Ama (24 page)

Two guards, Kobina and Vroom, lounged against the wall in a corner of the courtyard. They were dressed in ragged scarlet trousers, inherited from deceased Dutch soldiers. They were barefooted and stripped to the waist. Idly, they flicked their rawhide whips at one another. The third guard, Kofi Kakraba, was somewhere in the dungeon, shouting at the seated women, kicking those who did not understand him, cracking his whip in the dark, to force them onto their feet and out.

The women blinked and rubbed their eyes. At this time of the afternoon, the sun lit up the wall opposite De Bruyn and half of the stone floor below. Vroom shouted at them in broken Dutch, careless of whether they understood or not. Kobina clapped his hands and gesticulated, herding them into a corner. More women came streaming past the iron gate. The guards divided them into two lots and lined the first up against the sunlit wall. They stood there, confused and uncertain, flexing their limbs and looking around. One yawned and stretched her arms. Some began to chatter. One woman began to sing a dirge in a high-pitched voice. Coming out of the dungeon behind them, Kofi Kakraba silenced them with a harsh command and a crack of his whip. They cowered against the wall.

Ama stood in the shade and hugged herself. She thought she recognised Vroom.

What now?
she wondered.

She looked around the courtyard. The floor was of stone flags, their surface worn smooth, if she had only known it, by nearly three hundred years of traffic of the bare feet of female slaves. Near the far corner there was a raised platform covered with wooden boards. Above it stood an iron frame supporting a wheel of the same metal, from which there hung a chain, coiled alongside. A wooden bucket stood on the platform. Ama raised her eyes and examined the whitewashed walls. The sunlight reflected from the white surface made her blink. She looked away to avoid the glare. High above her, she caught a glimpse of a head of golden hair.

Vroom prodded the women with the butt of his whip, urging them to stand upright and look ahead. They murmured in sullen confusion and resistance.

De Bruyn put the telescope to his eye and focused on the first female slave. Satisfied that the women would give them no trouble today, the guards relaxed; but kept their eyes on Jensen. They could not see De Bruyn, who was concealed in the gloom, but they knew he was there. De Bruyn did not fancy the first woman: she was scrawny and ugly. He examined each female slave in turn. Most of them were dressed in torn and ragged cotton wrappers, wound around the waist or under the arms, with the loose end tucked in to hold it in position. Their heads had been shaved. De Bruyn waved the back of his hand dismissively to Jensen who conveyed the message with a sign to the guards.

The guards moved the first group of women away and motioned to the other set to replace them. Ama was fifth. By her side stood Esi, short, fat Esi, her eyes meekly on her feet. Ama looked up and, with a start, again caught sight of Jensen. The golden-haired red-faced god in his spotless white uniform astonished her.
That must be a real white man
, she thought. She nudged Esi and, with a nod of her head, directed her gaze up at Jensen. Esi stared, her mouth open. She recognised him; she was sure of it. It was Jensen who had had her the night before, in the dark courtyard, against the wall, from behind, without ceremony. She could still feel the pain in her loins and the humiliation and degradation of being taken like a dog.

“That is the pig,” she muttered to Ama. “I am sure: that is the pig that raped me last night.”

De Bruyn raised the telescope again. He was looking for youth, a smooth ebony complexion, a full face, a well rounded torso and a clean body-cloth. But above all he searched the slaves' unseeing eyes, seeking . . . He could not put a word to whatever it was he was seeking, perhaps some sign of humanity, some sign of the human warmth he craved, the warmth only a woman could give. Invariably what met his eye was pain, humiliation and despair

He stopped at Ama. Wide-eyed, forgetful of her condition, Ama was trying to make sense of the divine apparition above, the golden pig-god, the essential white man.

Without lowering the telescope, De Bruyn brought his thumb and index finger together.

“Fifth from the left,” he said.

Jensen raised the five fingers of his right hand and then moved the index finger from left to right. Kofi Kakraba placed a hand on Ama's shoulder. She flinched, but he held her firmly. The guard looked up at Jensen, who nodded. Seeing this silent exchange of body language, Ama guessed what lay in store for her.

“Mama, the pig wants to eat me,” she shrieked in her mother tongue.

“The pig wants to eat her,” echoed another woman, following Ama's line of sight.

A third woman took up the refrain. Soon they all raised their voices, in a Babel of languages and in a mixture of fear, anger, sympathy for Ama and relief that she had been chosen rather than themselves.

