The Shallow Seas (40 page)

He saw the movement of the child, raking an elbow or kicking a foot against her inside, rolling under her skin like some huge parasite. Her skin was almost translucent, her belly a map of blue veins. He saw she had marks where the skin had stretched, and they looked red and raw. She looked neglected, abandoned, and he felt a terrible remorse.

Tigran tried to rouse her again. She opened her eyes and looked around a moment, her eyes rolling, then closed them again. He rose in alarm. She had not seen him. She did not know where she was. She had suffered on the voyage, and now she had drunk nothing for two days. He called a servant to fetch the civil surgeon. Then he returned, tried to raise her, give her some water. Again, she opened her eyes. She seemed to recognise him, but it was if she was looking at him from across a vast space. He called the maids and lifted her into his arms. Despite the weight of the baby, she felt like air, and he shook his head at his own folly.

He carried her to the bathing room and put her in the cool, scented bath. The water revived her so that she was half-awake as they washed her hair and body. Tigran saw that she no longer wore her wedding ring and shook his head. How had it come to this? He sat by the bath, and she took some water from him.

But they could not rouse her more than this. He carried her back to her bed, now remade with fresh sheets. She fell again into a deep sleep. Now Tigran was frantic. He sent another servant urgently to the civil surgeon. Then he remembered Madi. In his anger at Charlotte, he had not called Madi to care for her in this late stage of her pregnancy. Furious at himself, he sent for her.

Tigran took up Charlotte's hand, kissing the white mark where her wedding band should be. He opened the drawer at her bedside and it lay there, forlornly, shorn of its power and meaning. She had simply removed it one day when he had not been there, perhaps because she could not bear to see it any longer on her finger, this symbol of their union, now destroyed. He loved her so much, yet he had caused this suffering.

He had a horrible premonition suddenly that she might die, like Surya, from melancholy and misery. And this time, he would be the cause. The thought was unbearable.

He rose, putting his lips against hers, kissing her, again and again, her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. Touch: she had loved his touch before, longed for it. Lovely Charlotte, his sensual, beautiful wife. Wake up, my love, he murmured, kissing her neck, running his hands through her hair, running her fingers into his plaits, over the beads which he knew she loved to touch. But she did not move, and he rose, letting out a roar of anguish, pacing the floor.

Madi arrived. He went to her, his eyes filled with tears, and she looked at Charlotte, went to the bed, felt her face, then turned. She had delivered him and all his children safely, gotten rid of others, ministered constantly to the needs of his women. She said nothing, but he felt her anger and sat on a chair like a child. She turned to Charlotte and took out a bottle of liquid from her bag. In a small glass of water she put three drops. She raised Charlotte's head, and with a bamboo straw she sucked up some of the liquid then put the straw between Charlotte's lips and blew the liquid into her mouth. Charlotte swallowed, involuntarily, and within a few minutes opened her eyes. Madi put the rest of the liquid to her mouth, chanting quietly, and Charlotte drank.

Madi called the maid, who was hovering anxiously, to prepare some herbs. She felt Charlotte's belly, assessing the child. It seemed to be well, but it had drained its mother of everything. More than this, though, Madi knew there was some problem in the mind.

The herbal brew revived Charlotte, and she looked around her. She felt a raging thirst and asked for more to drink. She was so happy to see Madi and kissed her hand. Madi smiled a black-toothed grin, poured more of the brew and ordered the maid to make a honey, ginger and ginseng drink. For a few hours, Charlotte would do nothing but drink and excrete her liquids, bringing back balance to her body.

The civil surgeon arrived, and Madi retreated in the presence of this
tuan
. After examining Charlotte, he pronounced her somewhat debilitated and advised bloodletting and purging. Madi's brew had relaxed Charlotte, and she had begun to feel pleasantly well. Now she looked at Tigran, terrified.

“I feel better Tigran, please don't …” She spoke in a frightened little voice, cowed, and he realised that she feared him.

He went up to her, and she flinched. He was filled with anguish. “Oh, no, no, Charlotte. It's all right.”

