James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  "Excuse me for butting in, Sir

  William," Skye said, then added as a brilliant Queen's Counsel cross-examining would, "But unless you are formally challenging the legality of my client's marriage, she does have certain rights. May I therefore ask you to approve that her late husband's wishes and hers prevail in this matter and let him be buried here." Then, the same Queen's Counsel finishing his summation for the defense, he said so softly, kindly: "Malcolm Struan was ours,

  Yokohama's, as much as theirs. His tragedy began here, his should end here."

  In spite of her resolve, Angelique felt the tears begin. But she gave no sound of crying.

  For an hour after Sir William and the others left Skye and Jamie argued. She listened.

  Nothing they said made any difference. She had lost. Following Skye's impassioned appeal,

  Sir William pronounced: "I regret

  I've heard nothing here this afternoon to change my mind. The body should go back to Hong Kong for burial, either with Prancing Cloud or the mail ship. As you choose, Madam. This meeting is over."

  Skye said bitterly, "If we were in Hong

  Kong I could apply for a writ on a dozen grounds, but here Sir William is court, judge and jury. There isn't time enough to go there and back whatever we do."

  "Then there's nothing more to be done." Jamie was grim, rocked by her story. "You have to accept it,

  Angelique. There's nothing more to be done, God rot it."

  "I cannot go to Hong Kong--I must be at the burial."

  "I agree," Skye said, nodding.

  "Why? What's to stop you, Angelique?"

  Jamie asked.

  "Tess Struan," she said.

  "What can she do? She can't stop you going to the funeral and she can't break the marriage.

  Nettlesmith's afternoon editorial says it's perfectly legal even though you're both minors.

  Go with the mail ship, I'll get her to sail at the same time."

  "No. Sorry, Jamie, Mr.

  Skye already said the editorial is only an opinion. I know Tess Struan won't bury him at sea as he wanted, I'm sure she won't. And she will attack me in any way she can. Here, read her letters to Malcolm."

  Both men were jolted by the intensity of venom.

  Skye said queasily, "Pity, there's nothing actionable in them. She'd claim they were private letters from a mother to a son, desperately warning him against marriage as is her right, even to forbid it--as is her right. And the threats against you, you as a person, Mrs. Struan, there's nothing we could attack her with."

  "That's not fair," she said.

  "Heavenly, what about "if that woman ever steps foot in Hong Kong I'll make sure

  ..." eh?" Not wanting to hurt Angelique further, Jamie did not read all of what

  Tess Struan had written: I'll make sure every decent person in Hong Kong knows her history, her father's, uncle's and that her aunt was an itinerant actress in a travelling group of players, gypsies and mountebanks, and about her own personal finances.

  "I'm not ashamed that my mother was an actress," she had said sharply, "even though most English consider them harlots. She wasn't, ever. And they weren't mountebanks. I'm not responsible for the sins of my father--I wasn't penniless, he stole my money, not only other people's."

  "I know." Jamie wished he had not mentioned the letter. "Heavenly, can you get proof of Dirk's burial with May-may?"

  "Oh yes, from Compradore Chen and Tess herself. But neither would volunteer, or admit it, would they? We would be jeered at and never get a court order to open the family crypt." Skye coughed and coughed again. "Mrs. Angelique

  Struan must go with her husband's remains, if she doesn't she'll immeasurably hurt her position, both legally and publicly. But to go to Hong Kong? Dangerous." He had asked

  Babcott and Hoag to smooth the wording of the death certificates but was told, as expected, it could not be done. "In my considered opinion, Mrs.

  Angelique is right not to take that risk at the moment, Jamie. I'm concerned she'd be more defenseless in Hong Kong than here."

  "You'd go too, you can provide any shield necessary."

  "Yes, but there's bound to be a scandal and I want to prevent that at all costs, for everyone's sake. Including Tess Struan's. She's not a bad woman if you look at her position from a mother's point of view. My considered opinion is that there's bound to be a stink--how to avoid it or minimize it, that's the question."

  "Perhaps it can be contained," Jamie said.

  "Tess isn't an ogre, she's always been fair in her way."

  "She won't be fair, not with me,"

  Angelique said. "I understand her. Only a woman can really understand. She'll believe I've stolen her eldest son and killed him. Malcolm warned me against her."

  "To contain her we need time," Skye said.

  "We need time to negotiate, and there's not enough before a burial."

  When the two men left her, nothing had been resolved.

  Never mind, she thought. I will bury my husband as he wished, I will inherit his worldly goods, if any, I will beat Tess Struan. And I will be revenged.

  The letters had hurt, but not as much as she expected. Her tears were not tears as before. They had not racked her as before. Nor am I as before.

  I don't understand. I'm really very strange. Will it last? I surely hope so. Oh, Blessed

  Mother, how stupid I was.

