SI3 The Way of the Traitor (1997)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Therefore, he must try to break the other Japanese suspects "or the Dutchmen.

  Chapter 22

  FROM THE HOUSE on Deshima where Jan Spaen's body had lain since its recovery from the sea, guards brought out the plain wooden coffin draped with black cloth and set it in the street. Across the bridge milled gawkers waiting to see the barbarians' funeral procession, and the officials who attended all diplomatic functions. The rain had diminished to a drizzle. A holiday atmosphere belied the solemnity of the occasion.

  Dutch East India Company Assistant Director Maarten deGraeff watched the scene from the roof of his residence, where he went whenever he couldn't bear the prison of his rooms. For years he'd longed for Jan Spaen's death, yet the murder of his partner had not freed him as he'd hoped, but only multiplied his troubles. He should have known he could never escape the evil inside his soul, though he'd tried since his nineteenth year, when he'd joined the company.

  He'd left the Netherlands, abandoning his parents, university studies, and a future career in the church not for money or adventure, but because of his crimes: the profane desire that prayer could not banish; sordid encounters with sailors in Amsterdam's alleys; and an affair with a fellow student that had ended when the other youth, torn by guilt, hanged himself in their dormitory. If his true nature was ever exposed, deGraeff wanted to be far away, so his family needn't witness the disgrace of a son executed for the sin of forbidden love.

  Now a bitter laugh caught in deGraef's throat. What had he achieved by his self-imposed exile? Here he was, half a world away, still a sinner, and a murder suspect besides.

  A noise from below interrupted his glum reverie. Someone was ascending the ladder from the balcony to the roof. Then Dr. Nicolaes Huygens's worried face appeared over the eaves. oMay I join you? he said.

  DeGraeff groaned inwardly as the stout doctor sat beside him. Since Spaen's death, he'd avoided Huygens. But they needed to talk.

  Panting, Dr. Huygens took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his sweaty brow, then folded the cloth with meticulous care before putting it away. He clasped and unclasped his plump hands. oIt's almost time for the funeral, he said at last. oAren't you coming?

  His hesitancy indicated that this wasn't what he'd come to say, but deGraeff, preoccupied with his own concerns, didn't care. oNicolaes, he said, oplease, I beg you not to tell anyone what I've done.

  He should have realized that he couldn't keep a secret on this tiny island. At first he'd used male whores dressed as women to hide their true gender from his comrades. Then he'd begun a foolish liaison with a junior interpreter. Huygens had accidentally walked in on them. Jan Spaen, who had learned of his sins years ago, was gone. Now deGraeff's fate lay in the hands of Dr. Huygens. He waited in cold terror as the doctor turned to him.

  oYou and Spaen were partners for a long time, Huygens said, as if he hadn't heard deGraeff's plea. oHe probably confided in you.

  oWhat? deGraeff said in confusion. oNicolaes "

  Blushing a deeper red, Dr. Huygens spoke urgently, eyes searching deGraeff's face. oDid he tell you things about "about the rest of us?

  Comprehension elated deGraeff. Spaen must have possessed compromising information about Dr. Huygens, too. DeGraeff had no idea what this could be; Spaen had hoarded knowledge and the power it conferred. Yet deGraeff saw that his salvation depended on hiding his ignorance from Huygens.

  oYes, Jan did talk, deGraeff said, striving for nonchalance, stalling for time.

  Huygens's body seemed to shrink with defeat. In a strained voice he said, oSo you know about me.

  DeGraeff merely raised an eyebrow. He had an advantage now, and he intended to use it.

  oIf you turn me in to Investigator Sano or the Dutch authorities, I'll tell them what I know about you, blurted Huygens, desperation evident in his feverish eyes, the reek of his sweat. oAnd I'll tell them I heard you and Spaen arguing before he died, too. You wanted to leave the company, go home, and enter a monastery. But Spaen couldn't manage without you. So he threatened to report your sin if you quit. You would be tied up and thrown in the sea to drown. That's why you wanted Spaen dead "not for his share of the money you made together, but because he could destroy you. You hated Spaen and wanted to be rid of him.

