Creole drum

An Anthology of Creole Literature in Surinam

[p. 195]

Chapter 8
Trefossa

The Creole teacher Henny F. de Ziel, born in 1916, published the first book of Creole poems in 1957 under the pseudonym Trefossa, a name that is apparently a Creolization of the name Tryphosa in Romans 16:12. In 1951 his poem ‘Bro’ (Repose) was published in Foetoe-boi .¹ It was written around 1949, and more or less by chance fell into the hands of a friend, who published it in a teachers' periodical. Written in the traditional sonnet style, it made a tremendous impression and was recognized as something completely new. Until then a few existing Creole poems were mostly translations from other languages and written in the stilted literary language used in church services. This church Creole was generally considered to have a higher social status than the broad, vulgar, street patois. In ‘Bro’ for the first time this patois was used with obvious mastery to express the highest poetic intentions, a daring cultural achievement.

The poet was raised in Paramaribo. When he received his teacher's certificate, no post was available. He served in the army and worked for some years as a male nurse in the government hospital. Finally he found a post as teacher in an institution for lepers. This period of confrontation with human misery colored his whole vision of life.

Teachers in Surinam often start their profession in small outposts. District and town constitute two different worlds in Surinam. De Ziel was born and bred in town and had spent many years in a Moravian institution, so when he finally received the chance to embark on his teaching career in the district he found himself in a completely different environment. His life up to that time had pretty well isolated him from the life of the lower-class Creoles. Creole life in the district made a big impression on him and instilled in him a great love for his own race and language. To reach the district children, he used small poems in Dutch and Creole, made up on the spur of the moment.

In 1953 De Ziel was sent to Holland to take a course in librarianship. The great wealth of information on the smallest details of Creole life and history that was stacked away in the vast Dutch libraries made an indelible impression on him. He studied Surinam's history avidly, and in 1956, on receiving his certificate, he returned home to take a post

1 It is reprinted in chapter 7.

[p. 196]

as librarian of the Cultural Center. Here he had an opportunity to transmit his newfound knowledge to his countrymen. His office was often filled with lower-class Creoles who wanted more information on their own history. The results of these contacts were sometimes seen on stage in the popular drama. De Ziel was appointed director of the Cultural Center, but he became so disillusioned with petty local cultural politics that he resigned after a time and returned to his old profession. During a period of sick leave in Holland, he undertook the editing of Johannes King's works. The samples of King's writings in chapter 4 were edited by him.

Between 1953 and 1956 De Ziel wrote more poems. After the poem ‘Bro’ in 1951, three other poems were published in Foetoe-boi in 1955 and 1956. In 1957 a small collection of nineteen poems was published under the title Trotji (a technical term in the musical culture of Creoles). The poems were published in scientific disguise as part of the publications of the Bureau for Linguistic Research in Surinam (University of Amsterdam), with translations in Dutch and a study of one of his poems by J. Voorhoeve. The book was dedicated to J.G.A. Koenders.

De Ziel will always remain a poet with a remarkably small poetic output, but all of his poems are well-nigh perfect. Since Trotji, in which were also printed the poems that first appeared in Foetoe-boi, he has published only three more poems and one poetic story. He has shown other poems to intimate friends, but these will probably not find their way easily into print, as he regards them as essentially repetitions of earlier poems. His range is relatively small. Many poems show an existential fear of losing contact with reality in an expanding universe. His poetry seems to represent a struggle to rediscover some kernel (a single word or a seed), which is supposed to justify or save his life. A careful analysis may reveal how serious his poetic intentions really are.²

While readers may wonder what is beneath the surface of these poems, they certainly cannot fail to be impressed by the poet's mastery of his language and by his intricate poetic forms. He seems to experiment with all kinds of free forms and subtle rhythmic patterns. These few poems have beyond doubt shaped the new poetic traditions of the younger generation in Surinam.