  Through the window she saw that day would soon be night, and in the bay, ships' riding lights, port, starboard and at their mastheads, blinked with the rise and fall of the swell. In the fire bucket coals settled noisily, flames flared briefly drawing her attention back. What to do?

  "Missee?" Ah Soh stalked in.

  "Tai-tai, Ah Soh! You deaf heya?" she said curtly. Malcolm had explained tai-tai to her, and on his last night Malcolm had made Ah Tok, Ah Soh and Chen address her as such in front of him--and Skye had also reminded her to make the servants use it.

  "Missee wan' my pack chop chop?"

  "Tai-tai. You deaf, heya?"

  "You wan' my pack, chop chop... tai-tai?"

  "No. Tomorrow. If at all," she added quietly.

  "Missee?"

  She sighed. "Tai-tai!"

  "Missee-tai-tai?"

  "Go away!"

  "Med'sin man wan' see-ah."

  She was going to say, Go away again, then changed her mind. "Medicine man what?"

  "Med'sin frog, missee tai-tai."

  Hoag. Yes, he is froglike, she thought and was surprised to find that she was smiling. "Yes.

  See now," and when he came in she said,

  "Evening, Doctor. How are you? I'm fine, thanks to you."

  "Are you?" His eyes were red from fatigue, face pasty and puglike as ever but still a warmth about him that was comely. He peered at her. "Yes, I can see that. Be cautious, don't press yourself, take it easy, Angelique, be wise."

  "I will, I promise."

  "You were marvelous this afternoon."

  "But I lost."

  "Yes. George Babcott and I were sorry about that, outraged after your story and Heavenly's appeal. George's seeing Wee Willie for dinner and will try again but I, we, we don't hold out much hope." He saw her shrug, just a small gesture, and continue watching him, eyes enormous in the paleness of her face. "Do you need anything? To sleep or to calm--no, I can see you don't need any calming. I'm glad, so glad. I wanted to talk to you, chat, do you mind?"

  "Of course not, please sit down. How did the inquest go? Oh, there's whisky or other drinks there if you want."

  "Thanks." On the sideboard Waterford glasses and cut-glass decanters were lined up like soldiers in silver holders, with silver labels around their necks, the silver

  Georgian: Whisky, Cognac, Sherry,

  Port. He chose whisky and poured himself half a glass. "The inquest went as expected,

  Edward Gornt was exonerated of any blame and commended for bravery. The coroner, Skye, found that Greyforth's death was accidental and Gornt perfectly corre
ct in trying to stop what could have been a brutal murder. We were surprised he used such strong words even though it was the truth."

  He sat facing her, raised his glass.

  "Health!"

  "Salut! I'm glad for Edward.

  He deserves much praise."

  "And so do you. Your story touched me deeply,"

  Hoag said.

  "It's true. Don't you believe me either?"

  "I believe it. That's what I wanted to talk about. You see, I understand it only too well." Then, eloquently, Hoag told her his own story, of his days in the Indian Army and falling in love and marrying against all conventions, the ostracism immediate, awful, then going home. Nothing better there. "It was worse in fact. Arjumand died, that was her name, the same as the beloved of

  Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal," he said, his eyes locked into the fire, telling the story to the fire as well, seeing pictures of her there, her and him in the grand days before marriage.

  "I'm so sad and yet glad that she didn't linger in the hatred, that she caught cold and died quickly like a gorgeous hothouse plant in an icy draft--that's what she was, you can't believe how exquisite, any more than I can believe she loved me--I know how ugly I look. I loved her to madness, and killed her."

  "When you speak of her your face changes. You didn't kill her. It was fate. You weren't responsible." There's that word again, she thought.

  "I was, marrying her and taking her home.

  May-may would have died too, forlorn, lonely and desperate for home. Even the great Dirk

  Struan himself couldn't buck public opinion, not if they'd married. They were both lucky to have died like that."

  She watched him, his eyes misty. "Was

  Malcolm lucky to have died, like he died? I mean, you said he was so peaceful. Was he dying anyway?"

  Hoag said, "I'm afraid so. He could have gone any day, any hour. He was on borrowed time and I think he knew it."

  This rattled her. "Why wasn't he told, why didn't you warn him, warn us?"

  "It was an Act of God--we didn't know, not for certain as we do now, impossible to know or we would have."

  "I, I don't understand. Tell me the truth, please, I need to understand."

  Gently Hoag said, "His insides, under and near the wound were worse than we'd thought.

  George couldn't probe around the wound much when he was brought in, that would have killed him anyway. The autopsy showed he was rotting away."

  "The operation, it was well done?"

  "Oh yes, first class. George's repair job was admirable, as good as anyone could do," he said and she believed him. "You see,

  Angelique, we can't replace, we can only repair, there was sepsis in pockets--the reason for all the pain, poor fellow--and bad lesions that prevented him from straightening up." He added sadly, "He was on the last of borrowed time.

