Cast Off (21 page)

I knocked on De Ridder's door and stuck my head around when he answered.

“Beg your pardon, Captain,” I said. “Is this a good time to fix up your lazarette?”

“My lazarette?” the captain said from his desk.

“Yes, sir,” I said, moving aft to the storage locker on the far wall of the cabin. “Slippert said the latch was broke and needed fixing up.” Slippert hadn't, but I'd seen it when I came for dinner.

“I confess I hadn't noticed, but that's why I have Slippert. The man never misses a thing.”

More like the man misses most everything, including the latch he uses every day that's been broke for months. I got down on my knees and started working on it. Oak sniffed around my toolbox. I scratched his ears a bit and he lay down for a rest.

I coughed.

The captain kept studying his charts.

I coughed again.

“You're not coming down with that fever, are you, Broen?”

“Me, sir?” I said through the hinge pins that I'd stuck in my mouth to keep handy. “Not at all. It's only some dust.”

The latch was fixed but 'twouldn't do to finish too soon. I set to greasing the hinges.

“But it does seem like the fever is spreading,” I said. “Seems like Clockert's got more cases every day.”

“Indeed,” the captain said, looking up from his charts. “It worries me deeply.”

“Things keep going the way they are, Clockert's going to need an extra medical man to help him.”

“Is that so, Broen? Did Clockert tell you that himself?”

“No, sir,” I said, wiping my hands with a rag. “Just my own conjecturing. I bet Master Clockert is missing Albert Jochims. The sick bay isn't near so tight now he's gone.” I finished packing my tools and stood. “Lazarette's working nice and smooth, Captain. Is there anything else I can do for you while I'm here?”

“No thank you, Broen. I believe you've accomplished all you set out to do.”

My plight grew even worse after I became Van Meerhof's assistant. No matter how many hours I put in with the surgeon, his wife expected me to keep up with my domestic chores, and so I rose earlier and went to bed later than I had before. When I worked in the house, Eva Van Meerhof was always there, looking over my shoulder and finding fault. At night, during my few hours next to Rachel in the kitchen, I tossed on my straw pallet, imagining the farthest corners of the world. I'd still heard nothing from Bram. Loneliness and worry were my only companions.

Two weeks after joining the Van Meerhof household, Pieter Van Meerhof found me while I was on my knees brushing the inside of the kitchen hearth.

“There you are, Jochims! How would you like a walk in the countryside? We've so many fever cases now, my supply of wood sorrel grows low. You'll find plenty of it near the lake at the bottom of Table Mountain.”

I sat back on my heels and pushed the hair off my face with the back of my hand. “As you wish, sir.”

“Be careful the Hottentots don't skin you alive,” Eva hissed in my ear as I walked out.

Being skinned alive might not be such a bad fate. At least I should be free of Eva Van Meerhof.

I walked through town with an empty sack slung over my shoulder, barely sparing a glance at the stout Dutch farmers, clay tobacco pipes dangling from the corners of their mouths, chatting in the road with red-faced VOC officials who sweated under stiff collars and heavy black cloaks. Some Lions were loading provisions into a small boat. I looked for Bram, but he wasn't among them. The
Lion
herself stood sentry at the mouth of the bay, fresh paintwork on her transom gleaming red, blue, and gold in the afternoon sun. I stared at the Dutch flag until my vision blurred.

“Stop being maudlin, Petra De Winter. You've no time for it, and it shall do you no good in any case.”

A hedge of bitter almond surrounded the settlement to separate the Dutch from the natives. I passed through a gate and followed the path that Van Meerhof had described. Once the town was behind me, I was the only person within sight. Dry earth and low shrubbery gave way to scrubby trees and new spring grass. I passed a herd of grazing sheep and a Hottentot shepherd dozing in the shade of a tall tree. He wore an animal skin around his shoulders and a smaller hide around his hips. A leather pouch hung from his neck, and his arms were decorated with ivory bangles. The shepherd spit out a mouthful of dagga leaves and greeted me with a few clicks and clacks. I waved back.

“Dear me. I must be careful that Hottentot doesn't skin me alive.”

The lake was small enough that a person who could swim could cross it easily. I wondered if it was shallow enough to wade through, but I wouldn't dare try. The brown water looked like it could hide any number of wild beasts. Bram had drawn me pictures of fantastical animals called crocs and hippos, creatures with mouths full of sharp teeth set in enormous jaws that opened wide enough to swallow a goat whole. I'd no wish to meet them in these waters. After all, I wasn't much bigger than a goat.

