Flowers in the Blood (34 page)

I shook my head. “I don't want to leave India like a dog with its tail between its legs. After all, I have not done anything wrong.”

“No, you haven't,” he agreed somberly, “but you always liked your studies.”

“I want to be more useful.”

“That is not necessary, my child. Just be kind to Zilpah and the others, and all will work out.”

“But I feel so ineffectual,” I said; then, realizing my voice had become too strident, I cleared my throat and continued quickly before my father could offer another platitude, “I would like to be able to assist you more directly.”

“And I would like nothing better than to have your charming company.”

“I could help with business.”

He patted my hand. “That is not your place, although I appreciate the thought behind the offer.”

“If I were your son, wouldn't you be preparing me to follow in your footsteps?”

“Yes, certainly, but you are not a son. Soon you will have a family of your own.”

“That is unlikely, at least for a year. What am I to do until then? You don't know what it's like to be married and independent one moment and then find yourself back in the nursery.”

“Dinah, I want you to know something . . .” He swallowed hard, then continued, “I admire what you did. Another woman might have lived with a man like that to have the comforts he could provide. It took courage to come home.”

Tears blinded me momentarily, but they did not betray me as I said softly, “Thank you, Papa.”

“Flora Raymond would have been proud of you as well.”

The mention of my grandmother's name caused my spirits to deflate further, but my father pretended not to notice my glum expression and prattled on. “She was a generous person, as was your grandfather. They helped support the synagogue and took on many charity cases. We'll never know how many people he treated without payment or how many others he assisted financially after he cured their health problems. He used to say that the worst disease is poverty.” My father shook his head and sighed. “There is not much left besides the Lower Chitpur Road house and clinic. Dr. Hyam is paying off his debt, so there will be additional income for a few years. Not including that, you and your brothers should clear almost five thousand rupees each.”

Five thousand! Now I would finally have some capital of my own, without even considering the dowry that was under my father's jurisdiction now.

“I thought that would cheer you up,” he said, winking at me.

“Nevertheless,” I began cautiously, “that doesn't occupy my time. I still want to work for you, Papa.”

“Now, Dinah, let's be reasonable,” he said with a benign smile.

I am being reasonable!
I seethed silently, using the energy that bubbled under the surface to force my voice into a lower, more masculine register. “When I was in Darjeeling, I helped balance the Luddy Tea Company ledgers. I found errors the previous man had made and tidied them up in short order.”

“Where did you learn how to do that sort of work?”

“Don't you remember I also once assisted Dr. Hyam with his accounts?”

“Yes, but—”

“It is only simple mathematics with a dose of common sense. I know the Sassoon books would be much more complex. That is why I thought I might commence with your personal ones—or even the household accounts. Mostly, though, I would like to assist you. I could write out your correspondence and do little services to give you more time for matters of greater consequence.” I took a quick breath that did not give him time to intervene. “The best part of my plan is that nobody need know about it. I can work at home, and so it will not be a public position like teaching would be.”

The waiter served us large oval platters each containing an enormous omelet swimming in a tomato sauce. Vegetable florets decorated the top, and a bowl of crisp potato sticks wrapped in a white napkin was served alongside. I cut into the spongy yellow egg. “How thick it is! And yet so light!”

“I thought you would find this enjoyable.” My father had a bemused expression as he watched me. Ignoring his own plate, he took several more gulps of his drink. “Dinah, I do not want to disappoint you—and I want you to know the generosity of your offer impresses me—but I just cannot think of a place for you.”

I swallowed my mouthful and said in a flat voice, “When Jonah and Asher have finished school, you will find places for them, won't you?”

My father attacked his omelet with an exaggerated gusto that prevented him having to respond. I did not mind, for I knew it always took a few minutes of contemplation before he could change his mind. In the meantime, the fashionable gentlemen who had filled the room fascinated me. Most were British officials or businessmen. There were only a few women scattered about.