The only story ever published by Trefossa seems to be more a poem in disguise. Its complex composition, the abrupt transitions and com-

2 J. Voorhoeve analyzed some poems by Trefossa in his contribution to the collection Trotji and in Voorhoeve 1959 and 1971(b).

[p. 197]

plicated chronology may easily confuse the reader. The story itself is fairly straightforward. A young man called Luti has fallen in love with a girl from the same village and wants to offer her a better future. He therefore leaves the district in order to earn money in town. On his way to town he passes a haunted spot, where during slavery a vampire, said to have been maltreated, now angrily seeks revenge. When he passes the haunted spot a sudden flash of lightning causes Luti to panic, and he drowns. The friends back home improvise a song about this event in honor of Luti.

The first six poems are taken from the collection Trotji The poem ‘Granaki’ and the story ‘Owrukuku ben kari’ were published in Tongoni 2 (Vox Guyanae 3, 1959:6). The poem ‘Yu ay’ was published in De Gids 9 (1970), 309. The poem ‘Humor in èksèlsis’ was written in 1973 and is published here for the first time.

[p. 198]

Wan tru puëma...

 

wan tru puëma na wan skreki-sani.

 

wan tru puëma na wan strey te f' dede.

 

wan tru puëma na wan tra kondre

 

pe yu kan go

 

te yu psa dede fosi.

 

 

 

wan tru puëma na den wortu d' e tan abra

 

te ala trawan n' in yu libi wasi gwe:

 

wan koko soso,

 

ma wan di kan sproyti

 

nyun libi.

 

 

 

lon na mi abra dan,

 

Arusubanya fu grontapu.

 

kande wandey, wandey

 

mofo fu mi sa broko opo

 

fu taki gi onowsruwan tu wortu

 

di, te den gro, sa trowe lepi stari,

 

di mi de suku now.

d' e opo den srefi gi son,
den grun wiwiri,
te angri fu gro
priti buba fu siri.

na mi?
piki... piki!
apinti, na mi?
san de lufru so,
san wiki?

korsu, korsu
de seki mi,

[p. 200]

 

 

 

 

fu di na bita powa fu mi borsu

 

wani lusu kon.

 

way!

 

san keti na peti

 

sa broko tuka krin leti.

te den srenger mi puru na den prakseri
- den pimbadoti-wan -
mi sa grabu den noko fu den oso,
mi sa kwinsi den toren na mi borsu,
mi sa it wan ay na yu,
star na firmamenti,
di ben sori pasi na den koniman.

star fu den koniman,
gi mi wan presi na yu baka,
seyri nanga mi na den leygi loktu.
na den wèrder winti
mi sa hori mi srefi
na den faya-prin fu yu.
mi no sa fadon,
bikasi mi wani go,
mi wani go
te pe te yu sa tan tiri
na bigin-bigin,
pe Bun didon
nanga soso skin.

a yuru dis e bradi so su-u-un...
bigin, kroboy,
hey nanga dipi,
kruktu-, letsey
e dans-dansi gwe
lek te - na sabana -
son
e bron.

[p. 202]

 

 

 

 

te yu w'wan tan,

 

yu w'wan so kodo,

 

a libi weti,

 

weti lek wan dow.

 

 

 

mi anu frekti mi kindi,

 

ede boygi

 

- marawinti, marawinti! -

 

doisr' e teki mi.

 

 

 

mi m'ma, mi m'ma!

 

san sa kon so dyonsro-dyonsro?

 

yepi yu boy...

wan enkri gado-momenti, nomoro,
e poko na wi mindri.
ma hen meti span
lek te hondro yari
sinta na wan.

Sisi, mi m'ma,
agen mi mu kari yu nen.
kibri mi!
mi na wan peyri
di sutu kon dya.
elu fu mi!
ef mi no doro
fu boro
buba fu ten.

te dreyten winti sa troki
na Mawnidan:
- krioro fa?

