The Commander's term of office was at an end. There were pressing issues on his mind as he stared at the letter in his hand. Maria, who had not set foot outside the confines of her quarters and the rest of the fort for months, listened to her husband's pacing in the room. She got up.
'You are pacing again... what is wrong, husband?' She pulled her gown tighter.
He threw his hands into the air and cursed under his breath. 'Everything. The death of Harwarden. He was one of my most loyal men. Left a hole in the Councils of Justice and Policy. Who shall fill those boots?'
'What happened about the wachtmeester who showed so much promise?'
'Someone whispered in the Company's ears about Pieter's inappropriate affair with Catrijn.'
'You are still in charge. Write to the Company. Tell them you are appointing Everaerts.' She pulled her face at his glass and the half-empty bottle on his desk. 'Is that the only cause for the brandy?'
'No.'
'Speak husband. You will be the cause of my death if you pursue with this unbearable suspense one second longer.'
'I received news of my successor. Zacharias Wagenaer.' He took the letter knife and stabbed it into the letter in front of him. Then he lifted the knife with the letter into the air and held it out towards her.
She ignored it. 'Anyone we know?'
'No. Some unknown merchant who plays with maps and clay.'
Her face broke into a broad smile. 'Why such gloom? That is the best news that fell from your lips in ten years.' Her hand was already on the doorknob. She paused before she opened it. 'I must prepare myself. I must pack.' She walked up to him. 'Oh, Jan. I am-' She threw her hands into the air in a prayer-like gesture, her head upwards. 'I am writing to my parents. Tonight still. They will be delighted.' She headed out of the door before he could stop her.
He heard her somewhere down the passage summoning the slaves. The Commander stared at the closed door and removed the letter from the knife. He scoffed at his inability unable to kill the flame of his wife's rare exhibition of sheer joy and energy.
When he finally stepped out of the confines of his office he found Maria giving orders to Lijsbeth, Cornelia and Angela. 'Can we talk?'
'I was reassigned to Batavia,' he said and closed the bedroom door behind him.
'Batavia?'
'I decided to settle in Batavia.'
'But... I thought. I thought we were going home. It had been ten years, Jan. I sacrificed ten years of my life for you in this... this place.'
' I know, and I'm grateful. If it was not for you-'
'I cannot do it anymore. Do you not see us? Me? Abraham' She grabbed his hands and searched his eyes. 'Look at me, Jan. I was a young, carefree woman when I came here. I had strength to do this. For you. But this place got to me, Jan. It weakened me. Their darkness are consuming my light...' She looked at him. There is fear in her eyes. 'We must leave. Let us go home. That is where we belong.'
He freed his hand from her grip. 'The Company is sending me to Batavia. I accepted.' He left the bedroom and returned to his study.
Seated behind his desk he looked at the statistics of the settlement. He had reached the end of his term and he had much to smile about. He was the Commander who created a flourishing Dutch Colony in a period of ten years. His legacy, under his 134 hand-picked officials was in good hands. Who cares if van Goens had queries about the decline of the slave numbers? He dragged his attention away from the document when there was a knock. The door opened. It was Krotoa. 'I did not call for you. Leave. I am busy,' he said, eyes on the document.
'I hear you are leaving,' she said, and approached his desk.
'What do you want?'
'When are you leaving?'
'Not your business.'
'Said the Commander who made all his business my business. You will baptise me before you leave. And find me a suitable husband. Not one of those-'
He burst out laughing. So heartily that he had to reach for his sleeve to wipe his eyes. Eva, Eva, Eva. You never cease to brighten my day. Leave,' he said with a dismissive wave of his hands. 'Traitor. Go away or I will remove you from the fort for good.'
'You will not leave me in this place without protection. I risked everything for you...and you promised to take care of me in return.'
'Did you bring me Doman? No. Did the Cochoqua take care of the Caapmen problem? No. Instead you connived with the Cochoqua and left the war to me and my men. For the last time, leave, I don't owe you anything.'
'Doman is ill. He is with my sister.'
'Where does this sudden love for that traitor comes from?'
'He is one of us. He will not die alone and nameless like your slaves. And his body will not be left for the wild beasts to devour. Oedasoa will make sure he dies a warrior, surrounded by his people. The Goringhaiqua will be around him. They will accompany him on his final journey.'
'Good for him. I will not promise the same for his one-ear slave.'
'My people have no use for slaves. They will never trade a warrior for a slave. Never.' She smirked. 'Your tricks with the one-ear slave have come to an end. Like this Commander thing of yours.'
