The Shallow Seas (27 page)

Charlotte was not sure what to do. She could see Nathanial's dislike of the Captain and was not fool enough to have missed his particular and pressing attentions. However, Takouhi was indisposed, and Nathanial was going to spend the day with a fellow naturalist. The prospect of a long morning on the verandah did not appeal, for she would only brood on this pregnancy. She was sure of it now, for the old feelings of nausea had struck her as she awoke. She therefore assented with a smile and rose to fetch her hat and parasol.

Nathanial's mind was in turmoil. Let her go with this blackguard? But he had made his arrangements and could not go back on them. He would be away until the afternoon. He could only watch as Palmer took Charlotte's arm in his, tipped his hat airily at Nathanial and left.

The three other Americans were waiting before the hotel. They paid their respects to Charlotte and were about to set off when Nathanial came racing around the corner with two of Tigran's men.

“Your husband would not forgive me if I were not to give you some bodyguards. After all, he has expressly sent them to care for you. They will follow to be sure you are safe.”

Charlotte smiled at Nathanial, and he threw her a grin and turned. Palmer watched him retreat, his eyes narrow and his lips pursed.

They set off towards the river, the two guards following at a distance, passing through the small Chinese town until they reached a bridge. On the far side lay a grove of trees surrounding a Christian cemetery. Here, to her surprise, the three other men took their leave, and she realised that the Captain had intended to find himself alone with her in this isolated spot. She threw a glance at the escort behind and, reassured, went into the graveyard.

Charlotte disengaged her arm from Palmer's and they wandered about the mounds and headstones. Some of the inscriptions on the tombstones forced a smile. There were the usual records of human vanity. The epitaph of one former Resident declared him, “Gentilhomme de Mecklenburg”. So that this should be understood by all, the words were repeated in Dutch and Malay. Another stone announced in letters of fading gold that the “Well-born Gentleman” who slept below had passed into a “Well-born Heaven.”

Charlotte saw letters in English and made her way to a stone erected by the comrades of a Scotch soldier who had fallen in 1816. Palmer read the epitaph.

Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught
,

And spent my short life without a thought
,

I'm surpris'd at death, that tyrant grim
,

Who thought of me, that never thought of him!

They smiled, and Charlotte turned to leave. She realised suddenly that they had arrived at the end of the graveyard by the low back wall and there was no sign of the bodyguards, who, being Mohammedans, must not have wanted to enter the grounds. Palmer, too, saw the situation and took Charlotte's hand in his and pressed it to his lips.

“How quickly death comes upon us. My dear Charlotte, you must allow me to tell you how much I admire you.”

She felt his arm move around her waist and struggled to free herself. Her parasol flew from her hands.

“Captain Palmer, you jest surely. You do not know me, and in any event, I am married. Please stop at once.”

For reply, she felt his lips on her neck. He was strong, and the arm at her back held her in a vise. He began to pull up her skirts.

She was suddenly afraid. She began to cry out, but he cut her off with his kiss, crushing her, grinding his teeth against her mouth. He tasted of tobacco and staleness, and she felt a wave of disgust. He had managed to raise her skirt, and she felt his hand on her thigh. He groaned loudly and suddenly picked her up and began to carry her into a thicket, pinning her arms to her sides. She was no longer in any doubt about his intentions and opened her mouth to scream but could emit nothing but a squeak. Then she heard voices raised. Palmer too heard and pulled his head away from the skin of her bosom. The two Sundanese bodyguards were standing outside the wall and drew their
krisses
, yelling at Palmer. One began to climb over the wall, and Palmer abruptly put her down and, in a trice, turned and walked quickly away.

Thank heaven, Charlotte thought, trembling uncontrollably. Her guards had followed from outside, skirting the wall. Recovering, she thanked them, but both men were clearly angry. She picked up her hat and parasol, but did not dare go back through the graveyard for she had no idea where Palmer might be lurking. His boldness and single-mindedness had caught her totally off guard.

