David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

‘Did I? Well, one grows less judgemental in one’s dotage.’

‘This was less than a month ago, Marinus.’

‘Oh. Well, as my friend the Dean observes,’ Marinus leans on the rail, ‘we have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love. Your new habitus suits you very well, if I may say so.’

‘It’s Chief van Cleef’s habitus, and I pray he’ll be back in it by tonight. I mean it. In my less charitable minutes, I might consider paying the English a ransom to keep Fischer, but Melchior van Cleef is a fair-minded man, by the Company’s standards – and a Dejima of only four officers is less undermanned than unmanned.’

Marinus squints at the sky. ‘Come and eat. Eelattu and I brought you some poached fish from the Kitchen…’

They walk through to the Dining Room where Jacob makes a point of occupying his usual chair. He asks whether Marinus has had dealings with British naval officers in the past.

‘Fewer than you may imagine. I’ve corresponded with Joseph Banks and some of the English and Scottish philosophers, but I’ve yet to master their language. Their nation is rather young. You must have met some officers during your London sojourn. Two or three years, was it not?’

‘Four years, in total. My employer’s principal warehouse was a short walk downriver from the East India Docks, so I watched hundreds of ships-of-the-line come and go: the finest ships in the Royal Navy – that is, in the world. But my circle of English acquaintances was confined to warehouse-men, scriveners and bookkeepers. To the Grand and the Uniformed, a junior clerk from Zeeland with a thick Dutch accent would have been invisible.’

The servant d’Orsaiy appears at the door. ‘Interpreter Goto here, Chief.’

Jacob looks around for van Cleef and remembers. ‘Show him in, d’Orsaiy.’

Goto enters, looking as grave as the situation warrants. ‘Good morning, Acting-Chief,’ the interpreter bows, ‘and Dr Marinus. I disturb breakfast, sorry. But inspector at Guild send me urgently to discover about war song from English ship. Do English sing such song previous to attack?’

‘An attack?’ Jacob hurries back to the Sea Room. He looks at the frigate through his telescope, but its position is the same, and belatedly he sees the misunderstanding. ‘No, it wasn’t a war song that the English were singing, Mr Goto, it was a hymn.’

Goto is puzzled: ‘What is “hymn” or who is “hymn”?’

‘A hymn is a song sung by Christians to our God. It is an act of worship.’

The Acting-Chief continues to watch the frigate: there is activity at the bow.

‘Within hailing distance of the Papenburg Rock,’ observes Marinus. ‘Whoever claimed that History has no sense of humour died too soon.’

Goto does not catch everything, but he understands the Shogun’s sacrosanct edict against Christianity has been violated. ‘Very serious and bad,’ he mutters. ‘Very…’ he searches for another word ‘… very serious and bad.’

‘Unless I’m mistaken…’ Jacob is still watching ‘… something is afoot.’

The congregation has disbanded and the church awning lowered.

‘Someone in an oat-coloured jacket is climbing down the rope-ladder…’

He is helped into the frigate’s boat, moored at her starboard bow.

One of the Japanese guard-boats circling the vessel is being called over.

‘It appears that Deputy Fischer is being given back his freedom…’

Jacob has not set foot on the Sea-Ramp in the fifteen months since his arrival. Soon the sampan shall be in hailing distance. Jacob recognises Interpreter Sagara next to Peter Fischer in the prow of the boat. Ponke Ouwehand breaks off the tune he is humming. ‘Being out here whets your appetite for the day when we’ll put this gaol behind us, doesn’t it?’

Jacob thinks about Orito, flinches, and says, ‘Yes.’

Marinus is filling a sack with slimy handfuls of seaweed. ‘Porphyra umbilicalis. The pumpkins shall be delighted.’

Twenty yards away, Peter Fischer cups his hands and calls out to his welcoming party: ‘So I turn my back for twenty-four hours, and “Acting-Chief de Zoet” stages a coup d’état!’ His levity is stiff and prickly. ‘Will you be as quick into my coffin, I wonder?’

‘We had no notion,’ Ouwehand calls back, ‘how long we might be left headless.’

‘The head is back, “Acting-Deputy Ouwehand“! What a flurry of promotions! Is the monkey now the cook?’

‘Good to see you back, Peter,’ Jacob says, ‘whatever our titles.’

‘Fine to be back, Head Clerk!’ The boat scrapes the ramp and Fischer leaps ashore like a conquering hero. He lands awkwardly and slips on the stones.

Jacob tries to help him up. ‘How is Chief van Cleef?’

Fischer stands. ‘Van Cleef is well, yes. Very well indeed. He sends his warm regards.’

‘Mr de Zoet.’ Interpreter Sagara is helped out by his servant and a guard. ‘We have letter from English Captain to Magistrate. I take now, so no delay. Magistrate summon you later, I think, and he want speak to Mr Fischer also.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ declares Fischer. ‘Tell Shiroyama I shall be available after luncheon.’

Sagara bows vaguely to Fischer, firmly to de Zoet, and turns away.

‘Interpreter,’ calls Fischer after him. ‘Interpreter Sagara!’

Sagara turns around at the Sea-Gate, a mild Yes? on his face.

‘Remember who is the highest-ranking officer on Dejima.’

Sagara’s humble bow is not quite sincere. He goes.

‘I don’t trust that one,’ says Fischer. ‘He lacks manners.’

‘We hope the English treated yourself and the Chief well,’ says Jacob.

‘ “Well”? Better than well, Head Clerk. I have extraordinary news.’

‘I am touched by your concern,’ Fischer tells the company assembled in the State Room, ‘and you will be eager to learn about my sojourn aboard the Phoebus. However, protocol must be respected. Therefore: Grote, Gerritszoon, Baert and Oost – and you too, Twomey – you are excused, and may return to work for this morning. I have matters of state to discuss with Dr Marinus, Mr Ouwehand and Mr de Zoet, and decisions to make with careful thought and clear heads. When these matters are settled, you shall be informed.’

‘Yer wrong,’ states Gerritszoon. ‘We’re stayin’, see.’

The grandfather clock calibrates time. Piet Baert scratches his crotch.

‘So while the cat’s away,’ Fischer pretends to be charmed, ‘the mice will set up a National Convention of the People. Very well, then, I shall keep things as easy to understand as possible. Mr van Cleef and I spent the night aboard the HMS Phoebus as guests of the English Captain. His name is John Penhaligon. He is here on the orders of the British Governor-General at Fort William in Bengal. Fort William is the principal base of the English East India Company, which-’

‘We all know what Fort William is,’ interjects Marinus.

Fischer smiles for a long second. ‘Captain Penhaligon’s orders are to negotiate a trade treaty with the Japanese.’

‘Jan Compagnie trades in Japan,’ says Ouwehand. ‘Not John Company.’

Fischer picks his teeth. ‘Ah, yes, some more news. Jan Compagnie is dead as a doornail. Yes. At midnight on the last day of the eighteenth century, whilst some of you -’ he happens to glance at Gerritszoon and Baert ‘- were singing rude songs about your Germanic ancestors on Long Street, the Ancient Honourable Company ceased to exist. Our employer and paymaster is bankrupt.’

The men are dumbstruck. ‘Similar rumours,’ says Jacob, ‘have-’

‘I read it in the Amsterdamsche Courant in Captain Penhaligon’s cabin. There: in black and white and plain Dutch. Since January the first we’ve been working for a phantom.’