[p. 204]

 

 

 

 

m' sa piki:

 

- dya mi de,

 

- banyi fu ba-m'ma seti keba:

 

- ertintin ... ertintin....

 

 

 

te dreyten winti sa troki

 

na kankantri:

 

- krioro fa?

 

m' sa piki:

 

- dya mi de,

 

- Eifeltoren hey pasa,

 

- m' a n' a yorka, a n' a yorka....

 

 

 

te dreyten winti sa troki

 

na Moy-bon fu Bose:

 

- krioro fa?

 

m' sa piki:

 

- dya mi de,

 

- s'sa Mina, ptata bun,

 

- ma boyo fu yu kir-kiri....

 

 

 

mi go - m'e kon,

 

sowtwatra bradi.

 

tak wan mofo,

 

ala mi mati,

 

tak wan mofo.

 

m' go,

 

m' e kon....

liba de lon
na mi ati lanpresi,
dungru de kon,
ma dineti
lampu sa leti.

na mi broki
lanteri sa brenki
fu sori
pe pori,

[p. 206]

 

 

 

 

mek futu d' e kon

 

feni drey gron.

 

 

 

yu sa kon tideneti,

 

Granaki?

 

 

 

bika ef yu no kon,

 

dan agen mi mu waka

 

tapu ston, tompu-tompu,

 

waka èn suku

 

kibri timba,

 

fu wan dey mi kan doro

 

yu drompu.

Edewiwiri lontu yu fesi
so prisiri,
lek te dreyten e kon.

Ala den pkin-pkin wortu
d'e prey bonsbak
e syebi so brenki
te den dyompo kon baka.

Ay na wan esrede
wan tide
wan tamara
wan oten?

Ay na wan kontren
fu katun
di lontu mi siri so safri
so sroyti...

...so opo
lek a bun
f'wan armakti lun
na baka seybi-stari...

Didibri fir a fârt tak bigi grani
byo psa grontapu her-es, mofo-yari.

[p. 208]

 

 

 

 

A manpkin f' Gado, so Tata ben wani,

 

byo tron wan libisma. - Oh gran friyari!

 

 

 

‘M' e por a prey, m' e blèkout alasani.’

 

Na so didibri opo mofo bari.

 

‘M' e kot den drât a tap a heri plani,

 

d' e tyar elèktrik powa gi den stari.’

 

 

 

Ma... wruts! Syatsroyti panya branti-faya.

 

Didibri kori hen krabyasi, baya!

 

A bron hen langa barba-kakumbe.

 

 

 

Èn engel singi: humor in èksèlsis!

 

Den lafu kwa-kwa: libi de pro vobis!

 

Èn beybi-Jesus krey a fosi: yè-è-è.

Owrukuku ben kari

Sonte mun no ben sa skijn so sari a neti dati, ef wan pkin worku no ben drif kon let n' hen fesi.

Busi ben kon tron wan spuku-spuku dungru hipi; i ben kan yere fa dowwatra b' e dropu fadon na den wiwiri, nèlek na dyumbi b' e waka na tap den finga-ede.

Liba b' e lon, fu di yu sab tak a' e lon ... noso yu ben sa prakseri nomo tak na wan bigi spikri, di sontron na son presi b' e proy-proy sorfru-sorfru, te wan safri winti saka kon te na ondrosey.

Ma ini saf-safu tiri disi, nèlek na now fosi grontapu b'e bigin, wan gitar ben bigin prey èn wantu yonkman b'e singi na singi di wan f' den ben meki so dyonsro-dyonsrode.

A singi b' e ferteri fa pranpran liba ben kon krasi, f' a opo mofo swari na lay, bifo boto doro Posu... A lay di ben mus yep tyar a moni kon, fu bow wan oso gi wan lobi-lobi uma.

Sonte, ef munkenki no ben skijn so sari, a singi ben sa de wan tra fasi.

