~els up to allY 1!1her II011S('1I5(' let him knOll) al ol/ce. He'lJ semi (/ couple of po/kt.•

me,/ lip to yOHr phm' and she HJOIl'l gel '!{f It~h,ly ,his time. ...You gave your mistress the poison that she pm into mywine?'

" tell you already - you talk foolishness.'

'We'll sce abour th:lt - I hpt some of that wine.'

" tell her so,' she said. 'AJways it don't work for Mke. Alwaysit bring troubJc ... So yOll send me away and you keep all hermoney. And what you do with her?'

'I don't see why I should teU you my plans. I mean to go

back to Jamaica to consult the Spanish Town doctors and herbrother. I'U follow their advice. That is all f mean to do. She.:is nOt well.'

'Her brother!' She spat on the floor. 'Richard Mason is no

brother to her. You think yOll fool me? You want her money

but you don't want her. It is in your mind to pretend she is

111ad. I know it. The doctors say what you tell them to say.That man Richard he S<1y what you want him ro sa)' _ glad

and willing too, 1 know. She will be like her mother. You dothat for money? Dut you wicked like Satan seW'

I said loudly and wildly, <And do you think that I wanted

145

J(/lN RHY5

all this? I would give my life to undo it. , would give my eyes

never to have seen this :lbominablc place.'

She laughed. "And that:" the first damn word of truth youspeak. YOll cboose what you give, eh? Then you choose, You

meddle in something and perhaps you don't know what it is.'

She began to lllutter to herself. Not in patois. I knew thesound of patois now.

She's as mad as the other. I thoughr, and turned w rhewindow.

The servants were standing in a group under the dove tree.

Baptiste, the boy who helped wirh thL" horses and the lirtle girtHild•.

Christophinc W:-IS right. They didn't imend to gellllixed up

in this business.

When I looked at her there was a JIlask on hcr face and

her eyes were und:tumcd. She was :l fighter, I had to admit.

Ag:linst my will I repeared, 'Do you wish to say good-bye toAntoinetre?'

'I give her something to steep -nothing to hurt heLl dOl1't

wake her up to no misery. I leave that for you.'

'You CU1 write to her,' I said stiffly.

'Read and write I don't know. Other things I know.'

She walked away without looking back.

All wish to sleep had left me. I walked up and down the room

and felt the blood tingle in my finger-rips. It roll up my ,umsand reached my hean, which began to beat very fase. I spoke

aloud as I walked. I spoke the tetter I meant to writc.

'I know now that you planned this because you wanted to

146

WIO( 5/1RGASSO '1111

be rid of me. You had no love at all for me. Nor had 111\

brother. Your plan succeeded because I was young, COIlCCHt'd,

foolish, rtusting. Above all because I was young. You w~rc ,.Ilkto do this to me .. .'

Bur I am not young now, I thoughr, stopped pacinf: anddrank. Indeed this rum is mild as mother's milk Or f.ithlTi.blessing.

I could imagine his expression if I sent rhat lerrer and hl'read it.

'Dea( Fmhcr,' I wrote. 'We are leam'lIg this is/mulforjmllairnIIl'ry sltorrly. V'foreseell rirrull/stnll(es, af leas( lII1ore5e(,1I bymc, halleforeetl me to make this dedsioll. I am (cr((l;" (Itat yOIl

know or can ,'(IIl'SS /IIhar has happened, mul J all/ (('((aill yOIl

wil/ beJil've that the less yOIl talk ttl al1)'olle (lIX.llII Ill)' ,![filirJ,especinUy lit)' t/larriagl', (he bettl'r. 'J1I1S is in YOllr iuterest as 1I1t//

(IS ",;l1e. YOII will hearfrom me n.~n;1/. SOOI/ Ilwpe.'

Then I wrote to rhe firm of lawyers I had dc:aJt with inSpa.nish Town. I told them that I wish1:.'d to rem a furnished

house not too nea.r rhe town, commodious enough ro aUow

for two separate suites of rooms. I also told them to eng<lge ast:.ff ofserv3nt" whom I was prepared to pay very Iibcralty _ so

long as they keep their mouths shut, I dlOught - providt:d that

they are discreer. I wrote. My wife :md myself would be inJ:lmaica in abour a week and expected to find everything rc:ady.

All the time I was writing this Ictter :l cock 'rowed persi.u­endy outside. I took the first book I could lay hands on and

threw ir :lt him, but he stalked a few yards away and srartedagain.

147

JfA~ RtlYS

Baptiste appeared, looking towards AntOinette's silent room.

'Have you got much more of this famous rum?'

'Plenty rum: he said.

'Is it really a hundred years old?'He nodded indifferently. A hundred years, a thousand all

the same to le boIl Dj£'1I and Baptiste too.'What's th:u damn cock crowing ab01.11?'

'Crowing for change of weather.'UeclUse his eyes were fixed on the bedroom I shouted :It

him. 'Asleep, ,Jarmi, da,,,,i:He shook his head and went away.He scowled at IllC then. I thought. I scowled too as I re-read

the lerter I had wrirtcn to the: lawyers. Howcver much I paid

Jamaican servants I would ncver buy discretion. I'd be gossiped

about. sung abollt (but they makc up songs about everything.

everybody. You should hear the one about the Governor's

wife). Wherever I went I would be ta.lked about. I drank some

more rum and, drinking. I drew a house surrounded by trees.

