David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

Jacob looks at Ouwehand; Ouwehand nods at Fischer’s hunched back.

‘Would you know where the ’ninety-three to ’ninety-eight ledgers are, Mr Fischer?’

‘I know where everything is in my office.’

‘Then would you kindly tell me where to find the ’ninety-three to ’ninety-eight ledgers?’

‘Why do you need them,’ Fischer looks around, ‘exactly?’

‘To carry out the duties assigned to me by Chief Resident Vorstenbosch.’

Ouwehand hums a nervous bar of the Prinsenlied.

‘Errors,’ Fischer gnashes his words, ‘here’ – the Prussian thumps the pile of ledgers in front of him – ‘occur not because we unfrauded the Company’ – his Dutch deteriorates – ‘but because Snitker forbade us to keep proper ledgers.’

Long-sighted Jacob removes his glasses to dissolve Fischer’s face.

‘Who has accused you of defrauding the Company, Mr Fischer?’

‘I am sick – do you hear? Sick! – of the… of the never-ending inference!’

Lethargic waves die on the other side of the Sea Wall.

‘Why does the Chief,’ demands Fischer, ‘not instruct I to repair the ledgers?’

‘Is it not logical to appoint an auditor unconnected with Snitker’s regime?’

‘So I, too, am an embezzler, now?’ Fischer’s nostrils dilate. ‘You admit it! You plot against us all! I dare you to deny it!’

‘All the Chief wants,’ says Jacob, ‘is one version of the truth.’

‘My powers of logic,’ Fischer waves an erect index finger at Jacob, ‘destroy your lie! I warn you, in Surinam I shot more Blacks than Clerk de Zoet can count on his abacus. Attack me, and I crush you under my foot. So here,’ the ill-tempered Prussian deposits the pile of ledgers in Jacob’s hands. ‘Sniff for “errors”. I go to Mr van Cleef to discuss – to make a profit for the Company this season!’

Fischer rams on his hat and leaves, slamming the door.

‘It’s a compliment, in a way,’ says Ouwehand. ‘You make him nervous.’

I just want to do my job, Jacob thinks. ‘Nervous about what?’

‘Ten dozen boxes marked “Kumamoto Camphor” loaded in ’ninety-six and ’ninety-seven.’

‘Were they something other than Kumamoto Camphor?’

‘No, but page fourteen of our ledgers lists twelve-pound boxes: the Japanese records, as Ogawa can tell you, list thirty-six-pounders.’ Ouwehand goes to the water pitcher. ‘At Batavia,’ he continues, ‘one Johannes van der Broeck, a Customs officer, sells the excess: the son-in-law of Chairman van der Broeck of the Council of the Indies. It’s a swindle as sweet as honey. A cup of water?’

‘Yes, please.’ Jacob drinks. ‘And this you tell me because…’

‘Blank self-interest: Mr Vorstenbosch is here for five whole years, no?’

‘Yes,’ Jacob lies, because he must. ‘I shall serve my contract with him.’

A fat fly traces a lazy oval through light and shadow.

‘When Fischer wakes up to the fact that it’s Vorstenbosch and not van Cleef he must wed and bed, he’ll stick a knife into my back.’

‘With what knife,’ Jacob sees the next question, ‘might he do that?’

‘Can you promise,’ Ouwehand scratches his neck, ‘I shan’t be Snitkered?’

‘I promise,’ power has an unpleasant taste, ‘to tell Mr Vorstenbosch that Ponke Ouwehand is a helper and not a hinderer.’

Ouwehand weighs Jacob’s sentence. ‘Last year’s private sales records will show that I brought in fifty bolts of Indian Chintz. The Japanese private sales accounts, however, shall show me selling one hundred and fifty. Of the surplus, Captain Hofstra of the Octavia commandeered half, though of course I can’t prove that; and neither can he, God grant mercy to his drowned soul.’

‘A helper,’ the fat fly settles on Jacob’s blotter, ‘not a hinderer, Mr Ouwehand.’

Dr Marinus’s students arrive at three o’clock precisely.

