Baker's Woman Read online

“I don’t know why I ask these questions. I have never doubted your judgment.”

  “It’s right to ask, so you know and take part in our plans. You’re my partner.”

  They decided what should be sent to Khartoum and turned over twenty-eight cartons of equipment to Koorshid to store. Sam paid off his crew, retaining only Achmed, and he hired the drivers with their camels.

  Before sunrise on July tenth, their eighteen camel caravan was ready to move out on a trade route that stretched east across pebbly sands, not far, at the start, far from the Atbara’s banks where gray-green mimosas could provide shade for some respite. They set out each day at first light, stopped in early afternoon for rest and a light meal, and then rode through the afternoon. When the sun went down, the drivers said their prayers and then gathered around great circular trays to eat. Achmed cooked and served Florence and Sam on the carpet laid before their tent and then ate his own supper.

  Some nights as Sam and Florence lay on their cots under a tent of netting, he told her about his early life. His family might have sent him to the best public schools, but his father preferred that his sons be schooled by a series of tutors. His upbringing was not typical, he said, yet it was unremarkable.

  “But, Sam, I find it quite remarkable! A time for discovery and pursuit of whatever you and tutors chose to study!”

  “It wasn’t quite like that. My father’s views required the liberal arts, all seven! However, he also approved our freedom to focus on our favorites, botany and geography. I had time to walk the woods, collecting plant specimens and making drawings and, when I was back in our library, pressing them under heavy volumes. For companions I had my brothers and cousins, and we played lively games, but that didn’t set me up for the rivalries and loyalties that bind school chums. Which usually suits me well.”

  “It’s left me odd man out. And you are close to your family.”

  “True, my brothers and I are always on excellent terms. After our father’s death, responsibility for the estate fell to me. I do what’s expected of an eldest son, and not reluctantly.”

  After eleven days, the trail veered away from the river and rose gradually toward a high plateau, where humpbacked cattle grazed. Energized by the mild climate, Sam and Florence often rode off ahead of the caravan to enjoy a solitary picnic lunch and a rest. About two days away from Kassala they met nomads who were moving north ahead of the rainy season and away from Turkish groups at war with Arabs. That danger, added to strong signs of approaching rain, suggested to Sam that they avoid Kassala.

  The new route led through a valley between high bluffs and into what Sam believed to be the Marabe River gorge, and they followed the river into the highlands.

  While considering where they might camp, they saw four black men striding toward them. Their white cotton togas belted by brightly colored sashes looked so clean and fresh that Sam was sure they had not walked far. When they stopped in front of him, he saw good will in their handsome features and kind eyes, and he held out both hands to them. One man greeted him in an Arabic dialect that was familiar to Sam, and his reply made them smile and brought questions and offers of assistance.

  Sam told the men that in their travels he had been told of this land and wanted to see its scenic beauty, experience the healthful climate and become acquainted with its people. He hoped to stay, to live, in the region long enough to study the land and learn its people’s way of life.

  “We are Sofi people and we will take you to our village. I will send one man with the news of your arrival. Chief Hayla will welcome you.”

  The three men led the caravan through the low hills, passing pastures of grazing cattle and fields of growing crops. Within sight of the settlement, they came to a field where they could leave their caravan and drivers. The spokesman then escorted Sam and Florence on a pathway through clusters of stone and wattle houses to an open space and at its center a large house of stone and timber. In the shelter of its portico, a silver-haired man of regal bearing awaited them.

  The chief greeted them, smiled warmly when Sam replied in him language, and then he turned and led them into the house. They stepped from the bright daylight into a large room so dark that they could barely see the rows of benches on either side of the central aisle. As they followed the chief down the aisle, their eyes adjusted and they saw that its only windows were high and shaded by the portico and wide eaves. At the far end of the room, two boys were lighting a row of torches attached to wall. Stepping into their light, Chief Hayla turned around and pointed toward a broad leather bench where Sam and Florence were to sit.

  Then he mounted a low dais to sit facing them from a throne-like chair that was draped with animal hides.

  As Sam and Florence sat down, they heard footsteps and breathing behind them and realized people were silently taking their places on the benches.

  Then the thump of boots brought to their side a fair-haired man in a leather shirt and trousers. He bowed to the chief, then turned his smiling, clean-shaven face to Florence, then to Sam. He said his name was Florian Mouche, but was usually called Mouche. He had come from Austria to build a mission in Gallabat, and after completing his work, had drifted north to hunt in the highlands. He now earned his living hunting and sometimes serving the chief as an interpreter.

  He asked Sam to tell him in either German or English why they had come to Abyssinia, and he then translated the details to assure the chief the visitors had no ties to either the Turks or the Soudanese. The chief grinned his approval and clapped his hands three times, summoning two young men who carried a clay pot from which he filled four cups with beer. As the chief stood and he and Mouche and their guests raised the bitter drink to their lips, the unseen people on the benches sang a brisk melody accompanied by drums and pipes.

  When the song ended, Sam inquired where he might set up the camp and whether they might stay through the rainy season, and the chief said they were welcome to stay as long as they liked. He also insisted that the Sofi village would make a home on the edge of the village, a new house. And without waiting for any response, he turned to his people and ordered that a work party assemble at a site near the house Mouche had built for himself.