A large house. I divided the third floor into rooms and in om:

room I drew a standing ....roman - a child's scribble, a dot tor a

head, a larger one for the body, a triangle for a skirt. slanting

lines for arms and fect. .But it was an English house.English trees. I wondered if I ever should sce Eng1:lnd again.

UNDER THE OLEANDERS ... I watched the hidden

mountains and the mists drawn over their faces. It's cool today;

cool, calm and cloudy as an English summer, But Cl lovely place

in any weather, however f.1r I travel I'll nl:ver see a lovelier.

The hurricane months are not so far away, I thought, and saw

148

WID[ S ..... RG ..... SSO ~I'"

that tree strike its roots deeper, making ready to fight the wmd.

Usek--ss. If and when it comes they'll all go. Some of the f()y,lf

palms sClnd (she told me). Stripp<.-d of their br.tnches. like t;lllbrown pillars, still tlll.:y stand - defiant. Not for nothing are t111'ycalled royal. The bamboos take an easier way, tlley bend to till'earth and lie there, creaking, groaning, crying for mercy. Tht.:comcmpnlous wind passes, not caring for these abject thjn~.

(Le, them live.) Howling,shrieking, laughing the wild blast paSSl"S.

But all that's SOme months away. It's an English SUlJlllh'r

now, so cool. so grey. Yct t think of my revcnge and hurri­cane-so Words rush through my head (dct.:ds too). Words. Pity

is Olll' of them. It givt."S me no rest.

Pity like :I nakcd new-born babe striding the blast.

I read thJt long ago when I was young - I hate poets now

and poetry. As I hate mUSIC which I loved once. Sing your

sonb"S, Rupl~n the Rine, but I'll not listen, though they tellllll'you've a sweet voice....

Pity. Is there none for me:? Tied to a lunatic for life - :I

drunken lying lunatic - gone ht.:r mothers way.'Slit, loll'£' yOIl so tllII(I" S(l much. Shr thirsty for YOII. Low her a

little like silt, selY. It S (If! Illtl/ yOIl (flU l()ll(' - a /iuJe.'

Sneer to the last. Devil. Do you think that I don't know?She thirsts for auylllle - 1I0t for me , ..

She'll loosen her black hair, and laugh and coax and flatter

(a lHad girl. She'll not CJrc who she's loving). Shc'Jlmoan and

cry and give herself as flO s.1ne woman would - or could. Or

lOlIld. Then lie so niJI, still as this cloudy day. A lunatic whoalways knows the timc. Out never does.

Till she's drunk so deep, played her b'3mes so often mat thelowe!it shrug and jeer at her. And I'm ro know it - I? No. I'vea trick wonh two of that.

'4'

\vIOL SARGASSO 51'"

'Shl' /llvt yOIl SO IIllld" so mud,. "try her Oll(t.' more.'I teU you she loves no Ont'. anyone. I could not touch her.

Excepting: as the hurricane will touch that tree - and break it.You S.1Y I did? No. That was love's fierce play. ow I'll do it.

Shl,'1I I10t laugh in the sun again. She'll not dress up :md

smile at herself in that damnable looking-glass. So ple3sed, so

"(ltisfied.Val1l,silly creature. Made for loving? Yes, but she'll haw 110

lover, for I don't want her and she'll see no other.The ['ree shivers. hivers and g:athcrs all its lltrcngth. And

waits.(There: is a cool wind blowing now - 3 cold wind. Does it

carry the babe born to stride the blast of hurric;mcs?)She SJid she loved this place. This i~ the last she'll sec of it.

I'll watch for one tear, onc human tear. Not that blank hating

moonstruck face. I'll listen.... If she says good-bye perhapsadieu. Adifll -like thcxe old-time songs she sang. Always ndit'fI(and all song;. say it). If she toO says it, or weeps. I'll take herin my arms, my lunatic. She '5 mad but ",;11/.'. millt.'. What will I

care for gods or devils or for Fate itself. If she smiles or weeps

or both. For rIlt.'.

Al1lOinetta - I can be gentle too. Hide your face. Hide

yourself but in my arm... You'l1 soon $t:e how gentle. My

lunatic. My mad girl.Here's a cloudy day to help you. 0 brazen sun.No ~un ... No SUll. The weather's changed.

BA'PTISTE WAS WAITING and the horses saddled. Thatboy stood by the clove tree and Ilear him the basket he was

ISO

to carry. These baskets are light and waterproof. I'd decidedto use onc for a few nece~sary clothes - most of ourbelongings were to follow in a day or two. A carriage wa~

to meet us at Ma..sacrc. I'd seen to everything, arr.wgedeverything.

She was there in the ajollpa; carefully dressed for the jour­Ilt..-y, I noticed, but her face blank, no expression at all. Tears?There's not a tear in her. Well, we will sec. Did she rememberanything, I wondered, fed anything? (That blue cloud, thatshadow, is Martinique. It's clrar now ... Or the names ofthe llloullL1ins. No. no[' mountain. Mort/e, she'd say. 'Mountain

is an ugly word - for them.' Or the stories about Jackp:miards. Long ago. And when she said, "Look! The EmeraJd

Drop! That brings good fortune.' Yes, for a moment the skywas green - a bright green sunset. Strange. But not half sostrange as saying: it brought good fortune.)

