The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet (71 page)

Dr. Marinus arrives at his final destination.

The headstone reads, in both Japanese and the Roman alphabet,
DR. LUCAS MARINUS, PHYSICIAN AND BOTANIST, DIED 7TH YEAR OF THE ERA OF BUNKA
. The priests intone a mantra as the coffin is lowered. Jacob removes his snakeskin hat and, by way of counterpoint to the heathen chant, silently recites sections of the Hundred and Forty-first Psalm. “‘Our bones are scattered at the grave’s mouth …’”

Seven days ago, Marinus was in as hale health as ever.

“‘… as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood upon the earth. But mine eyes are unto Thee, O God the Lord …’”

On Wednesday he announced that he was going to die on Friday.

“‘… in Thee is my trust; leave not my soul destitute.’”

A slow aneurysm in his brain, he said, was hooding his senses.

“‘Let my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense …’”

He looked so unworried—and so well—as he wrote his will.

“‘… and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.’”

Jacob didn’t believe him, but on Thursday Marinus took to his bed.

“‘His breath goeth forth,’ says the Hundred and Forty-sixth Psalm, ‘he returneth to his earth …’”

The doctor joked that he was a grass snake, shedding one skin.

“‘… in that very day his thoughts perish.’”

He took an afternoon siesta on Friday and never woke up.

The priests have finished. The mourners look at the chief resident.

“Father”—Yûan speaks in Dutch—“you may say a few words.”

The senior academicians occupy the center; to the left stand fifteen of the doctor’s past and present seminarians; to the right stand an assortment of the upper-ranked and curious, a scattering of spies, monks from the temple, and a few others whom Jacob does not examine.

“I must first,” he says in Japanese, “express my sincere thanks to everyone …”

A breeze shakes the trees and fat drops splash on umbrellas.

“… for braving the rainy season to bid our friend farewell …”

I shan’t feel his death
, Jacob thinks,
until I return to Dejima and want to tell him about the temple at Mount Inasa, but cannot
 …

“… on his final journey. I offer my thanks to the priests here for providing my compatriot with a resting place and for sanctioning my intrusion this morning. Until his final days, the doctor was doing what he loved best: teaching and learning. So when we think of Lucas Marinus, let us remember a …”

Jacob notices two women hidden under broad umbrellas.

One is younger—a servant?—and wears a hood that conceals her ears. Her older companion wears a headscarf hiding the left side of her face …

Jacob cannot remember what he was saying.

“HOW KIND OF YOU
to wait, Aibagawa-
sensei
 …” There was a donation to offer at the temple, pleasantries to exchange with the scholars, and Jacob was as afraid she would be gone as he was nervous she would not.

Here you are
. He looks at her.
The true you, truly here
.

“It is selfish of me,” she begins in Japanese, “to impose on such a busy chief resident whom I knew so briefly, and so long ago …”

So many things you are
, Jacob thinks,
but never selfish
.

“… but Chief de Zoet’s son conveyed his father’s wish with such …”

Orito looks at Yûan—who is besotted by the midwife—and smiles.

“… such courteous persistence that it was impossible to leave.”

Jacob’s glance thanks Yûan. “I hope he wasn’t overly bothersome.”

“One doubts such a mannerly boy could ever be bothersome.”

“His master—an artist—tries his best to instill discipline into him, but after his mother passed away, my son ran wild, and I am afraid the damage is irreparable.” He turns to Orito’s companion, wondering whether she is a servant, assistant, or equal. “I’m De Zoet,” he says. “Thank you for coming.”

The young woman is unperturbed by his foreignness. “My name is Yayoi. I mustn’t say how often she talks about you or she’ll be cross with me all day.”

“Aibagawa-
sensei
,” Yûan tells him, “said that she knew Mother long ago, even before you came to Japan.”

“Yes, Yûan, Aibagawa-
sensei
was kind enough to treat your mother and her sisters in the Murayama teahouses from time to time. But why,
sensei
, do you happen to be in Nagasaki at this”—he looks toward the cemetery—“at this sad time? I understood you were practicing midwifery in Miyako.”

“I still am, but Dr. Maeno invited me here to advise one of his disciples, who plans to establish a school of obstetrics. I hadn’t been back to Nagasaki since … well, since I left, and so I felt the time was ripe. That my visit coincided with Dr. Marinus’s demise is a matter of unhappy chance.”

