by Gai-Jin(Lit)
"It's time to move on and leave the field to younger and wiser." Johann beamed suddenly.
"Y."
"That's not funny. Please send Nakama in, I think he's in the garden."
"Don't trust that bastard. Best watch him,
Phillip."
Tyrer wondered what Johann would say if he knew the real truth about him.
Hiraga opened the door. "Hai,
Taira-san?"
"Ikimasho, Nakama-sensei, old chap, hai?" Let's go, all right? Tyrer said, beaming, still marvelling at the change.
When Hiraga had arrived at dawn this morning, gone were the dirt and rags and most of all the samurai haircut--his short hair now similar to that of almost any commoner. In his neat, starched but ordinary kimono, new sun hat hanging by its thong on his back, new tabi and thongs, he was like the son of a prosperous merchant.
"My God, you look terrific,
Nakama," he had burst out, "that haircut suits you."
"Ah Taira-san," Hiraga had said hesitantly, with pretended humility, following the ploy he and Ori had formulated. "I think what you say me, he'rp me give up samurai, stop be samurai. Soon go back
Choshu, become farmer 'rike grandfather, or in beer or sak`e factory."
"Give up samurai? Is that possible?"'
"Hai. Possib're. P'rease not want say more, yes?"'
"All right. But it's a wise decision, congratulations."
Involuntarily Hiraga ran his hand over his head, the close shorn sides and newness itching.
"Soon hair grows, Taira-san, same yours."
"Why not?"' Tyrer wore his hair, naturally wavy, almost to his shoulders. Unlike most he was fastidious about its cleanliness: a pettipoint had hung over his bed forever, stitched by his mother, Cleanliness is next to Godliness. "How are your bruises?"'
"I forgotten them."
"I have forgotten them."
"Ah, thank you, I have forgotten them. Some good newses, Taira-san." Elaborately,
Hiraga had told him about going to the Yoshiwara and arranging Fujiko for tonight. "She yours, o'rr night. Good, neh?"'
For a moment Tyrer had been speechless.
Impulsively he wrung Hiraga's hand.
"Thank you. My dear friend, thank you." He had sat back and pulled out his pipe and offered tobacco to Hiraga who refused, hard put not to laugh. "That's marvelous," Tyrer's mind had jumped him ahead to their tryst, his heart throbbing and manhood conscious. "My God, marvelous!"
With an effort he had put all those immediate, erotic thoughts aside to concentrate on the day's schedule. "Have you arranged somewhere to stay in the village?"'
"Yes. P'rease we go now, yes?"'
During their walk to the Japanese quarter, always careful to keep their voices down and not speak
English near any passerby, Tyrer had continued to probe Hiraga, mining diamonds, amongst them the names of the Sh@ogun and Emperor. At the dwelling of the shoya, he had inspected the shop and tiny drab room off it where Hiraga was supposed to be staying. Then he had brought him back to the Legation, completely pleased and reassured. "Did you notice on the street how you were hardly noticed, even by the soldiers, now that you don't look like a samurai?"'
"Yes. Taira-san. You can he'rp me, p'rease?"'
"Anything, what?"'
"I 'rike try to wear your clothes, become more 'rike gai-jin, yes?"'
"Great idea!"
When they got back to the Legation, Tyrer hurried to see Sir William, excitedly had given him the names of the Sh@ogun and Emperor.
"I thought you would want to know at once, sir.
Also another piece of info: I think I've understood correctly but he says all
Japanese, even daimyos have to get permission to visit Ky@oto, where the Emperor lives."
"What are daimyos?"'
"That's what they call their kings, sir. But everyone, even them, they must get permission to visit Ky@oto--he says the Bakufu which is another name for the Sh@ogunate, like their Civil
Service, are afraid to allow free access there, to anyone." He had tried to keep calm but the words rushed out of him. "If that's true, and if the Sh@ogun's there at present and the
Emperor's there permanently and if all power's there--if you were to go there, sir, wouldn't that bypass the Bakufu?"'
"An inspired leap of logic," Sir
William said kindly with a sigh of pleasure, already there, long before Tyrer had explained.
"Phillip, I think I will redraft the dispatch. Come back in an hour--you've done very well."
"Thank you sir." Then he had told him about the "new" Nakama and new haircut.
"My thought is that if we could persuade him into European clothes he would become more and more malleable--of course as he teaches me
Japanese while I'm teaching him English."
"Very good idea, Phillip."
"Thank you, sir, I'll arrange it instantly. I can have the bill sent to our shroff for payment?"'
Some of Sir William's good humor vanished. "We have no excess funds,
Phillip, and the Exchequer... Very well. But one outfit only. You're responsible the bill's modest."
Tyrer had left hastily and now that he had finished his work on the dispatch, he was going to take
Hiraga to the Chinese tailor down the road.