The Sick Room door is ajar, but Jacob cannot see into the Surgery.

Four male voices chorus, ‘Good afternoon, Dr Marinus.’

‘Today, Seminarians,’ says Marinus, ‘we have a practical experiment. Whilst Eelattu and I prepare this, each of you shall study a different Dutch text, and translate it into Japanese. My friend Dr Maeno has agreed to inspect your handiwork later this week. The paragraphs are relevant to your interests: to Mr Muramoto, our bonesetter-in-chief, I proffer Albinus’s Tabulae sceleti et musculorum corporis humani; Mr Kajiwaki, a passage on cancer from Jean-Louis Petit, who lends his name to the trigonum Petiti which is what and where?’

‘Muscle hole in back, Doctor.’

‘Mr Yano, you have Dr Olof Acrel, my old master at Uppsala; his essay on cataracts I translated from the Swedish. For Mr Ikematsu, a page of Lorenz Heister’s Chirurgie on disorders of the skin… and Miss Aibagawa shall peruse the admirable Dr Smellie. This passage, however, is problematical. In the Sick Room awaits the volunteer for today’s demonstration, who may assist you on matters of Dutch vocabulary…’ Marinus’s lumpish head appears around the door-frame. ‘Domburger! I present Miss Aibagawa, and urge you, Orate ne intretis in tentationem.’

Miss Aibagawa recognises the red-haired green-eyed foreigner.

‘Good afternoon,’ his throat is dry, ‘Miss Aibagawa.’

‘Good afternoon,’ her voice is clear, ‘Mr… “Dom-bugger”?’

‘ “Domburger” is… is the doctor’s little joke. My name is de Zoet.’

She lowers her writing desk: a tray with legs. ‘ “Dom-bugger” is funny joke?’

‘Dr Marinus thinks so: my home-town is called “Domburg”.’

She makes an unconvinced rising mmm noise. ‘Mr de Zoet is sick?’

‘Oh – that is to say – a little, yes. I have a pain in…’ He pats his abdomen.

‘Stools like water?’ The midwife assumes control. ‘Bad smell?’

‘No.’ Jacob is thrown by her directness. ‘The pain is in my – in my liver.’

‘Your’ – she enunciates the l with great care – ‘liver?’

‘Just so: my liver pains me. I trust that Miss Aibagawa is well?’

‘Yes, I am quite well. I trust that your friend monkey is well?’

‘My – oh, William Pitt? My monkey friend is – well, he is no more.’

‘I am sorry not to understand. Monkey is… no more what?’

‘No more alive. I -’ Jacob mimes breaking a chicken’s neck ‘- killed the rascal, you see; tanned his hide and turned him into a new tobacco pouch.’

Her mouth and eyes open in horror.

If Jacob had a pistol, he would shoot himself. ‘I joke, miss! The monkey is happy and alive and well, shooling, somewhere – thieving, that is…’

‘Correct, Mr Muramoto.’ Marinus’s voice travels from the surgery. ‘First one boils away the subcutaneous fat, and after, injects the veins with coloured wax…’

‘Shall we…’ Jacob curses his misfired joke ‘… open your text?’

She is wondering how this can be done at a safe distance.

‘Miss Aibagawa could seat herself there.’ He points to the end of the bed. ‘Read your text aloud, and when you meet a difficult word we shall discuss it.’

She nods that the arrangement is satisfactory, sits and begins reading.

Van Cleef’s courtesan speaks at a shrill pitch, apparently considered to be feminine, but Miss Aibagawa’s reading voice is lower, quieter and calming. Jacob blesses this excuse to study her part-burnt face and her careful lips… ‘ “Soon after this occ-u-rrence”…’ She looks up. ‘What is, please?’

‘An occurrence would be a – a happening, or an event.’

‘Thank you. ”… this occurrence, in consulting Ruysch about every thing he had writ concerning women… I found him exclaiming against the premature extraction of the placenta and his authority confirmed the opinion I had already adopted… and induced me a more natural way of proceeding. When I have separated the Funis… and given away the child… I introduce my finger into the vagina… ” ’