The Diamond Chariot (25 page)

‘There is a railway here too?’ Erast Petrovich asked dismally, feeling his final hopes for oriental exoticism evaporating.

‘And a most excellent one!’ Doronin exclaimed with enthusiasm. ‘This is how the modern Yokohamian lives nowadays: he orders tickets for the theatre by telegraph, gets into the train, and a hour and a quarter later he is already watching a kabuki performance!’

‘I’m glad that it is at least kabuki, and not operetta …’ the newly minted vice-consul remarked, surveying the seafront glumly. ‘But listen, where are all the Japanese women in kimonos, with fans and umbrellas? I can’t see a single one.’

‘With fans?’ Vsevolod Vitalievich chuckled. ‘They’re all in the teahouses.’

‘Are those like the local cafés? Where they drink Japanese tea?’

‘One can take a drink of tea, of course. Additionally. But people visit those places to satisfy a different need.’ Doronin manipulated his fingers in a cynical gesture that might have been expected from a spotty grammar-school boy, but certainly not from the Consul of the Russian Empire – Erast Petrovich even blinked in surprise. ‘Would you like to pay a visit? Personally, I abstain from tea parties of that kind, but I can recommend the best of the establishments – it is called “Number Nine”. The sailor gentlemen are highly satisfied with it.’

‘N-no,’ Fandorin declared. ‘I am opposed on principle to venal love, and I consider brothels an affront to both the female and the male sexes.’

Vsevolod Vitalievich smiled as he squinted sideways at his companion, who had blushed for the second time, but he refrained from any comment.

Erast Petrovich rapidly changed the subject.

‘And the samurai with two swords? Where are they? I have read so much about them!’

‘We are riding through the territory of the Settlement. The only Japanese who are allowed to live here are shop workers and servants. But you will not see samurai with two swords anywhere now. Since the year before last the carrying of cold steel has been forbidden by imperial decree.’

‘What a shame!’

‘Oh yes,’ said Doronin with a grin. ‘You’ve really lost a lot there. It was a quite unforgettable sensation – squinting timidly at every son of a bitch with two swords stuck in his belt. Wondering if he’d just walk past, or swing round and take a wild slash at you. I’m still in the habit, when I walk through the Japanese quarters, of glancing behind me all the time. You know, I came to Japan at a time when it was considered patriotic to kill
gaijins
.’

‘Who is that?’

‘You and I.
Gaijin
means “foreigner”. They also call us
akahige
– “red-haired”,
ketojin
, meaning “hairy”, and
saru
, namely “monkeys”. And if you go for a stroll in the Native Town, the little children will tease you by doing this …’ The consul removed his spectacles and pulled his eyelids apart with his fingers. ‘That means “round-eyed”, and it is considered very offensive. But never mind, at least they don’t just carve you open for no reason at all. Thanks to the Mikado for disarming his cut-throats.’

‘But I read that a samurai’s sword is an object of reverent obeisance, l-like a European nobleman’s sword,’ said Erast Petrovich, sighing – disappointments were raining down one after another. ‘Did the Japanese knights really abandon their ancient tradition as easily as that?’

‘There was nothing at all easy about it. They were in revolt all last year, it went as far as a civil war, but Mr Okubo is not a man to be trifled with. He wiped out the most turbulent and the rest changed their tune.’

‘Okubo is the minister of internal affairs,’ Fandorin said with a nod, demonstrating a certain knowledge of local politics. ‘The French newspapers call him the First Consul, the Japanese Bonaparte.’

‘There is a similarity. Ten years ago there was a
coup d’état
in Japan …’

‘I know. The restoration of the Meiji, the re-establishment of the power of the emperor,’ the titular counsellor put in hastily, not wishing his superior to think him a total ignoramus. ‘The samurai of the southern principalities overthrew the power of the shoguns and declared the Mikado the ruler. I read about it.’

