Free The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell

asks Goto, “people make bad choice and president is bad man?”
    “Come the next election, we vote him out of office.”
    “Old president,” Interpreter Hori is maroon with rum, “is
executed?”
    “‘Elected,’ Mr. Hori,” says Twomey. “When the people choose their leader.”
    “A better system, surely,” Lacy holds his glass for Van Cleef’s slave,Weh, to fill, “than waiting for death to remove a corrupt, stupid, or insane shogun?”
    The interpreters look uneasy: no informer is fluent enough in Dutch to understand Captain Lacy’s treasonous talk, but there is no guarantee that the magistracy has not recruited one of the four to report on his colleagues’ reactions.
    “Democracy,” says Goto, “is not a flower who bloom in Japan.”
    “Soil in Asia,” agrees Interpreter Hori, “is not correct for Europe and America flowers.”
    “Mr. Washington, Mr. Adams,” Interpreter Iwase shifts the topic, “is royal bloodline?”
    “Our revolution”—Captain Lacy clicks his fingers to order the slave Ignatius to bring the spittoon—“in which I played my part, when my paunch was flatter, sought to
purge
America of royal bloodlines.” He spews out a dragon of phlegm. “A man might be a great leader—like General Washington—but why does it follow that his children inherit their pa’s qualities? Are not inbred royals more often dunderheads and wastrels—proper ‘King Georges,’ one might say—than those who climb the world using God-given talent?” He mumbles an aside in English to Dejima’s secret subject of the British monarch. “No offense intended, Mr. Twomey.”
    “I’d be the
last
fecker,” avows the Irishman, “to take offense.”
    Cupido and Philander strike up “Seven White Roses for My One True Love.”
    Baert’s drunken head droops and settles in a plate of sweet beans.
    Does her burn
, Jacob wonders,
register touch as heat, cold, or numbness?
    Marinus takes up his stick. “The party shall excuse me: I have left Eelattu rendering the Estonian’s shinbone. Without an expert eye, tallow shall be dripping from the ceiling. Mr. Vorstenbosch, my compliments …” He bows to the interpreters and limps out of the room.
    Captain Lacy’s smile is soapy. “Does the law of Japan permit
polygamy?”
    “What is po-ri-ga-mi?” Hori stuffs a pipe. “Why need permit?”
    “You explain, Mr. de Zoet,” Van Cleef is saying. “Words are your forte.”
    “Polygamy is …” Jacob considers. “One husband, many wives.”
    “Ah. Oh.” Hori grins, and the other interpreters nod. “Polygamy.”
    “Mohammedans sanction four wives.” Captain Lacy tosses an almond into the air and captures it in his mouth. “Chinese may round up seven under one roof. How many may a Japanese man lock up in his personal collection, eh?”
    “In all countries, same,” says Hori. “In Japan, Holland, China; all same. I say why. All mans marry first wife. He”—leering, Hori makes an obscene gesture with a fist and finger—“until she”—he mimes a pregnant belly—“yes? After
this
, all mans keep number wives his purse
says
he may. Captain Lacy plans to have Dejima wife for trading season, like Mr. Snitker and Mr. van Cleef?”
    “I’d rather,” Lacy bites a thumbnail, “visit the famous Maruyama District.”
    “Mr. Hemmij,” recalls Interpreter Yonekizu, “ordered courtesans for his feasts.”
    “Chief Hemmij,” says Vorstenbosch darkly, “partook of many pleasures at the company’s expense, as did Mr. Snitker. Hence, the latter dines on hardtack tonight, whilst we enjoy the rewards of honest employees.”
    Jacob glances at Ivo Oost: Ivo Oost is scowling at him.
    Baert lifts his bean-spattered face, exclaims, “But, sir, she ain’t really my aunt!,” giggles like a schoolgirl, and falls off his chair.
    “I propose a toast,” declares Deputy van Cleef, “to all our absent ladies.”
    The drinkers and diners fill one another’s glasses. “To all our absent