David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

‘Our back-wages?’ Baert, horrified, bites his hand. ‘My seven years’ wages?’

‘It was clever of you,’ nods Fischer, ‘to piss, whore and gamble most of it away, with hindsight. At least you enjoyed it.’

‘But our pay’s our pay,’ insists Oost. ‘Our pay’s safe, isn’t it, Mr de Zoet?’

‘Legally, yes. But “legally” implies courts, compensation, lawyers and time. Mr Fischer-’

‘I believe the Chief Resident’s books record my promotion to “Deputy”?’

‘Deputy Fischer, did the Courant article mention compensation and debt?’

‘For the dear Dutch Motherland’s shareholders, yes, but about the pawns out in the Asian factories, there was not one peep. On the subject of the dear Dutch Motherland, I have more news. A Corsican general, Bonaparte, has made himself First Consul of the French Republic. This Bonaparte doen’t lack ambition! He conquered Italy, mastered Austria, looted Venice, subdued Egypt, and intends to turn the Low Countries into a département of France. I am sorry to report, gentlemen, that your Motherland is to be married off and shall lose her name.’

‘The English are lying!’ exclaims Ouwehand. ‘That’s impossible!’

‘Yes, the Poles said much the same words before their country vanished.’

Jacob imagines a garrison of French troops in Domburg.

‘My brother Joris,’ says Baert, ‘served under that Frenchman, that Bonaparte. They said he’d done a deal with the Devil at the Bridge of Arcole, an’ that’s how he crushes whole armies. The deal din’t cover Boney’s men, mind. Joris was last seen on a spike at the Battle o’ the Pirrymids, minus his body.’

‘My sincere condolences, Baert,’ says Peter Fischer, ‘but Bonaparte is now your Head of State and cares not a tinker’s fart about your back-wages. So. We have two surprises so far. No more Company and no more independent Netherlands. Here is a third surprise, especially interesting for Head Clerk de Zoet, I think. The pilot and adviser who guided the Phoebus to Nagasaki Bay is Daniel Snitker.’

‘But he’s in Java,’ Ouwehand finds his tongue first, ‘on trial.’

‘Such twists,’ Fischer inspects a thumbnail, ‘make life much richer.’

Aghast, Jacob clears his throat. ‘You spoke with Snitker? Face to face?’ He glances at Ivo Oost, who looks pale and perplexed.

‘I ate supper with the man. The Shenandoah never reached Java, you see. Vorstenbosch – that famous surgeon of the cancer of corruption – and trusty Captain Lacy sold the Company’s copper – that same copper you, Mr de Zoet, won with such dedication! – to the English East India Company in Bengal for their own personal profit. The irony. The irony!’

This can’t be true, thinks Jacob. Jacob thinks, But, yes, it can.

‘Wait wait wait’ – Arie Grote is turning pink – ‘waity waity waity. What about our private cargoes? What about my lacquerware? What about the Arita figurines?’

‘Daniel Snitker does not know their next destination: he escaped at Macao…’

‘If those swine,’ Arie Grote is turning purple, ‘those thieving mongrels-’

‘… and didn’t ask, but your goods would fetch a handsome price in Carolina.’

‘Never mind the damn cargoes,’ protests Twomey. ‘How are we to get home?’

Even Arie Grote falls silent as the truth sinks in.

‘Mr Fischer,’ notes Marinus, ‘looks immune to the general dismay.’

‘What ain’t y’ tellin’ us,’ Gerritszoon looks dangerous, ‘Mister Fischer?’

‘I can speak only as fast as your noble democracy allows! The Doctor is right: all is not lost. Captain Penhaligon is authorised to propose an Anglo-Dutch Entente in these waters. He promises to pay every last penning the Company owes us, and give us passage, gratis, in a comfy side-berth, to Penang, Bengal, Ceylon or the Cape.’

‘All this,’ asks Con Twomey, ‘from the sweetness of an Englishman’s heart?’