He turned to the doctor. “I am sorry to have bothered you, Willem. I was concerned, but Charlotte is much better.”

Tigran propelled the doctor firmly towards the door. “Send me your invoice and add something extra for your trouble. Let's dine in a week or so at the Harmonie?” They left the room, Tigran taking him to his carriage.

Madi went immediately to the bed and helped Charlotte to drink. She stroked her hair and clucked softly, crooning a Javanese lullaby. When Tigran returned, Madi put up a warning hand, not letting him touch her. Charlotte looked at him. She had no idea what she felt for this man anymore. She could not imagine him holding her, touching her during labour as he had with Alexander, when she had sunk into his strong arms and felt his comforting power. Now, wherever the fault lay, she was wary of him. She was in his power, and she did not like it. He could isolate her, trap her. She remembered Takouhi's story. He was not like that; it was not fair, but he had exacted an obedience nevertheless.

He saw it in her eyes, this guarded assessment. He was relieved that she would be well now, the panic of the past few hours over. He had to think what to do next. If she could not ever love him … His paralysing anger had receded, and the thought drained him of all vitality.

They looked at each other silently until she lowered her eyes.

He turned and left the room.

34

Tigran paced the library floor. He felt utterly drained of imagination, unable to act. Over the past few days, Charlotte's health had improved. She had begun to eat; her colour had returned. This morning he had joined her at breakfast, thankful that she had come to the table, could take some food. He poured her some tea. She thanked him very quietly, but would not look at him. Everything in her attitude told him she wished he were not there.

He wanted to apologise for his treatment of her. Everything had got out of hand so quickly, for he had been uncontrollably angry. On the ship, when he looked at her he had seen her betrayal, his head full of savage and unbearable visions of her lying with this man, making love with him even whilst she was carrying his child. It made blood come to his eyes. He supposed he had intended to punish her, make her change her ways, forget her lover. He had not intended to break her spirit or ruin her health, though. He couldn't remember now why he had let it all drag on.

He had started to speak, but as he began, she rose abruptly.

“Excuse me, please. I feel unwell,” she said.

She stood, waiting, and he realised she was waiting for his permission to go. He couldn't believe it. She had no right to make him feel like a monster. She stood there, thin and frail, with this huge belly, unmoving. His anger evaporated. He felt a flood of sympathy and love for her. He wanted to put out his hand, touch hers, but he knew she would pull away.

He rose quietly. “Please finish your meal, Charlotte. You need your strength.”

He left, and Charlotte sat down, frozen with misery. She knew he wanted to talk to her, to try to end this, but she just could not forget how ill she had become at his hands, how he had imprisoned her. Now they were both stuck in this emotional mire. She did nothing but think and think how to change this, how to get out, but all ways seemed closed. She tried to follow Zhen's advice and find the middle way, stop these swings in mood to which she had become horribly prone. But it was hard. Sometimes a black gloom simply enveloped her. Madi had made her body well, but she feared, sometimes, for the balance of her mind.

Then, a few days later, finally, Louis came to see her. She was so happy to see him that she burst into tears and hugged him. He made her laugh with stories of the troupe and the good burghers of Semarang. They sat on the verandah at Brieswijck, and she told him everything.

“Oh, Louis, I would give anything to stop feeling this way, just to stop thinking.”

Louis put his hand in his pocket and took out a pretty silver box. He opened it and held it towards her. She looked at him quizzically.

“L'opium, ma belle. Le cadeau precieux du coquelicot.” He took out a small pill and put it in her hand.

“It will give you rest. Take it this evening and you will forget every trouble; it will take you in its arms and embrace you. It will dim the light, and when you wake, you will be refreshed and revitalised. It is the panacea for all ills. It is the secret of happiness.”

Charlotte stared at this pill. Opium. She had seen it, smelt it, in Singapore; its sweetish odour poured out of dozens of doors in Chinatown from behind grimy, tattered curtains. The smell was not disagreeable, something like roasted nuts.

“Do you take it, Louis?” She looked up at him.

