The Silver Lotus (29 page)

Lady Yee took the lantern, drew back the rotting canvas tail flap of the cart, and spied a man wearing patched overalls and crude farmer's
boots, and splayed out on a bed of old straw covered with a tattered blanket. The man's hair and beard were graying, long, unkempt, and, like his face, soaked with sweat. His parchment complexion made him appear ready for the morgue, and only his eye movement, shallow breathing, and twitching hands gave testimony to life. The man was obviously in agony, and it appeared that if he had originally purchased clothes that fit, then he had lost a great deal of weight very quickly.

Lady Yee instantly ordered her houseboy to run and fetch Dr. Neruda. He was to tell the doctor to bring strong medicine for acute pain. In the interim, Lady Yee asked the Mexican boy why he had come here. He said the sick man had spoken of a place in Monterey that had doctors for poor people who couldn't afford medicines. The boy said he had no idea what the man was talking about, but by asking people along the way he narrowed it down. They had been on the road for three days when a Chinese washerwoman told him to seek out where Lady Yee lived, and they would know what to do. The boy was obviously exhausted and hungry, so Lady Yee rallied Ah Chu out of bed, told him to feed the boy, and then find him a place to rest. She reassured the youth that his cart would be looked after and his mule sheltered, well watered, and rewarded with fresh oats.

Though it seemed to take forever, a half hour later Dr. Neruda appeared with his son-in-law, Chandra Din. A cursory examination told the doctor that he might not have a patient for long. He administered an injection of heroin to alleviate somewhat the man's pain, but it was obvious that aside from a terminally diseased and tubercular spine, which must have caused him excruciating spasms, the man was suffering from the effects of a mortal opium withdrawal, complicated by advanced malnutrition and dehydration. He said the man would have to be taken to the infirmary if anything was to be done at all, but he feared there was no time to send for the ambulance and a stretcher. Just moving the patient from one conveyance to another could kill him. By
now all the servants were awake and converging to be of assistance. Perceiving that the boy's mule was jaded to the bone, Lady Yee told her stable hand to fetch one of their own mules, prop up the cart yoke, and then switch animals. Dr. Neruda agreed that it would be best to give the patient another injection, leave him where he was, and take the cart to the infirmary. Chandra Din had already called for fresh water, and was coaxing the half-conscious man to suck the fluid from a small sponge. As soon as the mules had been switched over, Dr. Neruda and Chandra Din headed the cart down the hill toward the infirmary a mile and a half away. In parting, the doctor asked Lady Yee to send word to their wives about where they had gone and why, and this she agreed to do at once.

The cart had been gone but thirty minutes when Captain Hammond returned home. His business happily completed, Macy's father had purchased a German-made doll for her birthday. In an aside to his wife, the captain said he hoped Macy would take to tutoring the doll and give her poor little brother a break. As soon as she saw her new doll, Macy became oblivious to all else, and Lady Yee had an opportunity to tell her husband what had happened.

The captain suddenly looked perplexed, and he had to ask his wife to repeat herself to make sure he hadn't misheard her words. Captain Hammond's instincts told him there was something odd afoot, and he said he would change his clothes and go to the infirmary at once.

Lady Yee went to the kitchen to have Ah Chu prepare sandwiches and coffee in a hamper. She sent word to the stables to have a fresh horse harnessed to the captain's shay and kissed him on the cheek as he went out the door. The big parlor clock began to chime the midnight hour just as the garden gate clanged shut, whereupon Lady Yee returned to the nursery where she spent the rest of the night looking after Macy. She had placed Nathan's cradle in her own room, so as to avoid exposure to his sister, and Li-Lee rested on a cot nearby. She only
disturbed her mistress when the baby required feeding, which thankfully wasn't often.

Captain Hammond found his way down the darkened streets that linked the warehouse and workshop districts. Residents were few, but the bouncing carriage lamps and jingling horse tack attracted the interest of various guard dogs chained to warehouse gates to give watchmen warning of strangers. The only lights burning in the whole district came from the infirmary. The captain let himself in and found Dr. Neruda, Chandra Din, and a Chinese nursing student still working on saving the inert man. Chandra Din explained that the patient had been in such excruciating agony that they had been forced to administer chloroform just to cut away the man's filthy, lice-infested clothing and clean and bandage his ulcerated spine. He added that while he was under the influence of the drug they were also compelled to clip away his matted hair and beard, which were equally infested with vermin and filth. The man was resting more peacefully now that the opiates had taken effect, but the pain was ever present just under the surface.

