Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [156]
‘No, the room looks east, along the coast. I am on the leeward side here – it grows confounded hot during the day. The best quarters are those that get the sea breeze, like those of our esteemed Governor.’ As he spoke Delblanc glanced with a harassed expression at the veiled canvas. ‘As you’d expect,’ he added, running a hand through his thick, already somewhat disordered light brown hair.
‘That is he, isn’t it, under the sheet?’ Paris nodded at the easel.
‘Yes, that is he,’ Delblanc said. However, he made no move to uncover the painting. ‘Have some more brandy,’ he said.
‘I will.’ Waiting for his glass, Paris was struck suddenly by the wonder of existence. He said, ‘It is quiet, but for the waves. I could not tell for a while what the difference was, but it is that – they have stopped their hammering.’
‘What? Ah, no, they will begin again. They need a store of coffins in reserve. You cannot keep corpses long in this climate. For most of the last week they have been at it, practically all the time I have been –’ He broke off, as if struck by some notion. ‘I wonder if that is the reason,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You will understand when you see the portrait, I think. But I shall need another glass before bringing it to view. Anyway, it is an ill wind that blows no one good. The Reverend Kalabanda has been kept busy with funerals, for which he gets an emolument from the Company.’ Delblanc’s expression of harassment gave way suddenly to a smile. ‘There’s a character for you. That unctuous way he talked about preaching to his free brethren. His free brethren have to listen to his sermons whether they want to or not. They are all in debt to the Company, which makes it a policy to give them drams and goods on credit. The Company could sell them tomorrow to recover the debts and they know it.’
‘Like Tucker,’ Paris said.
‘Who is he?’
‘Oh, he is a mulatto trader on the Sherbro River, where we have just been. He has a big trade connection there and is the principal man of the region. By advancing credit he puts people in fear of him and so gets everyone in his power.’
‘Well, it is common practice,’ Delblanc said, ‘and not only in Africa. Though one sees it in a pure form here, not so much shrouded with hypocrisy. One sees the sacredness of money.’ He passed a hand through his hair again. His eyes were light hazel in colour, very large in the iris and set rather shallow; with the clear, high forehead they gave to the whole face a sincerity almost disturbing in its nakedness and absence of concealment – and greatly at odds with the gentlemanly offhandedness of his manner. He was smiling slightly now but his expression was unhappy and rather bitter. ‘Money is sacred, as everyone knows,’ he said. ‘So then must be the hunger for it and the means we use to obtain it. Once a man is in debt he becomes a flesh and blood form of money, a walking investment. You can do what you like with him, you can work him to death or you can sell him. This cannot be called cruelty or greed because we are seeking only to recover our investment and that is a sacred duty. Still, the negroes are not much worse off than the whites, from what Saunders tells me. He is one of the factors here.’
‘Yes, we met this afternoon. He took us to see the slaves. He did not look in good health to me.’
‘He will die if he does not get away from here. He would leave if he could, while he still has some chance of recovering his health, but he cannot – the Company has got him as fast as if he were in chains. Seventy-five pounds a year sounds well enough in Leadenhall Street. But when he got out here he found that it was paid in crackra.’
‘What is that?’
‘It is a kind of false currency that can only be used in the Company stores – at Company prices. It is all Saunders can do to buy cankey, palm oil and a little fish to keep himself alive. For other necessaries he has to go into debt. And the others are all in the same case.