After aJl I was prepared for her blank indifference. [ knewthat my dreams were dreams. But the sadness I feh looking atthe shabby whirl: house - I wasn't prep;ned for that. Morethan ever before it strained away from the black snake-likeforest. Louder and more desperately it called: S;we me fromdestruction. ruin :and desolation. Save me (rom the long slowdeath by ants. OUt' what are you doing here you folly? So m:arthe fort.>st. Don't you know tb.:lt this is:I dangerous place? Andthat the dark forest always wins? Always. If you don't, yousoon will, and I can do nothing to hdp you.

Baptis['e looked very different. Not a trace of the policedOI1lt.."Stic. He wore a very wide-brimmed straw hat, like thefishermen's hats, hu[' the crown flat, not high and pointed. His

wide leather belt W3S polished, so was the handle of hissheathed cutlass, and his blue cotton shirt and trousers were

I"

JEAN RHYS

spotless. The hat, I knew, was waterproof. He was ready for therain and it was certainly on its way.

1 ~aid rh:u I would like to say good-bye to the little girl

who laughed - HiJda. 'Hilda is not here,' he answered in hiscareful English. 'Hilda has left - yesterday.'

He spoke politely enough, but I could feel his dislike and

contempt. The Same contempt :1." that devil's when she 5..1id,

'T.,src my bull's blood.' Meaning that wiU make you :I man. Per­

haps. Much I cared for what they thought of me! As for her, I'd

forgotten her for the moment. So I shall never understand

why, suddenly, bewilderingly, I was certain that everything I had

imagined to be trurh was f.,lse. False, Only the magic and

the dream arc true - all the rests a lie. Let it go. Here is dlCsecret. Here.

(B", it is los', ,//(" secret, and ,hose who know if rmlllot teH it.)

Not lost. I had found it in a hidden place and I'd keep it,hold it fast. As I'd hold her.

I looked at her. She was staring Ollt to the distant sea. Shewas silence itself.

Sing, Antoinetta. I can hear you now.

Here ri,e ",illd S(/ys it has been, it has bee"And rhe sea says i, fmlst br, it must be

A"d the s,m says it ran be, it will beAmi the rai" . ?

'You must listen to that. O"r rai" kllorvs all/he SOftgS.'

'Aud (/ff the lears?''A 11, all, all.'

Yes, I will listen to the rain. I will listen to the mountain

bird. Oh, a heart<;toppcr is the solitaire's one note - high,

152

WIDE SIIRGAS50 5111

sweet, lonely, magic. You hold yOUT breath to l.isten ... NI I

... Gone. What was I to say [0 her?

Do not be sad. Or think Adieu. Never Adieu. Wl' wdlwatch the sun set again - many times, and perhaps we'll Sce lilt'

Emerald Drop, the green flash that brings good foTtune. And

you must bugh and chattcr as yOll used to do - telling IIll'about the batde off the Saint" or the picnic at M,lrie GaJamc _

that r.,molls picnic that turned into a fight. Or the pirates alld

wh~t they did between voyages. For every voyage mjg:ht hetheIr bst. Sun and sangoree's a heady mixture. Then _ thl,.'

earthquake. Oh yes, people say that God was angry at rht:

things they did, woke from his sleep, Olle breath and they \Wrl'

gOlle. He slept again. Bur they left their treasure, gold and man...

than gold. Some of it is found - but the finders never rcll

because you sce they'd ollly get onc-third thell: that:<; dll' b~of treasure, They W;llll it all, so never speak of it. Sometillll'\

pre~ious things, or jewels. There's no end to wh:lt they find illld

sdi III secret to some cautious Illan who weighs and rneasurc~,

hesitates, asks questions which arc not answered, then halld~over money in exchange. Everybody knows that gold pie("e~,

treasures, appear in Spanish Town - (here too), In all fill,.'islands, fTom nowhere, from no onc knows whe-Te. For it is bl'l­ter not to speak of treasure. Better nor to tell them.

. Yes, better not to [ell them. I won't tt·U you that I scarcelylistened to your stories. I was longing for night and darklle~~and the time when the ll1oonflowers open.

Blor O/lt the moou,

Pull dowll the stars.

Love ill the dark,for Ult~'refor 'he darkSo 500", so S()(.lIl.

153

JEAN RHYS

Like the swa.ggering pir.ues, let's make the most :md bestand worst of wh3t we have. Give not onc-third but every­

thing. All - 311 - all. Keep nothing back....No.1 would say - I knew what I would iaY.• ( havt: nude a

terrible mistake. Forgive me:I said it, looking :a her, set.:ing the hatred in her eyes - and

feeling my own hate spring up to meet it. Again the giddychange. the remembering. the sickening swing back to ha:e.They boug.ht me. IIIl' with your palrry money. You helpedthelll to do it. You deceiv('d mc, betrayed mc, and you'll doworse if you get the chance ... CJ1,al girl site lcook you slmiglttitl tlte tyt owllofk sweel talk - and it's /it's she tell you. Lit$. HerlIIolher u'(/s so, TIley say site worse rhall her morher.)

