One afternoon Elza and Rutger were sitting on a bench on the river bank near the boathouse. It was a peaceful afternoon and they looked out over the river to the green of the rainforest on the other side. Elza was a bit quiet. They and Sarith had just been playing cards and Sarith had laughed and talked so much with Rutger. Now Sarith had gone indoors. Rutger’s eyes had followed her admiringly, and he had said, “How pretty she is, eh?”
Elza asked softly, “Would you perhaps rather marry such a beautiful woman?”
Rutger looked at her amusedly and said, “Elza, you’re not jealous, are you?”
Elza said nothing and shrugged her shoulders, and Rutger continued, “Listen, Elza. I would never want to marry your stepsister. I admire her beauty in the same way that I admire a beautiful flower or bird or a painting, but marry her? No, absolutely not. A beautiful woman is a difficult possession, and a beautiful woman with Sarith’s temperament would be a difficult and dangerous possession. I would soon find myself in the position of having to fight duels, and that is nothing for me. But Elza, you must promise me one thing: never be jealous. I find men who have jealous wives always so pitiful and I would never want to be like that. Trust me: I love you and will always love you, always.”
Elza smiled at him: “That sounds good.”
Rutger said pensively, “This land is sometimes so odd. There are sometimes such strange customs. Promise me, Elza, that you’ll never get angry with me over another woman. That even if I get involved with another woman on occasion – you never know – you must even then trust me and know that I will always love you and never will leave you.”
“Involved with another woman?” said Elza, while reflecting that such things were commonplace in this colony. So many men had, in addition to their lawfully wedded wife, a mistress or a concubine, and these latter were usually mulatto or even slaves. Did Rutger intend this, too?
“Are you intending to take a mistress, Rutger?” she asked.
“Intending? No, certainly not!” cried Rutger. “Oh no, but you never know how life goes, and I want you to know that I will always remain true to you, even if, for instance, I have a brief something or a short affair with another woman. Do you understand that? Promise me that you won’t be angry or think that you must have your revenge with another man.”
“Yes, I promise,” said Elza, “But if, if …” she hesitated.
“If what?” asked Rutger.
“Such an incident or short affair – that would surely not happen in my house?”
“Oh, come now, Elza!” Rutger laughed. “Certainly not, my darling. Were you afraid of that?”
“Oh, rain, rain, come my dearest, inside, quickly; hurry.”
It had suddenly started to rain, and within a few seconds it was pouring down. He brought Elza quickly to her feet and they raced indoors, followed by Alex, who took the empty glasses and plates to the kitchen.
When Rutger was again at the plantation a few weeks later, Elza saw immediately that there was something amiss. He looked strained and tense; it seemed as if something was restraining him. “What’s the matter, Rutger,” she asked softly when the two of them were sitting on the veranda.
“Van Omhoog wants me gradually to take over his position in the Court of Civil Justice,” Rutger replied.
“But surely that’s wonderful, Rutger, a real honour and so good for your career,” thought Elza.
“Perhaps, but still I think I won’t do it. It’s always swimming against the tide. I went along to one of the sittings, and after that I got the chance to read various papers. It was terrible, Elza, terrible what I read there. It was mostly about the cruel punishments the slaves received. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And do you imagine for one moment that the owners were punished? They got a telling-off! You ask yourself how it is possible that people can think up such atrocities. You know, I read about a certain Basdow. A few years ago he had a slave’s fingers hacked off one by one, and then he forced the slave to eat the first few fingers that had been cut off!” Rutger shivered as he recounted this.
“Oh, terrible!” cried Elza.
“Wait, that’s not all,” Rutger continued. “He wanted to have the same slave burned alive, and when they couldn’t get the fire hot enough, he had him buried alive. It is surely that wretch himself that should be well and truly punished?”
“Who should be well and truly punished?” asked Sarith, who had come onto the veranda and had heard the last few words.
“A certain Basdow who wanted a slave to be cruelly punished,” said Elza.