Captain Hammond asked if he might see the man, and was truly shocked at the sight that awaited him. He called Dr. Neruda to his side and asked him if he recognized the man. The doctor nodded. It wasn't until they had cleaned the man up somewhat, and cut away his mountain of flea-infested hair, that it gradually occurred to him that with forty-five extra pounds on his frame, the dying man would look a great deal like Sigmund Malakoff. But one thing was obvious. According to Dr. Neruda, the dying man had been addicted to opiates for many years, and had recently come to grips with terminal malnutrition, which was a very painful way to expire, with or without opiates.

It all seemed rather odd and fateful. Whereas the captain might have expected to find an anchor-framed sea captain, he discovered instead a withered old man on the cusp of death. Whatever he might have done, he was paying for his crimes with prolonged suffering that
would shame a Persian executioner. Perhaps it was because they were both men whose lives had been forged from the same types of experiences, or because they shared the common bonding of courage and terror that casts the sailor's lot in life, but Captain Hammond could not find it in his heart at this moment to be anything but compassionate. The man before him, now clipped like a dying prisoner from a Dickens novel, looked to be in need of kindness and patience, and Captain Hammond felt obliged by maritime tradition to deliver both.

The captain asked for a chair, and then sat quietly by Malakoff's bedside for an hour. Then suddenly the patient awoke for a few moments and called an unknown name. He spotted Captain Hammond sitting next to him, smiled slightly, and rolled over his extended hand as if offering his grasp in greeting. The captain gently took Malakoff's hand and felt a weak but intentioned grasp. He was also instantly aware of the struggling pulse coursing just beneath the parchment skin. Malakoff smiled and closed his eyes once again.

As Chandra Din and the nurse rested on nearby cots, Captain Hammond remained seated holding Malakoff's withering hand. The two kerosene lamps had been wicked down to a golden glow, and the details of the room seemed to shimmer in a netherworld half-light. Then, while Captain Hammond's thoughts were far away, something strange and unforeseen happened. First he heard the sharp hooting of two owls from close by, and then after a slight pause, the deep chime on his pocket watch marked the hour like a clarion. At the last ring of three bells in the morning, Malakoff suddenly came awake with a renewed vigor quite unexpected in a man bartering for his last breath. He asked for water, so Captain Hammond held the cup and glass straw to ease his drinking. And then out of all expectation, Malakoff, who by now recognized Captain Hammond, decided he wanted to talk, and though his voice was weak and strained at times, the old seaman talked with purpose for over an hour. Even Dr. Neruda and Chandra Din stirred
themselves to come witness this bright, last flickering of Malakoff's guttered candle. Captain Hammond asked for pencil and paper to take notes, and Chandra Din thought this a wise idea and did the same. In the meantime, Malakoff appeared most content when he could speak directly to Captain Hammond, and grasp his hand. This made note-taking difficult, but not impossible.

The dying man needed no encouragement to speak. He pleaded that knowing the end was near, he had come back to confess to his complicity in the grounding of his ship, and his part in the partially accidental death of his distant cousin, Clausa Vuychek. He wept when he said that he had always tried to be a faithful son of the mother church, and he could not allow others to suffer for his own failings and misdeeds. Now that he was coming to his end, he wanted to meet God's all-seeing judgment with a conscience cleansed of all lies, and he begged Captain Hammond, as a fellow officer, to see that when the time came, Malakoff's broken frame would be interred in consecrated ground. The captain agreed without a moment's hesitation.