  Even so I'm certain you made his last days the happiest any man could have."

  A coal fell into the hearth. Her eyes went to it. The flame flared and flickered and died--just like my Malcolm, poor man, poor love.

  "Sad," she said to the fire, "so sad."

  Hoag was weighing her, weighing himself and the memory of Arjumand--whom Angelique had reborn for him. Easy to decide now, after sharing

  Arjumand, he thought. Nervously he finished the drink. "May I?"

  "Of course. Please."

  Hoag replenished his glass, not so amply.

  "About the burial, that's what I really wanted to see you about. You could, possibly, still do what you and Malcolm wanted."

  "What?"

  He sat opposite her again. "Bury him at sea like his grandfather, like he wanted, like you want.

  I can help you."

  "How?"

  He mopped his brow. "You go to Sir

  William, say you'll bow to the inevitable and as much as you deplore his decision, you will allow the body to be sent to Hong Kong. Tomorrow, we,

  Babcott and I, we officially put his coffin aboard Prancing Cloud from Kanagawa where it is at the moment. You see the coffin off, officially, saying you could not bear to go with it on

  Prancing Cloud but you'll go by mail ship the day after tomorrow when she sails for Hong Kong.

  Everyone's satisfied."

  "But the coffin is empty?" she said excitedly.

  He shook his head, his brow and jowls glistening in the firelight. "No. There'll be a body in it but not his, a fisherman, a Korean, who died in Kanagawa this morning, at the clinic.

  Meanwhile Malcolm's remains are in the other coffin, still secretly at Kanagawa.

  If Jamie was with us, he could bring the cutter there tomorrow evening, we go out to sea and if we could get

  Tweet to officiate, Malcolm can be buried as you wish. The next day you catch the mail ship and no one's the wiser--if we can swear everyone to secrecy."

  "So many "ifs,"" she muttered, her heart thumping.

  "Many more that I've thought of," he said, drying his forehead, throat tight. "It was just... The idea jumped into me a little while ago. I haven't thought it through, I may be quite off the mark, but I wanted to help. With or without George I can do the first part. Substituting the bodies. You have to do the other things. Perhaps I can help, I don't know," adding lamely, "I'm not good at keeping secrets. Sorry, we have to decide now if

  ... I'll have to get back to Kanagawa tonight while George is dining here. What do you think?"

  She was out of her chair in a flash and put her arms around him, embracing him in a perfumed envelope of softness and gratitude. "Let's try... and thank you thank you."

  "You wanted to see me, Ma'am?" Gornt said.

  "Yes, please come and sit down."

  Angelique sat by the bay window of the tai-pan's office where lounging chairs, an oak table and sideboard were. Chen stood nearby.

  "May I say again how sorry I am about all this. If there's anything I can do, you only have to ask, Ma'am."

  "I know, thank you, Edward. Yes, you can help, we all need friends. I'm glad the inquest went properly--you should get a medal. It was very brave of you, I'd like to thank you for

  Jamie, I don't know what I would do without him." A good fire burned in the hearth and fine

  Thai silk curtains shut out the night. Chen went over to the ice bucket with the opened bottle.

  "My husband said you liked champagne?"

  "Sure, yes, Ma'am, yes I do,"

  Gornt said, thinking of the inquest and the heavenly verdict that put the dangerous Norbert chapter to bed. The coroner, Heavenly Skye, was well named.

  She motioned to Chen who poured two tall glasses.

  "Doh jeh"--thanks, Gornt said, accepting his glass.

  Chen gaped at him as though he had not understood, despising this impertinent foreign devil even more for daring to speak a civilized dialect.

  Angelique said, "Chen, you wait outside.

  If want, I use bell, heya?" She indicated the silver bell on the side table.

  "Yes, Missee."

  She glared at him. "Tai-tai!"

  "Yes, Missee-tai-tai." Chen left, pleased with small victories. The servants had requested a conference that he had chaired. Ah

  Tok, her mind wandering, had wanted them to employ a soothsayer to put the Evil Eye on this

  "Possessor of a Death-filled Duct," but he had said, "No, we can't--and it isn't. The

  Master's death was not her doing. The Master married her and made us call her tai-tai in front of him and her. Our compromise is to call her

  "Missee" first, then "Missee-tai-tai" until the matter is decided by Illustrious

  Chen, to whom my urgent, detailed report is already aboard Prancing Cloud."

  "Salut, Edward."

  "Your health, Ma'am!"

  She took the tiniest sip, he drank with enjoyment.

  "Champagne's a source of life for me," he said, immediately wishing he had not said it that way.

  "I've never been able to afford it, except on festive occasions."
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