My father put down his utensils with a clatter that startled me from my reverie. “I suppose I cannot expect you to sit on a shelf until the next opportunity arises, can I?” His eyes twinkled as he watched my face melt with disbelief. “As you know, I am preparing for a trip to China. Do you have any comprehension of what that entails? The crates purchased at auction this autumn must be graded, priced, and accounted for. Shipping preparations must be made for the different batches being allocated to different destinations. Accounts from last season must be reconciled, so when I meet the brokers face-to-face they can remedy any shortfalls. Of course, we have employees who manage these duties, and I oversee the ledgers. Still, if you are as good as you say with figures, an extra eye might ferret out a mistake that another has overlooked. Also, some of our systems have become clumsy as the business has grown. We need to develop more efficient methods. I am looking forward to your contribution.” He framed his last words in the form of a challenge.

All at once I was not so certain I was doing the right thing. The family trade both perplexed and intrigued me. Why had I pushed my father so hard? Was it out of boredom, a desire to win my father's approval as an adult woman, or was I merely curious as to how Sassoon and Company functioned? With the typical impetuousness of youth, my deliberations lasted only seconds, and I replied energetically, “When do I begin?”

“Calcutta is not Patna and you are no longer a young child so I cannot take you with me everywhere, but next week I will begin by having you accompany me whenever possible so you can see the flow. After that, you can complete your paperwork at home. You may use the desk in my study, but—”

The waiters began clearing our plates, so he broke off and finished his second scotch until they had finished. I was imagining myself working at the Clive desk when I remembered ruefully that I would never see it again.

“Please allow me to explain this to Zilpah,” he said, bringing me back to the matter at hand.

“You do not think she will approve.”

“She will if she is approached correctly.”

A few years ago I might have resented that she needed to be consulted, but now I could see that my father knew what he was doing. Zilpah had a stern and unyielding demeanor, but she was not mercurial or unfair, so I was certain he would be successful. More important, my brief association with Silas had taught me something about the union between a man and a woman. In our few weeks together we had begun to develop a feeling for when the other might be receptive to an idea. As soon as Euclid had sensed that Silas was developing a tie with me, he had feared his own would loosen. Now I realized that I had understood Euclid's position so keenly because when Zilpah first entered our household, I had resented her bond with my father.

Leaning back against the cane chair, I was suffused by the pleasure of rational thought triumphing over childish emotion. I should be glad for that time with Silas, I decided. Not many girls had that sort of firsthand education. I only hoped its price had not been too high.

“I really am glad to see you so happy today,” my father said with relief in his voice.

I looked at him with luminous eyes. “You have made me happy, Papa,” I said, meaning every word.

22

 

C
oincidences delight me. I feel that if I have thought about something, and then it happens, that I have somehow pulled the mystical cords that control the weave of the universe. A few days after our lunch at Castellazzo Brothers', a huge crate was delivered to Theatre Road.

“Come see, Dinah. It's for you,” Ruby called merrily.

I could not help but stare at my little sister. She was not yet eleven, but in the short time I had been with Silas, her body had matured with alarming speed. Her high, round breasts bobbed as she jumped with excitement, and her skin had taken on the oily texture of a much older girl. Even so, she was not the mental equal of Seti, half her age.

I allowed her to take my hand and lead me to the stableyard, where the syce and bearer awaited my instructions. “It comes from Darjeeling,” Abdul said. “Do you want us to open it?”

I nodded. They pulled the metal bands apart. What could be inside? Half of Silas' library could have fitted into the box. A panel fell away to reveal a mysterious object wrapped like a shroud in long lengths of bright Nepalese fabric. Ruby and Abdul worked together to unwind it. As soon as sunlight illuminated an edge, I realized it was the silver-and-ivory desk I had been thinking about when I imagined working for my father.

“Oh, Dinah!” Ruby cooed. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my whole life!” She brushed her hand across the inlaid-rosewood top, then tugged on the intricate pull of the top drawer. “What is this?” She held up an envelope with Silas' distinctive thunderbolt crest.

25 December 1890

My dear Dinah
,

On this day when people of the Christian faith exchange gifts, I wish to return what properly belongs to you. I trust you will not begrudge me the pleasure of envisioning you sitting beside this bureau now and in the future. From time to time, if you think of me, please write to tell me where your life leads you.