  Oh, how deGraeff had! Because Jan Spaen had not only held him captive through blackmail, but also destroyed his hope of redemption.

  Upon joining the East India Company, deGraeff had planned to forsake his sordid life and purify himself through work, hardship, and prayer. At first it seemed he would succeed, though his job presented myriad dangers: long ocean journeys that provoked forbidden intimacies among the all-male ship crews; foreign ports where heathens pandered to every sexual perversion. By avoiding contact with other men, deGraeff had resisted temptation. Scurvy, tropical fevers, and other illnesses suffered by overseas travelers reduced his desire. For fifteen years he remained celibate, while discovering in himself a talent for trade. He rose from clerk to secretary, and finally attained a position as functionary in Batavia, the Dutch stronghold on the Java coast. He decided to work a few more years, save some money, and return home to his religious studies.

  His dreams had died the night he delivered his life into Jan Spaen's hands.

  Now memory transported deGraeff back to that time, four years after he'd arrived in Batavia. He could see his small, sparsely furnished room, and feel the terrible moist heat that weakened the body and mind. Sleepless and lonely, he'd left the trade compound to walk the streets of town.

  Batavia's exotic glamor enchanted deGraeff. Along the canals, parties enlivened the balconies of the houses and lanterns shimmered upon the water. Dutch men and women strolled the lanes and bridges; Asian merchants, sailors, and laborers jammed the drinking houses and gambling dens. A blend of languages rose above music from Dutch mandolins, Chinese flutes, Indonesian drums and cymbals.

  oSir! You seek pleasure? Come in, come in! Outside a row of tumbledown buildings in the native sector stood a smiling young Javanese man who beckoned deGraeff into a room where naked native girls paraded before a crowd of men. oI sell you beautiful woman, good price.

  oNo, thank you. DeGraeff walked away, but the procurer followed.

  oYou no like woman, sir? Then come with me "I give you what you want.

  Every sane, pure instinct demanded deGraeff's refusal. His soul was at stake. The threat of exposure loomed large in this small colony where everyone knew everyone else's business. Yet deGraeff's need for physical release and human companionship outweighed his yearning for salvation. The roar of his own blood drowned out the voice of caution. He followed the procurer through dark, fetid alleys, over rank canals, to the river. The tropical night pulsed with insect songs and smelled of jungle flowers. A moon like a huge gold florin lit the footpath down which the procurer led deGraeff, past moored boats with bamboo roofs and ragged curtains sheltering the long hulls. Aboard a few, lamps flickered. The procurer stopped beside one of these.

  oHere, sir, he said, parting the curtains.

  Upon heaped cushions inside sat a beautiful native youth with sleek, dark skin, sculpted muscles, and lustrous eyes. A loincloth covered his sex.

  DeGraeff's breath caught. May the Lord have mercy on my soul... oHow much? he asked hoarsely.

  A short while later, deGraeff emerged from the boat, more shamed than satisfied. There was no hope for his soul; he was damned. Then he saw, standing on the footpath nearby, the figure of a Dutchman, his broad-brimmed hat clearly outlined by the moonlight. The glow from his tobacco pipe illuminated the handsome features and golden hair of Jan Spaen. He must have been at the brothel, heard the procurer proposition deGraeff, and followed them here. Horror paralyzed deGraeff. He imagined strong hands forcing him into a hemp sack; heard his own screams as the sea enveloped him. Then Spaen nodded and sauntered away.

  DeGraeff spent the next days waiting in terror for the police to arrest him. Then Spaen came. oI hear you're one of the best men in the business, he said. oI need
a partner. I've already spoken to your superiors, and they've agreed to assign you to me. You'll get the same salary for your regular duties "and a percentage of whatever we make on the side. I guarantee you'll find it worth your while.

  He never mentioned what he'd seen, but his knowing smile brooked no refusal. Thus deGraeff had accompanied Spaen through the jungles in search of new spice supplies, to India and China to purchase silks for the European trade. While Spaen's daring and charm had opened new markets and secured lucrative deals, deGraeff's financial acumen had built their profits into a fortune. Yet deGraeff found the partnership unbearable. He abhorred Spaen's drinking, gambling, sexual excesses, and combative nature; he was nearly killed during Spaen's raid on Taiwan. And Spaen encouraged his vices, procuring men for him wherever they went. oI always reward good performance, he would declare.

