Flowers in the Blood (71 page)

 

Now most everyone was laughing. The man was unhinged.

I rapped the table and the room silenced. “The seven hundred rupees should almost pay off your debt to the Bengalis, since that will bring in one million, eight hundred and forty-eight thousand rupees, and I presume you owe them one million, eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand—or less, since you bought some earlier lots close to the reserve.”

Uncle Samuel tried to blurt something, but choked on his words. Edwin's rising voice stifled his feeble sputters. “You will complete the payments for the lots by using your stolen capital. Then, when the Sassoons resell the opium in China, we will retrieve our losses.”

I turned from my distraught uncle, and with a wave of my hand I captured everyone's attention. “Here is the situation: if we take Samuel's twenty-six hundred and forty chests, combine them with the three hundred that Edwin managed to obtain for the sake of baiting Samuel, and add them to the Sassoon percentage, we control almost five thousand, or more than half, of the current crop. However, because I covered the overages in the auction, I may either take the profits from, or take possession of, twenty percent of the lots in the splitting group. If Sassoon and Company agrees to go in with me—on my terms—my twenty percent, or twelve hundred chests, brings us to six thousand, one hundred and forty, enough to establish control of the marketplace.”

“Easily,” Uncle Reuben said with confidence. “The auction was extremely fragmented because people were unsure of what was happening. And certainly the consortium will go along with our pricing.”

“That means we can set the prices in Hong Kong and thus we will lose nothing,” I said, beaming at Uncle Reuben, then at my father. “In fact, what I propose is not to raise the rates by the twenty-percent premium we had to pay, but by, say, fifteen percent across the board. Then, working with the others, we could maintain that price for a long while. With the next auction bound to be more predictable, the increased profits could average out to be substantial over a few years.” I was about to suggest that some of the profits might be moved into other industries when Uncle Reuben cleared his throat. I acknowledged him.

“Hong Kong may not agree entirely,” he warned.

“I could assist in that arena,” my father promised.

My brothers clapped their hands and Edwin joined in. I could not help grinning as the others expressed their elation at the scheme. There would be plenty of time to discuss my other ideas.

“Where does that leave us?” Aunt Bellore asked weakly after the commotion subsided. “We will have nothing.”

“I am certain you have put something away for a rainy day,” my father said to his sister.

“This house costs a fortune to run. I have an unmarried daughter and . . .” She threw up her hands. “What could I do? A woman must follow her husband.”

“Bellore!” Samuel bellowed. “Don't start blaming me! If it wasn't for your endless demands . . . your declaration that what we did wasn't wrong, since you had never received the same share as your brothers and—”

Bellore stood and tried to leave the room, but Zilpah was swift on her feet and blocked the way.

“Yes, I can see your expenses have been a burden,” I, said over the din. “I know the strain you have been under. We have had to stretch my own husband's salary to support the much smaller household in Free School Street. I will be happy to pay you a fair market price for Kyd Street. That would give you a nice account to settle your other affairs in Calcutta.”

“Where would they live?” Zilpah asked facetiously.

“In France. I am certain Abigail would be honored to have her family nearby.”

“You can't make us leave the country!” Uncle Samuel shouted stubbornly.

“What about my other children?” Bellore gasped.

“By the way, where are Sultana and Gabriel and Lulu?” Edwin asked. “Their absence condemns them. I expect they should follow you to hell or wherever you will be going.” Bellore struggled under Zilpah's grasp. Zilpah steered her back to her seat and passed her a brandy. She gulped it like a thirsty peasant. When she finished, the silence was as welcome as the calm after a squall.

Uncle Reuben stood up. “We have had enough for one day. Also, it is fair to admit the guilt for this debacle must be shared by those who put too much trust in the wrong man and who did not have the sense to check the records more thoroughly. Each of us who works in the firm can probably recall items that did not seem quite right, but in our indolence we did not analyze the situation thoroughly. Ever since Saul passed on, we may have been too content to take our portion and too lax on many matters. I am not trying to minimize the shocking behavior of a member of our family. All I am saying is that unfortunate circumstances made a tempting situation for a weak and greedy person.” Pouring from the decanter, he gave me a charming smile, then turned to my father. “My dear brother, we must thank you for giving us Dinah and bringing Edwin into the family.” He raised his glass. “To Dinah and Edwin, who have earned everything they have and who deserve more than they will receive.”

