Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [276]
Silence at this was complete. Paris saw Kireku and Danka sitting side by side nodding in grave assent and behind them the face of Barton, raised and peering in that old expression of his, that relish at the scent of weakness. Libby was there too, and Hambo’s woman had returned to her place among them. It was a phalanx of power.
The shock of the announcement brought a sense of cleared vision to Paris, like a slap that first blurs the eyes then sharpens them. He understood now that Hambo had never meant to ask for goods in compensation, that he must have intended all along to demand this term of labour. Others must be realizing it too … He glanced at some of the faces nearest him: they were deeply absorbed, but he saw no sign of any strong dissent. Nadri was frowning slightly, it seemed in concentration, and Sullivan’s face showed a sort of startlement, as if he had just awoken. Beyond them Jimmy sat cross-legged. The smile for once was absent, but Paris knew in that moment, with a sort of prophetic chill, that Iboti’s bondage to the Shantee, if it became a fact, would be incorporated by the teacher into the history of the settlement, it would become a story with a moral like the mutiny, Wilson’s execution, the freeing of the Indians. In the course of time the people would come to believe that a term of servitude was fitting punishment. The slave who had tried to kill himself with his own nails on board the ship, there had been a fetish somewhere in that too – he had been wrongly accused. It was Jimmy who had explained it …
The silence continued as the stick was returned. Billy was beginning to look harassed. There was no precedent for Hambo’s demand. Labour had sometimes been imposed, but only for specific tasks and when there was clear evidence of some previous contract or undertaking – to repair a roof, for example, or cut a certain quantity of wood. ‘We listen both sai, den see,’ Billy said at last.
Paris scrambled to his feet. ‘I ask Hambo change him word,’ he said to Billy, in a voice vibrant with feeling. ‘I ask him tink what we do here. He forgit how we come here, where we come from? We come dis place make man free or make him slave?’
‘Dat not question, dat you ’pinion.’ Billy shook his head from side to side as if to clear it. The familiar nightmare of logical incoherence was descending on him. ‘Sound like question, but it not. You no ken say ’pinion without de stick, no ken get stick till finish both side Palaver.’
‘But if he is found guilty,’ Paris said, abandoning pidgin in the stress of his feelings, ‘if the vote goes against him, it will be a vote also on this demand for servitude, not only on the crime itself. It will be too late to modify the punishment, except in degree – not in its nature. And not only that, it will establish –’
‘What lingo dis?’ Kireku was on his feet now, a tall, imposing figure. ‘Why you talk dis rabbish lingo?’ He surveyed Paris steadily for some moments with an expression of frowning severity. ‘My fren’, you talk people lingo or you get down stow gab altagedder,’ he said. He extended his arm in a sudden fierce gesture, notably at odds with the dignified calm of his speech. ‘You, beck-man,’ he said, turning towards Billy, ‘you no sabee keep palaver, you get down, give place better man.’
‘Dat man not you,’ Inchebe shouted, in immediate defence of his friend. ‘Shantee beck-man say everything for Shantee.’
Billy’s face had gone red as fire and he had taken a hard grip on Delblanc’s cane. His first words, perhaps fortunately, were impeded by rage and not properly audible to Kireku. It was at this point that Tongman, with a superb sense of timing, rose to his feet. ‘Why dis palaver bout punish?’ he demanded. ‘Iboti not punish, done notting wrong. I speak for Iboti now. I ask for de stick.’
Once armed with this, he moved between the files, portly and unruffled. His forensic style was completely different from Hambo’s. He did not gesture and declaim, but appealed directly to his