Crossing the River by Caryl Phillips Page B

their attentions, and Edward crushed another against his blotched arm and asked if this place was to mark their journey’s end for this day. As the canoe neatly avoided the clean stones, and fetched up on a muddy shelf, Madison replied that he knew of a settlement hereabouts where, according to his calculations, they should receive a peaceful welcome. However, he advised Edward that perhaps he ought not to mention the true purpose which lay behind their visit, for there were those who would not consider a pilgrimage to the site of Nash Williams’s demise an honorable journey.
    Madison followed a stamped-in path through the tall grass, and Edward, ignoring the irritating bite of a nail in his boot, and the native tracked close behind. A little more than one hundred paces from the river bank, Madison stopped suddenly and pointed through the bush towards a village. Tall brown huts were huddled together within a clumsy fence, and a faint wind lifted human voices and stirred Edward’s curiosity. Choosing not to speak, Madison edged forward through the drooping foliage and into the heart of this village which, much to Edward’s consternation, was soon revealed to be not a native settlement, but one populated by Americans who spoke English. The primitive nature of the conditions shocked Edward, who until now had not the slightest notion of the poverty-stricken rural existence which enveloped those Christians who chose not to settle in and around the capital town of Monrovia. Men, women and children appeared to be living alongside hog, goat and fowl as though family members, and Edward had never before witnessed such scenes of squalor, not even on the worst-run plantations in his native America.
    Night fell quickly, the sky bereft of stars, the moon hidden behind drifting clouds. Fires were lit and the bush closed in as though a cloak were being draped around them. Madison left Edward alone with the native, and withdrew to negotiate for some shelter in which they might pass the night. An exhausted Edward slumped to the ground and removed the offending boot. Madison soon returned and informed his former master that there was only one small hut available, and they had been encouraged to share it. However, continued Madison, if his former master wished, he would happily sleep outside with the native. Edward would have none of this. Madison sat down on the dirt beside Edward and reached for a gourd of water. He drank deeply and then enquired if Edward were hungry, for the settlers would soon be roasting a goat. Pleading excessive fatigue, Edward insisted that he simply wished, if possible, to retire. Madison put the gourd to one side and, sensing the white man’s discomfort, he helped him to his feet and together they crossed the strangely quiet village until they reached their lodgings. Once there, Madison deposited Edward at the mouth of the wooden hut, and then he moved off to relieve himself in the bush. Edward watched Madison’s dark, glistening, sweat-filmed skin until his former slave was swallowed up whole by the blackness of the night.
    When Madison returned, Edward was already undressed and basking in the glow of the lamp. Two straw cots lay next to each other, and an uneasy Madison looked around at the personal articles which littered the hut. In order that he might mask his discomfort, Madison spoke quietly as he unbuttoned his clothes. He asked Edward if there were any real purpose to their visit in a practical sense, or if this was nothing more than a tribute to Nash? Or perhaps a promise that was being kept? Edward listened intently to Madison, his eyes fixed upon his former slave. Madison removed his shirt. And then Edward shared with Madison his intention of taking the children of Nash Williams back to America and offering them the possibility of a proper Christian life amongst civilized people. Madison turned away and said nothing in reply. Outside the hut the nocturnal screeching and sawing began to build towards