One by one the Sassoons joined in the toast. I tried to acknowledge each with a nod. When Edwin avoided my smile, I locked my eyes on my father's, which were swimming with tears of pride. He coughed. The glass wobbled in his hand. He managed a respectful sip before he had to set it down. He coughed again. This time his cheeks puffed and his watering eyes streaked his face. His chest contracted and his head snapped back. Zilpah and I both leapt in his direction as his mouth opened. Blood flowed out and coated his chin like a red beard.

 

It was long past midnight before we were able to get back to Free School Street. The doctor had not been alarmed by my father's attack. “These things happen from time to time because the parasites lodged in his lungs cause hemorrhages. However, he must have complete quiet or more unpleasantness may result,” he chided Zilpah.

I felt responsible, but Zilpah reassured me. “He would not have missed today for anything in the world. Even if he has a setback, we are in your debt.”

Edwin had supported me while I wept. “Take her home,” Zilpah insisted, “or she will have her own collapse.”

Edwin and I were too exhausted to do more than crawl into the carriage that Gulliver had standing by. There was no discussion of the previous night, which seemed eons ago, nor any review of the stunning events of the day. Concerns about my father's health had muted our victory. I doubted if he would ever recover, and I brooded that despite what the doctor and Zilpah said, the strain of the auction had been a fatal blow.

Once we were inside the house, I began to climb the stairs, using the banister to inch my weary body along. Edwin followed behind. For a moment I thought I could blot out the opium incident like a bad dream. We had triumphed. We were together. What more could we want? At the door to our bedroom I paused. Edwin was no longer behind me. He was heading up another flight of stairs.

“Where are you going?” I asked in a strangled voice.

“To my study.”

“Are you going to sleep there?”

“Possibly.”

“No!” I gasped. “Don't do it.”

“What do you mean?” he said with a challenging edge I had never heard him use before.

“You don't need it!” I shouted.

“How dare you tell me what I need? Today has been the longest of my life. I did my part and more. Now, leave me to find peace the only way I know how.”

“Once you found peace in my arms,” I quavered.

“You may now be the head of Sassoon and Company, but you are not master of my soul.”

“How can you say that? We did it together. I told everyone how you found the discrepancies—”

“Did you, now? You gave me credit when it was in your interests to do so. Then you made certain everyone knew who was boss.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Dinah, really.” He sounded weary. “Let’s not pretend anymore. Let me see if I can recall some of your phrases . . .” It was almost as though I could hear the latch click as those tidy compartments of complete recall opened in his mind and he spewed forth the evidence with a vengeance. “ '. . .
I
may either take the profits from, or take possession of, twenty percent of the lots . . .' and '. . . If Sassoon and Company agrees to go in with
me
—on
my
terms—
my
twelve hundred chests establishes control of the marketplace.’ “

I had made the same mistake in my discussions with Abner Raphael. Even after Edwin had told me how offended he had been by my arrogance, I had thoughtlessly repeated the error. “I am sorry, Edwin, I cannot help myself, it is how I think. Everybody knows we act together—”

“Do they? Do they know you were against the plan and I had to convince you? No! I'll let you take the credit, but I must be allowed to have something of my own. If I choose to go upstairs and have a quiet smoke to relax myself with the very substance you and your kin have been buying and selling today, then I shall.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“What difference does it make? It has never affected you one way or the other.”

“I must know.”

“I told you yesterday. Since before we ever met. Since my first visit to Travancore when Amar and I were boys.”

“Amar! I should have known.” I recalled the last time I had been with the maharajah, and he had tried to turn Edwin against me and me against Edwin. Because Amar had lied about me, I had assumed he had lied about my husband. How ironic that he was telling the truth when he had said, “Even your husband can be corrupted, if the pipe is filled with something sweet to smoke and the woman who wants him is persistent enough.” If the first part was true, could the second be as well? I shuddered, but said nothing.

