The Silver Lotus (20 page)

Captain Hammond admitted he would be hard-pressed not to agree. He had experienced many cultures and found parallels almost everywhere. Cross-cultural bias, mutual suspicion, and fear usually created barriers to the adoption or adaptation of positive innovations that might have come to light from those far foreign parts where barbarians dwelled under the rule of demons. And knowing the Chinese the way he did, he would never draw against the idea that suffering and death were altogether preferable to altering the tenants of long-established custom when it came to something as intimate as submitting to medical examination and treatment, especially for Chinese women and their children, and with this recollection Captain Hammond suddenly realized that there was definitely a fly in the ointment as far as Lady Yee's ambitions were concerned.

Mrs. Neruda came out on the porch with a fresh pot of tea. Captain Hammond appeared distracted for a moment, but then he rose, thanked the doctor and his wife for their kindness, and said that he was obliged to conduct other business that morning. Before leaving, he presented the doctor and his wife with Lady Yee's handwritten invitation for dinner that very night, which Dr. and Mrs. Neruda accepted with humble pleasure.

11

WHEN HE RETURNED HOME, Captain Hammond went in search of his wife. He found her harvesting flowers in her garden. These fresh and vibrant blooms, according to her, were destined to dance anew in her Ch'ien-lung vases and decorate the dinner table that evening. When he at last managed to focus her complete attention, the captain said he believed the whole experiment might come to nothing as far as the Neruda family was concerned. He shared his sudden foreboding that the Chinese fishing families, and the other Chinese laborers, would not willingly submit to Indian doctors of either sex. The cultural differences were too vast, he said, and the forms of medicine practiced too foreign. He was reminded that peasants of any land usually proved to be the most hidebound of traditionalists, and the most difficult to persuade when it came to any form of novelty.

Lady Yee could not help but laugh at her husband's sincere but ill-informed concerns. She said that the impediments he predicted were already accounted for in her plans, and she believed that the right approach to both parties, finite as they were, might nullify centuries of pointless tradition where health was a principle, and not a custom. As for medical practices, Lady Yee took a mock pedantic stance and told her husband that a substantial portion of Chinese medicine came to China from India and the ayurvedic school of healing and health.
Like much that was admirable about China, advanced Indian medical sciences followed in the wake of enlightened Buddhist teaching, or so the great scrolls record. But Lady Yee observed that the Chinese had been sailing on trading voyages to India centuries before that, and as her husband knew only too well, good health in a sailor is more precious than coins to his captain. Indeed, Lady Yee stood on her conviction that though Chinese medicine had made innumerable independent contributions to the art of healing, its roots were nurtured in the rich soil of ayurvedic tradition, so in principle, tradition and custom were being served to a higher order. If all the greatest emperors of China found it wise and expedient to pay high bounties to keep Indian doctors, surgeons, and even astrologers on their household staffs, then what was once enlightened behavior on the part of a son of heaven would always be adopted by others, if not for obviously pragmatic reasons, then vanity as a matter of court fashion. Either way, the truth, medically speaking, remained the truth, and if the empire's people remained healthy as a result, then all prospered from the Indians' contributions, especially the sons of heaven. In the end, Lady Yee persuaded her husband that she had already taken all possible cultural objections into her calculations and would play out the cards she was dealt. She wasn't vain enough to believe she couldn't fail, of course, but she always preferred to set her sights on optimistic horizons.

Lady Yee's dinner presentation later that evening was a surprise even for Captain Hammond, who thought he'd become used to such flights of culinary indulgence. She didn't do it often, but when Lady Yee chose to entertain at their table, her respect for her guests was always translated into exceptionally prepared food. But the captain had no idea that his wife's demon familiar, agent provocateur, and chef, Ah Chu, knew how to prepare such a variety of exotic Indian foods properly. Not that the captain was any kind of connoisseur in such matters, but he did recognize genius and artistry when it fell on him, and Lady Yee
was always a marvel when mustering the forces of surprise. Dr. Neruda was not the least to be impressed either. Mrs. Neruda was beside herself with compliments and gratitude, and her daughter and son-in-law were equally vocal in their praises and sentiments of appreciation. Dr. Neruda freely admitted that they hadn't enjoyed such complex and beautifully prepared Indian cuisine in their three-year migration.