... If I was bound for hell Ict it be hell. No Illorc falseheavens. No more damned magic. You hate Ille and I hatcyou. We'll see who hates best. Out first, first 1 will destroy yourhatred. Now. My hate is colder, stronger. and you'll have: 110

hare to W:UIll yourself. You will havc nothing.I djd ir too. I saw the hate go out of her eyc-os. I forced it

out. And with the hate her beauty. She was only a ghost. A

ghost in the grey daylight. Nothing left but hopelessness. SJydit rmd Ilvill dit. Say rfit arId lH1Ull me die.

She lifted her eyes. Bbnk lovely eyes. M~d eyes. A Illad girl.I don't know what I would have s.1.id or done. In the balance_ everything. Out at this momenr the nameless boy leaned his

head against the clove tree :md sobbed. Loud heartbreakingsobs. I could h3ve strangled him with pleasure. But 1 l1lanagedto control myself, walk up to them and say coldly, 'What is thematter with him? What is hc crying about?' Baptiste did notanswer. His sullen face grew a shade more sullen and th:a \v:lS

all I gOt from Baptistc.

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WIDE SARGASSO 5[A

She had followed mc and she answered. I ~carcely recog­nized her voice. No warmth, no SWeetnes.... The doll had adolls voice. a breathless but curiously indifferent voice.

'He asked me when we fiTS[ came if we - if you - wouldtake him with you when we left. He doesn't w:mt any 11101ll-Y.

Just to be with you. 13ecatlse - ' She stopped .U1d ran hertongue over her lips, 'he loves you very much. So I s..1id youwould. Take him. Baptiste has told him that you will nor. Sohe is crying:

'I certainly will not.' I said angrily. (Godl A half- 'lVage boyas well as .. , a5 well as ...)

'He knows English: she said, st,ll indiflcrently. 'He ha) triedvery h:ud to learn English:

'He hasn't learned :my English that 1 Gm understand: J s,1.id.

And looking ;'It her "tiff white f.1.CC my fury grew. 'What righthave you to make promises in my name? Or to spcak for me

at am'. o. J had no right, 1 am sorry. I don't understand you. 1

know nothing about you, and I cannot speak fOt you.....And that was all. [ said good-bye to l3aptiste. He bowed

stiffiy, unwillingly and muttered - wishc-'S for a pleasant jour­

ney. I suppose, He hoped. I am sure. that he'd never sct eyeson me ag:l.in.

Shl: had mounted and he went o\'l:r to her. When shestrccched her hand out he took It and stiU holding It spoketo her very earnestly. I did not heat wh:u he said but Ithought she would cry then. No, the doll's smile came back- nailed to her face. Even if she had wept like Magdalenc irwould have made no difference. I was exhauS(ed. All themad conflicting emotions had gone and left me wearied :lIld

empty. Sane.

155

r

J[AN RHY5

I \V35 tired of these people. I dislikcd rneir laughter andtheir rears, their flattery and envy, conceit and deceit. And Ibated the place.

Thated the moumains and the hill$. the riwr; and the rain.I hated rhe slImecs of whatever colour. I hated its beaury andits magic and the secret I would never know. I hated its indif­ference and the cruelty which was parr of its loveliness. Aboveall I hated her. For ~he bdonged [0 the magic and the loveli­ness. he had left me rhirsry and all my life would be rhim andlonging for what I had lost before I found it.

So we rode away and left it - the hidden place. Not for meand not for her. I'd look after that. he's faT along the road now.

Very soon she'll join all the others who know the secret

and will nor reil it. Or cannot. Or try :md f.1il because du:y donot know enough. They call be n:cognized. White faces,dazed eyes, aimless gestures, high-pitched laughter. The waythey walk and talk and scream or try to kill (themselves oryou) if yOll laugh back at them. Yes. they've got to be watched.For the rime comcs when they try to kill, then di!klppcar. Butothers are waiting to take their places, its a long. long line.Shes one of them. I tOO C;ln wait - for clH.' day when she isonly a memory to be avoided. locked away. and I.ike aU mt"'lJl­orics a legend. Or a lie....

I remember t.h:lt as Wl~ turned the corner, I thought aboutDaptiste :'LIld wondered if he had another name - I'd nl'verasked. And then that I'd sell the place for what it would fetch.I had meall( to give it back to her. Now - what's the use?

That stupid boy followed us, the basket balanced on hishead. He used the back of his hand to wipe away his tears.Who would have thought th:'lt any boy would cry like that.For nothing. othing....

'56

PART THREE

THEY KNEW THAT HE WAS 11lja/llaira IVlleull'sfiu!u'r (/1/(1I/ls brolller died,' Gmre Poole said. 'He illlltritell ewr)'tlliflg, bllt Ill'

t/lt1.S (lII.I'(:allll)'I/I(/1I before Ihat. O/flf' people arejortllllate, they said,mill Ihere were hims nbollf the womall he broJ~,!JJ( back to El/glll/lfl

Will, hilll. NC'xr dny Mrs ~ff lVflIl1ed 10 St'e IIU' alld she complnillnlaboll/.c/)ssip. I dOli 'I nI/OIl) gossip. IlolrI yOIl (liar when y011 rame. Suo

1ft1IltS will talk alld yOIl Cl/ll't Slap them, I said. And I allf Ilot certaill

1IIlI' the situation will SI/it me, madalll. Pirst whe/l I answered YOllr

adllt'rtisemellt yOIl said thnl 1"(, perso/l I had 10 look q{ter llIas I/ot aymwjf ,C'rI. 1 askclI if slle was a" old IIJi>l/U/II atld yOIl said flO. Nowlhat I see her J don'l know what tll thiltk. Sit" sirs shiveri/li! mul site

is so rltill. If she dies 011 my llallds who will gel Ihe blmne? Wail,Grace, she said. She 1I1tlS holdil~i( (J letter. Before ymt decide will yOIl

Iisr('1/ 10 whal t!le master rifthe IWllse has 10 say about this mauer.