'With this Commander thing I can still hang you for treason!'
'Not before your sick wife hears all about you... And us.' She retreated towards the door when he rose to his feet. 'I will jump on that newsreaders box in the public square outside this fort and vomit up your crooked tongue and your black heart.'
He was next to her. 'You lowlife. How dare you threaten me?'
'You promised to take care of me when you leave.'
'You are a Hottentoo. You do not believe in baptism. You say our prayers and you wear our clothes believing you make us feel good. You fooled Maria. Not me. I know you, Krotoa. You are more deceitful than that Herry and Doman combined. You are a snake. Do you know what our Bible commands us to do with snakes?'
'I do not fear you.'
'I always knew this day would come.' He scoffed.'Yes mijnheer. No madam.' Laughter emanated from within his belly and echoed through the house.
'We are the same. You and I. Me with my yes, mijnheer, no madam face, and you? You are the vulture that came bearing gifts. Autshumao was never fooled with your smiles and worthless gifts... He knew you would turn our people into scavengers.'
'Have you seen yourself? You look very decent in our gifts of clothes. And shoes.'
'You and your people are as decent as decent as vultures picking at the corpses of slaves.'
'Be grateful it was us and not the Portuguese Catholics, or the sea-faring adventurers. Or worse, those English Puritans.
'If that makes you decent Dutch sleep better.'
'You uncivilised lot have no idea what is good for you! Leave. I will cut those lips from your mouth and hang you in the public square! Then they know what happens to traitors like you.'
'You will baptise me, and you find me a husband.'
'A husband? You are a drunken whore.'
'This drunken whore will go to your wife right now. Then she will go to the public square and shout from the top of her lungs of all your dirty secrets. Then she will go to the inn... and get on a table. Every very sailor, every soldier, and every official in this Colony of yours will hear all about the secrets of their god-fearing Commander... And then Batavia and the whole of your fatherland will know you and your wife. You will lose the little respect and station you still have left.'
He grabbed her by the neck. She fell against the door. His grip tightened around her throat. She kicked against the door. The door was pushed open from the outside, and he let go. Krotoa fell to the floor, gasping for breath.
It was Maria. 'Jan, what on earth...' She helped Krotoa to her feet.
Krotoa was coughing and gasping for breath. 'Madam Maria, your husband-'
'Maria, Eva is a silly girl. I am ridding her of all her bad Hottentoo spirits and put some sense into her.'
'By choking her?'
'I want to baptise her. Find her a man and marry her off before we leave. But no, she wants to run wild and drink at the inn for the rest of her life. That is why I choked her. To make her see the error of her ways if she does not accept my offer.'
'Eva, you must accept my husband's kind offer. A woman needs a ward in this place. It will be a wonderful occasion... you will be the first Hottentoo to be baptised.'
'Thank you. Madam. Now I understand what mijnheer wanted for me. You must excuse my behaviour. You are always so kind.'
***
On the eve of his departure Eva was reborn, welcomed into the community of Christians in the church inside the fort. Her rise in Dutch society was imminent. The promise of a husband loomed large on her horizon. She could touch the dreams she once acted out as a young girl on the banks of the Camissa river. A new world emerged around the Commander's table.
She ate with the other women. Finally, she was one of them. 'You have a new God, now, and a new family in the church,' one of them said. 'There are new people to meet, new clothes to wear and new manners to acquire. Start by sitting up straight.
'And do not eating with your hands,' said the one on the other side of her.
Many laughed and said, 'Shame.' Krotoa was confused. It was another world spoken and acted out around eating utensils and clothes and manners, communicated in coded messages among those in high society. But she did not care. If she did, it did not matter. She had arrived. Her tide had changed.
***
After the ceremony, when all the activity had died down in and around the fort, the Commander mounted his horse and rode to Boscheuwel. It was quiet. The sun was about to go down when he dismounted and walked among the fragrant shrubs that had sprung up everywhere. The partly burnt outhouses, the windows and door frames held together by a black, steel skeleton that refused to succumb to the fire's devastation snickered at him in the silence. He strolled in the vineyards that once held such promise of bounty. Stretched out in front of him, as far as the eye could see, the farm was covered in natural shrubbery that had hastened to reclaim their space. His heart was filled with hatred. All he could see was ruin where he once planted promise. Everywhere he looked he saw the face of Nommoa, and the very thought of him burnt a whole in his heart.
When he returned home, he summoned Barbara. The Commander pushed his chair backwards, and rose to his feet as Barbara entered the room. 'Good day, Commander,' she greeted. To what do I owe this pleasure?