Ofu kande sani waka so fu di owrukuku ben kari, bika te owrukuku kari, dan alaten yu prakseri e dray go n' a dungru fu dede.

- Suma n' a wroko mek a kon! - na so a fowru disi e kari. Na so mama ben leri fu granmama, èn na so a ben ferteri hen pikin baka.

[p. 210]

Èn na baka kari fu owrukuku alaten wan sari sani b' e pasa.

A no ala mofoneti Luti b' e tyar hen gitar kon, dan den no b' e singi someni, ma Dorsi b' e ferter tori. Te hen sten ben kon na fesi, ala trawan b' e tapu. Den ben lobi fa den skin b' e gro, te Dorsi sten b' e saka gwe te wan frede-tori b' e kon. Te na tori ben kon span let-leti, den b' e fergiti fu hari bro. Ma a watra b' e tan nak-naki nomo-nomo na sey den kruyara na lanpresi. Dya den yonkman ben kan luku go na liba, ma den ben kan si tu den redi-redi kokolampu faya fu den pkin masanga.

- Yu no sa si kumakriki tak wan sma tay hen boto na Knofruso Dorsi b' e ferteri, - èn suma abi gron dape? Kaba fu taki leti, a doti fu dape mu bun sref-srefi. Ala sma frede na bigi faya fu owruten, di katibo ben de. A bigi faya di son neti pranpran ben kan frey psa abra den kenfiri, ma di b' e dede, bifo yu sabi leti ef yu si hen. Den waktiman b' e frede èn den dagu b'e knoru-knoru safri nomo.

- Deybroko mamanten ala sma b' e taki fu na azema di kon baka èn ala ongoloku den b' e fringi na hen tapu.

- Namku den takru-du fu driktoro. Brudu di hen ben lasi, a b' e puru na trawan skin, bika sma ben sabi taki na fu soygi driktoro ede azema b' e kon. Ma blank-ofsiri ben teki ray fu na owru kron nengre Asabi, di ben de wan mati fu hen.

- Buba fu azema, di a sa puru kibri, yu sa suku na ini owru mata. Dan yu sa poti sowtu.

We na so den weti man fu pranasi ben kon grabu azema wan neti, ma na tra mamanten a ben gwe krin-krin komoto na den mindri. Sens a ten dati a b' e spuku kfalek na Knofru. Wan baka trawan den sma b' e dede, nanga ala di, lek fa den b' e ferteri safri-safri, driktoro ben pay gron, dipi na mindri busi, nanga brudu fu wan nengre, di a ben kiri. -

A neti fu na tori disi, di den yonkman b' e pari go na oso, den skin b' e gro, ma no wan f' den b' e tak wan wortu f' dati.

Na munkenki neti Luti no b' e kon so fur-fur moro n' hen mati.

[p. 212]

Den ben sabi f' a b'e weri, fu di a b' e wroko tranga; dan te bakadina a b' e kot wan pis presi opo na libasey.

- Fu prani - so a b'e tapu den aksi fu hen mati, ala di a ben sab tak a no ben kan dray den ede nanga dati.

Te wroko ben weri hen, a b' e go dray-dray pkinso na birman oso. A ben mag fu bori hen nyanyan na birman brantmiri. Birman no ben de guduman. Wi ala, so Luti b' e prakseri nofo tron, di e libi na pranasi, suma fu wi na guduman? A no strey nomo wi abi fu strey wi libi langa nanga grasi, kapuweri èn pina?

A moro pkin nofi sproyti fu birman b' e sdon n'a doti gron. A b' e kwinsi na papa aleysi, di nanga beyf-beyfi anu a b' e tyar g' a mofo. Ala hen fesi den aleyssiri b' e fas-fasi.

Te a pkin ben pusu na breki kan fadon, a b'e naki hen anu fu prisiri na ini na watra. Dan wan fu den moro bigiwan b' e hari hen go pkinso moro fara, nanga ala di a b' e lolo a doti empi tron wan tumsi bigi kundu n' a pkin mindri baka.