High Street was not crowded at this time of the day, midafternoon, most men in their countinghouses, or at siesta, or at the Club. A few drunks huddled in the lee of the wharfs, the wind still gusting. Later a football match had been arranged, Navy versus Army on their parade ground, and Tyrer was looking forward to it, but not to the meeting with Jamie McFay he had had to agree to, after the tailor's. "He's head of
Struan's here, Nakama-san, somehow he'd found out about you, and that you can speak some English.
He's to be trusted."
"So ka? Struan? The man who is to marry?"
"Oh, the servants told you about the engagement party? No, McFay's just their head merchant.
Mr. Struan, the tai-pan, is the one who's going to be married. That's his building, warehouse, offices and living quarters."
"So ka?" Hiraga studied it.
Difficult to attack or get into, he thought.
Barred lower windows. "This Struan, also his woman, they stay there?"
Tyrer's mind leapt to Fujiko and he said absently, "Struan does, I'm not sure about her. In London, this building would be nothing compared to ordinary houses, thousands upon thousands.
London's the richest city in the world."
"Richer than Yedo?"
Tyrer laughed. "Richer than twenty, fifty
Yedos, how do I say that in Japanese?"
Hiraga told him, his sharp eyes taking in everything--disbelieving about London and most of what
Tyrer was telling him as lies to confuse him.
Now they were passing the various bungalows that served as Legations, picking their way through the rubbish that was strewn everywhere. "Why different f'rags, p'rease?"
Tyrer wanted to practice speaking
Japanese, but every time he started, Hiraga would answer in English and at once ask another question.
Even so he explained, pointing them out: "They're
Legations: that's the Russian, the American, over there's the French--that one's Prussian.
Prussia's an important nation on the
Continent. If I wanted to say th--"
"Ah, so sorry, you have map of your wor'rd, p'rease?"
"Oh yes, I'd be glad to show it to you."
A detachment of soldiers approached and marched past, paying them no attention. "These men of
Prush'ah," Hiraga pronounced the word carefully, "they also war against French?"
"Sometimes. They're certainly warlike, always battling someone. They've just got a new King and his chief supporter is a big tough prince called Bismarck who's trying to collect all German speakers into one great nation and--"
"P'rease, so sorry, Taira-san, not so fast yes?"
"Ah gomen nasai." Tyrer repeated what he had said but more slowly, answering more questions, never failing to be astounded at their number and extent and range of his prot@eg`e's enquiring mind. He laughed again. "We must have an agreement, one hour about my world in English, one hour about yours in English, and then a one-hour conversation in Japanese. Hai?"
"Hai. Domo."
Four horsemen going out to the racetrack overtook them, greeted Tyrer and looked
Hiraga over curiously. Tyrer greeted them back. At the far end of High Street by the barrier, lines of coolies with the afternoon's shipment of goods and foods began to clear through the Custom
House under the watchful eye of the samurai guards. "We'd best hurry, don't want to get mixed up with that lot," he said and crossed the road, picking his way through the horse manure, then stopped abruptly and waved. They had been passing the French Legation. Angelique was standing at her ground floor window, the curtains pulled aside. She smiled and waved back. Hiraga pretended not to have noticed her scrutiny.
"That's the lady Mr. Struan's going to marry," Tyrer said, walking on again.
"Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Hai. That her house, yes?"
"Yes."
"Good night, Mr. McFay. Everything's locked up."
"Thanks. 'night, Vargas." McFay stifled a yawn, continued writing his daily journal, the last job of the day. His desk was clear but for two weeks of newspapers still to be read, his In tray empty, Out tray spilling over with answers to most of today's mail, and orders, bills of lading already completed and signed, ready for collection at sunup when business began.
Vargas absently scratched at a flea bite, a way of life in Asia, and put the key to the strong room on the desk. "Shall
I bring you more light?"
"No thanks, I'm almost finished. See you tomorrow."
"The Choshus are due tomorrow, about the guns."
"Yes, I hadn't forgotten, good night."
Now that he was alone in this part of the ground floor
McFay felt happier, always pleased to be on his own and always safe within himself. Except for
Vargas, all clerks, shroffs and other staff had their own staircase and rooms far to the back of the godown. The communicating door between the two sections was locked nightly. Only Ah Tok and their personal servants stayed in this foresection that contained offices, the strong room where all guns, ledgers, safes with all specie in
Mexican silver dollars, gold taels and
Japanese coin were kept, and their living quarters on the floor above.
Mail day was always busy and a late night, tonight later than most because the moment he had got the last installment of Great Expectations from
Nettlesmith, he had rushed upstairs and shared his allotted hour, page by relished page with
Malcolm Struan, then had come down again delighted and satisfied that all had worked out for
Pip and the girl and that a new Dickens epic would be announced in next month's edition.