As William Wordsworth writes, “Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.”

As ever,      
Your friend,
Silas            

For a moment I felt a longing for him, and as soon as the Clive bureau was placed in my room, I took pen in hand first to thank him for his generosity and also to tell him of my chance to work for my father. In less than a week he replied with an enthusiastic commendation.

A month later I responded.

15 February, 1891

Dear Silas
,

My father, who thought his bookkeeping systems were so complex, has been surprised
—
as you were as well
—
to discover that I have not had any difficulty deciphering his papers. At first I was tempted to explain there are few mysteries in recording and reconciling figures, but some hidden sense warned me not to belittle my contribution. Don't you agree that if one does not make what one knows seem inscrutable, one's work has less worth?

With the beginning of the new year I was able to review last season's ledgers, thinking how to refine or simplify the systems used. I offered suggestions to my father, and he gave me a free hand to organize them. While I appreciate his trust, I am concerned that something might happen that I cannot anticipate now that will ruin my plan. On the other hand, if I blindly copy the old methods
—
even after its weaknesses have been revealed to me
—
I would not be doing my job conscientiously.

I would value your opinion as to the above.

Yours,
Dinah

I had struggled with the opening and the closing, deciding simplicity was best, yet after I had posted it, I worried whether I should have confided in him in the first place. Silas' reply came by return post.

19 February 1891

My dear Dinah
,

Every novice in every field asks the same questions as you have asked of me. Do not revile me for bringing this to your attention, but accept my observation as though you were a stranger, then suddenly realized you were among friends.

Already you have shown an insight into the minds of employers and their workers that far surpasses the brief experience you have had. If you will trust those same stores of good sense and basic knowledge, you will succeed beyond anyone's, even your own, expectations. Do not hesitate to contact me with any question, serious or trivial. Be assured I will respond as thoroughly as I can; and as promptly as the vagaries of the post permit.

He went on for several pages detailing current difficulties in the tea business and solutions he was considering. Before closing, he returned to my situation.

I hope you will not think it impertinent of me to wonder if your father is offering you remuneration that in any way equates with your worth.

Wages? I had never thought to ask for payment for my work. Thinking the matter over, I decided not to discuss this with my father, who continued to provide generously for me. If anything, I saw my efforts as a small recompense for. the difficulties I had caused him. Yet I knew that Silas, who held the most modern notions of equality between the sexes, would not agree with my point. Deliberating how to explain my feelings, I waited awhile before responding.

1 March 1891

Dear Silas
,

Thank you for your continuing concern about my financial situation. I thought you would be pleased to learn that my Grandmother Flora Raymond left me a bequest approximating five thousand rupees, with additional income from Dr. Hyam being paid toward his purchase of the Lower Chitpur Road property and clinic. This should relieve your mind, since you always felt that I would be more secure with money in my own name. I have no use for the principal now, but might apply a bit of the income to purchase my own clothing or books, if my father approves. In any case, you no longer have to feel as though you should contribute to my upkeep, although I will never forget the goodness inherent in that offer.

About the other matter you raised: I have sound reasons for not wishing to accept payment for my labors at this time. First, I have yet to understand the scope of the Sassoon family shares. Presently, my tasks involve only those accounts that my father controls and his personal ledgers. My father admired how your father organized his enterprise. Now I see this may be because of the complexities the Sassoons have propagated at every level.

I can hear you suggesting that I merely walk up to my father and ask him to explain the matter to me. This I shall do, but in small doses and over a long period. You do not know my family well, but suffice to say that my uncles, and especially a certain aunt, would not be content to have me knowing their business. However, my father leaves for China in a few weeks, and some of my questions
—
the ones that will provide linking verbs in the grammar behind the activities
—
will be asked so I can be more useful while he is away.

I closed with news about the family, including in postscript an announcement of the birth of the daughter born to Cousin Sultana and Gabriel Judah.