No no, Luti b' e prakseri, no so! Na ini mi eygi oso ala sani mu de moro moy.

Na den yuru a b'e sab taki, na opo liba wan sma b' e wakti hen tranga-tranga.

Te a b' e prakseri den san disi, dan ala ten a b' e firi fa hen brudu b' e kon moro waran.

Lek fa Luti ben gwenti, fos sabaten a b' e krin hen kruyara, bika te a b' e go na doro, te neti hen krosi no ben mu doti. Den yonkman ben sabi now bun-bun, san ben de fu du nanga den mati, namku sens a grandinari-brada ben ori wan langa taki nanga hen. Boyt dati, di domri ben kon, den ben si tak den mati ben go na kerkikantoro nanga hen karta.

Luti ben sa go na waka, a byo go na foto. Te neti, te a b' e si den redi-redi faya fu den kokolampu, dan a ben sab tak den faya fu foto ben de tra fasi: moro furu, moro krin! Namku den faya fu den kino a ben lobi, nanga den furu-furu sma, nèlek fa sontron hondro-hondro azege b' e sanya na den stratilanteri. Luti prakseri na hen srefi tak a b' o bay wan bun lampu.

Agen munkenki b' e dongo kon. Agen den mati ben kon na makandra na ondro den waway fu den morisibon na lanpresi, fu ferteri èn singi. Luti no ben de nanga den. A ben saka gwe nanga kroboy fara.

[p. 214]

Saf-safri hen pari b' e pusu a pkin boto nanga lay. Toku sontron a b' e hari wanwan steyf pari, te a watra di b' e dyompo bun hey, b' e fadon lek bigi dropu na hen baka. Dat b' e psa te a tiri breyti di a b' e breyti den ten disi, b' e beweygi na ini hen skin. Dan a ben gersi lek a b'e sribi gwe, èn a b' e tan lek a watra b' e tyar hen prakseri pasa den someni uku fu liba go lasi te n' a kroboy lin fu loktu nanga se.

Wan star ben sutu. No wet-weti, ma krin, nanga ala di munkenki b' e skijn. Nèlek fumpeyri, krosbey. Wan momenti leti ben krin a kontren, mek a kon tron wan pkinso moro tru sani. Na momenti disi Luti kis hen srefi, tak a b' e psa watrasey fu Knofru. Now fosi a b' e si den fayaworon nanga den azege di b' e gi faya. A prakseri Dorsi.

Azema....

Na tru?

Now ten no ben de fu swit prakseri.

Na ini a kowru-kowru neti disi sweti fu dede b' e broko hen skin: a b' e psa watrasey fu Knofru èn a ben si wan faya.

Luti no b' e pari moro. Hen boto b' e dribi nomo nanga farawatra. Frede ben bradi hensrefi na hen tapu, nèlek busianansi e span hen takru blaka futu na tapu wan n'nyan di a feni. A no ben sabi tak hen boto b' e soygi watra now tu. A lapu fu toko-toko no ben yepi.

Di a firi hen futu e kon nati, a frigiti tak kande a ben kan puru watra ete. A dyompo g' a watra.

Ma na watrasey fu Knofru un ben de....

Owrukuku ben kari èn den mati di b' e singi, ben panya nèlek ibriwan fu den ben wan kibri hensrefi na ini eygi masanga.

Ma baka fu dati ala sani b' e sribi na ini kowru fu munkenki. Soso wan langaneki palmbon nomo b' e beweygi nèlek a ben wan lakboru wan pkin dungru worku puru na loktu.

[p. 199]

A true poem...

 

A true poem is a thing of awe.

 

A true poem is a struggle unto death.

 

A true poem is another land

 

where one sojourns

 

when one is past death's door.

 

 

 

A true poem is made of words that linger on

 

when all the others in one's life are washed away:

 

one single kernel,

 

but one from which can sprout

 

life all anew.

