The liveried houseboy held his mistress’s chair, while the maid poured her a cup of tea. She toasted her guests with a warm smile and put them at their ease with a humorous and self-deprecating reference to the fact that you could always dress up a gamecock to look like a goose, but it still couldn’t swim. Then she told a funny story that was a little more pointed toward the issue she ultimately wanted to address. She laughed and said that one day in the willow park, an old monk approached her father and told him about a sage pig that was owned by a farmer in the provinces. In all seriousness, this holy man said he’d heard from a very reliable source that this unusual animal dressed in saffron robes could dance on his hind legs playing bells to the time of any music, always prostrated itself in front of the statue of the Buddha, and never ate a morsel on feast days. The old monk thought this must be a very remarkable pig indeed, and solicited Master Yee’s opinion.
Her father responded by saying that the pig wasn’t all that remarkable, but the story about the pig was. For in fact the tale of the pious pig was an ancient piece of agrarian mythology when his great-grandfather told the story as a joke sixty years before. Lady Yee said the old monk looked deflated and slightly embarrassed until her father reminded him that they had both just been blessed with a clear and present teaching. Rumors, he said, even stupid and moronic rumors, live far longer than pigs, whether pious or not.
All the guests laughed at Lady Yee’s story, but they soon noticed that she wasn’t smiling, and so their laughter suddenly died away. Taking no notice, Lady Yee went on to say that more reputations were ruined by baseless rumor than by the truth. And though she had no interest in hobbling the truth, she had a vested interest in gutting a few rumors that had come to light, and she begged her guests for the opportunity to hear their opinions on one particularly dangerous story that was presently making snares for the innocent.
Lady Yee reminded her audience that the previous year Mr. Winslow’s campaign for reelection for sheriff was considerably impaired by a ridiculous rumor that he was taking money to look the other way when it came to smuggling. Luckily, Sheriff Winslow’s broad reputation for irreproachable character and evenhanded though strict enforcement of the laws crushed the rumors and silenced those who spread them. Those same dark forces were at work when Mr. Rice was appointed city attorney, but again these politically motivated rumors were subdued by more virtuous and intelligent voices insisting the truth was otherwise, and the general public was happy to agree. Nonetheless, Lady Yee took pains to point out that there wasn’t one person in public service who was immune to dark characterizations or attacks aimed at personal integrity. Lady Yee said jealousy and envy parented many insidious evils, not the least of these being defamatory rumors calculated to hurt not just one innocent person, but a whole class of innocent people.
The table remained quiet while Lady Yee refreshed herself with a sip of tea. She nodded to thank them for their patience and continued. The case, she said, that most preyed upon her mind at present happened to include the interests of everyone seated at the table, and she confessed that if matters got out of hand, many people would ingenuously suffer the consequences.
Lady Yee produced a small sheaf of notes in her own hand and laid them on the table for reference. She pointed out that the unfortunate case of the grounded ship, as bad as that had been, had now been amplified in consequence by the discovery of the corpse of a missing crewman supposedly murdered with a knife and hidden under the engine-room bilge plates of that same ship.
Lady Yee looked about the table and asked whether everything she had just said was substantially correct. All the men nodded, so she continued with a preamble to a question. Looking at her notes, Lady Yee said that according to the ship’s crew roster, the name of the dead man was Clausa Vuychek who, from all officer reports, seemed a rather unsavory fellow who claimed Bosnia as his homeland and the Muslim faith as a birthright. Again, all the men nodded their heads and voiced agreement. Then Lady Yee asked whether during their investigations they had come across crew statements to the effect that the late seaman Vuychek had gone out of his way to be pointedly rude to a Hindu passenger and his family, claiming their “filthy” religion to be anathema to the will of the true God and his profit Muhammad, or like sentiments of similar absurdity and ill grace. Again, all agreed. Lady Yee then went on to ask whether it had been suggested to any of them that perhaps this man, Dr. Neruda, might have been responsible for the death of Vuychek. The reasoning being that the murder might have been religiously inspired as an act of sectarian vengeance for insults suffered. Everyone agreed that they had heard various thin versions of the same story, but as yet no one had stepped forward as the author of the claim. But as Marshal Sanchez pointed out, the odd thing was that nobody particularly faulted the doctor if indeed he had killed Vuychek. It appeared the Bosnian Muslim lacked for friends among the ship’s company. Some men said he was morbidly crazy, others said he was simpleminded and just plain mean, but nobody really cared about him one way or another now that he was dead. And certainly none of the crew would venture their own futures to make unsubstantiated claims in court. Especially in an outspoken defense of a man they neither liked nor trusted.
