Ocean of algae, boundless

Author: Jean Rhys
Translator: Chen Liangting, Liu Wenlan
Country: United Kingdom
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-01-01
Features: The colors are indeed very bright and peculiar, but they hold no meaning for me. Even she, the girl I am to marry, means nothing to me. When I finally met her, I bowed, smiled, kissed her hand, and danced with her. I played the role everyone expected of me. She had nothing to do with me. Every move I made was forced. Sometimes I truly wondered why no one seemed to notice. I always listened to my own voice and was surprised that it sounded so composed and proper, though it was indeed very monotonous. But my performance was undoubtedly perfect. If I saw doubt or curiosity on anyone's face, it was surely on a black person's face, not a white person's.
I don’t remember much about the wedding ceremony. I only remember marble monuments on all sides, commemorating the virtues of the previous generation of plantation owners. They were all charitable and benevolent. They were all slave owners. They were all long dead. When we walked out of the church, I held her hand. Under the scorching sun, her hand was ice-cold. Later, I sat at a long table in a crowded room. Palm fans, a group of servants, women with red and yellow striped headscarves, and men with black faces. The strong aroma of mixed liquor, the lighter scent of champagne. My bride was in a white dress, but I couldn’t remember what she looked like. In another room, there were only women in black. My cousin Julia, my cousin Ada, my aunt Lena. Regardless of their weight, they all looked the same. Pierced ears with gold earrings. Silver bracelets jingling on their wrists. I said to one of them, “We are leaving Jamaica tonight.” After a moment’s pause, she replied, “Of course, Antoinette doesn’t like Spanish Town. Her mother doesn’t either.” She watched me intently. (Do their eyes get smaller as they get older? Smaller and smaller, like little pearls, always prying into others’ affairs?) From then on, I thought I saw the same expression on all their faces. Curiosity? Or sympathy? Or mockery? But why would they sympathize with me? With someone so fortunate?
The day before the wedding, in the morning, I had just finished drinking a cup of coffee when Richard Mason rushed into the room at the Fraser house where I was staying. “She won’t go with you!” “What won’t go with you?” “She won’t marry you.” “Why not?” “She didn’t say why.” “She must have had a reason.” “She won’t tell me the reason. I’ve been arguing with this fool for an hour.” We looked at each other. “Everything is ready—the gifts, the invitations. How will I explain this to your father?” He seemed about to cry. I said, “If she doesn’t want to, we’ll just have to let her go. We can’t force her to the altar. Get dressed. I need to hear what she has to say.” He obediently left, and as I dressed, I thought, this is really going to humiliate me. I didn’t like the role of a rejected suitor returning to England after being dumped by this Creole girl. I had to find out the reason. She was sitting in a rocking chair, her head bowed, her hair tied in two long braids that fell behind her shoulders. From a distance, I whispered, “Antoinette, what’s going on? What’s wrong with me?” She didn’t say a word. “You won’t marry me?” “Yes.” Her voice was very low. “But why?” “I’m afraid something will happen.” “But don’t you remember what I told you last night? Once you’re my wife, there’s nothing left to be afraid of.” “Yes,” she said. “Then Richard came in, and you laughed. I don’t like the way you laugh.” “But I was laughing at myself, Antoinette.” She looked at me, and I held her in my arms, kissed her. “You don’t understand me at all,” she said. “If you trust me, I’ll trust you. Agreed? If you don’t tell me what I did wrong and just send me away, it will make me very sad. I’ll leave you with a broken heart.” “You’ll leave with a broken heart,” she said, touching my face. I kissed her passionately, promising her peace, happiness, and safety, but when I asked her, “Can I tell poor Richard it was a misunderstanding? He’s very hurt too,” she didn’t answer me. She just nodded.