“My dear Charlotte, of course. Everyone takes it. The Pharaohs, the Romans, the Greeks, all of antiquity knew of its divine powers. It is God's gift to mankind, a recompense for our mortal sufferings, nôtre miserable existence.”

Charlotte frowned. Did Tigran take opium? Did Zhen? She looked again at the pill.

“Charlotte, ma chère, n'hésite pas. It is regenerative. You will find again rest, a peaceful nature.

“
When I build castles in the air

Void of sorrow, void of fear

Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet

Methinks the time runs very fleet
.”

He grinned his infectious grin and flopped back in his chair.

When he left, she looked out over the lawns. Two peacocks moved with slow elegance from the shadow of a tree, and one, suddenly, spread its tail into a magnificent fan, the eyelets shuddering and shaking. The baby moved violently, and she put her hand to her side, feeling a pain shoot around her and into her hip. She was so heartily sick of this pregnancy. She had become anxious about the pains of labour. More now even than before, when she had Tigran at her side. Yet she longed for it to come on, so she could be rid of it, this parasite that was eating her alive.

Just as she was thinking this, Madi arrived with a tonic drink for her and a tray of tiny dishes.

That evening she went downstairs and found Tigran waiting. He had sent a note to her asking her to please come to dinner on the terrace. She had toyed with refusing, but what did it matter? The pill Louis had given her was in her room. Somehow he had reassured her. Tonight she would be at rest.

Tigran rose as he saw her. He had dressed carefully for her. The perfect gentleman, the Arjuna she had known. He took her hand and bowed over it. Honouring her, moving her chair, helping her sit. She looked at him and could find nothing.

The servants came with some dishes: a stew of tender beef and potatoes; some vegetables from the hills, where spinach and peas grew; a dish of soft, pink peaches, ripe plums and raspberries, too, from the farm at the plantation. All the fruits and vegetables of Europe grew happily in the upper reaches of the hills, where the air was temperate. From the coastal plains to the jungles and high mountain plateaux, with all its climates, there was no gift this island could not bestow in abundance and beauty. Java truly was the home of the gods.

There was something she tried to remember. Something Nathanial had said about hunger, but she could not quite remember. How could there be hunger in Java?

They ate in silence for a while. Then Tigran spoke. “Charlotte, are you feeling better? Can I get anything for you?

She shook her head and toyed with her stew. She heard him breathe a sigh and put down his fork.

“I know you are angry with me,” he said quietly, “but we must talk about the birth of the baby. Our feelings are something we cannot help for the moment. I am so heartily sorry for my treatment of you.”

He wanted to add that she might have respected him more, not betrayed him, but he did not. “It is your well-being and that of the child which concern me. Would you rather go to Buitenzorg or stay here?”

Charlotte looked at him. In the candlelight she remembered how much she had cared for him, yet something, something, stopped her from caring any more. It was not Zhen. She had not thought of him for a long time. He had faded. She lay down her fork. She wanted to go away from them all. They all wanted too much.

“It is of no matter where I give birth to this child. Just so long as I can rid myself of it. Here is well enough,” she said. She looked over at him dispassionately.

“Must you be present? At the birth?”

He did not know how to respond.

After she left, he rose and walked out onto the grass in the dark, towards the dimly lit path to the church. From the balcony, Charlotte watched him, then returned to her room. She took a glass of water and looked at the little pill in her hand.

35

The pains began at midnight. She was awakened from her befogged slumber. At first she thought they were in her dreams. She had taken a pill after dinner and lain back on the bed, letting the delicious sensation flow down her body, warming her, tingling, insulating her from pain, fear and sadness. Truly, Louis was right. It was as if she were lying in her mother's arms, all the comfort of maternal love washing over her. She had misty visions of her mother, her lovely face, her long black curls, and she, Charlotte, rested in her arms.

The contractions must have been proceeding for some time unknown to her, for, she realised, they were strong and close together. Her waters had broken, and this was what had awakened her. Here was bliss. This birth, under the beneficial effects of opium, would be put speedily behind her.