"If Mrs Poole is satilj(Jrlory why 1/01 gjlJt.' her dOl/ble, treble tilt'IIUII/Cr." she read, mulfollled tlte lerrer away blitI/o/Ix/arc I had see"the //lords 011 tlte /lext page, /lbw for Cods sake lel me hear 110 morecif it. "nlere was a.fore(i(1l sfamp on the ellve/ope. "/ dOtl'l serz/f tlu:

devil for 110 mOl/er," I said. Site said, "If yOIl ima,girte that lV/l/'" yOll

159

JEAN RHYS

servr this geu"~".a" )'Ou an' serviu,t: lh~ dntil )'0" newr made agrealer tHiSlake it, your life. [ knew Ilim as Q boy. [ "mew Id", as a

yOlltlg matl. He ",as ~e"'fe, gNterOUS, brave. His Slay itJ tlu: Wesl[tidies has dWlIg/'d hi'" out of(IU Jwollf/('~ff(" He has ~rcy ill his Iwirm,d misery i" his eyes. Do" 't ask me 10 pity anyolle Ivl,O had a hm,din thar. I'IJt sl,M el/ough and too much. I am "ot prepared 10 uebleyour money, Gract, bllt I am prepared to do"ble it. Bur there ,mut IKno more gossip. if tllerr is J utili dismiss yOll or OllCC. I do 1101 rhiukit ",ill bt i",possible 10 fill your plact. /'", sure )'0" ""derstand. "~.s,

I /ltu[ersta"d, I said.

(l1,e" all tJu: servants IIl('re se,,' away (",d shl' eugaged a cook,o/lemaid 111ld yOIl, Leaf,. n,ey Iller!' wit al/lay bur 1101/1 cou'd shl' stoptl,cm tafki,,~? If YOII ask me the wllole COl/lilY knows. -n,e mUlollrs

!'lit heard - very far from the tnlill. Bm J do,,'t cOlltradict, I know

beller tlla" to soya lvord. After all tlte house is b~r? a"d stYe, a shel­ler fiom the worfd outsidr which, say wllat you like, CO/l br a bhICka"d mic! world to a lIIoma". J\!1aybe that's IIIhy J srayed 011:

TI,e t/tick lfIalu, slle tl,ougla. Past tlte lod;ef ,~atl' a 10"X avemll' oftrees alld iusidr 'lie Itousr tlte blazillgfirrs and tilt: crimso" a"d whiterooms. Bllt abollt' all lite thirk walls, keepi'~l! tllMy all tf,C ,hj"gs rI,at

you hOlI£fought lill you call ji~/Jl 110 more. Yes, maybe 'hat swily IVf

all Slay - Mrs Effand ualt (11/(/ I/Ie.;1II tif lIS except 'ltat girl wllo

lives ill Iter OUIP' darkness. I'll say oue ",iug!or "er, s"e Itas,,'t lost I,rr

spirit. S"e's still jim:t. J dar,', rum my balk (1tI I,tr will''' IIt.'r eresIrave tlrat look. 1 know it.

In this room I w:lke early and lie shivering for it is vcry cold.At last Gnce Poolc, the woman who looks after me, lighu if.

fire with paper and sticks and lumps of coaL She kneels toblow it with bellows. The paper shrivels, the sticks crackle and

160

WIDE SARGASSO SrA

spit. the coal smoulders and glowers. In the cnd flames shootup and they are beautiful. I get Out of bed and go close towatch them and to wonder why 1have been brought here. Forwhat reason? There rnust be a reasoll. What is it that I must

do? When I first came I thought jt would be for if. day, twO

days, a week perhaps. I thought that when I saw him andspoke to him I would be wise as serpents, harmless as doves.'I give you all I have freely,' I would say, 'and I will not trou­

ble you again if you will lct me go.' But he never came.The woman Grace sleeps in my room. At night I some­

tinles see her sitting at the table counting money. She holds agold piece in her hand and smiles. Then she puts it all into a

little canvas bag with a drawstring and hangs the bag roundher neck so that it is hidden in her dress. At first she used tolook at me befofC she rod this but r always pretended to beasleep. now she does not ttouble about me. She drinks from a

bottle on the table then she goes to bed, or puts her arms onthe table. her head on her arms, and sleeps. Hut I lie watchingthe fire die out. When she is snoring I get up and I have tastedthe drink without colour in the bottle. The first time I did this1 wanted to spit it out but m:maged to swallow if. When I gotback into bed 1 could remember more and trunk again. I was

not so cold.