Lady Yee said she appreciated all that and more, but even the faintest accusation of violence and murder spread at the feet of a doctor sworn by profession and the Hindu faith to preserve all life was in itself a very dangerous wound to the truth, and one that would taint the confidence of those who needed those skills the most. She confessed that a goodly number of people would go without medical services if people of stature and influence did not actively deny these rumors. To that end, Lady Yee had taken the liberty of inviting Dr. Neruda to take tea. She said he had also kindly agreed to submit to an informal interview by the gentlemen most concerned in the outcome of this case of homicide. She declared that it was imperative that her guests satisfy themselves as to the man’s innocence, or else compile charges capable of standing up to close scrutiny. Anything less would severely cripple endeavors to bring modest medical care to the Chinese laborers and fishermen of Monterey.
As if on cue, a distant bell sounded, and a moment later Dr. Neruda was shown into the dining room by the houseboy. He was warmly greeted by Captain Hammond and seated in his place at the head of the table. Dr. Neruda looked very trim and dapper in his new suit. His beard and handlebar mustache were closely groomed and brushed in the military fashion. This lent the doctor a further air of understated authority and professionalism. The dark tone of his skin and piercing black gaze appeared to have little influence on the audience since the doctor’s educated and skillful use of English was quite disarming. He also possessed a self-deprecating sense of humor that passed for sincere modesty.
Having made polite introductions all around, Captain Hammond made sure Dr. Neruda was served tea, and then went to sit by Lady Yee at the far end of the table. There he would be in the shadows and out of the way, which seconded the fact that he really had nothing more to say in the matter. His wife had mastered the helm with no help from him, so there was no reason to interject so much as a sigh. Like the rest of the men at the table, he would just have to sit back and wait.
Out of respect, Lady Yee addressed Dr. Neruda first. Though she had sent him a short letter outlining what she expected from the meeting, and the reasons for which she felt it was imperative that the doctor be as candid as possible, she also chose to reiterate her motives for the benefit of her other guests. She was determined to avoid even the scent of collusion between parties on either side, and so she even divulged what she had written to Dr. Neruda the day before.
Lady Yee went on, and with nods of agreement from the other five men concerned she told the doctor that this gathering was by no means an official interview, but it had just as important a purpose as far as the people of Monterey, and especially his future patients, were concerned. She declared it her studied conviction that the virulence of destructive rumors and gossip could only rarely be quashed at t
he root level, and then usually through the mechanisms of a formal trial. Informally telling the man in the street that a circulating rumor is fallacious and preposterous will have little or no effect upon the tides of gossipmongers who delight in such detrimental twaddle. On the other hand, the common citizen is loath to disbelieve or discount the local men of prestige, power, and influence in their midst. If these good people took up truth and put it about that such-and-such a tale was absurd and totally without merit, then other sober and honest people would adopt the same opinion, and a crisis in confidence might be averted. She asked Dr. Neruda’s patience for the sake of the infirmary. The doctor nodded and said he would do all he could to satisfy her august guests’ curiosity on any subject they pleased, if it would satisfy the needs of the situation at hand.
Lady Yee signaled for her maid to serve more tea and then asked Marshal Sanchez, as the highest state law officer present, to begin the questions. As an old family californiano, Mr. Sanchez smiled with modesty at the recognition of his right to first place.