“Come now, Dinah. Not every opium smoker is a criminal. Many of my friends, and yours, enjoy a pipe now and again.”

“Who?”

“Abdul Moquith, Howard Farrell, and Krishna Mukerji, among others. I am not a crazed addict, nor are my friends. Sometimes I go for days, maybe a week, without a pipe. Other times I enjoy one nightly.”

“Then you could stop,”

“I suppose I could if I wanted to.”

“You must.”

“Why, because you say so?”

“No, because it is harmful.”

“The only harm that has ever come has been your recent discovery and objection. You would not have complained if you had found me pickled in gin or tamping a. tobacco pipe or smoking a cheroot, so why shouldn't I have the right to be amused by the poppy's blush?” He smiled at the attractive allusion he had conjured.

Who was this man? I did not know him. I opened my mouth to reply, then saw it was no use. The selfish ugly sister that had been mirrored in Aunt Bellore's eyes reappeared. There was nothing here to keep Edwin away from his pipe or anything else. I turned my contorted face from him and opened the door to our room. His footsteps moved up the stairs, irrevocably widening the fissure between us.

I leaned against the door for balance. How had it come to this? We had won our battle with the Lanyados, but at what cost? My father's bloody sputum convinced me that he was certain to die soon. How had I managed to prevail at the auction and garner the approval of my whole family—as well as obtain justice from my deceitful aunt and uncle—yet insult my husband in the process?

What was wrong with me? What was wrong with him? I might have a quick, insensitive tongue, but at least I did not smoke opium, as did my husband . . . as had my mother. Images of Luna and Sadka and the hookah blurred together with those of Edwin lying on his bed sucking from his pipe and of Amar doing the same. Was I cursed with this problem for the rest of my days? Was there no way I could extricate myself from this world of opium?

I staggered into our bedroom. Without Edwin it was hollow and drab. I let my clothes lie where they fell. The long, treacherous day was finished. But something else had begun. There was Hong Kong to think about, and the subsequent management of the company. Maybe this was a time to begin again—in more ways than one. If I could salvage the money I had committed, I might find a way to diversify later investments. . . . There had to be a way out of this morass.

I fell across my bed, limp with terror at what the future might bring without Edwin beside me. A wave of apprehension crashed over me, dissolving any sense of satisfaction over my revenge. How could I have survived a day in which so many dreams had come true, only to discover I had not enjoyed it at all?

48

 

O
nly the servants knew. Did Yali and Hanif and Gulliver discuss our separate sleeping arrangements or that we hardly ever took meals together or spoke except when it was necessary to converse about strategic matters? Many marriages had rifts established by disagreements. Others, the result of arrangements that had not proved satisfactory over time, had agreements to respect mutual privacy. Then why did I feel ashamed of my predicament? Was it because it had happened without warning? One day Edwin and I had been the passionate pair servants sometimes espied in an unhurried embrace. The next we were singular icebergs floating in a common strait.

We were careful to hide our estrangement from everyone else. The children hardly sensed anything, for we tended them as before. Even more critical, the rest of the Sassoons were to have no doubts about our abilities to lead the company out from the murky management of Samuel into a new regime headed by our “partnership.” The natural course seemed for Edwin to move into Uncle Saul's corner office and to act as the senior man on a daily basis. Every few days I would arrive, hold meetings, sign documents, examine account books randomly, and finalize decisions, including the ones Edwin had made in my absence. “You are the Sassoon,” he had explained in a practical tone. “You are the person they will trust, especially after being defrauded by another in-law.”

Thus I was the one who sat in Uncle Saul's chair and I was the one to whom everyone deferred. My dream of seeing my father return to Clive Street was not to be realized.

Abner Raphael was jolted when I asked to take delivery of my twenty percent of the shares, but he agreed it was within my rights to do so. I softened the blow by sending a ten-thousand-rupee check for the restoration of the synagogue steeple and another in the same amount for classroom space for the Hebrew school in memory of Luna Sassoon. Neither payment was refused.

