Commander Wagenaer studied the plans he received from Commissioner Isbrand Gosker. There was a knock. It was Abraham Gabemma.
'Come hither,' he welcomed Abraham with a warm smile. 'It arrived.'
Abraham looked at the plans that lay spread out on his desk, held down by weights. 'What on earth have we here?' Abraham's eyes swept across the plans uncertain of what he was looking at.
'Gosker's instructions. I must build a fortress. A pentagon of stone. A castle. Quite spectacular. It will have twelve rooms.' He pointed to an area on the plans for the rooms. 'A dwelling for the Governor, there. The chief Merchant, here, and the garrison.' He sat down behind his desk. 'I have so many plans for this Colony, Abraham. I want to see our people indulging in the art of pottery. They must create all kinds of baked, glazed earthen ware. We must open a pottery. There must be a public market where they can sell their goods for a profit.' Together they looked at the plans.
'How long will it take to build a castle of this magnitude?
'Ten years. Or less. It depends on our labour. That is a headache. Enough of my ramblings. What brings you here, Abraham?'
Abraham handed him the document he had been holding on to. 'Pieter's Will. His body gave up the fight last night.'
Wagenaer hardly looked at the document. 'Do you have regrets Abraham?'
Abraham's face dropped, before easing into a relaxed mode. 'A few.'
Wagenaer sighed. 'You are lucky. I have many.'
'Is that allowed?' A smile pulled at the corners of Abraham's mouth.
'The Company? Regrets? Never. We are the offspring of the Golden Age.' They both laughed.
'Before I came here, I dreamt of living a life in semi-retirement. Peaceful. Tranquil. Comfortable. Look where I am. Look at this.' He gestured to the plans on his table.'
Abraham shrugged his shoulders. 'This place... It creeps up on you. Grows on you.'
'I never understood the meaning of freedom. I do now.'
'You travelled. Widely.'
'U-huh.'
'Head of trade in Canton? That is big.'
Commander Wagenaer lit his pipe. 'That Chinese porcelain mission failed...' He stoked his pipe.
'All that matters is the next posting. You are here. Thanks to the right ears, and the connections dare I add, of the right people.'
'Canton.' Wagenaer scoffed. He was in a pensive state. 'The Cantons of yesterday shape our future.'
'I disagree. This place, these past years proved otherwise.'
'Enlighten me.'
'Knowing the right people shape our future.'
Wagenaer sighed. 'Once you get on in years... things change. Connections have hidden costs. Personal costs.'
'If you could go back in time and undo one regret. Only one. What would you do?'
Without thinking he answered. 'Pack my suitcases. Settle down. Savour the delights of Batavia... But alas, it was not to be. The Company had other plans.'
'And?'
The Commander shrugged his shoulders. 'This place... it is not what I imagined. After ten years it is still wild. Untamed.'
'A lot changed, 'interjected Abraham.
'I am sure. But when I first set foot off that ship, truth be told, I was shocked. The rawness of the land, and its inhabitants. The food shortage. Now I find the winds and storms as conniving and unforgiving as the inhabitants.'
'Life is different here.'
'Life? This is not life. No streets. One singular road from the harbour to the fort. Swept away by the winds and storms most of the time. The buildings have no windows for heaven's sake. Every place of industry is dark. There is sand, sand, and more sand all the way from the harbour right up to the Company Gardens. Where are the finer things that make up life? It pains me that Colonists eat with their hands. They had descended into an uncivilised existence. But they are unaware of this.'
'That is why you are here. To change all that.'
Wagenaer shook his head and cleaned out his pipe.' Back to this.' He picked up the document. 'Last Will and Testament of Pieter Everaerts,' he read out loud. He chuckled and put it to one side. 'What are we to make of all this, Abraham? Making provision for his unborn offspring with a convict slave? How do I explain that to Batavia? That this high-ranking official was guilty of concubinage and even left his concubine's unborn half breed an inheritance? What is wrong in this place?'
'First things first, Commander. Bury him with full military honours.'
'And the slave? Does she get a seat at this funeral?'
Abraham smiled. 'That is the least of our worries. Slaves do not attend funerals alongside the settlers. As far as the Will is concerned, I will inform her. And that the money will be kept for the child.'
'No. Get her. Let me deal with it.'
***
Catrijn, who usually paraded around rounding everybody up for their daily chores was subdued, dressed in black, and crying. Angela was by her side.
'Pieter, bless his departed soul,' cried Catrijn. One of the women wiped her face with a rag she pulled from her bosom. 'That man made provision for my boy, Angela. With his last breath he wrote that wish for me and this child.' She cradled her swollen stomach, eyes on the ground. 'That money belongs to us. Me...' She stroked her stomach.
'He left the money to the child. Not to you. You are... You know...
'Say it. I am a convict.'
'Your unborn child will have it. One day.
'One day... Just not now.' Her shoulders dropped. 'I can buy my freedom if they give it to me.'
'One day you will be a free woman. Come now.' Angela wiped across her back and shoulders. 'Dry your tears. There. There, ' she said and dried Catrijn's face. 'The child will get it one day.... at least he thought of your unborn child when his spirit fled.'
'I want to attend his funeral. It was I, me Catrijn, who looked after him. Me. These hands, Angela. They cared for him while he suffered on that deathbed. I must go to that funeral.'
'Do not cry. When everybody is gone, we will go there and put flowers on. Our own flowers.'
She tapped on her stomach. 'He is kicking.' She grabbed Angela's hand and pressed it down onto her stomach. 'There.'
'A good kicker he is.'
'I will call him Pieter.'
'And if it is...'
'No girls... I do not want a girl.'
'Catrijn, think. If it is a girl and you abort, the money goes to the Company. Petronella is a good name for a girl.'
'He would have liked the name Petronella. Is everybody laughing at me, Angela?'
'Nobody is laughing. He was a good man. And if you were-'
'I want my freedom. Will they ever give it back?'
'Do not despair. Not yet. You have seen how quickly things change. We have a new Commander. Our children go to school. They can be baptised. Stay positive. Things will work out. You will see.'
'I still do not understand why he did not leave the money to me. Did he not love me enough to leave that money to me?'
'We belong to the Company. Maybe he was afraid the Company would take it if he left it to you.'
'It would have been a good story, would it not?'
'Yes, Catrijn. It would have been a good story to tell the girls.'
'Imagine it, Angela.' She looked at the roof, as if she was reading something that was written there. 'I am out of here, girls. Can you see that, Angela?'
'And they rush to you, grab your dress and shout, tell Catrijn. Tell.'
'And I say, girls, my luck changed. My man, Pieter Everaerts took care of me the day he blew out his last breath.'
'Yes, that would have been a good story to tell in the lodge. And the inn. A very good story.'
'I am afraid, Angela. I feel alone now that he is gone.'
'Time, Catrijn. Time.'
'The one-ear slave is right, Angela. She was always right.'
'Yes.'
'If I was not sold...I see it now. My freedom was never theirs to take. I was never theirs to sell. My life is mine. She is right, Angela. That troublesome one-ear convict is right.'