Crossing the River by Caryl Phillips Page A

innkeeper slowly shook his head, and informed Madison that for three days now he had neither seen nor heard from the gentleman. Sadly, he presumed his guest to be still in a state of distress. Madison thanked him for his intelligence and, acting upon the innkeeper’s suggestion, he made his way to Edward’s room. He knocked, but there was no answer, so he knocked again, this time more briskly. From inside he heard a muted cry to enter. Madison opened the door and, peering through a gloom that belonged to neither night nor day, he discovered Edward prostrate upon the bed, and Nash’s letter scattered about the floor.
    The room had a heavy, musty smell, the drapes having been pulled against the world for three whole days. Edward, as though suddenly conscious of his lamentable appearance, heaved himself into an upright position, rubbed a hand into his face, and then, with some difficulty, stood and made some efforts to stretch. Madison remained standing by the door, unsure as to whether or not he wished to witness this spectacle. Then, through a small chink in the drapes, a slither of light hit Edward and, taking this as a signal, he drew back the coarse material and flooded the room. Madison lifted his arm to his face and awaited his cue, but for the moment at least Edward chose to remain silent. He carefully positioned himself at the foot of the bed and, as he pulled on his leather shoes and strapped them into place, he observed Madison out of the corner of his eye. Madison chose to ignore him, and instead looked all about himself, studying the sparsely furnished room. There was something about the small room, the many hours of darkness having cooled the air and created a welcome respite from the familiar heat, which suggested to Madison that whatever business had to be carried on in these parts had been concluded. Madison knew, without his former master saying anything, that Edward was ready to leave. He expected an announcement.
    Edward cleared his throat and spoke slowly, but forcefully. ‘I wish,’ he began, ‘to be taken immediately to where Nash Williams conducted his affairs.’ Madison looked hard at Edward. Detecting Madison’s opposition, Edward repeated himself. ‘I wish you to conduct me to the Nash Williams settlement.’ Madison nodded once, careful to make his nod an acknowledgement of his understanding the words, and not an agreement to act upon them. ‘Well?’ asked a suddenly animated Edward. ‘When do we leave?’ ‘Perhaps in a day or two,’ suggested Madison. ‘How long do you wish to tarry there?’ Edward snorted in disbelief, and then laughed out loud. ‘A day or two! We leave today. And I will tarry there as long as I desire.’ Madison adjusted his posture, and then explained to Edward that should they leave immediately they would inevitably have to spend this coming evening in a settlement between the capital and Nash’s own former place of residence, for the distance was simply too great to be covered in what remained of this day. A river canoe would have to be engaged, and a navigator found. Supplies would have to be purchased. Precautions taken. Madison listed off the various stages of preparation that still needed to be passed through, but even as he spoke he could see that nothing was going to deflect the smiling Edward from his chosen course. The man’s mind was fevered with determination.
    The river wore a rutted frown where their slow progress had disturbed her sleep. To either side the somber banks, cluttered with trees, shrubs and vines, were pressed by a thick, brooding undergrowth that was heavy with years. As dusk approached, the heat still hung low like a ceiling above their heads. Madison uttered some words in the local language and the native helmsman, a reed of a man who could clearly boast no association with books, and whose liquor-stained breath announced his common mode of recreational activity, began to paddle towards the northern shore. The mosquitoes redoubled