The Doctor and the Diva (21 page)

On a notebook page, under the heading “Orinoco River Trip,” he jotted:
See Venezuelan consul at Port-of-Spain to obtain visa. For proof of vaccination, roll up sleeve and show my big, scarred arm. Pack pistol.

Under the page captioned “Collection of Specimens,” he wrote:
Hire experienced boy to take me into the woods. Bring jars and nets.

Under the page marked “Conceiving a Child,” he reminded himself:
BUY ICE, LOTS OF ICE, no matter how costly it may be in the tropics. Leave the rest to Ravell.

Awnings appeared a few days after they left New York, and passengers packed away the somber gray woolens of winter and changed into white clothes, for they had entered the tropics. Ladies propped up parasols and men sprawled across the deck like starfishes drying under the sun.

Erika spent long hours standing at the rail. The night the ship passed Martinique, she saw how darkness made the island invisible, and an eerie, red glowing ribbon of lava marked the volcano there. After the island of Martinique was gone, she lingered at the rail and felt breezes finger the fringe of her shawl. She felt Ravell’s presence beside her. In her mind he was always listening.

On the deck Erika lifted her face toward the stars. She wanted the doctor to enfold her in his navy woolen coat and rock her slowly in his arms. She imagined he was the only man on earth who could understand what she had felt through all these past eleven months. Just after the baby was lost, Peter had been forthright in his grief, but soon he, like many men in such circumstances, had crawled into a trench of silence. It hurt him to hear her mention their baby—his chest heaved and he held his breath warningly.

One evening she watched a gale from the bow, and when Peter insisted that she seek shelter, she refused. She liked the rough water pouring down on her, and she found that one could hear instruments in the wind—an oboe, a cello, a bassoon—if one listened.

Alone on the deck, she sang into the storm, closing her eyes as though in prayer. She was still determined to move to Italy, but until she had given birth to a living child, she could not say when that day would come.

Anchored off Barbados, the ship took on a crowd of deck passengers—Negro men, women, and children piled on board with their colorful personal cargo of parrots, boxes, and bananas. Each deck passenger was assigned a canvas chair where he or she was expected to sit and suffer through all manner of weather, and survive a week without a change of clothing. The ship furnished their food.

Erika paused near the group from Barbados one morning to observe a child who was not quite yet walking. A dark-skinned mother wearing a red kerchief stood behind the child, holding her two tiny fists, trying to balance the toddler.

Eleven months,
Erika thought.
If my daughter had lived, she’d stand there with locked knees and wobble like that.

U
pon reaching Trinidad, the steamer had to anchor at a great distance from Port of Spain. A rim of royal palms marked the island’s perimeter. While passengers waited for a tender to take them ashore, officials came aboard, including a gentleman who approached Peter and Erika and introduced himself as Mr. Hartley, Ravell’s friend. Due to an outbreak of illness among the plantation workers, Ravell had been unable to get away, so he had asked Hartley, who lived close to the capital, to welcome their ship.

“I’ve received a bit of confidential information of rather serious concern,” Mr. Hartley told Peter. “May I speak to you and your wife privately on the upper deck?”

Mr. Hartley owned several large agricultural estates on the island. Associates of his had alerted him to the news that yellow fever was rampant in Port of Spain. New arrivals were particularly vulnerable; eight who had landed by the last steamer had since died. His informants had advised him to keep quiet about this in order not to spark panic; still, they had encouraged him to warn any friends of his of the grave risk.

“Landing here would be dangerous,” Mr. Hartley emphasized. “Especially if you and your wife intend to stay in the capital. Why not stay on board and consider traveling to another island?”

Hartley was a fellow of sizeable girth with russet hair and a sun-bleached moustache. As he frowned, his eyebrows pulled together, thick and thatched. The concern was evident in his pale blue eyes.

Their predicament was so unexpected that Peter did not know what to do. As a result of the fever, the Queens Park Hotel had closed. Disconcerting, of course, for the Queens Park Hotel was the very place they intended to stay.

Peter glanced at Erika. “Shall we land here or continue on?” he asked.

She stared at him, unable to speak. Finding their way to Ravell again—for the past year, that was what they both had lived for. Peter had dreamed of coming to this island for longer than she had—ever since Ravell had described its butterflies and hummingbirds and fabled animals; ever since Ravell had unwrapped a twenty-foot anaconda skin across the Oriental carpet of their Boston drawing room.