‘The southern principalities – Satsuma and Choshu – are like Corsica in France. And Corsican corporals were even found – three of them: Okubo, Saigo and Kido. They presented His Imperial Majesty with the respect and adoration of his subjects, and quite properly reserved the power for themselves. But triumvirates are an unstable sort of arrangement, especially when they contain three Bonapartes. Kido died a year ago, Saido quarrelled with the government and raised a rebellion, but he was routed and, in accordance with Japanese tradition, committed hara-kiri. Which left Minister Okubo as the only cock in the local henhouse … You’re quite right to note this down,’ the consul remarked approvingly, seeing Fandorin scribbling away with a pencil in a leather-covered notebook. ‘The sooner you fathom all the subtle points of our local politics, the better. By the way, you’ll have a chance to take a look at the great Okubo this very day. At four o’clock there will be a ceremonial opening of a House for the Re-education of Fallen Women. It is an entirely new idea for Japan. It had never occurred to anyone here before to re-educate the courtesans. And the funds for this sacred undertaking have not been provided by some missionary club, but a Japanese philanthropist, a certain Don Tsurumaki. The crème de la crème of the Yokohama beau monde will be there. And the Corsican himself is expected. He is hardly likely to show up for the formal ceremony, but he will almost certainly come to the Bachelors’ Ball in the evening. It is an entirely unofficial function and has nothing to do with the re-education of loose women – quite the opposite in fact. You will not find it boring. “He returned and went, like Chatsky, from the ship straight to the ball”.’

Doronin winked again as he had done recently, but the titular counsellor did not feel attracted to these bachelor delights.

‘I will take a look at Mr Okubo some other time … I’m rather exhausted after the journey and would prefer to rest. So if you will permit …’

‘I will not permit,’ the consul interrupted with affected severity. ‘The ball is de rigueur. Regard it as your first official assignment. You will see many influential people there. And our maritime agent Bukhartsev will be there, the second man in the embassy. Or, perhaps, even the first,’ Vsevolod Vitalievich added with a suggestive air. ‘You will meet him, and tomorrow I shall take you to introduce yourself to His Excellency … Ah, but here is the consulate.
Tomare!
’
¹
he shouted to the rickshas. ‘Remember the address, my good fellow, Number Six, the Bund Esplanade.’

Erast Petrovich saw a stone building with a yard flanked by two wings running towards the street.

‘My apartment is in the left wing, yours is in the right wing, and the office is there, in the middle,’ said Doronin, pointing beyond the railings – the formal wing at the back of the courtyard was topped off by a Russian flag. ‘Where we serve is where we live.’

As the diplomats got down on to the pavement, the
kuruma
gently rocked Erast Petrovich lovingly in farewell, but peevishly snagged the consul’s trousers with the end of a spring.

Whinging and cursing
Vicious potholes in the road:
My old
kuruma
.

1
‘Stop!’ (Japanese)

A HERO’S EYES

In the reception area a very serious young Japanese man, wearing a tie and steel-rimmed spectacles, rose to his feet to greet the new arrivals. Standing on the desk among the files and heaps of papers were two little flags – Russian and Japanese.

‘Allow me to introduce you,’ said Doronin. ‘Shirota. He has been working with me for more than seven years now. Translator, secretary and invaluable assistant. My guardian angel and clerk, so to speak. I trust you will get on well together.’

Taking the name ‘Shirota’ for the Russian word meaning ‘orphan’, Fandorin was rather surprised that the consul thought it necessary to inform him of his colleague’s unfortunate family situation at the moment of introduction. No doubt the sad event must have taken place only recently, although there was no sign of mourning in the clerk’s manner of dress, with the possible exception of his black satin oversleeves. Erast Petrovich bowed in sympathy, expecting a continuation, but Doronin did not say anything.

‘Vsevolod Vitalievich, you have forgotten to tell me his name,’ the titular counsellor reminded his superior in a low voice.

‘Shirota is his name. When I had just arrived here, I felt terribly homesick for Russia. All the Japanese looked the same to me and their names sounded like gibberish. I was stuck here all on my lonesome, there wasn’t even a consulate then. Not a single Russian sound or Russian face. So I tried to surround myself with locals whose names sounded at least a little bit more familiar. My valet was Mikita, just like the Russian name. That’s written with three hieroglyphs, and means “Field with three trees”. Shirota was my translator, the name means “White field” in Japanese. And I also have the extremely charming – as in the Russian word ‘
obayanie
’ – Obayasi-san, to whom I shall introduce you later.’

‘So the Japanese language is not so very alien to the Russian ear?’ Erast Petrovich asked hopefully. ‘I should very much like to learn it as soon as possible.’