Tears welled in Malakoff's eyes once more, and he said that life had dealt his family the worst of crossed allegiances. The majority of his clan practiced the Greek Orthodox faith, but a wealthy minority were Muslim mountain folk, who were held in low regard for historical religious reasons, but tolerated because of ancient common ancestry. He had inherited such a cousin in Clausa Vuychek. He said that sadly this fellow, who was only made known to Malakoff through written introductions from relatives anxious to see the man off on the high seas, was of very limited intelligence. Unfortunately, his lack of wit came bundled in a very nasty and aggressive package of dangerous habits. He made enemies everywhere, and depended on Malakoff's connections to keep him safe. He said Vuychek had virtually no idea how he affected people, and didn't seem to care one way or the other. He often appeared marginally crazy, and talked to himself in hushed tones a good deal, but
that was all there was to it. Malakoff chuckled dryly and said there were old salts everywhere, before and aft the mast, who were just as crusty, addle-pated, and strange, but they stood their watches in good order, and justly earned their salt, bread, and vodka.

Malakoff asked for more water, but before he spoke again he closed his eyes, as if the darkness helped him to recall the sadness without tears. Finally he said that Vuychek had slowly become a necessary link in a chain of evils. Malakoff confessed that after being struck in the spine with a loose-flying crane block, he found the pain in his back could sometimes verge on the unbearable, and could even incapacitate him for days. He said he most feared being paid off and beached if his employers came to know of his incapacity. To ingratiate himself with his distant cousin, and possibly gain by it, Vuychek ventured into the more nefarious precincts of any given port to purchase high-grade opium for the captain's use. Malakoff said that at first he was very grateful to Vuychek. After all, it wasn't the kind of thing he could go off and purchase for himself. He couldn't possibly allow anyone to witness him buying opium from some back-alley Chinese drug peddler. The opportunity for blackmail was too great. Within limits, the opium worked its dark magic, and because he believed he was fast becoming indispensable, Vuychek started to dabble in a little darkness of his own. In fact, he slowly and very subtly became the blackmailer Malakoff had feared all along. It all started in small ways, but as the years and months passed Malakoff came to understand that he had been harboring a viper more dangerous than the opium. Though he now took full responsibility for placing Vuychek in temptation's path, and then nurturing his criminal acts because of his own frightful needs, Malakoff was also of the opinion that Vuychek, born to an evil sect, took to sin like a bear takes to salmon. The dying man swore that his cousin would have found the road to hell and perdition on his own merits, but because he was mentally ponderous, and morally myopic, it would have taken him longer
to accomplish his ends without Malakoff's prompting and threats. The old captain digressed for a moment, and his mind seemed to wander back to a vault of regrets. Then he said that among opium's more insidious side effects, besides a radical adjustment of diet and bowels, was the fact that it imparted to the user a false sense of intellectual superiority, while at the same time harnessing the victim to a horrendously dark temper leading to unaccountable fits of pique concerning meaningless trivialities. Malakoff at last opened his eyes, picked out Captain Hammond specifically, and said that all these evils had come together in one blow the day his ship ran aground off Point Lobos. He said the engineers, black gang, and oilers had deserted the engine room when it appeared the ship would break up on the rocks. They refused to return to their duties until they were satisfied the bottom of the ship hadn't been torn out. Malakoff said he swore a blue streak up and down, and told them off for the cowards they were. Then he grabbed Vuychek, who was every bit as frightened as the others, and taking up a lantern, forced him to accompany his captain down the narrow companionway ladder into the still-smoking stink and darkness of the engine room. Once below, Malakoff ordered Vuychek to start pulling up the heavy metal floor plates that gave access to the bilges. Now, as every seaman knows, all ships' bilges carry some water, but most deckhands never see a bilge, except in port, and then only rarely. So under the given and very dire circumstances, the presence of even normal amounts of seawater sloshing around in the bilges hoisted Vuychek into a complete blue panic. So much so that he completely forgot to whom he was talking. He screamed a demand to be allowed to leave at once, but even before the captain could agree, Vuychek pulled his knife and threatened Malakoff with death if he stood in the way. According to the captain, matters might still have been salvaged amicably if Vuychek hadn't gone one step too far. From a well of abject fear he drew his biggest blade and violently declared that in any event he was going to tell the owners that
Malakoff had been drunk and drugged at the time of the accident. This last threat shortened Malakoff's burning fuse considerably, and he went from angry to infuriated in one snap. When a sudden wave pitched the ship's hull up off the rocks momentarily, Vuychek stumbled forward slightly, but before he could regain his footing, Malakoff saw his chance and kicked Vuychek's legs out from beneath him. Vuychek went down on his face, gave a stunted cry of pain, moaned piteously for a moment, and then was still.