Gai-Jin by James Clavell
“… and the Enforcer Patrol searched every House, Furansu-san! As though we would hide criminals! It is against Yoshiwara rules. We know how to keep our rice bowls full: by promoting peace and avoiding trouble. Enforcers are still at the main gate, glowering at every passerby.” Raiko fanned herself remembering her narrow escape and wished that she had never invited shishi to favor her House. It’s time they all went elsewhere, she thought, Enforcers and shishi, however much I like Hiraga. “I wish they would go away.”
“What criminals look for?” André asked.
“Traitors, ronin usually. But anyone who is against them is a traitor. Ronin, they are their usual prey.”
“Bakufu? Can Bakufu be throw out? Revolution?”
She laughed softly and emptied the flask and began another. “The Bakufu are like lice in a prison—you destroy a thousand and only make room for a hundred thousand more. No, the Bakufu and Shōgunate are Nippon and with us forever.”
“Tonight Taira-san here?”
She shook her head. “The girl he wanted was not available, I offered another but he refused and left. Curious, neh,? A curious young man in many ways, though possibly a good customer. Thank you for introducing him to my poor House.”
“This Japanese Sensei, teacher, samurai Taira has find—who is he, Raiko?”
“I don’t know, so sorry, but I’ve heard he’s a Yedo-man and lives in the Settlement, in the village.”
“Taira-san, he talk Fujiko about him?”
“She never mentioned it, but then I did not ask her. Next time, perhaps by next time I will know, Furansu-san.”
André did not believe her, but never mind, he thought, when she’s ready she’ll tell me. “The medicine. It arranged?”
“Of course, whatever I can do to help a favored client is my purpose in life.”
He took out the pair of pearl earrings and laid them on the table. Her eyes glittered. She made no move to pick them up but he was sure she had instantly weighed them mentally, deciding on their quality, cost and resale value. “I asked to give these as present,” he said pleasantly, and she smiled prettily, pretending to be overwhelmed though already aware payment would be in jewelry which could not be offered for sale in Yokohama. Her fingers trembled as she reached for them. He forestalled her, picking them up and pretending to examine them closely.
His plan for Angelique had worked perfectly. Servants from the Noble House had scoured the streets to no avail. Her anxiety and tears had been genuine, and she had whispered privately: “Oh, André, did I do the correct thing? Malcolm was really very upset—I had no idea they were so expensive.”
“But he told you just to sign for whatever you wanted, didn’t he? Not your fault that you didn’t ask the price—he liked his cuff links, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but André …”
“There will be enough left over in case it’s needed—a credit against any eventuality, Angelique.”
André smiled to himself and turned his full attention to Raiko. “Value many times cost of medicine.”
“The buying price, certainly. But I must send them to the Yedo or Nagasaki Yoshiwara. A difficult sale, but please do not worry, I will help you to be rid of an unwanted child.”
“Not mine,” he said sharply.
“Ah, so sorry, please excuse me,” she said, believing him. Good, I was afraid it was his, she told herself, greatly relieved. I want no more complications with this man. “It is not my business.”
“Just help for friend of friend. In Drunk Town.”
“Please excuse me, so sorry.”
He smiled without humor. “You know pearl. This value fifty times cost of medicine.”
She kept her smile in place and her voice cooing but inside she was gnashing her teeth. “I will have them valued. Of course they are worth more than the cost of the medicine.”
“Of course.” He held his palm flat and she took them. The pearls were almost black, Sea Island pearls. She touched them to her teeth to feel if they were cold and carefully bit on them but they did not mar. Satisfied now that they were genuine and rich, she said lovingly, “The price, old friend?”
“Price is: all medicine, even if first time fail. What necessary if drink fail, understand? What need … whatever need to stop child. Yes?”
“Yes,” she agreed happily, knowing this to be a marvelous bargain. “A guaranteed … elimination, termination.”