‘It is both alien and difficult,’ said Vsevolod Vitalievich, dashing his hopes. ‘The discoverer of Japan, St Franciscus Xaverius, said: “This speech was invented by a concourse of devils in order to torment the devotees of the faith”. And such coincidences can sometimes play mean tricks. For instance, my surname, which in Russian is perfectly euphonious, causes me no end of bother in Japan.’

‘Why?’

‘Because “
doro
” means “dirt” and “
nin
” means “man”. “Dirty man” – what sort of name is that for the consul of a great power?’

‘And what is the meaning of “Russia” in Japanese?’ asked the titular counsellor, alarmed for the reputation of his homeland.

‘Nothing good. It is written with two hieroglyphs:
Ro-koku
, “Stupid country”. Our embassy has been waging a complicated diplomatic struggle for years now, to have a different hieroglyph for “
ro
” used in the documents, one that signifies “dew”. So far, unfortunately, with no success.’

The clerk Shirota took no part in the linguistic discussion, but simply stood there with a polite smile on his face.

‘Is everything ready for the vice-consul to be accommodated?’ Doronin asked him.

‘Yes, sir. The official apartment has been prepared. Tomorrow morning the candidates for the position of valet will come. They all have very good references, I have checked them. Where would you like to take your meals, Mr Fandorin? If you prefer to dine in your rooms, I will find a cook for you.’

The Japanese spoke Russian correctly, with almost no accent, except that he occasionally confused ‘r’ and ‘l’ in some words.

‘That is really all the same to me. I follow a very simple d-diet, so there is no need for a cook,’ the titular counsellor explained. ‘Putting on the samovar and going to the shop for provisions are tasks that a servant can deal with.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Shirota said with a bow. ‘And are we anticipating the arrival of a Mrs Vice-Consul?’

The question was formulated rather affectedly, and Erast Petrovich did not instantly grasp its meaning.

‘No, no. I am not married.’

The clerk nodded, as if he had been prepared for this answer.

‘In that case, I can offer you two candidates to choose from in order to fill the position of a wife. One for three hundred yen a month, fifteen years old, never previously married, knows one hundred English words. The second is older, twenty-one, and has been married twice. She has excellent references from the previous husbands, knows a thousand English words and is less expensive – two hundred and fifty yen. Here are the photographs.’

Erast Petrovich blinked his long eyelashes and looked at the consul in consternation.

‘Vsevolod Vitalievich, there’s something I don’t quite …’

‘Shirota is offering you a choice of concubines,’ Doronin explained, examining the photos with the air of a connoisseur. They showed doll-like young ladies with tall, complicated hairstyles. ‘A wife by contract.’

The titular counsellor wrinkled up his brow, but still did not understand.

‘Everyone does it. It is most convenient for officials, seamen and traders who are far from home. Not many bring their family here. Almost all the officers of our Pacific fleet have Japanese concubines, here or in Nagasaki. The contract is concluded for a year or two years, with the option to extend it. For a small sum of money you obtain domestic comfort, care and attention and the pleasures of the flesh into the bargain. If I understand correctly, you are no lover of brothels? Hmm, these are fine girls. Shirota is a good judge in this matter,’ said Doronin, and tapped his finger on one of the photos. ‘My advice to you is: take this one, who is slightly older. She has already been married to foreigners twice, you won’t have to re-educate her. Before me, my Obayasi lived with a French sea captain and an American speculator in silver. And on the subject of silver …’ Vsevolod Vitalievich turned to Shirota. ‘I asked for the vice-consul’s salary for the first month and relocation allowance for settling in to be made ready – six hundred Mexican dollars in all.’

The clerk inclined his head respectfully and started opening the safe.

‘Why Mexican?’ Fandorin asked as he signed the account book.

‘The most tradable currency in the Far East. Not too convenient, certainly,’ the consul remarked, watching Shirota drag a jangling sack out of the safe. ‘Don’t rupture yourself. There must be about a
pood
of silver here.’

But Erast Petrovich lifted the load with no effort, using just his finger and thumb – evidently he made good use of those cast-iron weights that he carried about in his luggage. He was about to put the bag on a chair, but he became distracted and started studying the portraits hanging above Shirota’s desk.