  DeGraeff, having once yielded to sexual hunger, couldn't withstand the constant temptation. Thus Spaen bound him tighter even as his desire for freedom increased. In Japan, deGraeff had told Spaen they were through. They'd had the argument Dr. Huygens had overheard. Now, though the extent of Huygens's knowledge unsettled deGraeff, the doctor was a much weaker adversary than Spaen.

  oYou hated and feared Spaen, too, deGraeff replied to Huygens's clumsy attempt at blackmail. oIf I had a motive for murder, then so did you. You hold a threat over my head, but it's no worse than the one I hold over yours.

  How completely he'd misjudged the doctor, who had always seemed a paragon of stolid, bourgeois virtue! Whatever Huygens had done, it must be bad, for him to worry so. oAs far as the Japanese authorities are concerned, either of us could be a smuggler, deGraeff continued, though he knew that his history as Spaen's private trade partner counted heavily against him. oWe had equal access to the goods. Oh, but you're the one who speaks the native tongue, aren't you?

  Huygens buried his face in his hands and uttered a mournful curse: oVerdomme!

  DeGraeff smiled. oSo it seems that we must unite for our mutual protection, he said. oIf you keep my secrets, I'll keep yours. And not only the ones under discussion, but also their whereabouts last night and when Spaen had disappeared "and what deGraeff planned to do before they sailed. oIf we both stand firm, no one can ever lay the blame for Spaen's murder on either of us. We'll be safe.

  The doctor looked up, nodding eagerly in pitiful relief and gratitude. oYes, yes. That's what we'll do. He clasped deGraeff's hands in his hot, sweaty ones. oThank you, Maarten.

  In the street, guards surrounded the three other Dutchmen, who had returned from their trip this morning. Interpreter Iishino waved, calling, oAssistant Director deGraeff! Dr. Huygens! Time for Director Spaen's funeral.

  DeGraeff stood up and headed for the ladder. oAnd I thank you, Nicolaes.

  His soul might be damned to burn in hell for all eternity, but with luck neither the Japanese nor the Dutch authorities would punish him for Spaen's murder or any other crimes. The danger would soon be over; he would return to the Netherlands a wealthy, free man.

  He wondered what Huygens's guilty secret was, and whether the good doctor was capable of murder.

  Chapter 23

  JAN SPAEN'S FUNERAL procession ascended the steep streets of Nagasaki toward the Dutch burial ground in the hills. Sano, dressed in his ceremonial garb of white under-robe, black silk kimono, trousers, and surcoat, with black cloth covering his swords as a gesture of respect for the dead, rode near the end. Mounted troops cleared a path through the crowd that had come to see the barbarians. Spectators trailed the procession and jammed balconies or rooftops along the route, cheering. Refreshment vendors did a brisk trade, but ordinary business had halted. The drizzle continued, yet no one sought cover.

  oGet back! shouted the footsoldiers who ran alongside the procession, pushing away gawkers who got too close. oAnyone who touches or speaks to the barbarians will die!

  In contrast to all this fanfare, the funeral party itself seemed insignificant, lacking the splendor of a Japanese ritual. There were no flowers; no lantern bearers; no priests, chants, incense, bells, or drums; no white-robed mourners. Six Deshima servants, wearing everyday kimonos, carried the black-draped coffin. Behind it walked Assistant Director deGraeff, Dr. Huygens, and the three other Dutchmen, who had returned from paying homage to the Ky®shdaimyo, all dressed in somber black. Chief Ohira, Interpreter Iishino, Nirin, and twenty guards followed, also clad in ordinary garb. Just ahead of Sano rode Yoriki Ota and other Nagasaki officials. After them trailed four peasants carrying ropes and shovels.

