Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

from Looks Like Love

1998; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 21; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/cal.1998.0177

1080-6512

Astrid Roemer, Nancy Forest-Flier,

Caribbean history, culture, and politics

from Looks Like Love * Astrid H. Roemer (bio) Translated by Susan Massotty (bio) The year 1980 didn’t get off to an easy start. On the night of December 31st, such a heartbreaking amount of rain fell that nobody had been able to shoot off the usual fireworks. Normally the sidewalks, yards, gardens and pathways would have been covered with crimson shreds. But that particular New Year’s Eve was as quiet as a tomb. The rain must have clattered on the roofs of the houses in Paramaribo, though there had been no thunder and lightning. Even nature’s violence would have seemed insignificant next to the brief “war” the people of Suriname were fighting against the “ghosts” of the previous year: greed, desire, longing. It wasn’t the smell of fireworks that the trade winds brought to Plantation Jericho, but the hushed cold of a tropical storm. Herman and Cora couldn’t have made a bang if they’d wanted to. Like the other adults in their community, they left the display up to the kids, who ran around with sparklers in their hands. In line with tradition, there had been a party after the annual sawa, the ritual cleansing of the members of the community and their plantation. And so on the last day of the year, their home and plantation had been filled with a joyous scent in an atmosphere of serene contentment. In the meantime the customary bonfire, in which they burned a large accumulation of trash, had long been extinguished. The only fire that treacherously kept burning was the one in the eyes of the young people who once again believed the time had come to transform the plantation into a modern vacation resort and conference center! In January the bomb burst in Paramaribo. There was a conflict between the military and the political regime. Suddenly even Cora was aware that her country had an actual army with officers, corporals, sergeants, camps, equipment and munitions. In February things were worse than she could have ever imagined: soldiers had taken to the streets. She’d seen it with her own eyes. Hundreds of black men in combat gear. She was shocked to see them marching through the city streets with their grim faces and determined footsteps. Herman knew that something was up. He advised her to call in sick that week, insisting that she stay on the plantation and not go to her job in Paramaribo. He had gone to the city and bought enough supplies to last for at least three months. How was Herman himself doing? On the evening of February 24th, he broke his silence. He couldn’t stand knowing something that could put him—and perhaps his wife—in danger, without her knowing it. That afternoon he told her that he urgently needed to speak to her, that it would be a good idea to stay awake that night, that Paramaribo might even go up in flames. It could burn to the ground for all he cared. People who had nothing to lose would manage to get themselves to a safe place. He wasn’t particularly attached to Paramaribo. Besides, the country was big enough—they’d be able to build a capital somewhere else. [End Page 501] She shivered. Paramaribo didn’t mean as much to her as Nieuw Nickerie, but she couldn’t imagine Suriname without its capital! Herman wanted to do the cooking that day, using food from their own land: napi, yams, tayer, fish, palm oil. Would his winti 1 finally come to her? The answer was no. After dinner he said, apparently out of the blue, “Cora, you remember the Sunday those two Dutch men dropped by, the ones who were asking questions about my work? They were spies. They came here to check our strength. The strength of our community. Our facilities. They must have heard that a lot of soldiers come here.” Herman’s openness upset her. He was as defenseless as a wounded animal. He didn’t look at her while he was talking. That was unusual. And she’d never heard his voice come from so deep. “There’s going to be a...