Over dinner, Lady Yee posed a number of polite questions concerning the doctor's journey west. She had listened carefully to what her husband had reported to her, and so avoided the embarrassment of asking repetitive questions. She seemed more interested in their fields of study and their ambitions in Canada.

Dr. Neruda revealed that after many turbulent years in the British Indian Army, and having witnessed all possible categories of mass violence, both sectarian and military, and having also experienced the blatant and pointless inhumanity displayed by all parties concerned, he had finally determined to take his family to a part of the world where they could fulfill their callings as medical practitioners without living under the looming threat of violence for their efforts.

The doctor also confessed that in India, mythology, religion, and inflexible superstition in many cases ran contrary to sound medical practices, and one was forever obliged to invent mythological reasons to justify straightforward procedures, and in this regard the poor were always far more conservative than the well-to-do. Only Indian expatriates far from home seemed to honestly appreciate the skills and education the Neruda family brought into their culturally isolated communities. The doctor confessed that even his exalted rank and position in the Indian Army seemed to reassure these middle-class immigrants. He said they would allow precepts of Western medicine to be practiced, of course, but only by Indian doctors who were qualified in traditional methods as well, and it was understood that Indian doctors comprehended the spiritual ramifications of their prognosis, diagnosis, and
projected cures. But he bemoaned the fact that in India, regardless of the need, or nearness of death, Muslims would never allow themselves to be treated by Hindu doctors, and no self-respecting Hindu, even on the verge of discovering “the eternal mystery,” would tolerate the ministrations of a Muslim physician, no matter how gifted and famous that man might be. In short, Dr. Neruda believed they could accomplish more good outside India, and his family shared his opinions.

Lady Yee openly sympathized in all the particulars, and especially with the medical needs of Asian minorities in foreign lands. She modestly mentioned her own efforts to start a medical facility for the local Chinese and reflected on the rigidly conservative inclinations of her own compatriots when it came to matters of traditional medicine. In that regard, she supposed there was little difference between their two cultures. Dr. Neruda agreed, but added that the sectarian inclinations toward violent expedients made matters almost intolerable for many people, and the Hindus were certainly no strangers to the dagger and the garrote either. The doctor shook his head sadly, and mentioned in passing that there was even a Muslim crewman aboard their ship who seemed to go out of his way to be rude to the doctor and his family whenever the opportunity presented itself.

It was then that the distant doorbell was heard to ring, and a few moments later the aging houseboy entered the dining room, bowed to Lady Yee, and apologized for the interruption. He carried a note for the captain on a small silver platter and said that there was a messenger waiting at the door for a reply.

Captain Hammond apologized to his guests for the interruption, took the note, and after reading it asked his guests to pardon his absence for a few moments. Then he rose from his seat, bowed to Lady Yee, and followed the houseboy to the front door. When he returned, Captain Hammond announced that he had good news. His meeting with Mr. Campion that afternoon had borne fruit. The harbormaster had used
his influence, and it had been arranged to send a steam launch to retrieve the survivors' baggage from the stricken ship the following day. However, the captain noted that timing was a factor, and though the seas and swells had calmed considerably, off-loading the baggage was a feat that could only be accomplished at high tide if the ship's cranes were to be of any use. That tide would be at flood at 3:47 the following afternoon, and Captain Hammond's services had been requested to help supervise the transfer on behalf of the passengers. The captain blushed slightly and said it seemed that they had chosen him as their unofficial ombudsman, and Dr. Neruda's family happily seconded their choice. And in that vein, Captain Hammond said he would need to know the cabin numbers the Nerudas occupied and a description of the baggage they left aboard. Unfortunately, any goods stored in the ship's hold would have to wait to be unloaded until the ship was kedged off the rocks and brought into the bay for repairs.