Finding the wood sorrel was simple, its white flowers easy to spot in grass that was just beginning to turn green in the new spring. I kneeled on the soft ground and began to fill my sack.

“Miss P—Albert! Albert Jochims!”

Bram!
He came running from the path and pulled me up onto my feet. We stood for a moment, him panting, me gaping, neither of us quite knowing what to do next. There were shadows under Bram's eyes and his hair looked like he hadn't combed it since I'd left the
Lion
. But at least there was some life in his face where before there'd been none. Finally, we spoke at the same time.

“What—”

“How—”

“How—”

“What—”

“You first,” he said.

“No, you.”

Bram wiped his hands on his trousers. “That evil lady said you was here.”

“Missus Van Meerhof?”

“Are there two of 'em?”

“No,” I said, laughing now. “One's plenty, thank you very much. I'm surprised she told you where to find me.”

That seemed to remind him why he'd come. “Miss Petra, we got to go!”

“Go where?” Out of the corner of my eye, I spied movement on the far side of the pond.

“Back to the
Lion
. Right now.”

“But—
Bram—
”

“There's no time. The captain says—”

“Bram—”

“We only got—”

“Bram!
Look!”

I grabbed his shoulders and turned him around.

He was silent for a moment and then: “
Zounds
. Elephants!”

“Are you sure that's what they are?” I whispered. “They're not hippos?”

“Oh, no, Miss Petra. These are elephants. I'm sure of it. See the long noses? They're called trunks.”

A chain of them were making their way into the water, linked trunk-to-tail, ears flapping lazily. Two babies about the size of cows, and six grown ones, their steps slow and heavy. Once in, they used their trunks to stir the water and scoop it up to drink.

“We had 'em on Java,” Bram whispered. “I knew a farmer there who used one to plow his fields. He let me ride it once.”

“How extraordinary! What did it feel like?”

“Hairy.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. The elephants were spraying each other now, the little ones prancing around the grown ones' legs.

“Do you think they're all related?” I asked.

“Couldn't say. Two of the big ones must be mothers,” he said, “but maybe the others is just part of the tribe.”

A family by choice. Linked together, none could get lost or left behind.

Bram took my hand.

“Zounds,” I said.

The elephants were on the move again, crossing the lake in our direction. Halfway across, the little ones had to swim, which they did with their trunks in the air and much prodding from their elders.

“We got to go, Miss Petra,” Bram said, tugging gently on me. “Those elephants look tame enough, but they'll trample us if we get too close.”

I dragged my eyes away from the herd and went with him back to the path. “What was the important thing you were trying to tell me?” I asked.

“Fever's spread through the ship,” he said, the smile darkening on his face. “The captain says he needs you with us to Batavia, but you got to come now. We're being quarantined.”

The captain needed me. I could go back to the
Lion
and my friends there, away from Eva Van Meerhof, daily drudgery, and sleepless nights. Perhaps I should have thought harder about the words
fever
and
quarantine,
but they seemed such tiny, insignificant things next to
ocean
and
East India
.

I looked down at the sack of wood sorrel in my hands. “We shall go straightaway. I've nothing to pack. Only I must leave this medicine for Master Van Meerhof.”

We raced along the path and through the small town, the spring sun warm on our faces. Missus Van Meerhof was outside her house, sweeping her front steps.

“Here,” I said, tossing her the wood sorrel. “I'm going back to sea.”

The shock on her face was plain and quickly turned to indignation.

“In
my
clothes?” she said, pointing at the trousers and shirt she'd made me put on when I arrived.

“Why, yes,” I laughed. “And thank you very much,
madame
.”

I took Bram's hand and we ran off before she could protest further.

“Do give my best regards to your husband, will you?” I called over my shoulder.

On our way back to the
Lion
I asked Petra how it was for her working for that lady.

“Put it this way,” she said. “I prefer doctoring a crew of plague-ridden sailors to remaining in service with Missus Van Meerhof.”

“I got that idea of her when I came to see you,” I said.

“You came to see me?”

“She didn't tell you? It must've been about a week ago.”

Petra looked cheerly at that. When we got to the
Lion,
I headed to the hold to help sort provisions, glad to have work. Lucky for us, we'd already loaded fresh supplies for the trip to the Indies before the quarantine started. Happy Jan growled orders for storing crates of green stuff and barrels of salted fish and seal meat. Antelope dried on hooks in the ceiling, and boxes of penguin eggs was stacked in a corner. Best of all, every water barrel was full and clean. We'd have at least a couple of weeks before it'd spoil and we'd have to beat out scum and worms again.

