The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet: A Novel (6 page)

. . .
and beyond the Land-Gate
, thinks Jacob,
is the Cloistered Empire
.

'Them gates'll not budge for us, Mr de Z., no no no. The Chief, Deputy an' Dr M. pass through from time to time, aye, but not us. "The Shogun's hostages" is what the natives dub us an' that's the size of it, eh? But listen,' Grote propels Jacob forwards, 'it ain't just gems and coins I deal in, let me tell yer. Just yesterday,' he whispers, 'I earned a select client aboard the
Shenandoah
a box of purest camphor crystals for some ratty bagpipes what you'd not fish from a canal back home.'

He's dangling bait
, Jacob thinks, and replies, 'I do not smuggle, Mr Grote.'

'Strike me
dead
afore I'd accuse yer'f
malpractice
, Mr de Z.! Just in
form
in' you, eh, as how my commission is one quarter o' the selling price, regular-like: but a smart young cove like
you
'll keep seven slices per pie o' ten for I'm partial to feisty Zeelanders, eh? 'Twill be a pleasure to handle your pox-powder, too' - Grote has the casual tone of a man masking something crucial - 'what with certain merchants who call me "Brother" beatin' up the price faster an' fatter'n a stallion's stiffy
as we speak
, Mr de Z., aye,
as we speak
, an' why?'

Jacob stops. 'How can you possibly know about my mercury?'

'Hearken to my Joyous Tidin's, eh? One o' the Shogun's numerous sons,' Grote lowers his voice, 'undertook the mercury cure, this spring. The treatment's been known here twenty years but weren't never trusted but this princeling's gherkin was so rotted it glowed green; one course o' Dutch pox-powder an' Praise the Lord, he's cured! The story spreads like wildfire; ev'ry apothecary in the land's howlin' f'the miraculous elixir, eh; an' here comes
you
with eight crates! Let
me
negotiate an' yer'll make enough to buy a thousand hats; do it yerself an' they'll skin yer an' make
you
into the hat, my friend.'

'How,' Jacob finds himself walking again, 'do you know about my mercury?'

'Rats,' Arie Grote whispers. 'Aye, rats. I feed the rats tidbits now an' then; an' the rats tell me what's what an' that's that.
Voila
, eh? Here's the Hospital; a journey shared's a journey halved, eh? So, we're agreed: I'll act as yer agent forthwith, eh? No need for contracts or such stuff: a gentleman'll not break his word. Until later . . .'

Arie Grote is walking back down Long Street to the Crossroads.

Jacob calls after him, 'But I never
gave
you my word!'

The Hospital door opens into a narrow hall. Ahead, a ladder ascends to a trapdoor, propped open; to the right, a doorway gives into the Surgery, a large room ruled over by an age-mottled skeleton crucified on a T-frame. Jacob tries not to think of Ogawa finding his Psalter. An operating table is equipped with cords and apertures, and plastered with blood-stains. There are racks for the surgeon's saws, knives, scissors and chisels; mortars and pestles; a giant cabinet to house, Jacob assumes,
materia medica
; bleeding bowls; and several benches and tables. The smell of fresh sawdust mingles with wax, herbs and a clayey whiff of liver. Through a doorway is the Sick Room, with three vacant beds. Jacob is tempted by an earthenware jar of water: he drinks with the ladle - it is cool and sweet.

Why is nobody here
, he wonders,
to protect the place from thieves?

A young servant or slave appears, swishing a broom: he is barefoot, handsome, and attired in a fine surplice and loose Indian trousers.

Jacob feels a need to justify his presence. 'Dr Marinus's slave?'

'The doctor employs me,' the youth's Dutch is good, 'as an assistant, sir.'

'Is that so? I'm the new clerk, de Zoet: and your name is?'

The man's bow is courteous, not servile. 'My name is Eelattu, sir.'

'What part of the world do you hail from, Eelattu?'

'I was born in Colombo on the island of Ceylon, sir.'

Jacob is unsettled by his suavity. 'Where is your master now?'

'At study, upstairs: do you desire that I fetch him?'

'There's no need - I shall go up and introduce myself.'

'Yes, sir: but the doctor prefers not to receive visitors--'

'Oh, he'll not object when he learns what I bring him . . .'

Through the trapdoor, Jacob peers into a long, well-furnished attic. Halfway down is Marinus's harpsichord, referred to weeks ago in Batavia by Jacob's friend Mr Zwaardecroone; it is allegedly the only harpsichord ever to travel to Japan. At the far end is a ruddy and ursine European of about fifty years, with tied-back, stony hair. He is sitting on the floor at a low table in a well of light, drawing a flame-orange orchid. Jacob knocks on the trapdoor. 'Good afternoon, Dr Marinus.'

The doctor, his shirt unbuttoned, does not respond.