“Plus twenty gold oban,” he added, and was delighted to see her face twist with real horror though this was less than a third of what she would squeeze from the sale—the setting was of little value but he had made sure the Chinese jeweler only used the finest pearls. She groaned and cursed and they bargained back and forth, both enjoying the encounter, both knowing that the real cost of the medicine and medical advice was hardly significant to a brothel mama-san. Soon they were close to making a deal and then, of a sudden, her mood changed and she stared at him strangely, liking him, so sad for him, and thought: Should I interfere with karma?
“What?” he asked suspiciously.
“Let me think a moment, Furansu-san.”
Later, in an entirely different voice, warm and soft as in the old days when he had been her first customer and had lavishly wined and dined the whole House to celebrate their opening, she said, “Since we met, much water has flowed under many bridges, lots of good times and laughter in our Floating World and, as it is in this life, also sadness and a lake of tears, not of my choosing. Suddenly I remembered the last time we bargained like this was over Hana’s contract.”
His face settled into a mask. “Not talk about Hana.”
“Ah, so sorry, I would like to, please, because I may have a solution to her.”
“There none,” he said angrily. “No cure, Hana dead, Hana nothing do with pearls!”
“True. Please be calm and listen. Perhaps,” she said gently, “perhaps I could find another Hana, similar, but one who already has the Chinese disease.”
“Not possible,” he burst out, shocked. “Disease very bad, very bad, ugly.”
“Yes, near the end,” she said patiently. “Many times nothing shows for years. You are not yet ugly, nothing shows with you, Furansu-san—it may be years before that happens. It depends on your karma. I should seek such a one?”
He started to speak, stopped and shook his head.
“Listen, if I could find new Hana, and then if …”
“Not possible!”
“… if you approve her, and she approves you, you could be together until—until you decide …” Raiko shrugged. “Never mind the future, today is today and that is the rule of our Floating World. You would keep the girl here, I would build you a new house, the other naturally we destroyed, you treat her like Hana in every way, same contract price, same monthly money for clothes and lodging, and she is for you only.”
Her eyes bored into him and he knew she could see into his soul, see him writhing with a frantic, sudden hope and craving to accept that which would release him from torment—the news of his karma had travelled with the speed of light, now every House barred to him, politely—oh so politely—but still barred for pillowing, only Drunk Town possible—yet be a never-ending Damocles sword over him forever. And even worse, there was no lessening of his sexual urge but a heightening, a greater obsession to pillow than before, one that had already driven him to the insanity of two nights ago with Angelique, not that he did not still desire her, he did, more than ever, and knew without a release he would try again and would not fail next time. Blessed Mother, help me, he thought, near tears, I do not want to infect her too.
“There is another possibility,” Raiko was saying, her gaze curious. “We can discuss that later. Now Hana.”
“Not-talk-about-Hana!”
“I have to, Furansu-san. Now. You wanted to know how she died, neh?” Raiko saw his eyes focus and his breathing almost stop. “After you ran out into the night and she, weeping, told me the reason, I was as shocked as you and ordered her out
“Speak, speak slow…more slow.”
“Please excuse me but it is very hard slowly, but she should have told me the moment she knew. I was furious and left her to try to catch up with you but failed. Then one of the maids … it was Mieko. Mieko rushed in to say that Hana had tried to hara-kiri …”
Raiko was perspiring now. This was by no means the first attempted suicide she had been involved in. There had been dozens during her years as apprentice, courtesan and mama-san—she had even been born in the Willow World, her mother a specialist courtesan of the second rank. Many suicides were successful, few by the knife, most by poison or drowning, some dual suicides between lovers, the man always impoverished, even samurai. But Hana’s had been the worst.