I left the house and walked along the path I could see from the window. It must have rained heavily at night, because the red earth was muddy. I walked past a small plantation with a few coffee trees scattered around, then through a thicket of tamarind trees. As I walked, I thought of my father’s face and his thin lips, and my brother’s arrogant round eyes. They all knew. And Richard, that fool, knew. And the girl with a vacant smile knew. They all knew. I started walking faster and faster, then stopped because the light changed. A green glow. I had reached the forest—it would never mistake me. It was hostile. The path was overgrown with weeds, but still passable. I walked without looking at the tall trees on either side. Once, I stepped over a fallen log covered with termites. I thought about how to uncover the truth, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure it out. No one would tell me the truth. My father wouldn’t, Richard Mason wouldn’t, and the girl I was marrying certainly wouldn’t. I stood still, certain someone was watching me, and turned around. There was nothing but trees and the green light beneath them. I happened to see a path and continued forward, looking around and sometimes quickly turning back. That’s why I stumbled on a rock and almost fell. The rock I stumbled on wasn’t a big one, just a paving stone. There had once been a stone path in the forest. This path led to a large clearing in the woods. There was the ruins of a stone house, surrounded by towering trees. Behind the ruins stood a wild orange tree, full of oranges, its leaves deep green. It was a beautiful place. And peaceful—so peaceful that it seemed absurd to think or plan anything here. What was there to think about? How could I possibly plan anything? I saw a few small bouquets tied with wild grass under the orange tree. After a long time, I felt a chill. The light changed again, and the shadows grew longer. I thought, I’d better head back before it gets completely dark. That’s when I saw a little girl carrying a large basket on her head. We made eye contact, and to my surprise, she shouted and ran away with her arms flailing. The basket fell, and I chased after her, calling her name, but she screamed again and ran even faster, sobbing quietly as she ran, her voice filled with terror. Then she disappeared. I thought I must be near the path, but after running for just a few minutes, I found myself tangled in bushes and vines, the canopy above dense with green trees. I decided to return to the clearing in the woods, but it was still in vain. It was getting dark. I tried to reassure myself that I wasn’t far from home, but it didn’t help. I was lost, and the hostile woods around me filled me with fear. I believed danger lurked everywhere, so I didn’t dare answer when I heard footsteps and shouts. The footsteps and shouts grew closer. That’s when I called out in response. At first, I didn’t recognize Baptiste. He was wearing blue cotton pants, rolled up above his knees, a decorative wide belt around his slender waist. He held a large machete, its sharp blue-white blade gleaming. When he saw me, his face was blank. “We looked for you for ages,” he said. “I’m lost.” He grunted in response and walked quickly in front of me, easily cutting through branches and vines with his machete. I said, “There used to be a path here, leading where?” “There’s no path,” he said. “But I saw one. A path like the ones the French built on these islands.” “There’s no path.” “Who lives in that house?” “They say it’s a priest. Father Lilefer. He lived here many years ago.” “A child passed by,” I said. “She was terrified when she saw me. Is this place a little too unsafe?” He shrugged. “Is it haunted? Are there zombies?” I pressed. “Such nonsense has never been heard of.” “There used to be a path.” “There’s no path,” he stubbornly repeated the same thing.
When we turned back onto the red earth path, it was almost dark. He slowed down and turned to smile at me, as if a terrifying mask had been placed over the already he had already shown me. “You don’t like the woods at night?” He didn’t answer my question but pointed to a light. “I looked for you for ages. Miss Antoinette is terrified, afraid something will happen to you.”
When we got home, I was already very tired. “You look like you have a fever,” he said. “I already had one.” “You’ve had fevers before.”
No one was on the balcony, and there was no sound in the house. The two of us stood on the path, looking up. “I’ll get a maid, sir,” said Ylda. She brought me a large bowl of soup and some fruit. I pushed on Antoinette’s door, but it was locked, and there was no light inside. Ylda laughed nervously. I told her I didn’t want to eat anything and asked her to bring me a bottle of rum and a glass. I drank the rum and picked up the book I had been reading, titled The Crown of the Glorious Islands. I turned to the chapter titled Obi Witchcraft.