Richard had told John Keston, curtly enough, that they must stay on in Makassang; and it was true. He had made his place there, at great risk and effort; he was bound to Sunara and the child, and Sunara especially was a true flower of Makassang, who might wither and die if she were transplanted. He tried to imagine her in England, presiding as châtelaine over some broad family acres in the west, and he could not do so. He could not even see himself in the conventional squire’s role; he had ventured too far out, into an alien world which had now become his own. When he had married Sunara, he had finally married all these Far Eastern waters, all the mysterious beauty and decay of the islands; he could never leave, because now – for better or for worse – he had no home in all the world save in Makassang.
In this musing, he had reached the point – the somewhat desperate point – of wondering what he could do with the rest of his life, of knowing that, to save his face and his self-esteem, he must devise some useful and innocent employment which would not provoke the Rajah’s wrath, when the double doors of his apartment were opened, and Durilla, his major-domo, with that supercilious look which only an upper servant could convincingly wear, announced: ‘Tunku, the Jews are here.’
They came in, loaded like packmen, the old Jew and the young. They were both bearded, though the old man’s beard was grey and straggling, and the young man’s black and trimly cut; they both wore the kaftan, of rusty black calico belted at the waist, and embroidered skullcaps set far back on their heads. The packages they bore were mysterious – bulky objects wrapped in Nankeen velvet shawls; the young man, whose bearing had that pride of race sometimes to be found among Jews of an ancient culture, carried his burden with scornful ease, while the elder, in whom the blows of life seemed to have implanted a respectful humility, was bowed down under his load.
Together they advanced towards Richard, who regarded them with amused attention, while Durilla the supercilious, disdaining to help them in any way, gave them a glance of the purest disgust before he withdrew.
The old man, whose face was seamed with a thousand crafty wrinkles, was evidently the spokesman of this strange embassy. When he had set down his burden, he bowed low, his hands within the folds of his kaftan, and said: ‘Your Excellency, we thank you for the honour of receiving us.’ His voice was musically soft, almost too ingratiating, and his bright eyes were fixed on Richard with a suppliant attention. ‘Allow me to make the presentations. I am Mendel da Costa, and this is my brother Nahum.’
Richard, sitting at ease in his formal, high-backed chair, looked at them closely as he acknowledged their greeting. They were Jews, as Durilla had said: furthermore, they were Portuguese Jews, a sub-species not highly regarded in this part of the world. Too many of the Portuguese nation, arriving in these Far Eastern waters to pursue, ostensibly, some noble colonizing role, ended as pirates, or slavers, or brothel-keepers, or worse. Of all the oily rascals who came to these parts, the Portuguese bore the worst reputation of all. But something about this pair intrigued him; perhaps it was the aspect of the younger man, who, having also set down his strange package, was looking at Richard as if it were no part of his bargain with life to be impressed by rank or wealth. Richard, inclining his head, answered: ‘You are welcome … You asked for audience, and I am ready to give it … What is your business?’
‘Your Excellency, we are factors.’
Richard raised his eyebrows, as indeed he might, at the inflated word. ‘Factors? I did not know we used such a term in Makassang. Or that we had such elevated persons doing business on the island.’
Mendel da Costa spread his hands, and shrugged apologetically. ‘Forgive me, your Honour, I thought to use an English term. If it is wrong, I withdraw it. Let us say, we are traders. Traders in a small way of business.’
Richard, turning his eyes, looked at the young man, Nahum da Costa, who seemed to be paying no attention to what his brother was saying; instead, he was staring about him as if appraising the contents of the royal apartments. Something made Richard determined to catch this wayward attention, and he said, with sudden curtness: ‘And now you wish to be traders in a large way.’
The old man opened his mouth to answer, but he was forestalled by his brother. The younger Da Costa, as if to prove that his attention could perfectly well be in two places at once, answered with an equal precision: ‘Exactly so. We have plans to be the largest traders in Makassang.’