 

 

 

Stream then all over me

 

Arusubanya³ of the world.

 

Perhaps one day, one day,

 

my mouth will burst asunder

 

to utter but two words for simple souls

 

which, as they grow, will sprout ripe stars

 

which even now I am searching for.

They open up themselves to the sun,
the verdant plants,
when their hunger to grow forth
has torn apart the seedling's coat.

Am I that?
Answer ... answer!
Apinti,⁴ am I that?
What is it that rumbles so,
what that awakens here?

Delirium, delirium
convulses me,

3 Arusubanya (‘It loosens the ribs’) is the name of a rapids in the Surinam River. Here it stands for the turbulent difficulties of life.

4 Apinti is one of the principal drums used in religious dances. There are definite allusions in this poem to religious experiences, especially the transition to a state of possession.

[p. 201]

 

 

 

 

because this bitter power on my chest

 

will be released.

 

Leave off!

 

that which is chained in the pit

 

will break forth, touch the crystal light.

When they have flung me from their thoughts,
- they who are the white-earthed ones -⁵
then I'll grab the ridges of the houses,
clasp the towers to me,
fasten all my eyes on you,
star of the firmament
which to the wise the way did show.

Star of the wise ones,
grant me a place on your back,
sail with me through empty skies
through the wild, wild winds.
I shall hold on
to your fiery beams,
shall not fall,
for I would like to go,
would like to go
right to where you will halt
at the start of time
where the Good lies down
in all its nakedness.

This hour droningly expands itself...
Beginning, end,
heights and depths,
right and left
obliterates
like when - on the savannah -
burns
the sun.

5 White earth is smeared on the face and body in certain rituals. The reference, however, seems more to white Europeans and to feelings aroused in the victim of white discrimination.

[p. 203]

 

 

 

 

And if you finally remain,

 

you lonely soul,

 

then life is white,

 

white as the dew.

 

 

 

My arms clasp my knees,

 

head bends.

 

- Whirlwind, whirlwind! -

 

Giddiness o'erpowers me.

 

 

 

Mother, Oh my mother,

 

what will anon, anon take place?

 

Please help your boy...

Only a single moment and no more
between us eddies.
But the flesh is taut
as if a hundred years
are girdled into one.

Sisi, my mother,
once more I must invoke your name.
Protect me!
I am an arrow
which comes flashing here.
Woe unto me
when I don't succeed
to penetrate
time's hide.

When the wind of the dry season starts to incantate
on the Mahoni lane:⁶
- Creole say!

6 The first three stanzas refer to three different stages in the poet's life: the Mahoni lane in Paramaribo, where he lived as a little boy; the sacred cotton tree, which seems to symbolize his religious experiences during adolescence; and the big tree on the village center of Onverwacht (local name, Bose), a small village in the Para District where he served as a teacher. Boyo is a sweet manioc cake.

[p. 205]

 

 

 

 

I shall chant back:

 

- Here I am,

 

- bench of Grandma is in readiness,

 

- once upon a time, once upon a time,

 

 

 

When the wind of the dry season starts its incantation

 

in the cotton tree:

 

- Creole say!

 

I shall chant back:

 

- Here I am,

 

- the Eifel Tower is so much higher,

 

- but it lacks a spirit, lacks a spirit,

 

 

 

When the wind of the dry season starts to incantate

 

in Moy-bon in the village of Bose:

 

- Creole say!

 

I shall answer:

 

- Here I am,

 

- Sister Mina, potatoes are so nice,

 

- but your boyo has no peer...

 

 

 

I've been gone, I am back.

 

The sea is wide.

 

Utter something,

 

all my friends,

 

utter something.

 

I've been gone,

 

I am back...

The river flows
along the mooring place of my heart.
Darkness comes,
but tonight
the lamp will burn.

On my pier
the lanterns will shine
to warn you
where it's decayed,

[p. 207]

 

 

 

 

to ensure that feet to come

 

will tread on dry ground.