There is one window high up - you cannot see out of it.My bed had doors but they have been taken away. There isnot much else in the room. Her bed, a black press, the tablein the middle and two black chairs carved with fruit andflowers. They have high backs and no 3.rms. The dressing­room is very small, the room next to this onc is hung with

161

Jf.AN RHYS

tapestry. Looking at the tapestry one day I recognized mymother dressed in an evening gown bur '\v1th bare feet. Shelooked away from me. over my head just as she used [0 do. Iwouldn't tcll Grace this. Her name oughtn't to be Grace.Name m3ner, like when he wouldn't caIl me Amoin~nc:. and1 saw Amoinene drifting out of the window with her scents,her pretty clothes and her looking-glass.

There is no looking-glas'i here and I don't know what I amlike now. I remember 'v:ltching myself brush my hair and howmy eyes looked back at mc. The girl I saw was myself yel notquite myself. Long ago when I was a child and very londy Itried to kiss her. But the glass was between liS - hard, coldand misted over with my breath. Now they have taken every­thing away. What am I doing in this pbcc :md who :1I11 I?

Thc door of the tapestry room is kept locked. It leads, Iknow, imo a passage. That is where Gr.tce stands and t:llks to

another wom:m whom I have never secn. Her namc is Ltah.I listen but I cannot understand what they say.

$0 there is stilJ the sound of whispering that I have heardall my life. but these are different vain,os.

When Ilight comes, and she has had sever.l.l drinks 2ndsleeps, it is easy to take the keys. I know now where she keepsthem. Then I open the door and walk into their world. Ir is,as I always knew. made of cardboard. 1 have seen it beforesomcwhere. this cardboard world where everything iscoloured brown or dark red or yellow that ha no light in it.As I walk along the passages I wish I could sce what is behindthe cardboard. They tellmc I am in England but I don't believethem. Wc lost our way to England. When? Where? I don'tremember, but we lost it. Was it that evening in the cabinwhen he found me talking to the young man who brought

162

WIDE 5ARGASSO 'l[ '"

l11e my food? I put my arms round his neck and asked hUll III

help me. He said, 'I didn't know what to do,sir.'J smashc<! [ht'glasst:s and plates against the porthole. I hoped it would brl'.lkand the sea come in. A womall came ;md then an older 111,111

who cleared up the broken things on the floor. He did Ilot

look at me while he was doing it, The third man So1id drinkthis and you will sleep. J dr.l.nk it and I said, 'It isn't like itseems to be: - 'I know. It nevcr is,' he s,1id. And then I slepl.When I woke it was a dificrent sea. Colder. It '\':IS that night.I think. that wc changed count: and lost our way to England.This cardboard house where I walk at night is not England,

Onc morning whcn I woke I ached ;111 over. Not tilt: cold,another "on of ache. I saw that lily wriscs werc red andswollen. Grace s,1id. 'I suppose you're going to tell me that yOll

don't remember anything about last night.''When was last night?' I said.'Yesterday.''I don't remember Ye'Otl'rday:'L.ast night a gentlcman came to see you: she said.'Which of them w'a.... that?'Oecause I knew that there were str.tl1ge people in the

house. When I took the keys and went into the passage I heardthem laughing and talking in the di.uance. like birds, and thert'were lights on the £loor beneath.

Turning a corner 1 saw a girl coming out of her bedroom.She wore a white dre!.S and she was hUlllming to hl.:rseJf. J flat­tened myself against the 'vall for I did not wish her to see me,bur she stopped and looked round. She 5,1W nothing but shad­ows.1 rook care of that, bur she didn't '\valk to the ht.'3d of the

163

JfA.N RHY5

stairs. She rom. She met another girl and the second girl said,'Have you seen a ghost?' - 'I didn't sec anything but 1thought I felt something.' - 'That is the ghost,' the secondone said and they went down the suirs together.

'Which of these people came to sce me, Grace Poole?' I

said.He didn't come, Even ifI was asleep ( would have known.

He hasn't come yet. She said, "It's my belief that you remem­ber much more than you pretend to remember. Why did you

behave like that when I had promised you would be quiet andsensible? I'll never try and do you a good turn again. Your

brother came to see you.''( have no brother.''He said he was your brother:A long long way my mind reached back.'Was hi~ name R..ichard?''He didn't tdlme what his name was:'I know him,' I said, and jumped out ofocd. 'It's all here. it's

all here, but I hid it from your beastly eyes as I hide every­

thing. But where is it? Where did I hide it? The sole of myshoes? Uudcrnc:1th the mattress? On top of the pr~? In thepocket of my red dress? Where, where is this lccrer? It wasshort because I remembered that Richard did not like longletters, Dear Richard please take me away frol11 this place

where I al11 dying because it is so cold and dark:Mrs Poole said, 'It's no use running around and looting

now. He's gont: and he won't come back - nor would I in

his place:I said, ') can't remember what happened,l can't TCmember.''Wht:n he came in: said GT3ce Poole, 'he didn't recognize

you:

164

WIDf SARGASSO 'lIA

'Will you light the fire,' I said. 'because I'm so cold:'This gentleman arrived suddenly and insisted on ~C.'llI).t

rou and that was aU the thanks ht: gOt. You rushed at him WII h

a knife and when he got the knife away you bit his ann. You

won't sec him again. And where did you get that knife? I lold

them you stole it &om me but I'm much too can:ful.l'm u'>l'dto your sort. You gOt no knife fi-om me. You must have bough I

it that day when I took you out, , told Mrs Eff you ought In

be.- taken oue:'When wc went to England,' I said.'You foot' lthe said, <this is England.''1 don't believe it: I 5.'lid, 'and I never will believe it:

(That afternoon wc went to England. There was grass .mdolive-gret:n w:uer and tall trees looking into the water. TIll'>. I

thought, is EngJand. If I could be here I'd get weU 3brain :lIId

the sound in my head would Stop. Let me stay a little 101l~l·r.