De Bruyn put the telescope down and covered his ears with his hands. The threats of the guards and the crack of their whips rose above the women's voices. Kofi Kakraba walked across to a corner of the courtyard and returned with a wooden chair which he placed in the sunlight in view of the watchers above. Then he dragged Ama across and signalled to her to stand on the seat. She was confused.
What do they want of me? Perhaps the pig-god up there is a cannibal
. She shuddered at the thought. Stubbornly she stood her ground, staring at the guard with narrowed eyes, hating him. Kofi Kakraba was a big man. His shoulders were broad and paddling a canoe through the breakers had given him huge biceps. In Kumase, Ama thought, he would have been an executioner. He took three steps; then stopped just behind her, bent his knees and suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist. Ama screamed, but before she knew what had happened, she was standing on the chair. Then her tormentor reached up and grabbed her cloth where it was tucked in above her left breast and pulled it down. Without giving her time to react, he ripped off the beads which hung around her waist. Kobina applauded; Vroom shouted an obscenity.

Ama now stood stark naked. She noticed Jensen looking down at her and covered her pubis with her hands. For a moment the other women were silent. Then they took up their wailing again. From behind, Kofi Kakraba grabbed hold of Ama's wrists and, moving one foot back to maintain his balance, pinned her arms behind her back. She cried out in pain but he held her immobile and exposed. Vroom looked up and Jensen nodded. Vroom was light skinned. The Dutch called him “Yellow,” avoiding giving him the name of his Dutch father. He forced Ama's legs apart so that he could better see her private parts. He was looking for signs of the clap. He stuck his index finger into her vagina making a lewd comment to Kobina, who stood by his side. Ama struggled to free herself from Kofi Kakraba's grip and screamed abuse at Vroom. He withdrew his finger and raised it to the light to examine it. Then he put it under his nostrils. Satisfied, he stood aside and showed the finger to Jensen and shook it once, signalling a clean bill of health.

All this time, De Bruyn's telescope had been focused on Ama, her eyes, then her breasts. Her chest was pressed forward by Kofi Kakraba who still gripped her arms behind her back. Her breasts were small but they stood high and firm. Anticipating future pleasure, De Bruyn felt his rising penis straining against the tight trousers of his dress uniform. Now that Vroom had moved aside, he dropped his sight. Within the circle of his view he saw the mound of her pubic hair.

“Dear God”, he prayed silently, “forgive your humble servant for his carnal desires,” and forced himself to think of chess. At his age, he knew, too much forethought and he might not be able to manage an erection when the time came.

“That one will do,” he said to Jensen.

Jensen gave his final signal of approval. Their whips cracking, the guards herded the women though the gate, forcing them back into the dungeon. Kofi Kakraba had released his grip. Ama now stood silent and alone on the chair, attempting to pull herself together, to muster her spirit to face the next ordeal.

The guards came back. Kobina returned Ama's cloth to her and told her, not unkindly, to get down from the chair.

“Send me a bucket of warm water,” De Bruyn said to Jensen as he turned to open the door to his bedroom.

Jensen clapped his hands.

“Water, warm water,” he called.

De Bruyn unbuttoned his coat as he walked across to the tall south-west window. He opened the shutters and lent out to hook the clips to the iron hoops. He scanned the distant curve of the horizon for sails but there were none. He stretched and yawned. The air was still; it was too early for the afternoon's sea breeze. He took a deep breath and turned to study his image in the standing mirror.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he called.

It was the guard Kofi Kakraba, carrying a large copper basin on his head.

“Bring it here,” said De Bruyn and helped him to lower it to the floor, a few feet before the mirror. He dipped a finger into the water to test the temperature.

“You may go,” he said, turning again to the window, “but wait outside the door.”

Barefooted, Kofi strode silently across to the door and closed it just as silently behind him.

Ama had been given a bowl of rice and palm soup. It was the first real meal she had had since her arrival. She was hungry and she ate quickly. As soon as she had finished, Kobina told her to get up.

“Where are you sending me?” she asked him.

“Oh, so you hear Fanti?” he asked.

“Where are you sending me?” she repeated, scowling at him.

“Never you mind,” he said, taking her by the hand.

“Come,” he said, but she resisted.