“We’ve come to see Trinidad,” Peter told Mr. Hartley, “not any other island. And we’ve come to consult our friend Ravell about a serious personal matter. I think we should go ahead and risk the fever.”

“In that case,” Mr. Hartley said, “I insist that the two of you stay as guests with my family at Tacarigua. My residence is up in the hills about ten miles out from Port of Spain. The danger would be far less at my estate. Mosquitoes are rife here in the lowlands—particularly in the evenings, when the air in Port of Spain becomes covered by mists.”

“We accept your offer most gratefully,” Peter said.

Relieved that they had decided to land, Erika took Mr. Hartley’s hand as he helped her descend and climb into the tender. Within days, Mr. Hartley said, the island might come under quarantine. If they’d arrived a day or two later, their ship might have been turned away.

“Perhaps the two of you could take the train into town in the early morning for a tour,” Mr. Hartley said, “when the danger is less.”

Thanks to Hartley’s well-placed acquaintances and connections, their luggage passed with great speed through the Customs House. Within minutes they found themselves seated in a victoria, being driven to Hartley’s estate, which he called Eden.

During the carriage ride, torrential rains prevented them from viewing much of the countryside, except for the bamboo groves and giant balata trees that flanked the roadside. The downpour proved to be short in duration—typical of most tropical rains. By the time they reached Hartley’s gracious home with its white porticos set against the foothills, the air had become dry and hot.

It was not the grandeur of the grounds or the house’s generous archways that sent a pang of envy through Erika. It was the sight of Mrs. Hartley, a plump lady in white, strolling across a vast lawn to greet them. Four young children surrounded her, and in her arms Mrs. Hartley carried a newborn that would be christened on Sunday.

From the moment the victoria pulled up in front of the house, servants in saris appeared. Hindu males spirited away their luggage. A large proportion of Trinidad’s population was made up of coolie people, and Erika could almost imagine that she had arrived at a country estate in India.

“Open your palm,” Peter told Erika after they were shown to their room, and she obeyed. “Three grains of quinine per day will guard you against the fever,” he said, and handed her a glass of water to help her swallow the tablets.

While Erika unpacked, Peter slipped down to the garden where he chased lizards with the Hartley children. Through the open windows, she heard him laughing. Erika stepped onto a balcony to observe the scene. Three small boys and Gladys—a girl of about seven—ran after Peter. The little girl’s sash had come undone, two long tails flying behind her.

“These lizards are too swift for us,” Peter called to the children. “Let’s try to court them with whistles.”

The children were so young they had not yet learned to whistle, so they hunched their small bodies furtively and trailed Peter, following the flutelike notes he formed with his lips, the sweetness of his trills. He bent over to peer closer at something. Suddenly Gladys, the girl, squealed and bounced upright and pointed.

Peter waved to Erika on the balcony above. “It’s working,” he declared. “The lizards pause and change color when I whistle. They switch from green to blue.”

A knock came at the bedroom door, and Erika turned to answer it. A tall and very young coolie woman had come for their laundry. The servant, perhaps no more than seventeen years of age, entered with a basket.

Erika was struck at once by the tall girl’s beauty, by her long, polished limbs and tawny skin, but the rare thing was this: the coolie girl had green eyes. Erika stared at those eyes, transfixed by their color. How was it possible for a person whose ancestors came from India to have such eyes? The irises seemed paler than the hue of her skin, and for a moment Erika wondered if Peter’s whistling had altered them, too. Did the light of the tropics affect eye color, the way light changed opals?

It was rude to stare so long at any human face. Erika turned to open the trunks. It relieved her to heap all their soiled garments into the girl’s arms—the sour smells of the ship’s damp corners still lingered in the wrinkles and folds, ripe for the work of a washerwoman.

The coolie girl wore silver bands around her ankles that jangled lightly as she stepped. Her sari smelled of sandalwood. Around her toe she had fixed a thin ring.

When the laundry had been gathered up and the servant was ready to leave, Erika leaned her head sideways with interest. “What’s your name?”

“Uma,” she said.

“Thank you, Uma.” Erika gave a nod.

When she returned to the balcony, the lizard hunt was over; the boys had gone. Only the little girl remained with Peter. They were sitting on a stone bench. He was showing her something in his flattened palm—a petal, or maybe a caterpillar. The sight of him there with the Hartleys’ little daughter pained Erika. It was a harmless, ordinary sight, but it saddened her.