Pausing at the first tavern, Edward glanced through the open door and was pleased to discover the place mercifully free of clientele. He entered, removed his hat, and sat at the nearest table. He signalled to the boy with his cane, and he came quickly to him, over-delighted in a childish manner to see custom in the form of a white gentleman. Edward made his demands known and settled back to cast his mind forwards and backwards across this problem of his former slave, Nash. That he had banished not only Nash, but many of his other slaves, to this inhospitable and heathen corner of the world disturbed Edward. The boy arrived and delivered a foaming tankard of beer to Edward’s table, and Edward rewarded him with a generous coin. The buffoon smiled and capered into the comer, and Edward supped carefully at the beer, his elbow bending like a stubborn hinge. Perhaps, thought Edward, this business of encouraging men to engage with a past and a history that are truly not their own is, after all, ill-judged. The light in the candle flickered, shadows danced against the white stone wall, and Edward drew again on his beer. It occurred to him that perhaps the fever, the sleepless nights, the complex welter of emotions that he had been subjected to since his arrival in Africa, were nothing more complex than manifestations of a profound guilt.
In a vain effort to banish the despair of this moment, and hopefully ensure a peaceful night’s sleep free of demons, Edward raised his hand and once more summoned the boy to him. An hour or so later, his person much refreshed by consumption, and risking offence by leaving a tankard unfinished, Edward struggled out and picked his way down to the harbor. Once there, he gazed upon the tranquil sea, the moonlight sparkling on the water so that it looked like a liquid case of jewels. And then his attention was seized by the echoing of heels upon flaggings, and the loud protestations of a woman who declaimed lunatic phrases as though speaking some foolish part she had written for herself. Judging her an Irish whore by dint of her accent, Edward stared at her as she trembled in her cloud of wounded indignation, the thick powder on her face channeled with tears, her mouth set in a twist, and he felt pity and despair in equal part.
The following morning the braying of the traders and the incessant barking of dogs roused Edward from a troubling sleep. He fetched a deep sigh and cast a glance towards the small window, through which he could see that the clear, unclouded blue of the sky promised a murderously hot day, at least the equal of those he had already endured. He turned in the bed, careful not to disturb the mosquito netting, and realized that last night he had forgotten to pinch out the candle. A lump of misshapen wax overflowed the shallow dish. Then, a series of stifled coughs rattling through his body, Edward stepped urgently from the bed and first poured and then drank a glass of water. Perching on the edge of a chair, he soothed his dry throat with a further glass, and wondered if the boy Charles had left any message for him. Abandoning his desire for more slumber, he dressed quickly and sought out the innkeeper in order that he might make enquiry of Charles. Having located his host, he was informed by him that there was neither message, nor had there been any visit by Charles or any other, which caused Edward momentarily to panic and wonder whether the black bondsman had for some reason chosen to abandon him. Choosing not to dwell upon this unpleasant thought, Edward enquired after a club in which he might discover the company of white men and share with them some words, reasoning that if he was to be expected to pass yet more time in this savage environment, then he ought at least to be exposed to some of the pleasantries which civilized company can bestow upon a man’s otherwise wretched African existence. The negro innkeeper, his face suddenly closed and his eyes lowered, informed Edward that he knew of a colonial club whose members were, as he termed them, masters.
Armed with directions to this place, which lay not too far off, Edward set forth across the town, the sun hanging above him like a bright lamp. He could feel small beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his temples, and others sliding about the bridge of his nose and then down and under his chin to his collar. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed furiously at his face as he walked. Having located the door to the club, Edward raised the brass knocker and struck it three times with force. A black man, clearly of American origin, answered and asked after his business, to which Edward answered that he had been given to believe that this was a Gentleman’s Club for white people. As a visitor, he simply craved some companionship and some information as to how things went in these parts. Edward was surprised to discover the degree of hostility that this experience occasioned in his soul. Never before had he had to explain or ask anything of a colored man, and to have to do so now, and in order to gain access to the company of other white men, he found extremely difficult. The colored man listened carefully and then announced that he would soon return, a reply calculated to check, not encourage, enquiry. He closed in the door and left Edward standing in the street like a beggar.
Some moments later, the door was opened by the same fellow, and Edward was ushered into the comfortable and well-appointed vestibule of the brick house. Only when he surveyed the prints, and other wall décor, did it become apparent that this must be the abode of one of the principals of the American Colonization Society. Edward followed the servant into a drawing-room that was cluttered with books and papers, and well-finished with couches and loungers. Three white men, their skins grown dark through familiarity with the sun, rose as he entered, and hands were proffered and enquiries made. The already uncorked wine was poured into a glass, which was then thrust into Edward’s willing hand. Thereafter followed an engrossing session, in which a cautious Edward shared his circumstances with those that came and went, and sought from them similar stories all relating to the common question of how it was they had come to find themselves adrift and washed up on this furthest shore of civilization. Anecdotes and faint memories were traded, and some attempts were made to swell them into order with dates and places. Edward stayed for lunch, then coffee, but thought it wise to retire before dinner, for by now he was fearful that news of the personal tragedy that had recently enveloped his name might somehow have crossed the waters and reached the ears of these gentlemen. He reasoned that before the confessional urge took hold of any tongue, he should request his cane. Edward stood, thanked them most warmly for a splendid day, and made ready to return to his lodgings.
Slightly merry on account of the good wine, a contented Edward asked the innkeeper after Charles, only to be informed that up until this very moment there had been no sign of the young bondsman. Edward returned to his hot and airless room with a bottle of claret, his mood rudely transformed by this news. Slipping into an involuntary sleep, he found his mind populated with images of Amelia, her face decorated with pond-like sores where flies and other creatures drank greedily. As dawn began to break over Monrovia, Edward awoke in a sweat and thrashed the covers off himself. Tears misted his eyes, for indeed his love for Amelia had festered and become stamped with a self-pity that was near-cousin to self-loathing. He simply craved to be offered the unconditional love of a child, could she not understand this? He looked ashamedly at the mauve contusions that decorated the several folds of his skin, and realized that the years had descended and smothered him like a fog. What else now but to submit to the indifferent squalor of old age, and give himself up to his fears? Edward let his feet fall over the side of the bed and brush the wooden floor, then he decided that if Charles did not show himself by the end of the day, he would go in person to Madison Williams’s home and make enquiry. In the interim, he would do the next best thing, which was to spend another day in the company of his civilized countrymen.