choose to exclude me. Me! I who have come to you to deepen our acquaintance, really to get to know you.”
“Dear lady, what on earth have you done that might warrant retribution,” I cried, “except wasting my time with your histrionics!” I had to raise my voice to get a word in edgeways.
“I feel responsible,” she said solemnly, laying her hand on her bosom, “for your fate.”
I aped her grand gesture, adding a scornful shrug of the shoulders for good measure. She was beside herself.
“I of all people . . . and I had so looked forward to our meeting. From the moment my husband told me . . . But I was mistaken. I should not have come. I should not have cared a whit for your affair. But that’s just my way you know, I can’t abide injustice. And now . . . now . . . You are taking advantage of my feelings. You are wicked. A monster, a devil, Mephistopheles in person!” She had worked herself into such a state that she burst into tears. Not like the Desdemona of the Indies this time, with great sobs racking her heaving bosom, but like a disconsolate little girl, quietly, almost inaudibly. And for all my resentment I felt pity for the poor woman. I sent Ahim to make her some lemonade and moved her to the porch, where I sat her down, bustle and all, in the rocking chair. I drew up my own cane chair and sat next to her. We said nothing, but I held one hand on the back of her rocking chair, moving it gently. The soothing rhythm calmed her, just as I had hoped. After a few minutes she took my other hand in hers, and we sat like that for some time, gazing into the garden.
“Of course I had heard rumours,” she recommenced quietly.
“Of course,” I said. A young capuchin monkey landed in the flame tree. We watched it hunting for food among the flakes of bark.
“Most remarkable rumours,” she continued in a low voice, “quite disparate. Some I never credited, but nearly all were respectful.”
The monkey in the tree, having sated its appetite, leaped away and vanished into the thick foliage. Adeline took out a handkerchief and blew her nose daintily.
“My husband and I are childless. God wished it so. I spend my days alone, at home. Now that Richard has been promoted I even spend the entire week alone. All alone. You know what that means.” She sipped her lemonade and composed herself. “Richard works in Batavia nowadays. Since his advancement six months ago he leaves the house on Monday morning and I don’t see him again until Friday evening. You have children. You are fortunate.”
She wanted to rise, but could not bring herself to let go of my hand. “I have become accustomed to solitude. Believe it or not. Appearances are against me, I know, but I assure you that it is with the greatest difficulty that I engage in social relationships. Each time I must overcome my own sensitivities. Our dramatics society is my only distraction. Acting allows me to forget myself. And when I go out I brace myself, ruffle up my feathers like a fighting cock. I see the ladies and gentlemen aglow with complacency and I know: I am not one of them! But I shall not give up. I shall outdo myself. Transcend the misery of my situation. I am acting my part, which is that of a foolish old crone. It is a balloon that you have punctured with your sharp intellect. But I have no choice, don’t you see, not when I am among the others. In our Dutch colony it is either sink or swim.” She started crying again. This time I was not to be shaken.
“Why are you telling me these things?” I said in my coolest voice. I dreaded being subjected to a melodramatic soliloquy.
“God did not bless me with motherhood, but He gave me something in its stead. Something extra, a special sensitivity. You could say it was something beyond the normal, although I myself have no truck with all that nonsense about magic and guna-guna one keeps hearing. No, let’s just call it my sixth sense.”
“Your sixth sense,” I echoed, just to please her.
“Dear lady, what on earth have you done that might warrant retribution,” I cried, “except wasting my time with your histrionics!” I had to raise my voice to get a word in edgeways.
“I feel responsible,” she said solemnly, laying her hand on her bosom, “for your fate.”
I aped her grand gesture, adding a scornful shrug of the shoulders for good measure. She was beside herself.
“I of all people . . . and I had so looked forward to our meeting. From the moment my husband told me . . . But I was mistaken. I should not have come. I should not have cared a whit for your affair. But that’s just my way you know, I can’t abide injustice. And now . . . now . . . You are taking advantage of my feelings. You are wicked. A monster, a devil, Mephistopheles in person!” She had worked herself into such a state that she burst into tears. Not like the Desdemona of the Indies this time, with great sobs racking her heaving bosom, but like a disconsolate little girl, quietly, almost inaudibly. And for all my resentment I felt pity for the poor woman. I sent Ahim to make her some lemonade and moved her to the porch, where I sat her down, bustle and all, in the rocking chair. I drew up my own cane chair and sat next to her. We said nothing, but I held one hand on the back of her rocking chair, moving it gently. The soothing rhythm calmed her, just as I had hoped. After a few minutes she took my other hand in hers, and we sat like that for some time, gazing into the garden.
“Of course I had heard rumours,” she recommenced quietly.
“Of course,” I said. A young capuchin monkey landed in the flame tree. We watched it hunting for food among the flakes of bark.
“Most remarkable rumours,” she continued in a low voice, “quite disparate. Some I never credited, but nearly all were respectful.”
The monkey in the tree, having sated its appetite, leaped away and vanished into the thick foliage. Adeline took out a handkerchief and blew her nose daintily.
“My husband and I are childless. God wished it so. I spend my days alone, at home. Now that Richard has been promoted I even spend the entire week alone. All alone. You know what that means.” She sipped her lemonade and composed herself. “Richard works in Batavia nowadays. Since his advancement six months ago he leaves the house on Monday morning and I don’t see him again until Friday evening. You have children. You are fortunate.”
She wanted to rise, but could not bring herself to let go of my hand. “I have become accustomed to solitude. Believe it or not. Appearances are against me, I know, but I assure you that it is with the greatest difficulty that I engage in social relationships. Each time I must overcome my own sensitivities. Our dramatics society is my only distraction. Acting allows me to forget myself. And when I go out I brace myself, ruffle up my feathers like a fighting cock. I see the ladies and gentlemen aglow with complacency and I know: I am not one of them! But I shall not give up. I shall outdo myself. Transcend the misery of my situation. I am acting my part, which is that of a foolish old crone. It is a balloon that you have punctured with your sharp intellect. But I have no choice, don’t you see, not when I am among the others. In our Dutch colony it is either sink or swim.” She started crying again. This time I was not to be shaken.
“Why are you telling me these things?” I said in my coolest voice. I dreaded being subjected to a melodramatic soliloquy.
“God did not bless me with motherhood, but He gave me something in its stead. Something extra, a special sensitivity. You could say it was something beyond the normal, although I myself have no truck with all that nonsense about magic and guna-guna one keeps hearing. No, let’s just call it my sixth sense.”
“Your sixth sense,” I echoed, just to please her.
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