James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  "Oh, but you can." Confidently he parroted what Heatherly Skye, nicknamed

  "Heavenly," the only lawyer in Yokohama as well as coroner and insurance agent, had told him. "The fact that I'm a minor applies only in the United Kingdom, not in the colonies or abroad, and only when the father is alive. That she's Catholic doesn't matter if it doesn't matter to me. That ends that. Tuesday the

  9th is an auspicious day to be married on, we keep everything quiet until then and that's when it will be."

  To Malcolm's amusement Michaelmas

  Tweet's mouth opened and closed like a fish but no sound came out. Shakily, the clergyman groped to his feet, poured another sherry, gulped it, then collapsed into the chair again. "I can't."

  "Oh but I've taken legal advice and

  I'm advised you can. Also I intend to endow you and your church with an extra stipend--five hundred guineas a year." He knew the man was hooked for the offer was three or four times his present salary and twice what the lawyer had advised: Don't spoil the old fart!

  "We'll be in church on Sunday to hear the bans read, Tuesday's the great day, the same day you get a hundred guineas advance for your trouble.

  Thank you, Reverend." He stood but Tweet did not move and he saw his eyes fill with tears. "What on earth's the matter?"

  "I just can't do what you ask," Tweet spluttered, "it's, it's not possible. You see your... even if that advice is correct which

  I, er, I doubt... your mother wrote to me, she wrote formally, by the last post saying that... that your father had made her your legal guardian and you had been forbidden to marry." The tears were flowing down his cheeks, his rheumy eyes bloodshot, "Dear

  God in Heaven, that's so much money, more than I ever dreamed, but I can't, I can't go against the law or her, dear God no!"

  "A thousand guineas."

  "Oh God, don't, don't," the tired old man burst out, "much as I want the money... don't you see, the marriage wouldn't be legal, against church law. God knows I'm as big a sinner as the next but I can't and if she wrote to me surely she wrote to Sir William who must sanction any such marriage. God forgive me, I can't...." He stumbled out of the room.

  Malcolm stared after him. Speechless, his mind blank, his office suddenly a tomb. The plan, hatched with Heavenly Skye, had been perfect.

  They would marry quietly, just Jamie and perhaps

  Dmitri, then he would leave at once for Hong

  Kong after the duel to be there well before Christmas as his mother had asked and before the news could possibly reach her. Angelique would follow on the next boat.

  "Those whom God hath joined together, let no man--or woman--cast asunder," Heavenly

  Skye had intoned when he had consulted him.

  "Perfect! That's perfect, Heavenly."

  "Thank you, Tai-pan. The fee's fifty guineas. Could I, er, could I have a down payment, cash if you please."

  Fifty guineas was outrageous. Even so

  Malcolm Struan had given him ten sovereigns, with Noble House chits for the balance, and had walked home, feeling lighter than in weeks.

  "You're in a happy mood today, Malcolm.

  Good news?"'

  "Yes, my darling Angel, but I'll share it with you tomorrow. Meanwhile when do we see our picture, your dress was really marvelous."

  "It takes such a time to develop whatever has to be developed. Perhaps tomorrow. You looked so handsome."

  "Wonderful. I think we should have a party

  ..."

  But now, with the party arranged for tonight, it would not be wonderful. He was totally downcast. Perhaps there was a way to force Tweet? Should he have at him tomorrow when the shock had warn off? More money? Sir

  William? A sudden idea. He rang the bell. "Yes, Tai-pan?"

  "Vargas, run over to the Catholic church and find Father Leo. Ask him if he could step by for a moment."

  "Certainly, Tai-pan. When should he come?"

  "Now, as soon as possible."

  "Now, Tai-pan? But it's lunch tim--"

  "Now, by God!" Malcolm shouted, so pent up was his frustration that he had to ask others to do the simplest jobs that he could have done himself before the

  Tokaid@o--God curse those swine, God curse the Tokaid@o--it's like B.c. and

  A.d. for me except the bad is now, not the good. "Now. Hurry up!"

  Vargas was white-faced as he rushed off.

  While he waited, Malcolm tried to think of ways to strongarm Tweet, letting his mind brood and, as the minutes passed slowly, becoming ever more infuriated and ever more determined.

  "Father Leo, Tai-pan." Vargas stepped aside and closed the door after him.

  The priest tried to hide his nervousness.

  Several times he had begun to walk here to discuss with the Senhor's conversion to Catholicism, but each time he had stopped, promising himself he would go tomorrow but never had, afraid of making a mistake, stumbling over the words. In desperation he had sought out Andr`e Poncin to arrange a rendezvous and had been shocked at the way Poncin, then the French

  Minister personally--who rarely talked him--had reacted, telling him such a discussion was premature, advising him God's work needed patience and prudence, forbidding the approach for the time being.

  "'Morning," Malcolm said weakly.

