‘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!’ [ii] 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
.
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.’