When she had rushed into the room she found the girl in agony, weeping and helpless, her neck slashed several times but no artery or vein severed and the windpipe only nicked. A little air bubbled from the cut that bled badly but not badly enough. She was crumpled on the futons, knife nearby, but her hand could not grip it and each time she tried to lift it it would slip from her grasp, all the time weeping and choking and retching, begging forgiveness and crying out, Help me … help me … help me …
“She was beyond all wish for life, Furansu-san,” Raiko said sadly. “I’ve seen too many not to know. If she had lived through that attempt she would have tried again and again, without ceasing. In this world, surely in ours, there does come a time when it is good and wise to go beyond. We put animals out of misery—it is right to give the same relief to a person. So we helped her. We calmed her and cleaned her and sat her up and she had time to say, Namu Amida Butsu, then I held the knife to her throat and peacefully Hana fell on it. That is how she died.”
“You … you kill … part … part kill her?”
“It was my duty as her mama-san,” Raiko said simply. Again she hesitated, sighing. No need for more tears. Those had been shed long since. I have none left. How many times when I was her age, hating my life and the way I had to earn my rice, did I not contemplate the same escape, even once cutting my wrists, to be succored and saved by my mama-san who, when I was well, beat me unmercifully. But she was right, my mama-san, as I was right, because she knew I was not serious as Hana was serious, and now I cannot even remember the face of the boy she had forbidden me, only that he was a poet. “Before she died Hana asked me to apologize again for her to you. To beg your forgiveness for her.”
“You … do you … forgive—forgive?”
What a strange question, she thought, startled. “That Hana was like last year’s cherry blossom scattered by the wind, no need to forgive or not to forgive. Just a petal of the Willow World. She existed but did not. You understand?”
In turmoil he nodded, not comprehending all the words, but understanding what she had done and why. He hated her and blessed her, was relieved and sad and suicidal and filled with hope. “Three men, three who before me. Who?”
“I do not know, so sorry, except they were Japanese. Truly,” she told him, her eyes clean, the names buried in her most secret heart, waiting to use if necessary, for or against the Bakufu. “About these,” she opened her hand. The pearls glowed in the oil light, enticingly. “Let us agree that I give you one third of whatever I get from the sale, plus all medicines and whatever else is necessary. A third would be …” She stopped as friend in Drunk Town fell into place.
The medicine is for the woman who is to marry the tai-pan, she told herself excitedly. Wasn’t it she who was supposed to have lost some jewelry yesterday that I thought nothing of. It must be her, the pearls confirm it … and if it’s her, eeee, the abortion must be without his approval or knowledge or surely Jami-san would be the intermediary, not Furansu-san.
“A third would be fair,” she said, and was going to add smugly, to the young gai-jin woman who is to marry the tai-pan, but seeing Furansu-san staring gloomily into his cup, decided there was no need yet to divulge she had deduced the “who.”
Eeee, tonight has been most profitable, she thought gleefully. Knowledge of a secret abortion by such an important lady to bury, or to tell, could be extremely valuable, to the lady herself, before or after she marries, or to this tai-pan who is as rich as Adachi of Mito, before or after he marries, or even to one of his many enemies.
Next: through Hiraga I have this Taira firmly stuck to Fujiko’s Jade Gate—what is it about the girl that attracts Round Eyes to her? And last but not least, the solution to Furansu-san, my precious gai-jin spy, presented herself.
Raiko wanted to shout with joy but, carefully, she retained her most modest, sincere look. “A third? Furansu-san?”
Bleakly he looked up at her, nodded his agreement.
“You have told the lady there is a risk?”
“What risk? Raiko say medicine good most times.”
“It is, most times. But if the drink does not succeed, we … let us not worry about that now. Let us hope Buddha smiles on her and it is her karma to have an easy release, then to enjoy the good things in life.” She looked at him steadily. “And you also. Neh?”
He stared back at her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THURSDAY, 6TH NOVEMBER:
Dearest Colette: The weeks have rushed by, and tomorrow is my special day, Angelique wrote, aglow with expectation, I feel so good I can hardly believe it. I sleep marvelously my cheeks are rosy, everyone compliments me and my figure is better than ever … No signs, nothing, she thought. Nothing. Breasts a little tender but that’s just imagination—and tomorrow all will be over.
