The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet Read Online Free PDF Page A

Fischer’s companion is Con Twomey, an Irishman of Cork.” Twomey has a half-moon face and a sharkish smile; his hair is cropped close and he is roughly tailored in sailcloth. “Don’t fret if you forget these names: once the
Shenandoah
departs, we’ll have a tedious eternity in which to learn all about one another.”
    “Don’t the Japanese suspect some of our men aren’t Dutch?”
    “We account for Twomey’s bastard accent by saying he hails from Groningen. When were there ever enough pure-blooded Dutch to man the company? Especially now”—the stressed word alludes to the sensitive matter of Daniel Snitker’s incarceration—“we must catch as catch can. Twomey’s our carpenter but doubles as inspector on weighing days, for the infernal coolies’ll spirit away a bag of sugar in a blink without they’re watched like hawks. As will the guards—and the merchants are the slyest bastards of all: yesterday one of the whoresons slipped a stone into a bag, which he then ‘discovered’ and tried to use as ‘evidence’ to lower the average tare.”
    “Shall I begin my duties now, Mr. van Cleef?”
    “Have Dr. Marinus breathe a vein first, and join the fray once you’re settled. Marinus you shall find in his surgery at the end of Long Street—
this
street—by the bay tree. You shan’t get lost. No man ever lost his way on Dejima, without he had a bladderful of grog in him.”

    “FINE THING
I
happened along,” says a wheezing voice, ten paces later. “A cove’ll lose his way on Dejima faster’n shit through a goose. Arie Grote’s my name, an’
you
’ll be”—he thumps Jacob’s shoulder—“Jacob de Zoet of Zeeland the Brave an’, my oh my, Snitker
did
put your nose out of joint, didn’t he?”
    Arie Grote has a grin full of holes and a hat made of shark hide.
    “Like my hat, do you? Boa constrictor, this was, in the jungles of Ternate, what slunk one night into my hut what I shared with my three native maids. My first thought was, well, one of my bedmates was wakin’ me gentle to toast my beans, eh? But no no no, there’s this tightenin’ an’ my lungs’re squeezed tight an’ three of my ribs go
pop! snap! crack!
an’ by the light o’ the Southern Cross, eh, I see him gazin’ into my bulgin’ eyes—an’
that
, Mr. de Z., was the squeezy bugger’s downfall. My arms was locked behind me, but my jaws was free, an’ oh I
bit
the beggar’s head
that ’ard
 … A screamin’ snake ain’t a sound you’ll forget in an hurry! Squeezy bugger squeezed me tighter—he weren’t done yet—so I went for the worm’s jugular an’ bit it
clean through
. The grateful villagers made me a robe of its skin and coronated me, eh, Lord of Ternate—that snake’d been the terror of their jungle—but,” Grote sighs, “a sailor’s heart’s the sea’s plaything, eh? Back in Batavia a milliner turned my robe to hats what fetched ten rix-dollars a throw … but nothing’d splice me from this last one
’cept
, mayhap, a favor to welcome a young cove whose need be sharper’n mine, eh? This beauty’s yours
not
for ten rix-dollars, no no no,
not
eight but five stuivers. As good a price as none.”
    “The milliner switched your boa skin for poorly cured shark hide, alas.”
    “I’ll wager
you
rise from the card table,” Arie Grote looks pleased, “with a well-fed purse. Most of us hands gather of an evenin’ in my humble billet, eh, for a little hazard ’n’ companionship, an’ as you plainly ain’t no stuffed-shirt hoity-toity, why not join us?”
    “A pastor’s nephew like me would bore you, I fear: I drink little and gamble less.”
    “Who
ain’t
a gambler in the glorious Orient, with his very life? Of every ten coves who sail out,
six
’ll survive to make what hay they may, eh, but four’ll sink into some swampy grave an’ forty-sixty is damnedpoor odds. By the by, for every twelve jewels or ducatoons sewn into a coat lining, eleven get seized at the sea gate, and only