I said, and she sat down under a tree and went to deep. "little way off there was a cart and horse - a woman was driv­ing it, It wa..o;; she who sold me the knifc.'. I gave her the lockc.·lround my neck for iL)

Grace Poole said, "So you don't remember that yOll

attacked this gentleman with a knife? I said that you would bc.·quiet, '" must speak to her:' he said. Oh he was warned billhe wouldn't listen. I was in the roOm but I didn't hear all hl'5.,id except "I cannot interfere leg;ally between yourself andyour husband". It was when he 5.,id "legally" that you flew ,11

him and when he nvined tht: knife out of your hand you hllhim. Do you mean to .o;;ay that yOll don't remember any ofthis?'

I remember now that he did not recognize me. I saw hilJilook at me and his eyes went first to one corner and thell to

16'

J[AN RHYS

anOlher, not finding what they expected. He looked at me andspoke [Q me as though I were a stranger. What do you do

when something happens ro you like mat? Why a(c you laugh­

ing ar me? 'Have you hidden my red dress too? If I'd been

wearing that he'd have known me.', obody's hidden your dress.' she s,1id. "It's hanging in the

press:She looked at me and said, 'I don't believe you know how

long you've been here, you poor creature:

'On the contrary: I said. 'only I know how long I have been

here. Nights and days and days and nights. hundreds of them

slipping through my fingers. But th:lt does not m:lUer. Tilll(.'

has 110 meaning. But sonu:thing you can touch :lnd hold like

my red drt."SS, that has 3 meaning. Where is it?'

She jerked her head towards the press and the corners of

her mouth turned down. As soon as I turned the key I saw it

hanging. the colour of fire and sunset. The colour offbmboy­

ant nOWt'rs. 'If you arc bUrled under a flamboyant trce; I said,

'your soul is lifced up when it flowers. Everyone \V:1nts that.'

She shook hl'r hc-ad but she did not move or touch mc.

The scent that callle &om the dress was very faint at first.

then it grew stronger. The sl11dl of vetivert and fr.mgipallni,

of dnnamon ;md dust and lime trees when they are flower­

ing. The smcIJ of the sun and the smcll of the rain.

... I was wearing a dress of that colour when Saudi came 10

sce me for the l:iSt time.'WiII you come with me?' he said. 'No.' I said. '( cannot.'

'So this is good-bye?'

Yes. this is good-bye.

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W10[ SARGASSO S[A

'Bur I can't Icave.: yOll like [his; he :.aid, 'YOll are unhappy.'

'You arc wasting time: J said, 'and we have ~o little.'

Sandi often came to sec me when that man was away and

when I went out driving r would meet him. I could go outdriving then. The scrvall[S knew, but none of thcm told.

Now dH~re was no time left so wc kissed each other in that

stupid room. Spread f.111S decornted the walk We had often

kis.~ed before bm not like that. Th:1t was tbe life and death kissand you only know a long time afterwards what it is. the hfe

:lI1d death kiss. The white sh.ip whistled thrt:c times, once gaily,once calling, once to say good-bye.

I took the red dress down and put it against myself. 'Does it

make lIle look intemperate and unchaste?' I said. That man

told me so. He had found out that Sandi had been to thehouse and [hat ( went to see him. I never knew who told.

'Inf.1lllous daughter of an inf.,mous mother; he said to me.

'Oh put it away,' Gr:lcc Poolc said. 'come and cat your

food. Hcre'~ your grey wrapper. Why they can't give you any­

thing better is morc than I can understand. They're richenough:

Out ( held t.he dress in my hand wondering if they had

done the last and worst thing. If they had (hQ,~flt'd it when I

wasn't looking. If they had changed it and it wasn't my dressat all - but how could they get the scem?

'Well don't stand there shivering; she said, quite kindJy forher.

I let the dress faJI on the (loor, and looked from the fire to[he dress and from the dress to the fire.

I put the grey wrapper round my shouldef'l, but I told her

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HAN 'HVS

I wasn't hungry and she didn't try to force me to eat 3S she

sometime does.'It's JUSt as well that you don't remember last night,' she

said. 'The gentleman fainted and 3 fine outcry there waS uphere. Blood all over the place ;lod I was blamed for letting youattack him. And the master is expected in a few days.I'U never

cry to help you again. You are tOO far gone la be helped.'I said. 'If I had been ,,\'caring my red dress R..ichard would

have known me.''Your red dress: she s.,id. and laughed.Uut I looked at the dress on the floor and it was as if tbe

fire had spread across the room. It was beautiful :md itreminded me of something I must do. I will remember I

thought. I will remember quite SOOI1 noW.