  By the time Sam and Florence reached the place, men were there with bundles of grass, poles, and reeds as well as vessels of caulking material. By the end of the day, they had erected a round house they called a tukul. It was sturdily constructed and its earth floor was pounded until hard enough to be swept. At the center of the house was a fireplace with a metal hood and chimney. From another site they carried a straw dwelling for Achmed and between the two dwellings erected a thatched roof over a kitchen area. The kitchen hearth was ready with a fire glowing under a spit, and before dark women came carrying pots of food and placing them on the fire’s edge.

  Sam completed arrangements with the drivers to take half the camels with them to Kassala and saw that the remaining men were settled in their camp.

  As they brought all the equipment and baggage to the tukul, Florence organized it and, with Achmed’s help, set up their new home.

  “Look at all they’ve done for us, Sam. How will we ever thank them?”

  “They’ve exceeded all standards of hospitality. It may take us some time to show our gratitude. But we will.”

  * * *

  The rains came on, persisting through most of July and August and often accompanied by thunder storms. Temperatures dropped below 60°, but their house was quick to dry, warmed by the fire at its center. By firelight Florence and Sam studied Arabic together and practiced it on Achmed.

  When men came to see Sam, their wives also came with jars of beer for them, and then the women sat in the house, nodding and smiling while Florence served tea and tinned biscuits. When it wasn’t raining, Achmed helped Florence start a garden, planting seeds they had brought with them as well as some the Sofis gave them. The women showed them how to prepare native plants and pointed out those that were not edible. She felt at ease with the men, too, eve
n though they were nervous about her. It was the custom for a man to share a wife with any man he regarded as a friend; however, they knew Sam had gracefully declined the chief’s offer and understood Sam did not offer his wife, even to the chief.

  Sam leased two horses, and on clear days, Florence rode with him across the plateau and along the river. Often, Sam hunted with Mouche, who made a living selling items he made from tusks, ears, trunks, and feet. After a successful hunt for rhinos, elephants, and waterbucks, Mouche shared the hides with him.

  When elephants came through the area, Sam carried the rifle he had designed for the African elephant, but he soon discovered that, despite its power, it would not immediately drop the great beast unless the shot struck just behind its armor-like skull bones, and a kill usually took several shots.

  Florence didn’t like thinking of the animals they killed, but she, herself, was willing to shoot small game for Achmed to cook. One day when she and Sam were out on such a shoot, their beaters suddenly dove into the bushes and disappeared from sight. Sam raised his glasses to focus on a cloud of dust, then grabbed the reins from her and turned both horses and led them into a dense copse. He returned her reins but gripped her shoulders as they stared at a rise only five hundred feet away where a dozen Arab horsemen drove, with shouts and cracking whips, a column of captive blacks.

  Naked men marched single file, roped together at the neck, their wrists and ankles chained. Behind them the women walked, their bodies kept upright by a stick, bound to them from pelvis to chin and forcing their faces forward, their chins high. Their wrists were tied to the stick, and many also had a child or two tied by a rope that circled their small bodies under their arms. The women could neither see nor touch their children but surely could feel when a child fell and was being dragged. Dust caked the sweating bodies; urine, feces, and blood stained their legs.

  There were dozens of men and women walking single file, and long after their moans and wails and cracking of whips faded, a stench hung in the air. Sam released his hold on Florence, but neither spoke.

  They prodded their horses, and turned back toward the village. The bearers crept out of hiding, eyes wary and chests heaving, and straggled along behind the horses. The hunt was over, the trip home silent.

  Florence invited women in for tea so often that they came as if on a schedule. Soon they brought along their bead work or basketry. Some worked hand looms to weave strips that they sewed together for rugs or blankets, and when Florence showed interest in their crafts, they eagerly taught them to her. In return, she showed them the clothes she was sewing for Sam and herself from Egyptian cotton.

  Before leaving Cairo Florence had given up wearing the corsets she’d acquired in Bucharest, but continued to suffer the long sleeves, cuffs, high collars, and multi-layered skirts. It wasn’t long before she was certain that few of her clothes were suitable for the climate, and particularly for the active life she wanted.

  She also came to think that Sam, too, ought to wear something more sensible than collared shirts and close-fitting trousers. When they had stopped to visit the weavers in Asyut, south of Cairo, she had chosen lengths of fabric with the thought that she might sew simple garments that would be comfortable in the heat. Now she knew what they needed, and she had the time to do it.

  The first item she designed was a pair of trousers for herself. No more side saddles for her! The legs were wide and could hang loose or be tucked into her boots.

  She created a similar design for Sam to tuck into boots, and she also made short ones that didn’t reach his boot tops. Shirts for each of them would have ample sleeves to protect their pale skin while allowing air to circulate and collars that could be worn either open or buttoned up.

  She began by cutting up old clothes to make patterns, then trying them on and making changes if necessary before the final stitching.