‘In return, we work here for two more trading seasons. For wages.’

‘Meaning,’ Jacob intuits, ‘the English want Dejima and its profits.’

‘What use is Dejima to you, Mr de Zoet? Where are your ships, your capital?’

‘But…’ Ivo Oost frowns ‘… if the English want to trade out of Dejima…’

‘The interpreters,’ Arie Grote is nodding, ‘only speak Dutch.’

Fischer claps his hands. ‘Captain Penhaligon needs you. You need him. A blissful marriage.’

‘So it’d be the same work,’ Baert asks, ‘only with a new employer?’

‘One who won’t vanish to Carolina with your private cargoes, yes.’

‘The day I catch up with Vorstenbosch,’ vows Gerritszoon, ‘is the day his brains’ll get yanked out of his aristocratic arse.’

‘Whose flag would fly over Dejima?’ asks Jacob. ‘Dutch or English?’

‘Who cares,’ demands Fischer, ‘so long as our wages are paid?’

‘What does Chief van Cleef,’ Marinus asks, ‘make of the Captain’s offer?’

‘He is negotiating the finer details as we speak.’

‘And he didn’t think,’ asks Jacob, ‘to send any written orders to us?’

‘I am his written orders, Head Clerk! But, look, don’t accept my word. Captain Penhaligon has invited you – and the doctor, and Mr Ouwehand – to the Phoebus for supper this evening. His lieutenants are a splendid circle. One, named Hovell, speaks fluent Dutch. The leader of his marines, Major Cutlip, has travelled far and wide, and has even lived in New South Wales.’

The hands start laughing. ‘Cutlip?’ asks Grote. ‘That’s never a real name!’

‘If we reject their proposal,’ asks Jacob, ‘will the English sail peacefully away?’

Fischer tuts. ‘The proposal is not yours to accept or reject, is it, Head Clerk? Now Chief van Cleef and I are back, the Republic of Dejima can return to its box of toys and-’

‘Nah, ain’t so simple,’ says Grote. ‘We voted Mr de Zoet as President.’

‘President?’ Fischer lifts his eyebrows in mock amazement. ‘My!’

‘We need a man of his word,’ declares Arie Grote, ‘lookin’ out for us.’

‘You imply,’ Peter Fischer’s lips smile, ‘I am not a man of my word?’

‘Surely you ain’t f’gotten a certain Bill of Lading,’ says Grote, ‘what Mr de Z. would not sign but what you was all too happy?’

‘Vorstenbosch pokered him,’ says Piet Baert, ‘but he’d not poker us.’

Jacob is as surprised as Fischer at the strength of the hands’ support.

Fischer’s voice stiffens. ‘The Company oath is clear about obedience.’

‘The Company oath became legally void,’ notes Marinus, ‘on January the first.’

‘But we are all on the same side, men, are we not?’ Fischer realises his miscalculation. ‘Concerns about flags can be met. What is a flag but a rectangle of cloth? I’ll be speaking to the Magistrate later – and your “president” can join me, to show my good faith. In the meantime, your “Republic of Dejima” -’

Naming, thinks Jacob, even in ridicule, gives what is named substance.

‘- can debate to its heart’s desire. When Jacob and I return to the Phoebus, he can tell Captain Penhaligon how things stand ashore. But don’t forget, home is twelve thousand miles away. Don’t forget, Dejima is a trading post with no trade. Don’t forget, the Japanese want us to persuade them to work with the English. By making the right choice, we earn money and protect our families against poverty. Who, in God’s name, could object to that?’

‘So how translate “Stadholder”?’ Tired-eyed Interpreter Goto tests the unshaven shadow around his jaw. ‘Dutch William Five is king or not king?’ The Almelo Clock in the Chief’s Bureau chimes once. Titles, titles, thinks Jacob. So stupid, so important. ‘He is not the king.’