At this, Mendel da Costa gave a gesture of warning, discouraging so bold an approach; his face assumed a look of dramatic consternation, as if their whole plan might be ruined by this crassness and candour. Richard, who had not ceased to examine them, had the sudden conviction that they were acting a part, for his benefit and for their own; Mendel da Costa was clearly cast as the crafty elder statesman, and Nahum as the irrepressible youngster who must be restrained from his own good-hearted folly. Richard, wrapped in a mood which welcomed distraction, saw nothing to which he need object, at this stage; if his unusual visitors wished to entertain him in this fashion, he was prepared to enjoy it. He put on his most statesmanlike look, as he answered: ‘That is a praiseworthy ambition. But why do you come to me?’
Nahum da Costa, the younger, answered immediately: ‘Because you have the Rajah’s ear.’
Once more Mendel da Costa rounded on him, gesturing for silence with such exaggerated dismay that Richard had to raise his hand to hide a smile. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he said: ‘I have not the Rajah’s ear, in the sense you mean … But I am interested in these packages.’ He pointed. ‘What do they contain?’
The two brothers spoke at the same moment, as if they had rehearsed their answer – which might well have been the truth. Nahum da Costa said baldly: ‘They are gifts,’ while Mendel da Costa said: ‘They are samples of our wares.’ Then they frowned at each other, and the older man said, with smooth unction: ‘They are samples of ourwares, which we offer to your Honour as tokens of our respect.’
Richard said, more sternly: ‘You have not told me what they contain.’
‘Samples of our wares,’ repeated Mendel da Costa. He was now busy, as was his brother, with unwrapping the velvet shawls, which were in several protective layers. Finally the unveiling was completed, and they both advanced, each with a laden wicker basket.
‘The choicest Edam cheese, from the Low Countries,’ announced Nahum da Costa.
‘Selected neats’ tongues, from England,’ said his elder brother. Then they both fell upon their knees, and chorused, in unison: ‘They are offered to your Excellency, with our best wishes for a long life.’
After a moment of startled silence, Richard Marriott obeyed his strongest impulse, which was to laugh. He laughed long and loud, partly from the relief of tension, partly because of his lively delight; this was the most absurd moment of all his time in Makassang. It was clear that laughter was not what the Da Costa brothers had been expecting, and into their expressions there crept a genuine hint of concern; but after a moment, gauging Richard’s mood to be benevolent, they both joined in, with unfeigned pleasure. Before long, the room rang with their united merriment.
Richard, giving further reign to his impulse, had a fleeting urge to summon Sunara; she would enjoy this so much – they had not laughed together for a long time – laughter was the most blessed balm for all the cares in the world … Finally he collected himself, though not so abruptly as to affect their entente, and said: ‘I accept your presents, in the spirit of their offering. And I thank you for your entertainment … Now tell me why you are here.’ And seeing Mendel da Costa’s face turning crafty and calculating again, he added: ‘I mean by that, your real reason.’
Their real reason, it seemed, was commercial. ‘Sir, we are traders,’ said Mendel da Costa. He had begun to shed his false unction, as if he judged that the time for such nonsense was past, and that they could now move on to adult pastures. ‘We have a small business, and, as my brother said, we would make it a larger one. We have in mind’ – he fingered
his straggling beard, eyeing Richard with real speculation – ‘to secure a contract, to supply the palace with such delicacies as these we have brought you.’
‘An excellent idea,’ agreed Richard. He glanced again at the basket of golden Edam cheeses, which looked most succulent, and the small hogshead of tongues, which were labelled, he noted, ‘Produce of Bristol, England’. ‘But it merits no special embassy, surely. You do not need the ear of the Rajah, in order to sell foodstuffs to the palace kitchens. Even by contract. That is to say, unless you have some larger project in mind.’
‘We have a larger project,’ said Nahum da Costa.
‘State it,’ said Richard.
But it was the elder brother who now assumed the task of exposition. ‘We plan to import many such things,’ he said, ‘but we wish to make sure of our market before we venture. Stilton cheeses, spiced English beef, wines from Provence, sherry from Spain, oysters from Whitstable, smoked eels from Italy.’ As he recited his possible wares, his voice took on a dreamy, dwelling intensity. ‘Makassang needs such things; Makassang needs to enlarge its knowledge of the world … We had it in mind,’ he went on, ‘that we might be appointed to supply the palace with the very best of this produce. Think what they have to offer in Europe alone!’ he exclaimed. ‘Makassang needs to know of such things. But it cannot know them, unless a lead is given by the palace.’
