David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet

The man of deep learning denies this paean and his modesty is applauded.

Motogi explains that in the course of their work the interpreters encounter words whose meanings are unclear, and it is to illuminate these that Jacob has been invited. Dr Marinus often leads these unofficial tutorials, but today he is busy and nominated Clerk de Zoet as his substitute.

Each interpreter has a list of items that evade the Guild’s collective understanding. These he reads out, one by one, and Jacob explains as clearly as he can, with examples, gestures and synonyms. The group discusses an appropriate Japanese substitute, sometimes testing it on Jacob, until everyone is satisfied. Straightforward words such as ‘parched’, ‘plenitude’ or ‘saltpetre’ do not detain them long. More abstract items such as ‘simile’, ‘figment’ or ‘parallax’ prove more exacting. Terms without a ready Japanese equivalent, such as ‘privacy’, ‘splenetic’ or the verb ‘to deserve’ cost ten or fifteen minutes, as do phrases requiring specialist knowledge – ‘Hanseatic’, ‘nerve-ending’, or ‘subjunctive’. Jacob notices that where a Dutch pupil would say, ‘I don’t understand,’ the interpreters lower their eyes, so the teacher cannot merely explicate, but must also gauge his students’ true comprehension.

Two hours pass at the speed of one but exhaust Jacob like four, and he is grateful for green tea and a short interval. Hanzaburo slopes away without explanation. During the second half, Narazake asks how ‘He has gone to Edo’ differs from ‘He has been to Edo’; Dr Maeno wants to know when one uses, ‘It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg’; and Namura asks for the differences between ‘If I see’, ‘If I saw’ and ‘Had I but seen’; Jacob is thankful for his tedious hours of schoolboy grammar. The last queries of the morning come from Interpreter Kobayashi. ‘Please may Clerk de Zoet explain this word: “Repercussions”.’

Jacob suggests, ‘A consequence; the result of an action. A repercussion of spending my money is being poor. If I eat too much, one repercussion shall be’ – he mimes a swollen belly – ‘fat.’

Kobayashi asks about ‘in broad daylight’. ‘Each word I understand, but meaning of all is unclear. Can we say “I visit good friend Mr Tanaka in broad daylight”? I think no, perhaps…’

Jacob mentions the criminal connotations. ‘Especially when the miscreant – the bad man, that is – lacks both shame and fear of being caught. “My good friend Mr Motogi was robbed in broad daylight.” ’

‘ “Mr Vorstenbosch’s teapot,” ’ asks Kobayashi, ‘ “was stolen in broad daylight”?’

‘A valid example,’ agrees Jacob, glad that the Chief isn’t present.

The interpreters discuss various Japanese equivalents before agreeing on one.

‘Perhaps next word,’ continues Kobayashi, ‘is simple… “Impotent”.’

‘ “Impotent” is the opposite of “potent” or “powerful”; that is, “weak”.’

‘A lion,’ Dr Maeno proposes, ‘is strong, but a mouse is impotent.’

Kobayashi nods and studies his list. ‘Next is “blithely unaware”.’

‘A state of ignorance about a misfortune. Whilst one is unaware of it one is “blithe”, that is, content. But when one becomes aware, one becomes unhappy.’

‘Husband is “blithely unaware”,’ suggests Hori, ‘his wife loves another?’

‘Yes, Mr Hori.’ Jacob smiles and stretches out his cramped legs.

‘Last word,’ says Kobayashi, ‘is from book of law: “lack of proof positive”.’

Before the Dutchman opens his mouth, a grim Constable Kosugi appears at the door; a shaken Hanzaburo is in tow. Kosugi apologises for the intrusion and delivers a stern narrative that, Jacob sees with mounting unease, includes both Hanzaburo and himself. At one key twist, the interpreters gasp in shock and stare at the bewildered Dutchman. The word for ‘thief’, dorobô, is used several times. Motogi verifies a detail with the constable and announces, ‘Mr de Zoet, Constable Kosugi bring bad news. Thiefs visit Tall House.’

‘What?’ blurts Jacob. ‘But when? How did they break in? Why?’

‘Your house interpreter,’ confirms Motogi, ‘believes “in this hour.” ’

‘What did they steal?’ Jacob turns to Hanzaburo, who looks worried about being blamed. ‘What is there to steal?’

The Tall House stairs are less gloomy than usual: the door to Jacob’s upstairs apartment was chiselled off its hinges and, once inside, he finds that his sea-chest has suffered the same indignity. The gouged holes on its six sides suggest the burglars were searching for secret compartments. Pained by the sight of his irreplaceable volumes and sketchbooks strewn across the floor, Jacob’s first action is to tidy these up. Interpreter Goto helps and asks, ‘Are some books taken?’

‘I can’t be sure,’ Jacob replies, ‘until they’re all gathered up…’

… but it appears not, and his valuable dictionary is scuffed but untaken.

But I can’t check my Psalter, Jacob thinks, until I am left alone.

There is no sign of this happening soon. As he retrieves his few personal effects, Vorstenbosch, van Cleef and Peter Fischer march up the stairs and now his small room is crowded with more than ten people.

‘First my teapot,’ declares the Chief, ‘now this fresh scandal.’

‘We shall strive great efforts,’ Kobayashi promises, ‘to find thiefs.’

Peter Fischer asks Jacob, ‘Where was the house interpreter during the theft?’

Interpreter Motogi puts the question to Hanzaburo who answers sheepishly. ‘He go ashore for one hour,’ says Motogi, ‘to visit very sick mother.’

Fischer snorts derisively. ‘I know where I’d begin my investigations.’

Van Cleef asks, ‘What items did the burglars take, Mr de Zoet?’

‘Fortunately, my remaining mercury – perhaps the thieves’ target – is under treble-lock in Warehouse Eik. My pocket-watch was on my person, as were, thank Heaven, my spectacles, and so, on first inspection, it appears that-’

‘In the name of God on high.’ Vorstenbosch rounds on Kobayshi. ‘Are we not robbed enough by your government during our regular trade without these repeated acts of larceny against our persons and property? Report to the Long Room in one hour, so I may dictate an official letter of complaint to the Magistracy which shall include a full list of items stolen by the thieves…’

‘Done.’ Con Twomey finishes rehanging the door and lapses into his Irish English. ‘Feckin’ langers’d need to rip out the feckin’ wall, like, to get through that.’

‘Who,’ Jacob sweeps up the sawdust, ‘is Feck Inlangers?’

The carpenter raps the door-frame. ‘I’ll fix your sea-chest tomorrow. Good, like new. This was a bad thing – and in broad daylight, too, yes?’

‘I still have my limbs.’ Jacob is sick with worry about his Psalter.

If the book is gone, he fears, the thieves will think ‘Blackmail’.

‘That’s the way.’ Twomey wraps his tools in oilcloth. ‘Until dinner.’

As the Irishman walks down the stairs, Jacob closes the door and slides the bolt, shifts the bed a few inches…

Might Grote have ordered the break-in, he wonders, as vengeance for the ginseng bulbs?

Jacob lifts a floorboard, lies down, and reaches for the sack-wrapped book…

His fingertips find the Psalter and he gasps with relief. ‘The Lord preserveth all them that love him.’ He replaces the floorboard and sits on his bed. He is safe, Ogawa is safe. Then what, he wonders, is wrong? Jacob senses he is overlooking something crucial. Like when I know a ledger is hiding a lie or an error, even when the totals appear to balance…

Hammering starts up across Flag Square. The carpenters are late.