Her explanation makes no mention of a plan to visit Dejima, so Jacob assumes she has none. He senses the curiosity of onlookers and gestures at the long flight of stone steps descending from the temple gates to the Nakashima River. “Shall we walk down together, Miss Aibagawa?”

“With the greatest pleasure, Chief Resident de Zoet.”

Yayoi and Yûan follow a few steps behind, and Iwase and Goto bring up the rear, so Jacob and the celebrated midwife may speak in relative privacy. They tread carefully on the wet and mossy stones.

I could tell you a hundred things
, thinks Jacob,
and nothing at all
.

“I understand,” says Orito, “your son is apprenticed to the artist Shunro?”

“Shunro
-sensei
took pity on the talentless boy, yes.”

“Then your son must have inherited his father’s artistic gifts.”

“I have no gifts! I am a bumbler with two left hands.”

“Forgive my contradiction: I carry proof to the contrary.”

She still has the fan, then
. Jacob cannot quite hide his smile.

“Raising him must have been taxing, after Tsukinami-
sama
’s passing.”

“He lived on Dejima until two years ago. Marinus and Eelattu tutored him, and I hired what we call in Dutch a ‘nanny.’ Now he lives in his master’s studio, but the magistrate lets him visit every tenth day. Much as I long for a ship to arrive from Batavia for Dejima’s benefit, I dread the prospect of leaving him, also …”

An invisible woodpecker works in short bursts on a nearby trunk.

“Maeno
-sensei
told me,” she says, “Dr. Marinus died a peaceful death.”

“He was proud of you. ‘Pupils like Miss Aibagawa justify me, Domburger,’ he used to say, and ‘Knowledge exists only when it is given ….’”
Like love
, Jacob would like to add. “Marinus was a cynical dreamer.”

Halfway down, they hear and see the foaming coffee-brown river.

“A great teacher attains immortality,” she remarks, “in his students.”

“Aibagawa
-sensei
might equally refer to ‘her’ students.”

Orito says, “Your Japanese fluency is most admirable.”

“Compliments such as that prove that I still make mistakes. That’s the problem with having a
daimyo
’s status: nobody ever corrects me.” He hesitates. “Ogawa-
sama
used to, but he was a singular interpreter.”

Warblers call and query, higher up the hidden mountain.

“And a brave man.” Orito’s tone tells Jacob that she knows how he died, and why.

“When Yûan’s mother was alive, I used to ask her to correct my mistakes, but she was the worst teacher. She said my blunders sounded too sweet.”

“Yet your dictionary is now found in every domain. My own students don’t say, ‘Pass me the Dutch dictionary,’ they say, ‘Pass me the Dazûto.’”

The wind musses the long-fingered ash trees.

Orito asks, “Is William Pitt still alive?”

“William Pitt eloped with a monkey on the
Santa Maria
, four years
ago. The very morning she sailed, he swam out to her. The guards weren’t sure whether the shogun’s laws applied, but they let him leave. With him gone, only Dr. Marinus, Ivo Oost, and I were left from your days as a ‘seminarian.’ Arie Grote has come back twice, but just for the trading season.”

Behind them, Yûan says something funny and Yayoi laughs.

“If Aibagawa
-sensei
wished, by chance … to visit Dejima, then … then …”

“Chief de Zoet is most gracious, but I must return to Miyako tomorrow. Several court ladies are pregnant and will need my assistance.”

“Of course! Of course. I didn’t mean to imply … I mean, I didn’t …” Jacob, stung, dare not say what he didn’t mean to imply. “Your duties,” he fumbles, “your obligations, are … paramount.”

At the bottom of the flight of steps, porters around the palanquins are rubbing oil into their calves and thighs for their burdened journeys back to town.

Tell her
, Jacob orders himself,
or spend your life regretting your cowardice
.

He decides to spend his life regretting his cowardice.
No, I can’t
.

“There is something I must tell you. On that day, twelve years ago, when Enomoto’s men stole you away, I was on the watchtower, and I saw you …” Jacob dares not look at her. “I saw you trying to persuade the guards at the land gate to let you in. Vorstenbosch had just betrayed me and, like a sulky child, when I saw you I did nothing. I could have run down, argued, fussed, summoned a sympathetic interpreter or Marinus … but I didn’t. God knows, I couldn’t guess the consequences of my inaction … or that I’d never set eyes on you again until today—and even that afternoon I came to my senses, but”—he feels as though a fish bone is lodged in his throat—“but by the time I’d run down to the land gate to … to … help, I was too late.”