The grandfather clock was ticking pleasantly.
He wrote rapidly with a fine clear hand:
MS was enraged with his mother's letter in today's mail
(Steamship Swift Wind, a day late, one man lost overboard in storm off Shanghai, also she had to run the gauntlet in the Shimonoseki
Straits, the shore batteries firing perhaps twenty rounds, without hurt, thank God!). My reply to my Mrs. S's cannonade today was honeyed (she has not yet heard about the party that will cause an explosion from Hong Kong to Java) but doubt if it will smooth any waters.
I informed her that A had moved over to the
French Legation but don't think that will mean a damn to Mrs. S, though MS was fretful all day that A hadn't visited him and again swore at
Ah Tok, putting her in a filthy mood--which she passed on to all the other servants, ayeeyah!
I must record in spite of all his pain that
MS is much wiser than I imagined, with an excellent grasp of business generally, international trade and now accepts my view that there is great potential here. We discussed the
Brock problem and agreed there was nothing to be done from here but as soon as he returned to HK, he would deal with them. Again he refused to consider returning on the mail ship--Hoag fence sits and is not my ally, saying the longer Malcolm rests here, the better--a bad voyage could be traumatic.
Had a first meeting with this Japanese
Nakama (that has to be an alias) who is certainly more than he pretends to be. A samurai, a ronin outlaw, who can speak some
English, who would cut his hair because he has decided to give up his samurai status, who seeks to wear our clothes, has to be out of the ordinary, and watched carefully. If half of what he says is true, then we have made--through
Tyrer, bless him--a major intelligence step forward. Pity that Nakama knows nothing about business, his only usable information was that Osaka is Japan's main business center, not Yedo, so all the more reason to press for the opening of that city as soon as possible. Nakama is certainly to be cultivated and...
There was a tap on one of the shutters. He glanced at the clock, almost ten. An hour late. Never mind, Asian time's different to our time.
Without haste he got up, slipped the small revolver into the side pocket of his frock coat, went to his private door and unlocked it. Outside were two women muffled in hooded cloaks, with a man servant. They all bowed.
He beckoned the women in, gave a few coins to the man who thanked him, bowed again and went back down the side alley towards the Yoshiwara.
McFay re-locked the door. "Heya,
Nemi, you all same pretty, neh?" He smiled and hugged one of them.
The girl beamed at him from under her hood, a sparkle to her, his musume for a year and kept by him for half that time. "Heya, Jami-san, you-ah gud, heya? This musume my sister,
Shizuka. Pretti, neh?"
Nervously the other girl moved her hood aside, forced a smile. He began to breathe again
--Shizuka was as young as Nemi, as attractive and fragrant. "Hai!" he said, and both were relieved that she had passed initial scrutiny. This was the first time McFay had ever arranged a girl for someone else. Awkwardly, he had asked Nemi to make sure the mama-san understood the girl was for the tai-pan and therefore had to be special. Both girls were in their early twenties, barely coming up to his shoulder, both more at ease now though completely aware the real hurdle had yet to be surmounted.
"Shizuka, I please you see. Tai-pan top man," he said kindly, then to Nemi, patting his side where Struan's wound was, "She understand about wound, neh?"
Nemi nodded, her white teeth sparkling.
"Hai, I 'sp'rain, Jami-san! Dozo,
'reave coat here, or up'stair?"
"Upstairs."
He led the way up the great staircase, well lit with oil lamps, Nemi chattering to the new girl who was all eyes. It was his custom, from time to time, to send for Nemi to spend the night here, the manservant returning just before dawn to escort her back to the little dwelling he had bought for her within the grounds of her house, the Inn of Succulent
Joy. Ten gold sovereigns it had cost him for a five-year lease for the house after days of haggling. Another ten for her contract for the same period, plus extra for a new kimono each month, hairdressing, a personal maid, and all found, with sak`e.
"But Mama-san, what if fire burn house down, heya?"' he had asked, appalled that he was agreeing to such a huge price though the extraordinarily advantageous exchange rate gave them a profit of four hundred percent most months--meant that almost everyone could keep a pony or two, consume champagne at will, and more importantly guaranteed that Nemi's running expenses would not amount to more than a few pounds yearly.
The mama-san was shocked. "Bui'd 'rike new. You pay ha'f price, fair, neh?"'
Nemi, present at the final negotiation, had laughed. "P'renti fire in house,
Jami-san, p'renti jig jig, neh?"'
; When McFay reached the top of the stairs he gave her another happy hug for no reason, other than she had proved to be worth every farthing, giving him so much pleasure and so much peace. On the landing was a large high-back chair. Nemi took off her cloak and hood, telling the other girl to do likewise, leaving them there. Neat and pretty kimonos underneath, hair well coiffured--chrysalis into butterfly.