 

 

 

Shall you come tonight,

 

Granaki?

 

 

 

For if you do not come,

 

then I must walk again

 

on stones, tree stubs,

 

walk and seek

 

for a crossing unrevealed

 

that I at your threshold

 

may arrive.

Thy hair frames thy face
so festively,
like when the dry season is about to dawn.

All the little words
playing to and fro in us
are polished brilliantly
when they come bouncing back.

Thine eyes are a yesterday
today
tomorrow
a time unknown.

Thine eyes are a space
of cotton fluff
encasing softly the seed
so tightly...

... so open
like the benignity
of the endless void
behind the Pleiades.

The Devil got wind of some big happening
soon at the end of the year in the world.

[p. 209]

 

 

 

 

The Son of God, so the Father willed it,

 

would become a child of man. Oh! What a ball!

 

 

 

‘I'll be a spoilsport, cause a total black out.’

 

Thus the Devil with his loud mouth.

 

‘I'll cut the wires at the plant,

 

supplying electricity to the stars.’

 

 

 

But ... presto. A short circuit and the fire spreads.

 

The devil found the tables turned on him.

 

He scorched his beard, his whiskers, everything.

 

 

 

The angels started singing: humor in excelsis.

 

They guffawed: ha! ha! ha! Life be unto you.

 

And the baby Jesus gave its first squall: wah! wah! wah!

The owl hooted

Perhaps the moon would not have shone so sadly that night if a small cloud had not drifted right in front of its face. The forest turned into a nebulous dark mass. The dewdrops could be heard dripping on the leaves, as if they were ghosts walking on tiptoe.

The river ran because you know that rivers run ... otherwise you might have taken it for a big mirror that sometimes in certain places unfolded in a silvery way when a soft wind settled down.

In this soft silence, as if the world were only starting now, a guitar began to play and a few youths sang a song which one of them had just composed.

The song told how the river had suddenly erupted, how its mouth had opened to engulf the load before the boat reached Posu⁸ ... the load that was to help earn the money to build a house for a beloved woman.

Perhaps if the moon had not shone so sadly, the song would have had a different mood.

Or perhaps it unfolded so because the owl had hooted. For when the owl hoots, then one's thoughts turn to the abyss of death.

He who has no work, let him come! - thus calls this bird. So the mother heard it from her grandmother, and so she handed it down

8 Posu (a creolization of ‘post’) is a police post near or on the site of the old Frederikshoop plantation, which has the Creole name Kunofru or Knofru. The police post and plantation are also mentioned in Drie 1959 as terrible places where slaves were sent for punishment. This is the haunted place, the story of which is told by Dorsi shortly hereafter.

[p. 211]

again to her child. And after the hooting of the owl, something sad always takes place.

It was not every evening that Luti brought his guitar and on these occasions they did not sing so much, but Dorsi told stories. When he began to speak, a hush fell on all around. They enjoyed getting goose-flesh, when Dorsi's voice, telling a scary story, fell to a whisper. When the tale chilled their bones, they listened with bated breath. But the water kept on splashing against the canoes at the mooring place. Here the boys could see the river, but also the red lights of the oil lamps in their little huts.

- Someone who moors his boat at Knofru⁹ is not easily seen - so Dorsi told, and who has gardens there? To tell you the truth, over there something is amiss.

All the people there are in awe of the big light of the days gone by, when slavery still existed. The big light which on some nights could suddenly shoot up over the cane fields, but which spent itself before one knew precisely what he had seen. Then fear crept over the guards and the dogs growled softly.

- The following day everybody talked about the vampire, which had put in an appearance once again, and they ascribed all their misfortunes to it.

Especially the wicked deeds of the director. The blood which he lost, he sucked back from the bodies of others. For people knew that the vampire came to suck the director's blood. But the white overseer consulted the gnarled negro, old Asabi,¹⁰ who was his friend.