Marshal Sanchez ran a finger under his mustache and asked a few details about his passage aboard the Canadian ship. Then he reached into a portfolio and withdrew a rusted triangular-bladed dagger ten inches long from tip to guard. This he placed in the middle of the table in front of Dr. Neruda and asked if he’d ever seen such a weapon before.
The doctor took one look, nodded, and said he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of such blades. It was a military dirk, carried by almost every enlisted soldier in the British Indian Army. They were stamped out by the case in Lahore and other places, and of relatively poor manufacture. He added that the soldiers usually ruined what little temper they had by lashing the blades to sticks and using them as cooking skewers. Marshal Sanchez then asked if Dr. Neruda had ever owned such a knife when in the service, and the doctor immediately shook his head in the negative. He said he wasn’t acquainted with American military traditions, of course, but in the British and Indian armies, doctors and medical staff were forbidden to carry arms of any kind. It put them at greater risk of execution if captured. Dr. Neruda picked up a folder he had placed next to his chair and withdrew an aging photograph. It showed three Indian officers in field uniform posing for a formal portrait. He handed this to Marshal Sanchez and continued. He said that he was the officer in the middle, and easy to spot because his uniform was dark blue with green piping and high-collared, whereas the other two officers were attired in khaki with their collars turned down. They also wore gun belts with dirks and pistols in plain sight, while the doctor wore no belt at all to indicate that he carried no weapons. He asked the marshal to note that the officers’ dirks were of a finer design and manufacture. If he had felt the need to own such a weapon, he would have acquired an officer’s blade, not a cheap blade made for enlisted men. The doctor confessed that, on the other hand, he did own a fine collection of surgical blades. He had several amputation knives that were fourteen inches long and so extremely sharp that they could neatly bisect an eyelash hair lengthwise. And while they were marvelous instruments for saving lives, they were not designed to withstand the rigors required by a contested murder, as the blades were brittle and easily broken.
The marshal took back the knife, put it back in his case, and asked the doctor if he knew the name of the dead man. The doctor said that despite the man’s uncalled-for comments, they had never been introduced, nor did the fellow ever volunteer his name. But since he had no intention of making a formal complaint to the captain, who was already well-known for being unsympathetic toward his passengers, the doctor didn’t bother to inquire as to the fellow’s name. The doctor said it was obvious to him that the man was possibly demented, if not worse, and showed particular signs of being the product of inbreeding.
It was here that Mr. Rice begged to interject a question, and Marshal Sanchez surrendered the floor. The city attorney said he was at pains to understand why the sailor’s outright hostility, albeit in the form of insults, didn’t particularly disturb the doctor or his family.
For the first time Dr. Neruda found a reason to laugh. He went on to say that when it came to the art of delivering insults and curses, there were eight-year-old beggars on the streets of Indian cities who were better qualified to do the job. The addle-pated Bosnian crewman couldn’t even qualify as a starter against Indian street vendors, who could lace together twenty withering curses, punctuated by an equal number of brilliantly composed insults, and deliver the whole train in one breath, and then, within a blink of an eye, launch right into another lengthy assault. No, the doctor said with a smile, the foulmouthed and befuddled crewman wouldn’t know a sepoy from a Sherpa and thought he was talking to a Sikh. The doctor said he assumed this when Vuychek said he knew the Indian carried a blade, but was too great a coward to use it. The doctor chuckled again, and said he thought the poor fellow could be forgiven for being confused. India had always been mother and home to many different kinds of religion, and its people spoke over a hundred different languages, which made matters even more bewildering to the ignorant. Dr. Neruda then apologized for the digression, and said he had really paid no more attention to the addled crewman than he would have to a demented street beggar.
And then Dr. Neruda surprised everyone by saying that in fact he had felt truly sorry for the man, as he had obviously been the tormented tool of somebody even more abusive than himself. Dr. Neruda remarked that in India, mental diseases were well documented, well understood, and in some cases treated very successfully. But sometimes, figuratively speaking, one came across a snarling, dangerously psychotic “yard dog” that had been beaten too many times to bring back in the house. No amount of affection, attention, or medical consideration, aside from a lobotomy or heavy opiates, could make it tame and civil ever again. It was very sad, he said, but the helplessness of the sailor’s condition and his obviously predictable future, though most distressing to contemplate, were inevitable from a medical point of view.
Dr. Neruda paused, and with an iron-bound expression that was unmistakably serious, looked each person at the table in the eyes for a moment, and then closed by saying that “no reputable physician, licensed by virtue of binding oaths sworn to qualified witnesses, could possibly be convinced that killing an apparently mentally deranged person was a remotely rational course of action toward resolving religious questions of self-justification.” When the doctor next looked around the table, all eyes were cast low, and only Lady Yee met his gaze and nodded.
Just then Li-Lee silently slipped from the shadows, approached Lady Yee, and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Lady Yee nodded, tapped her husband’s arm, and indicated that she was leaving for a few moments, and then silently withdrew so as not to disturb the interview. The maid led the way to the kitchen where Lady Yee was introduced to Jojo Toyuka, the fifteen-year-old Japanese cabin boy. He sat happily eating Chinese custard tarts under Ah Chu’s watchful gaze. The boy appeared quite contented and composed, and didn’t seem to care where he was as long as he was being fed so well. Lady Yee told him why he was asked to come and about the men who were going to ask him questions. He didn’t appear the least disturbed by any of it, and though his English was broken and he relied here and there on pidgin or maritime slang, he had a forthright manner, and could make himself understood to Lady Yee’s satisfaction.
On the way back to the dining room Lady Yee asked Li-Lee what had been done with the ship’s cook, Mr. Beal. The maid said that he was enjoying his pipe and a bottle of beer out in the garden under the grape arbor. He knew to wait there until called. Lady Yee voiced her approval and resumed her seat without drawing attention. Her husband cast an inquiring expression, but Lady Yee simply returned her attention to the interview.
Dr. Neruda was answering a question posed by Mr. Campion. He was saying that as a Hindu, he had vowed to care for all sentient life. His people ate no flesh of any kind and refused to kill even insects. This interested the harbormaster. He asked how, if they didn’t kill flies, th
ey eliminated these pests from hospital wards, surgeries, and morgues. Dr. Neruda said that for centuries, just as now, they had captured them in honey or fruit-baited traps made of glass or pottery, and at night they took the traps outside and released the detainees. And though he said the flies came to no harm in the traps, it did seem that the tree frogs and rock lizards always gathered about to celebrate the mass release.
Next Sheriff Winslow took his turn, and politely asked Dr. Neruda if he had any reason to suspect that any other person on the passenger list had suffered indignities at the hands of this man Vuychek. The doctor said that he and his family did not fraternize with the other passengers except at meals, and even then people tended to avoid conversing with the dark-skinned foreigners in their midst. If Vuychek had extended his vituperation to others, no one took the opportunity to discuss the matter with Dr. Neruda. Then he volunteered that the same was also true of the ship’s company in general, with whom he had even less reason to be on conversant terms. He had no reason not to assume that other members of the crew shared Vuychek’s opinions about race, and he chose not to test the waters. He closed by apologizing that he had no further information or opinions that would reflect on the fate of the dead man. Then the doctor posed an unexpected question of his own. He asked the seated gentlemen whether Clausa Vuychek had received a proper burial under Muslim rites. Mr. Rice said the answer, sadly, was no. There were no Muslim clerics to officiate at such proceedings, and nobody else knew what was required. There were a few Asian Muslim families scattered around the county, of course, but no mosques to speak of, and no time or money to go in search of such niceties. The man was technically indigent, and his body was buried in a potter’s field under a numbered marker. Under the circumstances, that was the best that could be expected.
The Silver Lotus Page 20
