ADJUA: My love. (Beat) When we find our way back home, we will make our child together. It will be the most beautiful child.
DEMBI: Yes he will.
ADJUA: And this child’ll be a hundred worlds rising.
DEMBI: Our miracle.
(Dembi pulls on his shirt, adjusts it. Now they are both ready to face whatever the day brings.)
ACT ONE
Scene One
PROJECTED TEXT: BOOK ONE. PASSAGE OF CLAY: BRISTOL, RHODE ISLAND, 1791.
The docks. We hear ships rubbing against the docks, water rolling, though the sound is slightly distorted and not realistic.
We now see empty sugar casks. A pile of old rope. A heap of torn sails still needing to be mended. Perhaps a broken mast off the dock, the rusty chain of an anchor or a piece of severed hull. Sharp, dangerous things. And yet the docks are not cluttered. This part of the dock, though now mostly bare and derelict, was once busy with the small industry of the poor.
This is a world of violence and the threat of violence. There is always the presence of danger, and the decisiveness of people to use brute force, and respond to it. It is a predatory, ferocious environment with ragged edges that cut at every turn.
Lights up on Adjua and Dembi leaning over a jagged hole in the dock, clutching the legs of a drowned man that they are pulling out of the water, feet first.
At all times, Dembi and Adjua take care not to be seen, on the docks or anywhere else, though this vigilance has become natural to them now. However, the fact that they are in hiding is not at first clearly evident to us or others. Both are highly intelligent thinkers, though in different ways. Adjua is intent on mapping out their ambitions, though her exertions diminish neither her spark nor her passion. She walks with a slight limp but this does not keep her from being light on her feet and vigorous. Dembi is tough, suspicious, a steely eyed survivor ready to take ruthless action when danger appears. His focus is on Adjua and their daily survival. They are passionately in love with one another, though they keep a lid on it because of daily brute realities. Most of the time, the characters onstage are engaged in some kind of industry, be it mending, sharpening or assembling.
DEMBI: Heave. Heave!
ADJUA: Pull!
DEMBI: Damn, he’s full of water.
ADJUA: Trekken!
DEMBI: Come on out, you rake.
ADJUA: Mijn Got, he’s a fat one!
DEMBI: And this one still got his clothes.
ADJUA: Nee let him slip.
DEMBI: We get the knave in.
(They pull the body onto the dock. The body is face down. Adjua pulls at the cloth on the body’s bottom.)
Not a bad cloth.
ADJUA: Ja. Something fine I sew up with this!
DEMBI: What’s here?
(Dembi digs in the man’s seat pocket and finds a small, wet book. They both stare at it. Then Adjua grabs it.)
A book.
ADJUA: A reading man.
DEMBI: Give’t here. I found it.
ADJUA: I found the body. But we can share, ja.
DEMBI: We dry it out. Get a coin for it.
ADJUA: Let’s turn him over.
(They roll him onto his back.)
DEMBI: Not been long in the water.
ADJUA: Still got a face.
DEMBI: There’s a knot on his head, there. Clothes off, fast.
ADJUA: Ja. Before someone come and take him from us, like the last one.
(As they speak, Dembi and Adjua proceed to strip the body down to its underwear. This is done with such precision and care, in tandem, that we’re sure it’s not the first time.)
DEMBI: Don’t tear the vest. It’s got buttons.
ADJUA: Of bone. A landlubber for sure.
DEMBI: Big feet like me. The shoes are mine.
ADJUA: Nee, love. We sell it all but the book.
DEMBI: You keep the book. I keep the shoes.
ADJUA: Dembi!
DEMBI: I’ll wear them for a little while. Dry them out. Then we’ll sell ’em.
ADJUA: Promise?
DEMBI: Sure. Check his grinders.
(They examine the dead man’s teeth.)
You make some dentures?
ADJUA: Not going to be easy. He got a few left but deep roots.
(Adjua holds the man’s face gently in her hands and wonders as to his story. Dembi watches jealously.)
We seen his face before . . .?
DEMBI: The drowned all look the same. Don’t touch his face like that.
ADJUA: By his look I see he suffer hard. Poor man.
(Adjua loses her hold when Dembi picks up the man’s feet and begins to drag him back to the hole in the dock.)
What you doing?
(Adjua again grabs the body. They both pull at it.)
DEMBI: We got his clothes; we throw him back in the water.
ADJUA: Nee be a sinner, Dembi, or he’ll bring us bad luck.
DEMBI: If we didn’t spy him, he still be in his watery grave!
ADJUA: We got to bury him proper so his spirit be happy and leave us alone.
DEMBI: But if the constable and watch come, they blame us and we’re dead.
(Dembi pulls at the body.)
ADJUA: I won’t let you do it. A dead man is a brother in need.
DEMBI: A brother is a man who look like me.
ADJUA: Don’t go to hell.
(Dembi stops pulling.)
DEMBI: You don’t believe in no hell.
ADJUA: We got to wrap and bury him.
DEMBI: Can’t take the risk. We throw the wretch back in.
(Dembi pulls harder.)
ADJUA: I won’t let you do it, you bastard.
(The curses they throw at one another are sharp but have a playful edge.)
DEMBI: Bastard now, am I? You’re nothing but a saltwater slave, let go.
ADJUA: Least I born in Africa. (Beat) Blackamoor. Mungo.
DEMBI: Coromantee bitch.
ADJUA: Yes. And this Coromantee still a warrior, you slave you. You poor excuse for an Igbo.
DEMBI: