The covenant - James A. Michener [83]
Three days later, when Willem stood before the commander in the fort, Van Riebeeck thought him a poor replica of his brother: Karel was tall and slim, Willem shortish and plump; Karel had a quick, ingratiating manner, Willem a stubborn suspiciousness; and Karel was obviously ambitious for promotion within the Compagnie, whereas Willem was content to work at anything, so long as he was free to explore the Cape. In no comparison was the difference more startling than in their choice of women: Willem, if the ship captain could be trusted, had formed an alliance with a Muslim slave girl, while Karel had married the daughter of one of the richest merchants in Amsterdam.
'Wonderful match,' Van Riebeeck said. 'Daughter of Claes Danck-aerts.' And again he added, 'Very rich.'
'I'm happy for him,' Willem said. Actually, he could scarcely remember his brother and could not possibly have guessed how Karel had changed in the eight years since he had quit the wreck of the Haerlem to sail homeward. From what the commander said, he must be prospering.
'What we have in mind for you,' Van Riebeeck continued, 'is the vineyard. Have you ever grown grapes?'
'No.'
'You're like the others.' When Van Doorn looked bewildered, the energetic little commander took him by the arm, led him to a parapet from which the valleys lying at the foot of Table Mountain were visible, and said with great enthusiasm, 'This soil can grow anything. But sometimes we approach it the wrong way.' He winced, recalling one early disaster. 'From the start I wanted grapes. I brought with me the seeds, but our gardener planted them the way to plant wheat. Scattered them broadside, plowed them under, and six months later harvested weeds.'
'How do you grow them?'
'Rooted vines, each one separately. Then you make cuttings . . .'
'What are cuttings?'
Patiently Van Riebeeck explained the intricate proceedings whereby tiny plants imported from Europe turned eventually into casks of wine headed for Java. 'Why do we bother?' Willem asked, for he saw that fruit trees and vegetables would flourish.
'Java's demanding wine,' the commander said sharply. Hustling Willem back to his rude office, he pointed to a large map that showed the shipping route from Amsterdam to Batavia: 'Every vessel that plies these waters wants wine. But they can't fetch it from Holland, because that wine's so poor it sickens before the equator and reaches us as vinegar. Your task is to make wine here.'
So Willem van Doorn, now thirty years of age, was settled upon a plot of ground belonging to the Compagnie and given nine basketfuls of small rooted vines imported from the Rhineland. 'Make wine,' Van Riebeeck said peremptorily, 'because if you succeed, after twenty years you'll be free to head for Holland.'
'You also?' Willem asked.
'No, no! I'm here for only a brief time. Then I go back to Java.' His eyes brightened. 'That's where the real jobs are.'
Willem started to say that he preferred the Cape to either place, but since he had never seen Holland, he concluded that this might be presumptuous; still, the fact that Van Riebeeck thought well of Java made him more attractive.
For a man who had never done so, to make wine presented difficulties, but Van Riebeeck showed Willem how to plant the precious roots, then provide them with poles and strings to grow upon, and finally, prune them along the lines required. He learned how to use animal fertilizer and irrigation, but most of all, he learned to know the howling southeast winds that blew incessantly in some seasons, making the high ground near the mountain a grave for growing things.
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