'Sit down,' he ordered with a wave of a hand in the direction of the chair on the other side of his desk.
'Thank you, Commander,' she said. She bowed her head and placed her hand on her bosom as an expression of her appreciation for the audience with him, the esteemed Commander of the whole Colony.
'There is a one-ear slave who refused to fulfill her duties to a high-ranking Admiral. It caused an embarrassment. That must never happen again. Make an example of her. She must learn to execute commands. During the day and at night.'
'Now that I have your ear, Commander, let me not beat around the bush and declare my feelings plainly.'
'Your feelings? You are running a brothel. Profit have no feelings. State your business.'
'Sure, sure, that is the way things stand with me and Jan at the moment. It is not ideal... but it could be better with the blessing of the Council. And your support.''
'I am on my way out...'
'You have sleepless nights... among other things, about the shortage of labour and the rising prices of good slaves... That will not sit well with the new administration. Or Batavia.'
He got up and paced the area behind her chair with his hands behind his back before he positioned himself behind his chair, once again, and placed both his hands on it. 'It is one of my biggest headaches besides the natives.' He was mumbling to himself but he was unaware of it. As suddenly as he drifted off in a monologue of his own, he came around and fixed his attention on Barbara. 'The Lord Seventeen demand that I honour the policies of the fatherland with India. No matter how primitive these natives are.'
'For sure. But I can help you to keep everyone happy.' Her long eyelashes fluttered in quick successive movements. The crimson lips parted sensually as she pulled off the gloves that went all the way to her elbows. One after the other she pulled them off, revealing the flesh of her long, slender arms.
He gripped the chair. His puffy knuckles turned white as their eyes met. He sat down, pushed his chair backwards, and stretched his short legs in front of him. Carefully, he took off his hat, studied it, removed a piece of fluff here and there and lay it down beside him. 'I am listening.'
'Grow them.'
He picked his teeth, and spat and on the ground. 'I do not have the whole day. Get to the point, woman!'
'I arrange the men. Mate them. They have children. Their children are owned by the Company. And their children's children. Everybody wins. Simple.'
'A slave factory.'
'Well... We... You give it a decent name. Something a little more acceptable... But that I leave my Commander and politics,' she said and smiled.
'Hmm...' He stood up, once again. This time he stood in front of a painting, positioned it, and sat down again. 'We control the market. We control the price-'
'I am the sole supplier to the Company. And I control the aesthetics of the product.' Their eyes met. They were of one mind. 'The more refined the aesthetics-'
'The better the price at the market.' he completed her sentence.
'Exactly. We feed them until they are old enough to work...'
A grin formed around the corners of his mouth. He nodded. 'Agreed.'
She cleared her throat and tightened her cloak around her shoulders. 'We understand each other. There's only one little, how do I phrase it, bump-'
She squirmed under his gaze. 'Which is?'
'Proper accommodation...a place where-'
'A whorehouse.'
'Well, not-'
'Please. Quit the show,' he said. 'Whorehouse, factory, boarding, accommodation, sleeping quarters. Semantics.' He opened a book on his desk and scrolled around until he found what he was looking for. 'It will operate as an inn,' he said.
'Done.' She picked up her gloves and studied them. 'Bengali women are in demand... but they are cunning when it comes to bearing children. The one from Angela will yield a good return for the Company. Beautiful. Exotic. She will fetch a good price.'
'Back to the one-ear convict.'
Barbara pushed her shoulders back. Her breasts swelled even larger. 'She will think twice before lifting her dirty paws for someone above her station. That is my promise to you.' She stood up and ran her hands over her red dress. One-by-one she pulled her gloves over her long nails until they covered her arms up to her elbows. 'I am at the service of the Commander.' She bowed low again, aware of his eyes on her bosom.
'Back to the one-ear slave. The rest must witness it...' He placed his hand on the doorknob, and looked at her. 'They must know who is master and who is slave.' He turned the knob and opened the door. 'She must be the example from which they will learn how to yield. That is your duty.' he said, and pointed his middle finger close to her eye.
Without blinking, her eyes wandered over his shiny bald, head, and paused on his face. She looked deep into his eyes. 'Never again will that slave embarrass you or anyone in this Colony.'
'She must pay for all the mischief of that Batavian Hottentot. And he must hear of it.'
'Done. As I said. All I desire, Commander, is accommodation and a pacht to run it. Before you depart.'
Barbara walked straight to the sleeping quarters of the slaves. 'Get One Ear and bring her here,' she ordered the soldiers.