Over in the next cabin Van Assendorp was shouting at some soldiers to shift the VOC treasure chests, the white scar like war paint on his red face. I'd never seen him spare a kind word for those coves, but what can you expect from someone who worked a slave ship? 'Twas bad enough to almost make me feel sorry for the soldiers. Van Assendorp had his sword out and two armed men on either side of him to make sure nobody got brave. I snuck a look at the chests. It seemed like there was more of 'em. Petra'd know for sure. I'd ask her to check.

The sick bay had never been so full. Not even after the battle with the
Lusca
. We'd taken over a good portion of the crew's quarters, and the room was sweltering. The open portholes did little good. All those fevered bodies packed together generated more heat than Happy Jan's oven. Makeshift beds covered every inch of floor. Clockert's desk was the only flat surface and even that was buried under papers, basins, medicine bottles and, if I wasn't mistaken, a lancet or two.

Krause's large body was wedged between two sick men whom he was feeding simultaneously. A spoonful of thin gruel between one pair of trembling lips and then another. “In you go,” he crooned. Perhaps he was even sober.

“Jochims,” Clockert greeted me while he examined the undersides of a young sailor's eyelids. He wore a scarf over his head like a pirate to keep hair and sweat out of his eyes.

“Master,” I said.

“Good of you to join us. Kindly make use of these,” he said, handing me a basin and one of the lancets from his desk. “I want four ounces from every man.”

“Yes, sir.” I took the bowl and tucked the lancet into a pocket.

“I'm going to see the captain about granting us more space. When you finish the bloodletting, assist Krause with feeding the patients. Happy Jan has a diet pot ready in the galley.”

One by one I opened a vein in the arm of a sick man and let out a moderate quantity of blood. I knew them all by face and some by name. The few who were awake and not delirious tried to summon a smile or some other show of bravery. I went from bedside to bedside, my heart like a stone in my chest, until I reached the last cot and the stone dropped to my gut.

“How are you, Louis?” I stroked his damp head.

“Al, you're back. I am so 'appy to see you.”

And just like that I was home. I owed my life to Albertina, but this filthy, smelly place—and these dirty, sickly sailors—gave me more comfort than my father or his house ever did.

There was so little we could do for them! We could bleed their veins or purge their bellies. We could feed them and offer them barley water. We could sponge their faces and wipe their bodies. We could watch their suffering, but we couldn't ease it.

Clockert didn't return right away. “He hasn't left these rooms in two days,” Krause said.

We looked helplessly at the sea of bodies.

“Mind if I take a rest?” he asked.

“Go ahead. Who knows when you'll have another chance?”

I sat at Clockert's desk, absentmindedly riffling the edges of a few papers.

“Do you know any songs?” Louis murmured.

“None you'd want to hear,” I said. “I sing worse than a tomcat in springtime.”

“A story then,” he suggested.

I'd never been any good at making up stories. My mother had been gifted that way. She'd had a new tale of adventure every night.

But there was something I could do for the men. I picked up one of Clockert's books and began to read aloud:

“Let no man belong to another that can belong to himself—”

“Jochims! I've need of you.” Clockert bustled into the cabin and began collecting supplies.

“Sir?”

“Come with me, please. Krause, stay awake while we're gone, will you?”

Krause snored in answer. I followed Clockert to a hatch amidships that I'd not used before. It led to the soldiers' deck.

“Prepare yourself, Jochims. Conditions here are not so nice as they are in my office.”

It was good he'd warned me, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight and smell of the soldiers' cabin. We descended the few steps it took to reach the floor and surveyed the room from our knees, for the ceiling was so low even I couldn't stand upright. There was enough candlelight to see misery in every corner. With no room for cots or hammocks, the men lay directly on the hard deck, and between their bodies the floor was sticky from overflowing slop buckets. Unlike Clockert's infirmary, where the sick talked in low tones if they could or moaned if they couldn't, the soldiers' deck was silent but for the heavy, labored breathing of its men.

“Are they
all
sick?” I asked.

“If there's a healthy one here, I haven't found him.”

One by one, Clockert and I visited each man. I cleaned them as best I could and Clockert dosed them with whatever he had. The soldiers were mostly German and Clockert spoke to them in their language. But I didn't need to understand their words to know how low they were in body and spirit.

“Can't they be moved somewhere fresher?” I asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Clockert said. “I asked the captain, but he said he hasn't space.”

And so we shuffled on our knees from man to man, doing what we could while my rage burned along with their fever. No person should have to live in such conditions as these: crammed together, sun and space for only a few short minutes each day—and when the weather was foul, or the men were ill, not at all. These men were treated worse than prisoners. They were treated like slaves.