James Clavell - Gai-Jin

Struan looked up. His eyes narrowed.

"Yes Jamie?"

"You wanted me to do something?"

After a pause Malcolm said, "Yes.

Leave a message at the French Legation--Angelique's there, she said she was going to wait for her mail--say an old friend has arrived from Hong Kong that I'd like her to meet."

McFay nodded and smiled. "Done. Send for me when you want anything." He left them.

Uneasily Struan watched the door.

Jamie's face had been too open. Trying to regain his calm he went back to the letter: Malcolm, my poor dear son, Just a short note in haste as Ronald Hoag leaves at once for the mail ship I held up so he could catch it, and you can have the best care. I was aghast to hear about those swine and that they had attacked you.

Jamie reports that this Dr. Babcott has had to operate--please write by any express mail you can and come home quickly so we can care for you properly. I send my love and prayers, as do Emma, Rose and Duncan. P.s. I love you.

He looked up. "So?"

"So? Tell me the truth, Malcolm. How are you?"

"I feel dreadful and I'm afraid I'm going to die."

Hoag sat in the armchair and steepled his fingers. "The first is understandable, the second not necessarily accurate though very easy, very very easy and very very dangerous to believe. Chinese can "makee die," can think themselves into death even though healthy--I've seen it happen."

"Christ, I don't want to die, I have everything to live for. I want to live and get well so much I can't tell you. But every night and every day at some time the thought hits me... it hits like a physical blow."

"What medicine are you taking?"

"Just some stuff--laudanum's in it--to help me sleep. The pain's rotten and I'm so uncomfortable."

"Every night?"

"Yes." Struan added, half apologetically, "He wants me to stop taking it, says I've... I should stop."

"Have you tried?"

"Yes."

"But haven't stopped?"

"No, not yet. My, my will seems to forsake me."

"That's one of its problems--however valuable and beautiful it is." He smiled. "Laudanum was the name first given by Paracelsus to this panacea.

Do you know Paracelsus?"

"No."

"Neither do I," Hoag said with a laugh.

"Anyway we passed the name on to this tincture of opium. Pity that all derivatives are habit forming. But then you know that."

"Yes."

"We can wean you off it, that's no problem."

"It's a problem, I know that too, and that you still don't approve of our opium trade."

Hoag smiled. "I'm glad you made that a statement, not a question. But then you don't approve of it either, no China trader does but you're all trapped. Now, no economics, no politics, Malcolm. Next, Miss Richaud?"

Struan felt the rush of blood in his face.

"Now you bloody listen once and for all time: whatever Mother says I'm old enough to know my own mind and can do what I want! Clear?"

Hoag smiled benignly. "I'm your doctor, Malcolm, not your mother. I'm also your friend. Have I ever failed you, or any one of your family?"

With a visible effort Struan shoved away his anger but could not still his racing heart. "Sorry, sorry, but I..." He shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry."

"That's not necessary. I'm not trying to interfere in your private life. Your health depends on many factors. It seems she's a major one.

Hence my question. I ask for medical reasons--not family reasons. So, Miss Angelique Richaud?"

Struan wanted to sound manly and calm but could not contain his frustration and burst out, "I want to marry her and it's driving me mad lying here like a ... lying here helpless. For Christ's sake I can't even get out of bed yet, can't pee or... can't do a God-cursed thing, can't hardly drink or eat or anything without it hurting like hell.

I'm going mad and much as I try I don't seem to be getting better..." He continued ranting until he weakened. Hoag just listened.

Eventually Struan stopped. He mumbled another apology.

"May I take a look at you?"

"Yes... yes of course."

With great care Hoag examined him, put his ear to his chest to listen to his heart, looked in his mouth, took his pulse, peered at the wound and smelt it. His fingers probed the stomach walls, searching for the organs beneath, the extent of the damage: "Does that hurt... This... Is it easier here?" Every little push caused Malcolm to groan.

At length, Hoag stopped.

Struan broke the silence. "Well?"

"Babcott has done a very good job with what would have by this time killed a normal man."

Hoag's words were measured and full of confidence.

"Now we will try an experiment." Gently he took Struan's legs and helped him to sit on the side of the bed. Then, his arm around Malcolm's shoulders, taking most of the weight with his surprising strength, he helped him stand. "Careful!"

Struan could not stay upright by himself, but he had the impression of standing and this encouraged him. After a moment or two Hoag settled him in the bed again.

Struan's heart was thumping from the pain but he was greatly satisfied. "Thanks."

The doctor sat back in the armchair and gathered his own strength. Then he said, "I'm going to leave you now, got to get myself organized. I would like you to rest. After I've seen Babcott I'll come back again. We'll probably come back together. Then we'll talk. All right?"

"Yes. And... Thanks, Ronald."

For an answer Hoag just patted him on the arm, picked up his belongings and left.

Once alone, the tears seeped down Struan's cheeks and these happy tears took him in sleep. When he awoke, he felt rested, for the first time refreshed, and he stayed without moving, glorying in the fact that he had stood up--with help yes but he had been on his feet and made a beginning, and that now, now he had a real ally.

From where he lay, slightly turned on his left side, he could see out of the window toward the sea. He loved the sea and hated it, never at ease on it, fearing it because it was uncontrollable and unpredictable like on the sunny day when the twins and the Bosun rowed offshore a hundred yards or so and a wave came and overturned the boat and a current took them down, all of them swimmers, the twins like fish, but all gone except the seaman. The shock devastated him and almost killed his father. His mother stayed in one of her walking comas, saying repeatedly: "the will of God. We must go on."

Won't think about my brothers, or Dirk Struan, he told himself, glad to be safe ashore. But our past is bound to the sea, inexorably, and our future. Isn't our ultimate strength in our clippers and steamers--and China.

Japan's a small market, interesting but small, never to be compared with China. We can make money here certainly--selective armaments and ships and British skills will make a bundle.

I'm going to tell Jamie to conclude the Choshu order. Let them kill themselves and the quicker the better. Sir William's weak-kneed dillydallying, waiting for London's approval to war is stupid. If it was up to me I would order them to hand over the murderers, to pay up at once or tomorrow a state of war would exist between us, and the first act would be to stamp out Yedo. I will never, never forgive the bastards!

The horizon beckoned. Soon I must go back to Hong Kong to take charge. A week or so. No hurry. Plenty of time.

What's the time now?

There was no need to turn and look at the clock, the angle of the sun told him it was about noon and he thought that normally he would order lovely rare roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with rich gravy and roast potatoes, a bowl or two of diced roast chicken with fried rice and mixed vegetables, and other Chinese dishes that Ah Tok would make and he enjoyed--however much his mother and brother and sisters decried as tasteless, without nourishment, probably poisonous and only fit for heathens...