David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

‘Chongzhen Emperor,’ observes Kobayashi, ‘hang himself from Pagoda tree.’

‘I did not summon you here for a history lesson, Interpreter!’

‘I hope earnestly,’ Kobayashi explains, ‘that teapot is not curse.’

‘Oh, it’s cursed for the damned dogs who stole it! The Company is the owner of the teapot, not Unico Vorstenbosch, and so the Company is the victim of this crime. You, Interpreter, shall go with Constable Kosugi to the Magistracy now.’

‘Magistracy is close tonight,’ Kobayashi wrings his palms, ‘for O-bon Festival.’

‘The Magistracy,’ the Chief hits the desk with his cane, ‘will have to open!’

Jacob knows the look on the Japanese faces: Impossible foreigners, it says.

‘May I suggest, sir,’ says Peter Fischer, ‘that you demand searches of the Japanese warehouses on Dejima? Perhaps the sly bastards are waiting until the fuss has died down before smuggling your treasure away.’

‘Well spoke, Fischer.’ The Chief looks at Kobayashi. ‘Tell the constable so.’

The interpreter’s tilted head denotes reluctance. ‘But precedent is-’

‘Hang precedent! I am the precedent now and you, sir, you’ – he pokes a chest that, Jacob would wager a sheaf of banknotes, has never been poked before – ‘are paid usuriously to protect our interests! Do your job! Some coolie, or merchant, or inspector or, yes, even an interpreter stole the Company’s property. This act insults the Company’s honour. And by damn, I shall have the Interpreters’ Guild searched, as well! The perpetrators shall be hunted down like pigs and I shall make them squeal. De Zoet – go and tell Arie Grote to make a large jug of coffee. None of us shall be sleeping for some time yet…’

Ten o’clock in the morning on the 3rd September, 1799

‘The Shogun’s reply to my ultimatum is a message for me,’ complains Vorstenbosch. ‘Why must a piece of paper rolled up in a tube spend the night at the Magistracy, like a pampered guest? If it arrived yesterday evening, why wasn’t it brought to me straight away?’ Because, Jacob thinks, a Shogunal communiqué is the equivalent of a Papal edict and to deny it due ceremony would be capital treason. He keeps his mouth shut, however: in recent days, he has noticed a growing coolness in his patron’s attitude towards him. The process is discreet: a word of praise to Peter Fischer here, a curt remark to Jacob there, but the one-time ‘Indispensable de Zoet’ fears that his halo is dimming. Nor does van Cleef attempt to answer the Chief Resident’s question: long ago, he acquired the courtier’s knack of distinguishing the rhetorical question from the actual. Captain Lacy leans back on his groaning chair with his head behind his hands and whistles between his teeth very softly. Waiting on the Japanese side of the State Table are Interpreters Kobayashi and Iwase and just two senior scribes. ‘Magistrate’s chamberlain,’ Iwase offers, ‘shall bring Shogun’s message soon.’

Unico Vorstenbosch scowls at the gold signet on his ring finger.

‘What did William the Silent,’ wonders Lacy, ‘say about his moniker?’

The grandfather clock is grave and loud. The men are hot and silent.

‘Sky this afternoon is…’ remarks Interpreter Kobayashi ‘… unstable.’

‘The barometer in my cabin,’ agrees Lacy, ‘promises a blow.’

Interpreter Kobayashi’s expression is courteous but blank.

‘ “A blow” is a nautical storm,’ explains van Cleef, ‘or gale, or a typhoon.’

‘Ah, ah,’ Interpreter Iwase understands, ‘ “typhoon”… tai-fû, we say.’

Kobayashi dabs his shaved forehead. ‘Funeral for summer.’

‘Unless the Shogun has agreed to raise the copper quota,’ Vorstenbosch folds his arms, ‘it is Dejima that shall need a funeral: Dejima, and the well-feathered careers of its interpreters. Speaking of which, Mr Kobayashi, do I take it from your studied silence regarding the Company’s stolen item of China-ware that not one inch of progress has been made towards its recovery?’

‘Investigation is continuing,’ replies the senior interpreter.

‘At the speed of a slug,’ mutters the malcontent Chief Resident. ‘Even if we do remain on Dejima, I shall report to the Governor-General van Overstraten how indifferently you defend the Company’s property.’

Jacob’s sharp ears hear marching feet; van Cleef has heard them too.

The Deputy goes to a window and looks down on to Long Street. ‘Ah, at last.’

Two guards stand on either side of the doorway. A banner-man enters first: his pennant displays the three-leafed hollyhock of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Chamberlain Tomine enters, holding the revered scroll-tube on a perfect lacquered tray. All the men in the room bow towards the scroll, except Vorstenbosch who says, ‘Come in, then, Chamberlain, sit down, and let us learn whether His Highness in Edo has decided to put this damned island out of its misery.’

Jacob notices the half-repressed winces on the Japanese faces.

Iwase translates the ‘sit down’ part, and indicates a chair.

Tomine looks with distaste at the foreign furniture but has no choice.

He places the lacquered tray before Interpreter Kobayashi and bows.

Kobayashi bows to him, to the scroll-tube, and slides its tray to the Chief.

Vorstenbosch takes up the cylinder, emblazoned on one end with the same hollyhock insignia, and tries to pull it apart. Failing, he tries to unscrew it. Failing, he tries to find a toggle or catch.

‘Your pardon, sir,’ murmurs Jacob: ‘but it may need a clockwise twist.’

‘Oh, back to front and topsy-turvy, like this whole blasted country…’

Out slides a parchment wound tight around two dowels of cherry wood.

Vorstenbosch unrolls it on the table, vertically, like a European scroll.

Jacob has a good view. The ornate columns of brush-stroked kanji characters offer, to the clerk’s eyes, moments of recognition: the Dutch lessons he gives Ogawa Uzaemon involve a reciprocal aspect, and his notebook now contains some five hundred of the symbols. Here the clandestine student recognises Give; there, Edo; in the next column, ten…

‘Naturally,’ Vorstenbosch sighs, ‘nobody at the Shogun’s Court writes Dutch. Would either of you prodigies,’ he looks at the interpreters, ‘care to oblige?’

The grandfather clock counts off one minute; two; three…

Kobayashi’s eyes travel down, up and across the columns of the scroll.

It is not so arduous or long, thinks Jacob. He is dragging the exercise out.

The interpreter’s ponderous reading is punctuated by thoughtful nods.

Elsewhere in the Chief’s Residence, servants go about their business.

Vorstenbosch refuses to satisfy Kobayashi by voicing his impatience.

Kobayashi growls in his throat enigmatically, and opens his mouth…

‘I read once more, to ensure no mistake.’

If looks really could kill, thinks Jacob, watching Vorstenbosch, Kobayashi would be screaming the agonies of the damned.

A minute passes. Vorstenbosch tells his slave Philander, ‘Bring me water.’

From his side of the table, Jacob continues to study the Shogun’s scroll.

Two minutes pass. Philander returns with the pitcher.

‘How,’ Kobayashi turns to Iwase, ‘may one say “rôju” in Dutch?’

The colleague’s considered reply contains the words ‘First Minister’.

‘Then,’ Kobayashi announces, ‘I am ready to translate message.’

Jacob dips his sharpest quill into his ink-pot.

‘The message reads: “Shogun’s First Minister sends cordialest greetings to Governor-General van Overstraten and Chief of Dutchmen on Dejima, Vorstenbosch. First Minister asks for…” the interpreter peers at the scroll ”… one thousand fans of finest peacock feathers. Dutch ship must carry this order back to Batavia, so fans of peacock feathers will arrive next year trading season.” ’