‘A royal warrant,’ said Richard, translating fancy into fact. ‘The Da Costa Brothers: By appointment to his Highness the Rajah of Makassang.’
‘Exactly,’ said Nahum da Costa. His eyes at last were sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm. ‘That is what we had in view, when we came to see your Excellency.’
‘I am with you,’ said Richard, reacting to a sudden impulse. ‘But why should we stop at foodstuffs?’
Mendel da Costa looked at him warily, as if his own thoughts were in danger of being exposed before they were fully ripe for the light of day. ‘Why should we stop at foodstuffs?’ he repeated. ‘I do not quite understand your Honour’s question.’
‘You understand it well enough,’ returned Richard. He felt easy now; easy, and well content. This project was likely to answer his mood exactly; at long last, it promised something to occupy his time. ‘You say that Makassang needs to know more of the outside world, and I agree. But it is not a matter of foreign delicacies alone. It can beeverything, everything which might follow the development of trade! It can be new kinds of farming tools. It can be looms for weaving. It can be railways! We need to open up this country; to bring it forward. It should not be allowed to fall behind, as our present danger is.’ He looked at the two brothers, trying to gauge two elements in them – their worth, and their enthusiasm. If he were any judge of men, these Da Costas might be the answer to his hopes. ‘Tell me what your resources are. You have agents abroad? You must have made contact with other countries. And you must have offices, and clerks to work in them.’
‘We have agents abroad, your Excellency,’ answered Mendel da Costa. ‘And though we are small traders, as I said, we plan to increase as soon as the time is ripe. As to our offices, we have a warehouse – as we say, a go-down – in Prahang, close by the harbour. But it is only a poor place, at this moment.’
‘In poor places, heavenly flowers grow,’ quoted Richard. ‘I would like to visit your go-down. And then we can see about such things as appointments, and royal warrants, and the opening up of Makassang!’
Nahum da Costa, the younger, was staring at Richard as if he had, for the first time in his life, found a man in authority to suit his temper.
‘It seems that you have plans, your Excellency.’
‘I have plans.’
The go-down of the Da Costa brothers was indeed a poor place; perhaps the poorest and shabbiest ever to be dignified by such a title. It was no more than an immense lean-to shed by the wharf at Prahang; it had been built, at least sixty years earlier, of teak and yellow-wood which had now weathered to a dry and dusty monotone. Partitioned off from the storage space were a number of small counting houses with high stools, and desks scored and stained by use, and innumerable bills of lading impaled on iron spikes. The rest was given over to what looked like the forgotten dross of the world’s commerce. This shabby shell notwithstanding, its abundance and variety were fantastic.
A ship chandler’s smell overhung everything, a tarry odour of hemp and manila which Richard sniffed with nostrils made keen by recollections of the sea. Indeed, there were countless things here which anyone fitting out a ship would have to place on his stores manifest: coils of rope and cordage, hardwood blocks, ships’ lanterns, tallow candles, casks of brined beef and hardtack biscuits, Negrohead tobacco wrapped in tarred twine; rum jars, bottled lime juice, salt pork by the barrel, dried cod and kippered herring.
There were other things designed to catch a sailor’s eye when roving ashore: elephant tusks, brass Benares ware, skins of tiger and shark and crocodile, embalmed watersnakes with arched necks, shrunken human heads with lacquered hair; scarab amulets, ornamental daggers, conch shells made into lamps, giant moon moths impaled on pins, model ships in bottles, phallic coral fingers.
There were household stores to delight or confuse a woman’s eye: silk rugs, Manchester goods, bales of striped tarlatan, muslin curtains; japanned chests of tea, canisters of cloves and nutmegs and cinnamon sticks; kettles, and cooking pots, and iron soup ladles. There were straw hats with college ribbons, strapped Pathan sandals, elastic-sided boots, celluloid shirtfronts, whipcord trousers such as English navvies wore in their bleak northern midwinter. There were whole shelves of medicines and dubious specifics: herbal remedies, phials of coloured liquids, powders ground from dried insects and reptiles; laudanum pills, sal volatile, tasty infusions of sassafras, tinctures of quinine bark and aromatic tansy.