  She cut one garment at a time from sturdy unbleached Asyut cotton, and then assembled the parts and stitched them together. The women asked to use her needles, and soon they were all sewing intently on the new clothes, and then they helped her dye them various shades of tan and light brown. Sam was amazed by the speed with which she produced so many garments, and he praised her designs and her efficiency.

  ‘‘I didn’t know I’d have so much help,” she told him.

  “Perhaps we’ll come back here some day and find whole tribes have cast aside their togas for ‘Florentine trousers’!”

  She appreciated the women’s companionship as well as their help and found their humor a constant delight. It surprised her when the subject of their mirth was men. They giggled about their husbands, their masters and owners, relegating them to the status of little boys, willful and often blundering.

  The women were also loving mothers to every child, no matter whose. Florence knew she had once been secure in her mother’s arms and that it was her turn to provide security, to pass it on. She thought about her lost child, for whom she had never properly grieved, and now felt a pang of sorrow. She envied the Sofi women and the pride in their pregnant bodies as they showed off their shining bellies.

  “The pregnant ones let us all touch their swollen bellies. And they touch my hair and my face. They look under my skirt as well as into my baskets and boxes.”

  “I know. They’re like children,” he answered. “We cannot hold it against them, but they do need to be trained.”

  “Why trained? I admire how they feel free to act on impulse and satisfy their curiosity. Their customs are harmless, just different.”

  “Different, yes, and the men are free to lend their wives or trade them. Is that harmless?”

  “To them I guess it is. It’s their custom. I was talking about behavior- oh, never mind.”

  Marriage customs, she thought, must develop from practical reasons. She liked the way these people loved all the children, but that was different from sharing wives. All people lived with impulses as well as customs and rules. She thought of how easily Sam was aroused by her touch or even the sight of her body, and how she learned about her own sensuality. Sam said blacks were undiscriminating and Turks born to cruelty, and he didn’t approve of what he called “all polygamous heathens.” Yet, having seen his eyes when the Sofi women flaunted their bodies, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would behave if he were here without her.

  Once when Sam happened to be in the house when the widow who did their washing brought it in, he paid her with a Maria Therese dollar. She examined the big coin and assumed it to be worth more than her wage and decided he must be buying her. She fell to the ground, hugging him around the knees and babbling. Sam cried out to Florence that he couldn’t move, that she must do something.

  “It’s not my place to interfere.”

  “Then you must fetch the chief!”

  “Surely that would demean the poor woman.”

  The woman looked from one to the other during this exchange and, perhaps sensing she was causing an argument, let go of Sam and scurried to Florence’s side. With tears in her eyes, she pressed the coin into Florence’s hand, and Florence finally kept the coin and paid her in the usual small coins. The laundress thanked her, glared at Sam, and flounced out of sight. Then Florence gave in to laughter.

  “Florence! You enjoyed that!”

  “You were lucky this time.”

  “I may have to trade you after all.”

  * * *

  By February the temperatures were rising and Sam turned from hunting to working with the hides he’d cured. He made use of his cobbling skills to make boots, high and low ones for them both. Then he made slippers for Florence and sandals for them both and for Achmed. He fashioned capes that would cover a rider and saddle, and drape over a horse’s back.

  The weather warmed steadily now, and in another month they would harvest squash, melons, and root vegetables to carry with them when they left.

  In March they assembled supplies to carry away with them, Sam packing and Florence recording the contents of every parc
el in ledgers. They had food that would keep well and stacks of hides to trade or give away, and all their equipment was in good repair. Sam paid the Sofi men well for the care of the camels he’d kept. When he tried to buy three horses, they insisted on giving him the two he and Florence had ridden, and Sam bought the third. Florence’s friends crowed with delight over her gifts of needles, scissors, combs and mirrors.

  Achmed was very pleased to be allowed to ride a small roan called Mouse; Sam rode big black Tetel and Florence the bay mare Filfil. Sofi elders and Florian rode along as escorts, and on foot came young men, women, and scores of children. A mile from the village, the caravan halted while women sang a plaintive farewell and tears spilled down Florence’s cheeks.

  Mist covered the mountains as they headed south toward the upper reaches of the Atbara. With Mouche’s help Sam had mapped out a route across the high plateau to Gallabat, crossing several tributaries of the Atbara, which should be low enough to ford, and then to the upper Blue Nile. He estimated a six or eight weeks’ ride would allow time to record terrain and identify the flora and fauna. By the end of May they should reach the Blue Nile at the start of its flood.

  “The main thing is, Florrie, we did all we came to do and more. We’re seasoned travelers, equipped to be nomads.”

  “I didn’t know what to expect, but I learned so much more than Arabic.”

  “You are now ready for any situation, my dear. Isn’t it immensely satisfying to take on a challenge, to feel resourceful? You do it all very well.”

  Florence pressed her horse into a gallop and was laughing into the wind when Sam caught up with her.

  Chapter 15

  Mountains, higher mountains than Sam had expected to see lay on their horizon, but he believed the route he’d chosen would present little difficulty. The sun shone and the days filled with pleasure as Sam saw plants he’d seen only in drawings and a few that were entirely strange. They thrilled to the sight of herds of wild animals and birds with stunning crests and bright feathers, and the occasional lone panther resting on a limb.