The major issue in the business was how to convince the Chinese merchants to accept higher prices. My father insisted he would have to go to China to handle the negotiations.

“Impossible,” replied the usually jolly Dr. Hyam. “Even if Benu defied us and booked passage, he would never return.”

This was the first statement of the hopelessness of my father's condition, although we had suspected he was dying after the hemorrhage. Initially we discussed Reuben's going in his stead, since he spoke Chinese and had handled the trade before Benu had taken over. Eight years older than my father and “sickly” by his own standards, Reuben vetoed the idea. “I have lost my contacts. The business is a personal one. Benu has the touch with the Chinese, knows what makes them tick. They always confounded me. Besides, the trade wants someone younger. Jonah can do it.”

But Jonah demurred. “I have been only once. I cannot speak the language yet. And while we were there, Father did everything. I merely looked on.”

Though disappointed by his lack of faith in himself, I realized that he did not want the fate of these difficult negotiations falling upon his shoulders.

“This is our doing,” I told Edwin, “and we must resolve it.”

“We could commission someone from Jardine, Matheson or the Raphael office to take it on,” my husband suggested.

“No! This is a point of pride for the Sassoons.”

“We won't feel very proud if we can't unload our crates at the higher rates and the season is an enormous loss.”

“That is why we must go to China, to cement old ties and forge new ones. Jonah also could go along, since he knows a few of the ropes.”

Edwin sighed with exhaustion. “Dinah, we cannot do everything ourselves. Already I am spending fourteen hours a day in Clive Street.”

“Your choice,” I reminded him pointedly.

“Hardly,” he sniffed. “When this family trade flourished, there were a father and five sons working together.”

“And one son-in-law,” I said with a rueful laugh.

“Exactly. Now four of the seven are out of the picture. Despite everything”—he was alluding to our rift—”together we have managed to keep matters afloat in Calcutta. If we both went to China, whom would we leave behind to run Clive Street?”

“You have provided the answer.”

“Have I?” He raised an eyebrow in the rakish way I once found so appealing. Now it irritated me. I did not want to play his games, not if he would not take the first step and throw away the toxic opium pipe that had come between us. How he could continue to justify—no, to flaunt!—his vice was as irksome a question as ever.

“Oh, stop being coy, Edwin. You know as well as I do that one of us must go to China. And if you won't do it, I suppose I must.”

His mouth dropped open. “You? Don't be ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous about it?”

“The Chinese won't deal with a woman. Anyway, I did not refuse to go.”

“You said you were engaged at the office.”

“I was going to suggest you take over there for the time being.”

“I don't suppose they will deal with a woman any better in Calcutta. In any case, you're the one who knows the day-to-day operations, not me. You should remain here.”

“But you are the Sassoon.”

“Exactly. And as such I suppose I must go in my father's stead. Jonah can travel with me—and Gulliver, of course. What could be wrong with that plan?”

“A thousand reasons come to mind, but what do I know?” he said, not masking his scorn.

“Name two.”

“How about three: Aaron, Jeremiah, and Zachariah?”

A clutch at my heart told me he was right, yet I felt compelled to disagree. “I would not choose to leave the children, but they would be well cared for.”

“Why don't you ask your father? If he can't dissuade you, nobody can.”

 

My father was appalled. “You cannot leave your husband, let alone your children. Besides, you have no idea of the conditions. No woman should be asked to tolerate them. I forbid it!” he sputtered, and began to cough.

Zilpah, who had been sitting with us in the small parlor, warned me with her eyes. Even though the day was warm, a fire had been set to help combat his shivering paroxysms, which had begun shortly before my arrival. Fearing he again might spit up blood, I sat quietly until he was in control.

Mopping my face in the overheated room, I continued softly, “All right, Papa, I only wanted your opinion. Do you think Edwin might be a better choice?”

“What does he know about China?”

“Nothing, but you could teach him.”

