Journey to the River Sea

They drove past mansions painted in every colour: pink and ochre and blue, with flowers tumbling from window boxes. In the gardens surrounding them were blossoming orange and lemon trees, and mangoes, and wonderful creepers climbing over the railings. They passed two churches, a museum, a little park with a bandstand and a children’s playground. Everywhere were busy people: black women carrying baskets on their heads, Indian women with babies on their hips, messenger boys, smartly dressed Europeans, and nuns ferrying lines of little children.

And on the far side of a huge square, paved in swirling mosaics, stood a magnificent building roofed in tiles of green and gold, with the eagle of Brazil in precious stones soaring over the top.

‘Oh look!’ said Maia. ‘The theatre! Isn’t it beautiful! That’s where Clovis is going to act. The boy we met on the boat.’

‘We’re going there later to pick up our tickets,’ said Beatrice.

‘We’re going to see Little Lord Fauntleroy,’ said Gwendolyn.

‘Oh good!’ said Maia innocently. ‘That’s the play he’s got the lead in.’

The twins looked at each other, but they said nothing then.

They drove down a street of elegant shops: dress shops and shoe shops, saddlers and hat-makers. It was incredible, this luxury a thousand miles from the mouth of the river. There seemed to be everything here that one could find in Europe.

The dress shops excited the twins; they leant out of the cab, peering and arguing.

‘Fleurette’s still got that polka dot muslin in the window. Can we go in, Mummy? You said we could shop properly this month. Can we have new dresses?’

Mrs Carter nodded. She would be able to pay off the money she owed Fleurette. Well not all of it; she owed money everywhere and Maia’s allowance would have to be doled out carefully. Fortunately Maia herself wouldn’t need new clothes for a long time. The child was dressed very plainly, she thought, looking at Maia’s blue poplin skirt and white blouse, but the materials were good.

But first they stopped at Madame Duchamp’s Academy of Dance.

Madame Duchamp was a French woman who had the wit to understand that the wealthy rubber growers and merchants who had come to Manaus wanted to make sure that their children missed nothing they could have had in Europe. So she ran classes in ballroom dancing, folk dancing, ballet ...

The class the twins went to was a mixed one for both boys and girls. There were children of all nationalities: Russian, English, French and of course Brazilian – some pure Portuguese, some of mixed race; Indian with Portuguese, black with Indian, for the people of Brazil had intermarried for centuries and were proud of their mixed blood.

Maia changed quickly into her dancing shoes and turned round to see the twins sitting side by side on a locker, their plump legs sticking out in front, waiting for Miss Minton to come and help them.

‘Miss Porterhouse always put on our shoes and tied up our hair,’ said Beatrice.

‘So did Miss Chisholm,’ said Gwendolyn.

Maia went ahead into the big room with its tall windows and barre. It was full of chattering, swirling children, waiting for Madame Duchamp. An old lady with mottled hands sat at the piano, absently touching the keys.

A tall Russian boy with red hair came over and introduced himself. ‘I’m Sergei,’ he said with a friendly smile. ‘And this is my sister Olga.’

Maia put out her hand. ‘I’m Maia. I’m staying with the Carters.’

‘Yes, we heard.’

A sunny-looking Austrian girl with plaits around her head came to join them. This was Netta Haltmann, the daughter of the twins’ piano teacher. Maia was usually shy with new people, but the relief of seeing all these ordinary, welcoming children was overwhelming and she was soon chattering in the same mixture of languages that the other children used. She had not realized that every word she spoke to the twins had to be thought about and weighed.

Madame Duchamp now entered; an elegant French woman of about fifty with a black bun skewered high on her head.

‘So, now we are ready. Find a space and point the toe, please.’

Maia’s toe was already pointed. She loved to dance. The old woman at the piano began to play a Chopin waltz.

While the children danced, the governesses and the nursemaids sat on chairs round the wall.

‘Is that the little cousin who comes to live with the Carters?’ said a friendly-looking, plump lady on Miss Minton’s left, and introduced herself. ‘I am Mademoiselle Lille, the governess of the Keminskys – Sergei and Olga.’

‘Yes, that’s Maia,’ said Miss Minton.

‘She is charming. So graceful.’

‘Yes, she is a good child,’ said Miss Minton.

Mademoiselle Lille looked at her from under arched eyebrows. ‘And of course the twins,’ she added politely. ‘They are always so tidy ... so clean ...’

Both women watched the two stolid girls, revolving as relentlessly as metronomes to the music.

‘Yes ... it is difficult for them,’ said Miss Minton. ‘They have not been used to having other children.’