The goods were ranged on shelves and dusty counters; or strung from the rafters on cords; or piled higgledy-piggledy wherever space could be found. Anyone who could make his way through this confusion, or could put his hand, with any certainty, on a required object, must have been on the premises since they were first stocked. Perhaps this was true of Mendel da Costa, thought Richard, looking round him in wonder and a boyish delight in this jumbled cornucopia; but Nahum, so much the younger, must have served a long and confused apprenticeship … He brushed aside a string of Chinese lanterns which hung tinkling from the roof tree, avoided tripping over an elephant’s foot made into a fern pot, and, fetching up at the farthest counter, came face to face with a representation of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort at Balmoral Castle, tastefully done in seashells and plaster of Paris.
‘We have a number of fine lines,’ said Mendel da Costa.
But there was less than complete confidence in his tone. Both the brothers, in fact, kept glancing at him uncertainly; their go-down could never before have received so distinguished a visitor, and Nahum da Costa in particular appeared shamefaced as he watched Richard’s expression. It seemed important to reassure them – important, and also easy, since Richard found himself perfectly content with his surroundings. The place was shabby, but it was busy also; Malay and Chinese clerks bustled about or scratched industriously with their long quill pens; customers argued and bargained, with expressive fingers; there was a welcome contrast between the activity here, and the stagnating luxury which marked his own life.
This go-down also was a treasure vault, the harvest of men’s eager hands, no less than the underground caverns ofthe Sun Palace. Lacking intrinsic wealth, its very diversity was a kind of riches.
In Mendel da Costa’s inner office, Richard took the wicker chair which was brought forward, and the dark Trinchinopoly cheroot which Nahum da Costa offered with a bow. He sat back, and contentedly blew a smoke ring towards the shadowy ceiling. Then he said: ‘I am glad to have seen your go-down. Tell me how many men you employ.’
‘Some fifteen,’ answered Mendel da Costa.
‘Those are the inside clerks,’ explained Nahum, eager to elaborate. ‘We
also have Sea-Dyak coolie gangs out on the wharf, but that is only when we unload the lighters.’ The young man was still watching Richard’s face, with anxious attention; his pride was more touchy than his elder brother’s; he searched for signs of disappointment or disdain. ‘May I ask if we have your Excellency’s interest?’
‘Certainly,’ answered Richard. For a moment he watched an old clerk in a faded blue longhi shuffle past outside the glass partition; when he intercepted the glance, the ancient bowed and quickened his pace. Then Richard turned back to his hosts. ‘We were talking of supplies for the palace, and I said that we might consider greater matters than this. Tell me what you would do,’ he commanded, ‘if you wished to open up Makassang to all the world’s trade.’
It seemed that they already had many plans, for just such a scheme; the sunbeam shafts moved steadily across the floor, the dust drifted and settled, as the floodgates of their thought were opened. They both spoke with equal facility, catching each other’s ideas, adding to them, seldom correcting; they had great dreams, but the dreams were lucid also, founded on fact and probability as well as the fragile web of speculation. Richard had been right in estimating that these were men of large hopes, who had been awaiting their chance to transform them into action.
For the most part, they told him with growing confidence, it was trade with Singapore which was the key to the rest of the world – Singapore, the great clearing house for Far Eastern commerce which another dreamer, Sir Stamford Raffles, had long foreseen and long laboured to translate into fact. But to welcome big ships from Singapore, or from anywhere else, an improved harbour was needed; a deep-water harbour with quays and wharf space and proper docking, where ships could come alongside, instead of – as now – anchoring offshore and discharging into cumbersome lighters and leaky sampans.
Such a scheme would cost money, but there was plenty of money in Makassang; the Da Costas had money, though not as much as they wished, the Rajah had money, the Tunku himself was not a poor man … If necessary, credits could be arranged with the European banks … With a new harbour, and more roads to the interior, and inns to accommodate travellers, Makassang could be transformed.