'Dr Marinus? I am delighted to make your acquaintance, at last . . .'

Still, the doctor gives no indication of having heard.

The clerk raises his voice: 'Dr Marinus? I apologise for disturb--'

'From what mouse-hole,' Marinus glares, 'did
you
spring?'

'I just arrived a quarter hour ago, from the
Shenandoah
? My name's--'

'Did I ask for your name? No: I asked for your
fons et origo
.'

'Domburg, sir: a coastal town on Walcheren Island, in Zeeland.'

'Walcheren, is it? I visited Middelburg once.'

'In point of fact, Doctor, I was educated in Middelburg.'

Marinus barks a laugh. '
Nobody
is "educated" in that nest of slavers.'

'Perhaps I may raise your estimate of Zeelanders in the months ahead. I am to live in Tall House, so we are nearly neighbours.'

'So propinquity propagates neighbourliness, does it?'

'I--' Jacob wonders at Marinus's deliberate aggression. 'I - well--'

'This
Cymbidium koran
was found in the goats' fodder: as
you
dither,
it
wilts.'

'Mr Vorstenbosch suggested you might drain some blood . . .'

'Medieval quackery! Phlebotomy - and the Humoral Theory on which it rests - was exploded by Hunter twenty years ago.'

But draining blood
, thinks Jacob,
is every surgeon's bread
. 'But . . .'

'But but but? But but?
But?
But
but
but but but?'

'The world is composed of people who are convinced of it.'

'Proving the world is composed of dunderheads. Your nose looks swollen.'

Jacob strokes the kink. 'Former Chief Snitker threw a punch and--'

'You don't have the build for brawling.' Marinus rises, and limps towards the trapdoor with the aid of a stout stick. 'Bathe your nose in cool water, twice daily; and pick a fight with Gerritszoon presenting the con
vex
side, so he may hammer it flat. Good day to you, Domburger.' With a well-aimed whack of his stick, Dr Marinus knocks away the prop holding up the trapdoor.

Back in the sun-blinding street, the indignant clerk finds himself surrounded by Interpreter Ogawa, his servant, a pair of inspectors: all four look sweaty and grim. 'Mr de Zoet,' says Ogawa, 'I wish to speak about a book you bring. It is important matter . . .'

Jacob loses the next clause to a rush of nausea and dread.

Vorstenbosch shan't be able to save me
, he thinks:
and why would he?

'. . . and so to find such a book astonishes me greatly . . . Mr de Zoet?'

My career is destroyed
, thinks Jacob,
my liberty is gone and Anna is lost . . .

'Where,' the prisoner manages to croak, 'am I to be incarcerated?'

Long Street is tilting up and down. The clerk shuts his eyes.

' "In cancer-
ated
"?' Ogawa mocks him. 'My poor Dutch is failing me.'

The clerk's heart pounds like a broken pump. 'Is it human to toy with me?'

'Toy?' Ogawa's perplexity grows. 'This is proverb, Mr de Zoet? In Mr de Zoet's chest I found book of Mr . . . Adamu Sumissu.'

Jacob opens his eyes: Long Street is no longer tilting. 'Adam Smith?'

' "Adam Smith" - please excuse.
The Wealth of Nations
. . . You know?'

I know it, yes
, thinks Jacob,
but I don't yet dare hope
. 'The original English is a little difficult, so I bought the Dutch edition in Batavia.'

Ogawa looks surprised. 'So Adam Smith is not Dutchman but Englishman?'

'He'd not thank you, Mr Ogawa! Smith's a Scot, living in Edinburgh. But can it be
The Wealth of Nations
about which you speak?'

'What other? I am
rangakusha
- scholar of Dutch Science. Four years ago, I borrow
Wealth of Nations
from Chief Hemmij. I began translation to bring,' Ogawa's lips ready themselves, ' "Theory of Political Economy" to Japan. But Lord of Satsuma offered Chief Hemmij much money so I returned it. Book was sold before I finish.'

The incandescent sun is caged by a glowing bay tree.

God called unto him
, thinks Jacob,
out of the midst of the bush . . .

Hooked gulls and scraggy kites criss-cross the blue-glazed sky.

. . . and said, Moses, Moses. And he said, Here am I.

'I try to obtain another, but' - Ogawa flinches - 'but difficulties is much.'

Jacob resists an impulse to laugh like a child. 'I understand.'

'Then, this morning, in your book-chest, Adam Smith I
find
. Very much surprise, and to speak with sincerity, Mr de Zoet, I wish to buy or rent . . .'

Across the street in the garden, cicadas shriek in ratcheted rounds.

'Adam Smith is neither for sale nor rent,' says the Dutchman, 'but you are welcome, Mr Ogawa - very welcome indeed - to borrow him for as long as ever you wish.'

IV

Outside the Privy by Garden House on Dejima