The skin that the vampire discards and conceals, one must look for that in a mortar, and then pour salt on it.

Well, in this way the whites on the plantation cornered the vampire one night, but the following day it had disappeared completely from their midst. From this time onward the ghosts played havoc at Knofru. People died one after another while, as whispered rumors spread, the director appeased the spirits of the ground, deep in the bush, with the blood of a negro he had killed.

On the night of this story, as the boys paddled home their flesh crawled, but no one dared breathe a word.

After this, Luti seldom came on moonlit nights.

9 See note 8. Here follows a historic tale that is typical of the tales of slavery. See chapter 3 for another example.

10 The name Asabi (‘He knows’) indicates already that this was a man of great knowledge.

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They knew how tired he was, because he had worked hard; and then in the afternoon he cleared a piece of ground on the river bank.

For planting! Thus he was able to put an end to the questioning of his friends, though he knew full well that they were not taken in by his answers. When he was tired of working, he went to rest in his neighbor's house. He was allowed to cook his food on his neighbor's stove. This neighbor was not rich. Of all of us who live on a plantation, Luti often asked himself, is there one who is rich? Have we not struggled all our lives with grass, brushwood, and hardship?

The smallest newborn child of the neighbor sat on the mud floor. He grabbed the rice porridge and with unsteady hands brought it to his mouth. His whole face was plastered with grains of rice.

When the child had overturned the can, he gleefully smacked the water with his hand. An elder drew the child away and knotted his dirty cloth on his back.

No, not for me, Luti thought, not this for me! In my house everything must be more beautiful.

He knew then that upstream someone was waiting longingly for him.

When he pondered this, he felt the blood surging warm through him.

As was his custom, Luti cleaned his canoe in the early evening, for when he went out at night he did not want his clothes to be soiled. The boys knew full well what ailed their friend. Especially since the elder of the church had chatted with him for a long time. Moreover, when the minister came they saw their friend going to the office of the church with his membership card.

Luti was about to go on a journey. He was off to town. At night, when he saw the red glow of the oil lamps, he knew that those in town were different, more numerous, brighter. He loved especially the lights of the cinema and the masses of people like myriads of glowworms swirling round the street lamp. Luti made up his mind to buy a good lamp.

Again the moon came up and again the friends assembled under the fans of the palm trees at the mooring place, to tell stories and to sing. Luti was not among them; he had drifted down on the last ebb.

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Softly he pushed off his small boat with its load. Yet now and then he would give a firm stroke or two, causing the water to splash high in big drops behind him. That happened when the quiet happiness he felt surged through his body. Then it seemed as if he dreamt away, and as if the water propelled his thoughts past all the many corners of the river and spent itself at the point where sea and sky converged.

A shooting star - not white, but radiant - shot up like a missile nearby, while the moon still shone. For a moment the surroundings were illuminated so that the whole area became more real. At that moment Luti came to himself and noticed that he was paddling past Knofru. Now he saw the glowworms and fireflies, which radiated light. He thought of Dorsi...

Vampire!

Was it true?

Now there was no time for sweet pensiveness.

In this cold night a deathlike sweat appeared on his body: he was passing Knofru and had caught sight of a light.

Luti had stopped paddling. His boat drifted along with the ebb. Fear had come over him as over a prey caught in the clutches of a bush spider's ugly black claw. He did not know his boat was taking water. The cloth soaked in mud was of no avail.¹¹ When he felt his feet getting wet he forgot that he might still be able to scoop the water out. He jumped.

Alas, it was the water near Knofru.

The owl had hooted, and the friends who had sung had dispersed as if each wanted to find a hiding place in his own hut.

Then all things slept in the black moonlit night. Only a palm tree with slender neck moved, as if to wipe away a small dark cloud in the air.

11 Holes in a canoe are repaired with cloth soaked in mud.

7 Granaki is a fancy name for a woman. The word literally means ‘garnet.’