He came closer and put his hands round her throat. Sarith was now petrified: he was going to murder her, oh God, he was going to murder her.
“No,” she screamed, “No, help, no!”
The next moment someone sprang between them and pushed Julius to one side and Sarith to the other. It was Kwasiba! She had heard all the commotion from downstairs. When she heard Sarith screaming like that, she had realized that something terrible was happening and had run upstairs. “Masra, stop it,” she shouted. “The bush-negroes haven’t murdered her. Do you want to kill her – are you out of your mind? Do you want to end up in prison?”214
Kwasiba was looking more at the masra, standing there beside himself with fury and with foam round his mouth. He had every reason to be livid, she was thinking. But she had to calm him down, she couldn’t let him do something dire in a fit of rage.
“Come, masra, come with me,” she said, taking his hand. “You’re tired out, the way you’ve hurried here, you must be exhausted. Come, I’ll give you a massage.”215
And she led him out of the room, and like an obedient child Julius went with her, overcome as he was by rage and humiliation.
In his office Kwasiba began to remove his shirt. She had him lie on the couch and began to massage his back. She very often did this. When he had made a long journey through the fields on horseback or had sat for hours in the boat, Kwasiba would always give him a massage. It felt good, calming, relaxing. Now, too, Kwasiba massaged him, calmly. Her old, strong fingers kneaded his back evenly, and she talked. As always when she did this, she talked. Now, however, not about all kinds of minor things to do with the plantation and the slaves, but about him and the misi. The misi was terribly in the wrong, yes, wicked and stupid. He was such a good masra to her, Kwasiba knew that. But now the misi was really sorry. She hadn’t meant any harm. She was totally spoilt as a child and had always been able to do just what she wanted. Now Sarith knew he would not accept this, she would certainly do nothing like it again. He must forgive her, yes, he really had to. And the lad, he had had his punishment; he lay in his grave. But he, the masra must forgive misi. He must above all keep his calm. “Think of the children, do think of them.”216
Julius was quiet, listening to what Kwasiba was saying.
“Children?” Then he asked her what she was talking about – after all, there was only Jethro. “Doesn’t masra know, then; misi is expecting?”217
Oh, and now this, Sarith pregnant: a child with that soldier lad, no doubt. This too! Julius felt his anger welling up again, and cried, “A soldier’s child.”218
“No, masra, it is your child. I know it’s your child.”219
Kwasiba went on massaging and talking. Oh, she knew for certain that the misi would be a different person after all this. These events had affected her deeply. She would now be loving towards him, would not be seeking pleasure; a sweet, homely wife. Masra could certainly believe Kwasiba. She knew her misi so well.
When, after a good half hour, the massage was over, Julius stood up. He had to talk to Sarith again. “Don’t go and fight with her, masra, I beg you.”220
“No, I’ll not fight.”221
He went upstairs. Kwasiba stayed at the foot of the stairs, and when he went into the room, she went up quietly. In the room he said to Sarith, who was lying with her face in the pillow, “Sit up.” She sat up, leaning against one of the bedposts.
“Kwasiba says you’re pregnant.”
“Yes, I wanted to tell you myself once you were back here,” said Sarith.
“What did you want to tell me: that you were pregnant with the lieutenant’s child?”
“No Julius,” Sarith began weeping again. “It is your child.”
“How do you know that? How many times have you slept with him? Isn’t there a far greater chance that it’s his child? If you weren’t Jethro’s mother I’d throw you through the window, you whore. Now you’ll not be hit, and I’m not throwing you out, understand me well. But don’t expect anything from me – expect nothing, you hear. If you want to leave, then so much the better. If you stay, then it’s because of Jethro. That other child, well, that is your business, but if you stay, you’ll behave yourself, do you hear? Because otherwise, God help me, I’ll strangle you with my own bare hands, slut.”
He turned round and slammed the door shut behind him.
JULIUS
It was about a week later that Julius had finally taken stock of everything on the plantation. All those days he had sat in his office, brooding about Sarith, about himself, about how he should go further with his life. He had had Kwasiba bring bedding to the office and he slept on the couch. Sarith he hardly saw. Some of the slaves had returned. The domestic slaves, some of the older slaves who worked the land. Practically all the young men had gone, most of the young slavegirls, too. All in all he now had less than half of them. All the equipment was gone. He would certainly have to get thirty new slaves and everything else as well. The slaves’ food plots were also empty. He would have to buy food.