Orito is listening and treading carefully, but her eyes are hidden.

“A year later, I tried to make amends. Ogawa-
sama
asked me to keep safe a scroll he had been given by a fugitive from the shrine, your shrine, Enomoto’s shrine. Days later came the news of Ogawa-
sama
’s death. Month by month, I learned enough Japanese to decipher the scroll. The day I understood what my inaction had exposed you to was the worst day of my life. But despair wouldn’t help you. Nothing could help you. During the
Phoebus
incident, I earned the trust of Magistrate
Shiroyama, and he earned mine, so I took the grave risk of showing him the scroll. The rumors around his death, and Enomoto’s, were so thick that there was no making sense of them … but soon after, I learned that the shrine at Shiranui had been razed and Kyôga Domain given to the lord of Hizen. I tell you this … I tell you this because—because not to tell you is a lie of omission, and I cannot lie to you.”

Irises bloom in the undergrowth. Jacob is blushing and crushed.

Orito prepares her answer. “When pain is vivid, when decisions are keen-edged, we believe that we are the surgeons. But time passes, and one sees the whole more clearly, and now I perceive us as surgical instruments used by the world to excise itself of the Order of Mount Shiranui. Had you given me sanctuary on Dejima that day, I would have been spared pain, yes, but Yayoi would still be a prisoner there. The creeds would still be enforced. How can I forgive you when you did nothing wrong?”

They arrive at the foot of the hill. The river booms.

A stall sells amulets and grilled fish. Mourners revert to people.

Some talk, some joke, some watch the Dutch chief and the midwife.

“It must be hard,” says Orito, “not knowing when you can see Europe again.”

“I try to think of Dejima as home. My son is here, after all.”

Jacob imagines embracing this woman he can never embrace …

… and imagines kissing her, once, between her eyebrows.

“Father?” Yûan is frowning at Jacob. “Are you unwell?”

How quickly you grow
, the father thinks.
Why wasn’t I warned?

Orito says, in Dutch, “So, Chief de Zoet, our steps together is ended.”

… 
A
ND WHEN JACOB LOOKS AGAIN, THE MORNING STAR IS
gone. Dejima is falling away by the minute. He waves at the figure on the watchtower, and the figure waves back. The tide is turning but the wind is contrary, so eighteen Japanese boats of eight oars apiece are tugging the
Profetes
out of the long bay. The oarsmen chant the same song in rhythm: their ragged chorus merges with the sea’s percussion and the ship’s timbers.
Fourteen boats would have done the job
, thinks Jacob,
but Chief Oost drove a fierce bargain on repairs to Warehouse Roos, so perhaps he was well advised to concede this point
. Jacob rubs the fine drizzle into his tired face. A lantern still burns in the sea-room window of his old house. He remembers the lean years when he was forced to sell Marinus’s library, volume by volume, to buy lamp oil.

“Morning, Chief de Zoet.” A young midshipman appears.

“Good morning, though it’s plain old Mr. de Zoet now. You are?”

“Boerhaave, sir. I’m to be your servant on the voyage.”

“Boerhaave … a fine nautical name.” Jacob offers his hand.

The midshipman grips it firmly. “Honored, sir.”

Jacob turns to the watchtower, whose observer is now as small as a chessman.

“Pardon my curiosity, sir,” begins Boerhaave, “but the lieutenants were talking at supper about how you faced down a British frigate in this bay, all alone.”

“All that happened before you were born. And I wasn’t alone.”

“You mean Providence had a hand in your defense of our flag, sir?”

Jacob senses a devout mind. “Let us say so.”

Dawn breathes muddy greens and ember reds through gray woods.

“And afterward, sir, you were marooned on Dejima for seventeen years?”

“‘Marooned’ is not quite the word, Midshipman. I visited Edo three times—a most diverting journey. My friend the doctor and I could go botanizing along these headlands, and in later years, I was allowed to visit acquaintances in Nagasaki more or less freely. The regime then more closely resembled that of a strict boarding school than it did a prison island.”