That was the third rime I had my dream, and it end<..-d. I know

now that the flight ofsteps leads to dlis room where 1 \.ie watch­ing the woman asleep with hcr head on her aIms. In my dreal11I waited till she beg3n t'O snore, then I got lip, took the keys andIct myself out with a candle in my hand. It was easier this time

than ever before and I walked as though I were flying.AU the people who had been staying in the house had

gone, for the bedroom doors were shut, but it seemed to methat someone was following me. someone was chasing me,

laughing. Sometimes I looked to the right or to the left but Inever looked behind me for I did not want to see that ghostof a woman who they say haunts this place. I went down the

staircase. I went further than 1 had ever been before. There wassomeone talking in one of the rooms. I passed it without

noise, slowly.

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WIO[ SA'GASSO SEA

At last I \\/:is in the hall where a lamp was burning. Iremember that when I came. A lamp and the dark staircaseand the veil over my face. They think I don't remember but Ido. There was a door to the right. I opened it and went in. Itwas a large room with a red carpet and red curtains. Every­

thing else was white. I sat down on a couch co look at it andit seemed sad and cold and empty to me. like a church with­out an altar. I wished to sec it clearly so I lit all the candles.and there were many. J lit them carefully from the one I wascarrying but I couldn't reach up to the chandelier. I lookedround for the altar for with so many candles and so much red,the room rcminded me of a church. Then I heard a clockticking and It was made ofgold. Gold is the idol they worship.

Suddenly J felt very miserable in that room, though the:

couch J was sitting on was so soft that I sank into it. It seemedto me that I "'..as going to sleep. But I imagined that J hC'ard 3

footstep and J thought what will they ~y, what will they do ifthey find me here? J held my right wrist with my left handand waited. But it was nothing. I was w.ry tired after this. Verytired. I wamed to get Out of the room but my own candle hadburned down and I took one of the others. Suddenly 1 was inAunt Cora's r00111. I saw the sunlight coming through thewindow, the tree outside and the shadows of the leav("s on thefloor, but I saw the wax candles too and I hated them. So J

knocked them all down. Most of them went out but onecaught the thin curtJins [hat were behind the red ones. Ilaughed when I saw the lovely colour spreading so fast, but Idid not stay to "vatch it. I went into the hall again with the tallcandlc in my hand. It was th('n that I saw her - the ghost.The woman with streaming hair. She was surrounded by a giltframe but I knew her. I dropped the candle I was carrying and

169

J[AN RHYS

it caught the end of a tablecloth and I saw flame.:s shoot up. As

I r:m or perhaps noated or flew lolled help me Christophine

help me and looking behind me I saw that I had been helped.

Then: was a wall of fire protecting me but it was too hOt, it

scorched me and I went away from it.There were morc cmdles on a table and I took onc of them

and r3n up the first flight ofstairs and the second. On the sec­ond floor I threw away the candle. BU[ I did nO( stay to watch.

I r:m lip the last flight of stairs and along the passage. I passed

the room where they brought me yesterday or the day before

yesterday, I don't TCmember. Perhaps it was long ago for I

seemed to know the house wdl. I knew how to get away from

rhe heat and the shouting, for there was shouting now. When

I was out on the battlements it \V3S cool and I could hardly

hear them. I sat there quietly. I don't know how long I sat.

Then I turned round and saw the sky. It was red and 111 my

life was in it. I saw the grandfathL'r clock and Aunt Or3'S

patchwork, all colours, I s=lW the orchids and the steph:moti....

and the jasmine and the tree of life in 03.1lle5. I S:lW the c113n­delier and the red carpet downsL1.irs and the bamboos and thc

tree ferl15, the gold ferns and the silver, and the soft gn.:cn vel­

vet of the moss on the garden wall. I saw my doll's house :lndthe books ;md the picrurc of the Miller's Daughter. I heard the

parrot c:l1I as he did when he saw a stranger, QI'; esl liP Qf;;

l'S' M? and the Illall who hated me was calling tOo, l3erdl:l!Bertha! The wind caught my hair and it streamcd our like

winb"'S' It might bear me up, I thought, if I jumped to those

hard stones. But when I looked over the edge I 5.1W the poolat CouJibri. Tia \V3S there, She beckoned to me :lnd whell ,hesitated, she laughed. I he3rd her say. You frightened? And IheMd the man's voice, Bertha! Bertha! All this I saw and

170

'WID[ SARGASSO '" A

heard in a fraction of a second. And the sky so rcd. SOllll"OIH'

"creamed and I thought, HillY d;(1 J stream? I called 'Ti,l!' .111.1

jumped and woke,

Grace Poole w~ sitting at the t3blc but she had heard 111\'

scream too, for she ~id, 'What was that?' She got up, LIIIl\'

over and looked at me. , lay still, breathing evenly wull Ill)

eyes shut. " mU5t have been dreaming,' she said. TI1l'1l ,he.'

went back, not to the table bur to her bed. I waitL'd ,I 101lf,

rime afier I heard her snore, then' got lip, took the key....lIld

unlocked the door. I was outside holding my candle. Now .11

last , know why I W;lS brought here and what I have [U tlo

There must have be.:cn 2 draught for the 03.mc flickcn'd .1Ilt! I

thought it W3S out. But I hiclded it with lily hanc.! .1I1d 11

burned up again to light me.: along the dark passage.

1/1