  This was the first time any of the Protestant traders had ever invited him into an office. Throughout the Protestant world, feelings against Catholics and their priests were seriously antagonistic, accusing them of bloody pogroms and religious wars, recent and never to be forgotten, reminding them of the iron control they exercised over their converts and countries they dominated--Protestants, equally loathed by Catholics and according to Catholic beliefs, heretic.

  "The Blessings of God upon Thee," Father Leo murmured tentatively. Before leaving his little bungalow adjoining the church he had hastily said a prayer that the summons was about what he had prayed so hard for. "Yes, my son?"

  "Please, I want you to marry Miss

  Angelique and me." Malcolm was astonished that his voice sounded so calm, abruptly appalled that he was not only saying it but had actually sent for the priest, whilst understanding clearly the implications of what he asked--Mother will have a fit, our friends and our whole world will think I've gone raving mad...

  "God be thanked," Father Leo had burst out in ecstatic Portuguese, his eyes closed, arms lifted up to Heaven, "how marvelous are the ways of God, I thank Thee, thank Thee for answering my prayers, may I be worthy of Thy favor!"

  "What?" Malcolm stared at him.

  "Ah, senhor, my son, please forgive me," he said in English again, "I was just thanking

  God that in His mercy He has shown you the light."

  "Oh. Sherry?" was all Malcolm could think of to say.

  "Ah, thank, you, my son, but first will you pray with me?" At once the priest came nearer and went on his knees, closed his eyes and puts his hands together in prayer. Embarrassed by the man's sincerity--though disregarding his prayers as meaningless

  --and unable to kneel anyway, Malcolm stayed seated and closed his eyes and said a small prayer to God, sure that God would understand this momentary lapse, trying to convince himself it was quite all right to have this man to do what was needed.

  That the ceremony would probably be invalid in his world, was unimportant. It would be valid for

  Angelique. She could join his marriage bed with a clear conscience. And once the initial storm in

  Hong Kong had settled and his mother won over--or even if she wasn't--as soon as he was of age next May a proper ceremony would correct any little wrong.

  He half opened his eyes. Father Leo was lost in the jumble of Latin. The prayer dragged on, and the blessing. When it was over Father Leo got to his feet, the little coffee beans of his eyes sparkling in his swarthy jowls. "Please allow me to serve the sherry, to save you pain, senhor, after all now

  I am your servant too," he said jovially.

  "How are your wounds? How are you feeli
ng?"

  "Fair. Now..." Malcolm could not bring himself to call him "Father." "Now, about the marriage I th--"

  "It will be done, my son, it will be done marvelously, I promise." How wonderful are the works of God, Father Leo thought. I have not broken my promise to the French Minister, God has brought this poor youth to me. "Don't worry, senhor, it is the will of God you have asked me, and it will be done for the Glory of God." Father

  Leo gave him a full glass, and poured one for himself, spilling a little. "To your future happiness and God's mercy." He drank, then sat in the chair with such friendliness--the chair that such a short time ago had been occupied with such rejection--that

  Malcolm was further unsettled.

  "Now, your wedding, it will be the best, the biggest ever held," the priest said and rushed onwards, his enthusiasm vast, and Malcolm's spirits drooped lower for he wanted this temporary wedding to be kept quiet. "We must have a choir and an organ, and new vestments and silver goblets for

  Communion but before those details, my son, there are many wonderful plans to discuss. The children for instance, now they will be saved, they will be Catholic and saved from Purgatory and the agonies of eternal Hellfire!"

  Malcolm cleared his throat. "Yes. Now, the marriage should be next week, Tuesday's the best day."

  Father Leo blinked. "But there's your conversion, my son. That takes time and y--"

  "I, well I don't want to convert, not yet, though I agree that, that the children will be

  Catholic." They'll all be brought up properly, and be intelligent, he reasoned, feeling sicker by the moment. They'll be able to choose for themselves when they're adult... What am I thinking about? Long before that we'll be properly married in a proper church.

  "Please, next week, Tuesday, that's the day."

  The eyes no longer smiled. "You're not going to embrace to the True Faith? What of your immortal soul?"

  "No, no thank you, not at the moment. I, I will, I will certainly consider it. The, the souls of the children... that's important..." Malcolm tried to sound more coherent. "Now, the marriage,

  I'd like it private, a simple ceremony,

  Tuesday wo--"

  "But your immortal soul, my son. God has shown you the light, your soul is even more important than this marriage."

  "Well, I'll certainly consider it, yes

  I will. Now the marriage. Tuesday would be perfect."

  The priest set his glass down, his mind tangled with joys and hopes and questions and fears and danger signals. "But, my son, that will not be possible, no, not for many reasons. The girl is underage, no? Her father's approval must be obtained, documents approved. You, the same, no?"

  "A minor?" Malcolm forced a tentative laugh. "It doesn't apply in my case, not when your father is dead. It's, it's English law.