The company rejoiced at the news and applauded the captain's efforts on their behalf. Then, as a perfect addendum to their celebratory feast, Ah Chu entered wearing his formal whites, bowed to Lady Yee, and presented the table with an elaborate jungle spectacle of sculpted fruit and custard-filled pastries molded and decorated to represent exotic birds. Even Captain Hammond was somewhat taken aback. He was usually required to settle for a simple rice pudding flavored with dates, a fruit tart, or a segmented orange laced with gingered honey, and he couldn't remember when he'd ever been confronted with a feathered dessert course that stared back at him from a pineapple perch.

The next morning, Lee Woo, the perennially drowsy stable boy, harnessed up the shay and drove Captain Hammond down to Mr. Campion's office overlooking the harbor. The fog was just beginning to rise off the bay, and the weather held a promise of bright sun and calm winds, which the captain hoped would make the off-loading exercise all the more rational. Once the ship was pulled off the rocks, the odds changed.

On arriving at Mr. Campion's offices, Captain Hammond had the dubious pleasure of meeting the captain of the stricken ship, and sadly his opinion of the man only slipped further down the scale. The officer's name was Sigmund Malakoff, and he claimed Estonia as his homeland, though something in the way he spoke English made Captain Hammond doubt his veracity. The man was in his late fifties, shabbily dressed, overweight, balding, and crude by nature. He looked disheveled by habit and spoke a fractured dockside English, supported by profanity in Hungarian and German. The spider's web of broken blood vessels on his cheeks and nose, his bad teeth, and the tremble in his hands spoke of a man who had long since left behind his amateur standing as a tippler. The general odor of cheap vodka seemed to cling to his clothes like an oily mist. It was obvious to everyone present that the Estonian captain, now that his company had beached him with prejudice to await further investigation, had become totally disengaged from all interests except those relating to his own situation. To everyone's surprise and distress, Malakoff claimed total indifference to the fate of his ship. He seemed even less troubled with the fate of his injured seamen. As far as the vodka-laced Estonian was concerned, since he no longer held command, the company could go get stuffed. The owners could shoulder the burden of the ship, the passenger liability, and the crew, and then go to the devil.

Captain Hammond was not in the least surprised to find that he had taken an instant dislike to this dangerously ignorant and blatantly self-righteous dipsomaniac. It seemed that even the ship's first officer, Mr. Atwood, who had since been placed in command by the vessel's owners in Vancouver, found that treating his ex-captain with even a shadow of civility was a forlorn exercise at best. Mr. Campion finally lost his temper and became enraged by Malakoff's attitude and manner. He angrily backed the man to the wall and threatened to have him immediately charged and arrested for criminal negligence. And he
reassured Malakoff that he had the maritime authority to do just that at any moment he wished. The Estonian was suddenly taken aback. He blustered and stuttered at the harbormaster's effrontery, but seeing the determination of Mr. Campion's expression, Malakoff then squealed out an insulting sequence of ludicrous excuses, and despite the cool temperatures he began to sweat like a boiler-room stoker. He was at once deflated but not humbled. He chose to remain intractable and couched all his replies with thinly veiled sarcasm.

Captain Hammond, Mr. Atwood, and several others watched with growing concern while Mr. Campion slowly began to lose all patience with the recalcitrant and unrepentant Malakoff. All at once the harbormaster threw up his hands in despair, pierced the air with a curse, turned on his heel, and disappeared into his office muttering something about duty and common decency. When he once again emerged, Mr. Campion was hefting a big navy-pattern Colt revolver and waving a pair of ship's manacles. He motioned for two of his burly harbor men to approach. From three feet away, Mr. Campion lifted and pointed the heavy Colt at Malakoff's head with both hands shaking with anger, and then he declared that the heathen was under arrest for criminal obstruction of an ongoing maritime rescue. Malakoff instantly puffed up like an enraged toad. Again Mr. Campion backed him to the wall while the man unleashed even more desperate flourishes of indignity and stuttered objections to violated prerogatives. But before he could finish his disjointed protests, Malakoff had been shackled by the wrists and bum-rushed toward the door on his way to the sheriff's lockup. Mr. Campion called after his men to respectfully inform the sheriff that he would prefer charges within the hour, and that bail should be denied pending judicial considerations of further charges.