She walked by the wall, the guards shadowing her, until she reached a pile of stones high enough for her to climb over. Her hands were still shaking, but with the help of the men, she escaped the confines of the burial ground and made her way back to the hotel.

There the guards gave a salaam and disappeared.

Still shaken, Charlotte decided that nevertheless she would rather do nothing about this. She intended now to stay well away from Palmer. If this were to come out, she feared not only what Nathanial would do but, more, what Tigran would do. She was not entirely sure that within Palmer's reckless nature there might not be a tendency to enjoy duelling.

Sweating and dizzy, Charlotte returned to her room and locked her door. The sonorous buzzing of the cicadas was piercing. A bath refreshed her, and by the time she saw Takouhi and Nathanial again she felt composed and ready for the evening ahead, which, she was sure, Palmer would not dare attend.

In this surmise she was quite wrong. Turning into the gate of the Residency she saw him standing on the verandah, entirely at ease, talking to his friends. As they approached, he looked directly at her and smiled. She felt herself tense. There was not one ounce of regret or shame on his face; rather, he wore an expression of pleased conspiracy, as if they were secret lovers, as if in some manner she had encouraged him.

They went up the verandah steps, merely nodding in the Americans' direction. To her amazement, Captain Palmer left his group and came towards them. Charlotte stared at him in disbelief. He bowed slightly.

“Good evening, Miss Manouk, Mrs Manouk—as usual, the most beautiful ladies here. Mr Fox, I hope you are well. It should be a pleasant evening.”

He looked directly at Charlotte.

“I so much enjoyed our walk today, Mrs Manouk. Thank you.”

She said nothing, trying to hold his gaze, but he was so filled with arrogant insolence that she lowered her eyes, immediately angry with herself. He knew she would say nothing. How, she did not know, but he knew. He was a man who preyed on women and relied on their shame. She looked up.

“Captain Palmer, I am afraid I did not enjoy the morning so well as you. I was just writing to my husband about it.”

She paused and saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“The oppressive heat, I mean, though of course the letter is not yet finished,” she said and moved into the Residency without a backward glance.

To their surprise, the
Pangeran
turned out to be handsome boy of around nine, with large, intelligent eyes and a mop of unruly black hair escaping from his headdress, which was so unusual it caught the eye immediately. Above his kerchief was a high, round hat made of black velvet, with points resembling asses' ears on each side of the crown, a very large shade in front and a black tail hanging down behind. He wore a long, black velvet jacket with diamond buttons, a white
baju
and pantaloons with a loose sarong held by a girdle of gold and diamonds. His black silk stockings were filled with runs and holes. He slouched on his silver throne beside the Duke, a retinue clustered about his chair, quietly receiving introductions with not the slightest look of interest on his face.

As the drinks were served, he began to grow bored and pull at the gold braid on the Duke's uniform. The Duke had been half-slumbering when thus assaulted and woke jerkily. The
Pangeran
took a glass of wine and drank it down with one gulp. As the dinner was announced, he jumped to his feet, pulling at the Duke's arm and urging him to rise. At the long dinner table, Charlotte was glad to find herself far from Captain Palmer, next to Mevrouw Snitjhoff, who wanted to talk to these ladies from Batavia of things fashionable, as she termed it.

No sooner was the
Pangeran
seated, once again with his entire retinue crouched behind him, than he attacked the food on the table as if this meal were the first he had encountered in a long month. He stuffed everything into his mouth at once—two plates piled high in front of him—without ceasing, occasionally lounging on the table or drawing up his legs to crouch on the silver throne which had accompanied him to the table. From time to time, he would climb up to reach a piece of fruit which caught his fancy, throwing the peels around him without troubling where they fell. Toasts were called, of which he took not the slightest notice.

Throughout this entire escapade, the Resident and his wife acted as if absolutely nothing untoward was happening, and Mevrouw Snitjhoff kept Charlotte engaged with questions about fashions in Batavia. Now sated, the young prince jumped from his chair and began running about the rooms, examining each object which caught his fancy. He jumped on the sofas to examine all the pictures on the wall, asking questions of the Resident, who was kept busy following His Majesty from place to place. A set of French table clocks drew his curiosity; he took off their glass covers, turning the hands round and round and making them strike the hours. A pair of porcelain vases next caught his fancy and, without consulting the Resident, he ordered them to be taken to his palace.