“I expected it would take five years at my side before Jonah could handle any negotiations on his own, so why should Edwin be able to take over after a few hours of discussion?” He halted until he could stop his teeth from chattering. “There are no formulae that can be employed. Everything is based on the situation of the moment. We drink tea, we talk about our families, we size each other up, we trade points. One year I give in; the next year the other fellow does. This is where the tally is kept.” He pointed to his forehead.

“Then Edwin is right. We must hire someone from Jardine, Matheson or Raphael's company to sell our chests,” I said sadly. “A middleman's commission might be the difference between making or breaking this season. And what do we do next time?”

“I . . .” he started to say, then looked down at his wasted arms and bony hands. “I suppose I won't ever return.”

“No, Papa.” I looked to Zilpah for support.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she managed to speak crisply. “The time has come for the children to take over, Benu. Of course they will make mistakes, but look how wonderfully they have done already.”

Lost in some private torment, he hadn't heard her. “My God, it is hot in here!” he moaned.

Zilpah and I took his arms and led my father out to the shade of the terrace. He drank two glasses of lemonade laced with quinine before leaning back and closing his heavy eyelids.

“Very well,” he began slowly, “I will tell you everything. The truth is that I am too tired to worry about who goes where or does what.” His eyes shot open. They were bright with feverish excitement. “Zilpah is right. At least I have confidence that somehow, in some way, you and the others will get by, and yet . . .” Involuntarily he closed them again. “. . . I cannot fathom how. . . .”

 

For the next two weeks I spent every available moment at my father's side, taking notes on his ramblings. When I attempted to question him about specific names, locations, or previous dealings, he might answer one question lucidly, then drift off onto a tangent that seemed useless. Later, though, I would find that a seemingly disconnected thought was a vital link in the commercial chain. In the evenings I would rewrite my notes, cross-referencing them into folders. Soon a pattern began to emerge, though it was a pattern with pieces missing. If I attempted to question my father in an attempt to fill a hole, “Don't know . . . what are you talking about? . . . I never said that!” were common responses to my inquiries.

Even more frustrating were his lapses into Chinese. For a few days I tried to transliterate his husky digressions in the hope of later sorting them out. When time seemed to be running short, I brought in an interpreter, who took notes in Chinese.

Zilpah objected. “He's not up to these interrogations.”

“But, Zilpah, we may not have much more time,” I protested.

“That may be the case, but I can't have you robbing what few good hours he has left.”

I wanted to argue with her, but I constrained myself. “He wants to tell us everything.”

“Does he?” she inquired pointedly. “He could care less.”

“May I still come every day to see him?” I asked when I resigned myself to her wishes.

Zilpah nodded her head sadly. “Of course, Dinah.”

The next morning I arrived at the usual time—without the interpreter or my notebooks—and found Dr. Hyam and two nurses flanking my father's bed. His breathing was raspy and shallow. Zilpah stood next to the bed, as cold and inanimate as a statue.

“Send for the brothers and his other children,” Dr. Hyam said to me.

But before anyone else could get to his bedside, he died.

 

A loss expected is not necessarily a loss accepted. Zilpah went through the paces with a wooden stiffness. I shed enough tears for the two of us. Although Edwin treated me kindly, I could find no solace in his arms, and turned to Zilpah. My stepmother and I clung together, supporting each other. Asher was desolate. Ruby avoided the family because her husband did not want her to be upset. Seti, who was eleven, acted mature beyond her years. She dealt with servants and guests and pampered her mother. Fortunately, Jonah handled the necessities with admirable efficiency.

If we were going to manage the Chinese trade, Jonah said we must depart directly after the month of mourning for our father. At first I objected, but his logical arguments won me over. The two of us spent many hours with Uncle Reuben, trying to decipher my notes and planning our journey.

“We actually won't know how much we can command until we deliver the merchandise and see what the market will bear,” Jonah summarized after a long meeting.

“Very sensible,” Reuben complimented, then turned to Edwin. “Jonah could do quite well on his own,” he told Edwin pointedly, “if you can't see your way to convince Dinah you would be more suited to the trip than she would.”