She was sitting at the bureau in her suite facing the bay, the tip of her tongue between her lips, far too cautious to write anything that could possibly compromise her. What a lucky omen it’s his day for my new beginning.
Tomorrow is St. Theodore’s day, he’s my new patron saint. You see, Colette, by marriage I become British, (not English, because Malcolm is Scots and part English) and St. Theodore is one of their oh-so-few saints. He became British too (he was a Greek) twelve hundred years ago and rose to be Archbishop of Canterbury …
Her steel-tipped pen hesitated as that name brought phantoms from the mists but she would not acknowledge them and they sank back into the depths again.
… that means he was like the pope-of the British Isles. He reformed the Church, cast out evildoers and heathen practices, was oh-so-holy and kind, particularly to women, lived to be an astonishing eighty-eight and altogether a wonderful man of the True Church. I’m celebrating by having a special fast day, then in three days a party!
Father Leo told me about him. Ugh! I really don’t like him, stinky as he is (I have to use a pomander handkerchief in the confessional—he would make you faint, dear Colette). Last Sunday I had the vapors and will certainly miss this Sunday too. Do you remember how we used to do that when we were at school, though how we avoided a scolding I’ll never know.
Thoughts of Colette and school and Paris distracted her for a moment and she stared out of the window at the ocean, slate grey and stormy with a sharp wind creating seahorses that ran ashore to woosh up the beach a hundred yards away, the other side of the promenade—merchantmen at anchor, bum boats loading or unloading, the only warship, the frigate Pearl, resplendent with her new mast and new paint steaming for her mooring, just back from Yedo.
But Angelique did not really see any of it, her eyes beguiled by the rosy future her mind was promising. Here, in her suite, it was warm and calm with no drafts, the windows well fitting, a fire blazing in the fireplace, with Malcolm Struan dozing comfortably in a tall red velvet chair, papers, letters and invoices in his lap and scattered about his feet. The connecting door was open. Her door to the corridor unlocked. This was their new custom. Safer, both had agreed, plenty of time in the future
Some days he would arrive early and conduct his business from her boudoir until noon when he would doze a few minutes until lunch; sometimes he would stay in his own suite and some days he would hobble downstairs to the offices below. He would always say she was always welcome there but she knew that was only a politeness. Downstairs was masculine domain. She was delighted he was working—McFay had told her that since “the tai-pan has taken charge, everyone’s more diligent, we’ve big plans hatching and our company’s humming …”
And so was she. No fear for the morrow. On the contrary, she was looking forward to seeing André in the evening at the Legation. Together they had hatched an excuse and she would move back there tomorrow for three days while her rooms were repainted, and new curtains made for the windows and four-poster that she had chosen from silks in their warehouse:
“But, Angel,” Struan had said, “we’re only here for a few more weeks, the expense really isn’t—”
A laugh and a kiss had changed his mind. La, I begin to love him and adore the game of getting my own way.
She smiled and began to write again:
Colette darling, I’ve more energy than I’ve ever had. Riding every day—no excursions, which makes the Settlement restricting—but lots of galloping around the racecourse with Phillip Tyrer, Settry (Pallidar), who’s the best rider I’ve ever seen, sometimes with French and English cavalry officers, and not forgetting poor Marlowe, who is turning out to be the most dear man but not, I’m afraid, a horseman. They all left three days ago to go to Yedo where Sir William and the Ministers are having THE MEETING with the native Cabinet and their king called Shōgun.
Malcolm is getting better but oh, so slowly, he still walks badly but is wonderful—except on mail days (twice monthly) when he’s furious with everything and everyone, even me. It’s only because there are always letters from his mother (I begin to hate her) who complains bitterly that he stays here and doesn’t return to Hong Kong. Three days ago was worse than usual. One of the Noble House clippers arrived, this time with another letter and a verbal summons delivered by the Captain who said: “I’d appreciate it, sir, if you could come aboard the moment we’ve unloaded the special cargo—our orders are to escort you and Dr. Hoag to Hong Kong right smartly …”