“My little sister,” he said, turning to her. “Let me give you some friendly advice. In this place you will find life easier if you co-operate. Do you understand? Now come with me. The Director is not going to eat you, he is only going to fuck you.”

He laughed as he pushed her gently before him. It was a pun that always amused him.

Ama did not understand. For one thing Fanti sounded different from Asante, it was full of ‘z' sounds. And then Kobina had used the same Fanti word for ‘eat' as he had for ‘fuck' and she could neither fathom his meaning nor understand his play on words.

What she thought she heard was, “He is not going to eat you; he is only going to eat you.”

In her fear, Ama remained silent. Kobina directed her to a long, steep flight of black and white stone stairs, keeping close behind her. She was startled by the first of three strokes of a bell close by. There was a landing and then they turned to climb the second flight, this time of wood. The stairs creaked as they climbed, reminding Ama of Konadu Yaadom's staircase in Kumase. How happy she had been there, in spite of her captivity, and how stupid to have got herself into this pickle. Two polished brass guns,
pattereroes
, protected the top of the stairs. Now she thought that they had reached the level of the balcony from which she had seen Jensen looking down into the courtyard. She looked down over the balustrade. The courtyard was empty. The 'pig-god', as she thought of him now, was nowhere to be seen. They turned a corner. At the end of a wainscoted corridor their way was blocked by a solid white door, covered with ornate mouldings. Kofi Kakraba was on guard, squatting on his haunches with his back against the wall. Silently, he withdrew the clay pipe from his mouth, acknowledged their presence and with a sideways gesture of his head, indicated to Kobina that he should knock on the door.

“Enter,” called De Bruyn from within.

Kobina opened the door and gently propelled Ama into the room.

“Yessir,” he said, poking his head through so that he could be seen.

De Bruyn, gazing out at the Atlantic, did not turn. Receiving no reply, Kobina gently closed the door. Then he squatted against the wall opposite Kofi Kakraba.

“Got a light?” he asked.

When he heard the door close, De Bruyn turned. Ama was standing where Kobina had left her. De Bruyn walked across and stood before her. He looked her straight in the eye. Confused, afraid, shy, modest, Ama dropped her eyes to the ground.
This is not the ‘pig-god
,' she thought.
This is an old man. Or perhaps they can change their appearance at will?

She shuddered.

De Bruyn took a step back and ran his eye over her body.

“You are very young, my child,” he said, “and very nervous.”

He spoke in Dutch and Ama did not understand.

She remained silent, her eyes still averted from his gaze, thinking,
how harsh and unpleasant their language is.

De Bruyn took her hand. Again she was afraid and she trembled. No white man had touched her before. She wanted to look at him, to see what was wrong with his skin that made him such an ugly colour. She was curious, too, about his hair, but she was scared to look at him. His unwashed body smell mingled with that of the civet perfume with which he had anointed himself. Ama was conscious that she smelled of the dungeon. She wondered whether he would notice.

De Bruyn led her to the mirror and stood her before it, facing it. The copper basin was just behind her.

“Look,” he said, lifting her chin with his hand.

Ama had seen small hand mirrors before in Kumase. Her mistress had had one and she had often stolen a secret moment to study her own face, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the image, as she once had with Itsho. But she had never stood before a full length looking glass. Forgetting De Bruyn, she gazed at her reflection with wide eyes. She moved a hand to stroke her shaven scalp and, seeing the movement copied in the glass, dropped it to look at the original. De Bruyn watched her with a smile, pleased with himself. This trick never failed to amuse him.

“There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass. . .” he said in English.

Then, without warning, he grabbed the end of her cloth and pulled it from her, quickly crushing it into a bundle and throwing it to a far corner of the room. For the second time within an hour, Ama stood stark naked. The beads which Kofi Kakraba had torn from her earlier had not been returned to her. Instinctively, she covered her nakedness with her hands. Her feet, she felt, were stuck to the floor. She turned her head to look at De Bruyn and then as quickly dropped her eyes. Again she was afraid. As for rape, it would not be the first time. She would fight. But Kobina had said this man would eat her. She stared at her eyes in the mirror, a deep penetrating stare. The eyes stared back at her. She saw the anguish in her own expression and her fear was compounded. Then, for the first time she noticed the image of her own naked body, her round arms, the swell of her breasts, the dark areolas about the nipples, her full hips, her slender legs, her little feet. Her eyes widened. She moved her hands away and saw the mound and her private hairs.