His curiosity and his appetite assuaged, the
Pangeran
promptly departed without taking leave of either the guests or the Resident. Charlotte and Nathanial nearly wept with mirth, not only at these antics but at the face of the Duke, who, after all, had no reason to be appalled since he, in almost all but age and agility, resembled the young prince in every degree.

20

The trip to Kartasura, the ancient Mataram capital, proved both a failure and a success. The old palace had been a graveyard for many years, and it was here that Takouhi hoped to find her mother's tomb. They entered the massive, moss-encrusted brick walls and searched amongst the fragrant frangipani trees.

But their attempts to find the burial place proved fruitless. The tombs were old; many headstones had collapsed, and Takouhi admitted her written Javanese was poor. Eventually they gave up, sat on the mats the maids had spread and simply enjoyed the quiet peace of this shady and antique place, knowing her mother was here. Takouhi left a great garland of jasmine on one of the trees, lit incense among the tombs and watched the birds flitting from place to place. The graveyard was, ironically, filled with life: lizards, crickets, insects of all kinds and thick-striped wild cats made their home here too.

When they returned to the hotel, Charlotte was annoyed to see that the Americans were occupying the front verandah and were in heated conversation with Nathanial. Their guards, too, had seen Palmer and took up a position under the banyan tree. Takouhi wanted some tea, and Charlotte, against her will, joined her at a distant table. Not so distant, however, that they could not hear the conversation.

“For make no mistake, gentlemen,” Nathanial was saying, “all the Javanese peasantry are Dutch subjects, the Dutch king is their king, the descendants of their ancient sovereigns are Dutch officials, promoted or demoted by the Governor-General in the name of the king. They live under laws made in Holland and pay taxes which benefit only the treasury and people of Holland.”

Palmer blew out smoke from a cigar and eyed the men with the
krisses
who were watching him. “Naturally,” he said. “If you Europeans must have your blasted colonies, it makes sense that they must exist for the benefit of the mother country.”

This utterance was delivered in a low drawl, laconically, as if Nathanial were an idiot.

“No, sir, I disagree. You, an American, should know it better than I. It does not make sense to turn one of the richest and most productive countries in the world into a land of famine. I have seen the cadavers who walk the tracks of the provinces where forced labour and forced growth of export crops has reduced villagers to starvation, epidemics rife, illness and death everywhere. They try to flee this so-called Cultivation System, which is no system at all but merely slavery.”

Roberts had looked on with surprise at Palmer's words. Violent objection to the idea that a colony existed only for the mother country was what had led to their own revolutionary war. Roberts was from the free state of Massachusetts. Slavery was a Southern disgrace and the subject of constant and emotional upheaval at home. He felt uneasy at such notions.

“Slavery, Mr Fox. Surely you go too far. The Javanese are not slaves.”

“Why, sir, what do you call it when a people have no say in their own lives? The Dutch force the planting, fix the prices, tax the peasant. The Regent then taxes the rice again, and the omnivorous Chinese charge the peasant for transporting and selling goods and practise hideous usury, lending money they know can never be repaid, forcing the Javanese peasant into a yoke of unending debt. On top of this, the villager must give his corvée labour for free, making the roads and canals, walking hours from his village each day to work in indigo farms and sugar factories with no remuneration. Even the fruits of the forest, free to him since time immemorial, are forbidden. It is abominable. Only the Dutch demand this. Before they came, the regents demanded their share of the rice crop, the labours of their peasantry and a crawling obedience. The Dutch demand their whole lives—and for whom? For the civilians of Holland! If this hideous burden is not slavery, sir, then I do not know what is.”

Nathanial drew breath, agitated.

“All this unending and unendurable labour means that the rice fields are neglected. There is famine in Java, sir, and it is a disgrace,” he said more calmly.