  Sano knew that the anti-Christianity laws forbade the Dutch to practice their customary death rites. For the first time he pitied Jan Spaen, dying in a foreign land, his funeral a public spectacle for curious strangers. However, Sano's thoughts soon drifted from Director Spaen as he covertly scanned the crowds. Upon going home to dress for the funeral, he'd learned that Old Carp had received no word from Hirata. He'd seen troops searching buildings and questioning residents and pedestrians, but no sightings had been reported. Sano hoped Hirata would lie low until the charges against them were dropped, yet he knew the odds against that. He kept imagining he saw Hirata's face among the horde.

  At last the procession reached the burial ground. Tall cedars bordered the grassy, windswept plateau where rows of wooden stakes marked barbarian graves. The funeral party grouped around these, with troops keeping away the gawkers. Chief Ohira avoided Sano's gaze, while Nirin stared insolently. But Sano wasn't concerned with these suspects at the moment. Dismounting, he started toward the barbarians.

  oSorry, you can't go over there.

  Guards stepped between Sano and the Dutchmen, forcing him back. Sano despaired of ever speaking to the Dutch suspects again. Yet perhaps this trip would still prove to be valuable. He took a place next to a grinning, nervous Interpreter Iishino.

  Chief Ohira announced, oWe are gathered here to bury the earthly remains of Trade Director Jan Spaen. He nodded to the gravediggers, who began shoveling a hole in a bare patch of ground. The bearers set the coffin nearby. oDirector Spaen's comrades will pay their last respects. Frowning at the Dutchmen, he added, oAny references to Christianity will result in a severe reduction of trade privileges.

  Interpreter Iishino darted over to the grave, obviously eager to get away from Sano. He translated Ohira's words, beckoning to the Dutch. The barbarians stood beside the coffin, heads bowed, hats in their hands. DeGraeff spoke first. The clink of shovels, the rustling of the trees, and the horses' stomps accompanied his expressionless monologue.

  oJan Spaen was a brave, talented trader, Iishino translated, hunching his shoulders against the damp wind "or Sano's scrutiny? oHe opened new markets and generated high profits for the East India Company. He was my partner for ten years, and I very much regret his passing.

  Sano paid minimal attention to the rest of this positive eulogy from a murder suspect who wouldn't want to air his grievances against the deceased. He studied Iishino, trying with difficulty to imagine him as a murderer. Had this buffoon shot Jan Spaen? If the mere sight of Spaen's corpse had shocked the jitters out of him, how could he have stabbed Peony?

  Yet perhaps Iishino's reaction to the corpse had been caused by fear of betraying guilt. He had access to Deshima's warehouses. He had the language skills necessary for colluding with the Dutch. He'd seemed worried when Sano asked why Director Spaen had been updating the account books so long after the official sale of Dutch goods, maybe because he knew Spaen had recorded the smuggling transactions and didn't want Sano to find out. And Iishino was the person most responsible for creating false evidence of Sano's wrongful behavior toward the Dutch. Sano's dislike for the interpreter deepened into loathing.

  Iishino finished translating the assistant director's recitation. Then it was Dr. Huygens's turn to speak.

  For a long time, the doctor remained silent, head bowed over the coffin. Drizzle misted the air. Dirt flew from the hole where the gravediggers worked chest deep. Then Huygens spoke two short phrases.

&n
bsp; oMay all our sins be forgiven. Rest in peace, Iishino echoed.

  The doctor's ambiguous words seemed to imply that he himself was guilty of some offense. Distracted from his speculations about Interpreter Iishino, Sano again feared he'd trusted Huygens too quickly. Had he ignored clues during their meeting? Could the doctor have murdered Spaen?

  The other Dutchmen spoke their pieces. The gravediggers placed ropes under the coffin and lowered it into the hole. Each barbarian cast a handful of dirt onto the coffin. Then the diggers shoveled earth into the grave. Sano's skin crawled at the thought of the corpse slowly rotting underground. How much cleaner and more final was the Buddhist custom of cremation. But Sano had no time to ponder the differences between Japanese and Dutch funerary rites, or Dr. Huygens's possible guilt. Interpreter Iishino was edging toward the road leading down the hill.

  Sano cut through the circle of troops, pushed past spectators, and hurried after Iishino. The interpreter ran down the road, shoulders hunched, sandals flapping. Sano caught up with him, seized his arm, and swung him around.