  I checked it with... with Mr. Skye." He just managed to stop using "Heavenly" but cursed himself anyway for mentioning him at all as he suddenly remembered Angelique telling him how

  Father Leo hated the man, hated the nickname, believing him, an open agnostic, to be an abomination.

  "That person?" Father Leo's voice hardened.

  "His opinion will certainly have to be approved by your Sir William, he's certainly not to be trusted and as to the senhorita's father, he can come from

  Bangkok, no?"

  "He's... I believe he's returned to France. He won't be necessary, I'm sure

  Mr. Seratard can act for her. Tuesday would be perfect."

  "But, my son, why the hurry, you're both young, so much life ahead, your soul to consider."

  Father Leo tried a smile. "It's God's will you sent for me, in a month or two y--"

  "Not, not in a month or two," Malcolm said, ready to explode, his voice strangled. "Wednesday or Tuesday, please."

  "Reconsider, my son, your immortal soul should be y--"

  "Forget my soul..." Malcolm paused to get a grip on himself. "I thought I would endow the church though it's not, not currently my church, endow it handsomely."

  Father Leo heard the "currently" and the way

  "handsomely" had been said, ever conscious that

  God's work on earth required practical servants and pragmatic solutions. And funds.

  And influence. And those two essentials came only from the highborn and the rich, no need to remind himself that the tai-pan of the Noble House was both, or that already today a giant step forward in the service of God had been made: he had been asked for a favor, and the children would be saved even if this poor sinner burned in the Molten Torment.

  A shiver went through him, appalled for this youth and all those who would needlessly suffer such horror for all eternity when salvation was so easy to obtain.

  He pushed that problem aside. The will of God is the will of God. "The marriage will take place, my son, never fear, I promise... but not next week or the week after, there are too many barriers."

  Malcolm felt his heart about to burst. "God

  Almighty, if it can't be next week or the latest the week after, then it's no good, it has to be then--or nothing."

  "But why? And why private, my son?"

  "It has to be then, or nothing," Malcolm repeated, his face twisted. "You, you will find me a good friend... I need your help... For

  God's sake it's a simple thing to marry us!"

  "Yes, yes it is, for God, but not for us, my son." The priest sighed and got up. "I will ask God's guidance. I doubt if... but perhaps. Perhaps. I would have to be very sure."

  The words hung in the air.

  "I hate to pour feces on your bouquet of roses, Tai-pan," Heavenly Skye said, steepling his fingers. He was slumped behind his desk in his drab little office. "But since you ask my professional advice I'd say your Father

  Leo's not to be trusted, not a jot or tittle, unless you convert. There's no way that can be done in time and I wouldn't advise that, oh dear no.

  He'll puppet you like a will-o'-the- wisp and your vital dates will pass and you'll be truly buggered."

  "Then for Christ's sake, Heavenly, what do

  I do?"

  Skye hesitated, blew his bulbous nose and cleaned his pince-nez, small spectacles, a favorite ploy to allow time to compose himself, or to cover a lapse, or, in this case, to prevent an all-pervading beam.

  This was the first time anyone important had consulted him since he had hung up his own shingle, H. Skye, Esq., late of

  Moodle, Putfield and Leech,

  Solicitors and Barristers, Inns of Court,

  London, initially in Calcutta ten years ago, then Hong Kong, and recently here. At long last he had, potentially, a perfect client: rich, beset with anxiety, with a simple problem that could become ever more complicated, with long-term possibilities from the cradle to the grave. And grand fees, for a solution, of which there were many, some good, some violent.

  "Can't think of a worse pickle to be in," he said, solemnly, playing his part, liking and admiring the youth, not merely as a client, then offered a key, "The Gordian knot, eh?"

  Malcolm was miserable. Obviously Heavenly was right, Father Leo can't be trusted. Even if I converted... I can't, that would be too much...

  He looked up abruptly. "Knot?

  Gordian knot? That was solved! Ulysses hacked it in two. No, it was Hercules!"

  "Sorry, Alexander the Great in 333

  B.c."

  "Whoever did it, doesn't matter, my problem is... Heavenly, help me cut through my knot and you've my undying gratitude and five hundred guineas..."

  The Harbor Master's signal gun echoed over the Settlement. They looked out of the mildewed window--Skye's office was in

  Lunkchurch's building and godown, stacked with books, fronting the sea. To their joy the fleet was rounding the headland in line ahead, flagship to the fore, with flags overall. Pride filled them, and relief. Cannonade salutes thundered from shore and ships, H.m.s. Pearl the most exuberant, with replying salvos from the fleet.

  Both men whooped, and Skye said, "Now
we can deal with the Jappos and sleep snug in our beds." Obliquely, he returned to the matter in hand, envying him Angelique and determined to help. "Not difficult to solve

  Jappos, Willie needs to be simple and decisive, the old iron fist in the iron glove, or velvet, applies in most, if not all cases. As with you."

  Malcolm Struan looked at him. "How?