Maria salvaged the situation by hurriedly putting on Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A, “Rondo Alla Turca.” Tempers were appropriately soothed.
* * *
Ceremoniously, the chief’s wife handed Maria a cup of piwari. Maria took a carefully metered sip, and bowed her head in acknowledgment, hoping she had drunk enough to satisfy propriety. Piwari was a brew made with fermented cassava bread. Which wouldn’t sound so bad, except the old biddies of the tribe chewed the bread and then spat it into the pot to ferment.
She couldn’t help but remember a story Lolly had told her, about a practical joke played on a British diplomat. At some sort of exotic reception, a covered plate was put before him. When he lifted the lid, all that he saw was a spider. He stared at it, as his so-called friends watched him out of the corners of their eyes. A moment later, he grabbed it by the leg, announced, “For the Queen,” and dropped it into his mouth.
So it could be worse.
After the meal, presents were exchanged. “And this is for you,” Maria said, and handed the chief a strange ornament.
“It is like a piece of the rainbow,” marveled the chief.
During her sojourn in Grantville, Maria had listened to CDs on her friend Lolly’s player. She had also been introduced to the curious concept of the “coaster,” a CD which was no longer functional, and hence suitable for nothing better than protecting the table from water marks. Maria asked if she could have a few of these specimens, and Lolly said, “Sure, why not.”
Maria had them cut into quarters, and hole-punched. Maria gave one only to a chief, or his favored wife. They could be hung from the neck, so all tribesmen and visitors could envy how well, in one light, they acted as mirrors, and in another, they iridesced.
Though tensions had been reduced, there was still a certain amount of casual one-upmanship between the English and the Gustavans, as they both sought to win over the Indians of the Suriname River.
Maria was confident that the Gustavans had won this round. There was no way that Captain Marshall was going to be able to compete with the “rainbow.”
Fort Kykoveral (modern Bartica), Essequibo River, Guiana,
November 1634
Henrique Pereira da Costa, formerly of the Portuguese-Brazilian frontier town of Belém do Pará, watched as a small caiman emerged from the Essequibo River and rubbed its belly on the riverbank. It didn’t have much time left to enjoy the afternoon sun.
“Henrique, would you believe that they only have six books, besides the Bible, in the whole fort?” said his servant Maurício. Maurício had been trained by Henrique’s father as a scribe and linguist.
“That many?” Henrique asked rhetorically. “I am surprised.” Not that Henrique was much of a reader himself. He was more woodsman than scholar. He looked off to the west, toward the setting sun. Any moment now, he thought to himself.
“Five of them,” Maurício continued, “owned by the commander.”
The sun at last disappeared below the horizon. The skies darkened rapidly, that was typical of the tropics.
“As for the sixth—”
“Enough, Maurício.” Henrique took a deep breath, kneeled, and closed his eyes. “Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one.” Henrique was a marrano, a secret Jew, who had, when exposed as a “Judaizer,” escaped into the Amazon with his servant and childhood companion, Maurício.
Maurício watched silently as Henrique prayed. Henrique had picked a location some distance from the fort, and out of its direct sight, so as not to give offense to their Calvinist hosts.
At last, Henrique completed the evening shema. He rose and looked at Maurício. “There are some serious matters we need to discuss. Like what we do next.”
“They don’t seem to like us here much, do they?”
“Well, they’re Dutch. Mostly Calvinists, too. They hate Catholics and they aren’t too keen about Jews, either.”
“Or free Africans, of any religion.” Maurício patted his pocket. “I keep my letter of manumission with me wherever I go, even in the jungle.”
“So, let me review our options.” Henrique held up a finger. “First, we can make our home somewhere in the back country.”
“Well, Kasiri and Coqui will be happy enough with that idea.”
The welcome that Henrique initially received as a great Amazonian explorer had gotten a bit tattered once the Dutch realized he was Jewish. The Dutch were the least prejudiced of all the Christian peoples, but “least” wasn’t the same as “not.” And anyway, the Dutch didn’t know quite what to make of Maurício, let alone their Indian companions.