I had thought that while my father was abroad my workload would increase. On the contrary, he kept most of his documents in the Sassoon offices and there had been no instructions to forward them to me. I suspected that Uncle Saul, the clan's titular head, did not know the extent to which I had assisted my father. He knew I came around to the offices now and then and that my father had indulged me by making it appear as if he included me in his affairs, but Saul had assumed this had been either to mollify me or to help me forget my most recent disgrace. Certainly he saw no reason to divert me himself. Also, since the godowns were empty and the new crop not yet ready for processing, a natural lull in the business had occurred. Zilpah had not resented my takeover of the household accounts, so these I completed with an inordinate attention to neatness and detail. After that I kept busy with the stacks of old receipts that needed to be entered in the final journals and reconciled. With nothing more to occupy myself, I decided to fashion a series of reports, using the old records to compare the past several years with the current one.

These tasks engaged me for only part of each day, and I also was finding it gratifying to read or spend time with my sisters and brothers. At five, Seti had been promoted to the second class at the Jewish Girls' School, the same one in which Ruby languished for the third year. I enjoyed working with them both on their schoolwork—Seti because she was so quick to learn and eager to move ahead; Ruby because she did make progress, even if the increments were tiny. And when she did succeed, her joy surpassed her little sister's.

Pinhas and Jonah still clashed, unfortunately. Jonah had never accepted that Pinhas, who was six months older, had moved into his place as the eldest boy in the family, and besides, in many ways they were too much alike. Asher, who was thirteen, and Simon, who was twelve, were more compatible, equally interested in anything that involved kicking or throwing a ball. The person who had changed the most was Zilpah. With my father away, she had lost both her brittleness and her sparkle. It was almost as if she had been a top that had split a seam so she could no longer spin without wobbling.

One morning she sat at the table lost in her own thoughts while I tried to draw her out. “Wouldn't some
aloo makalla
make a nice tiffin tomorrow?” I suggested, since I had tired of the dull menu she had organized recently. “I know you like roast duck.”

“Why don't you ask the borchi to make it?” she replied lethargically.

“Would you prefer something else?”

“No.”

“We could also have
tomato khatta
and
pulao.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Thinking of how often I had needed to tell Silas of what was on my mind, I could understand the loss she felt when my father traveled. And if strong, resourceful Zilpah could react like this, my own mother's withdrawal was even more understandable.

After she excused the other children, we found ourselves staring at each other from the opposite ends of the table. I gave my stepmother a shy smile and she returned it with a salute of her teacup. For the first time I felt as though we had finally become friends.

 

Several weeks passed, during which I worked to create the reports I thought my father might wish to see. Long before he would review them, the final tallies had an unexpected impact on me.

 

Average Price	Total Average
Number of Chests	Paid Per Chest	Rupees Received
Grade	1	2	1	2
1887-88	21,508	18,421	1,720	1,654	67,360,223
1888-89	22,789	19,943	1,690	1,595	70,187,310
1889-90	28,811	20,214	1,543	1,498	74,542,512
Grade 1 Li Yun	Grade 2 Fuk Lung

 

More than seventy-four million rupees in one year! The totals astonished me. In the past, I had been working with the fragmentary bits of inventory and shipping, but by moving figures from different ledgers and combining them, I gained an overview of the vast extent of the Sassoon enterprises. I wrote the calculations in
lacs
and
crores
—words that broke down overwhelming amounts into figures people in India used to describe the value of huge figures. More usually they expressed the purses of governments and potentates, not families. A hundred thousand rupees equaled one lac, which meant the Sassoons had spent over 745 lacs this season. The crore of the maharajahs was the equivalent of ten million rupees, or a hundred lacs, and that meant an intake of seven crores, forty-five lacs! This did not describe the profits of the company, only how many chests of opium were shipped to China and what price they had cost at the Calcutta auctions. What did an investment of this magnitude yield? I wondered. Ten percent? Fifty percent?

I began to search for clues of opium's market value. All I could discover was that a can of smoking opium fetched between 7.75 and 8.20 Spanish dollars in Canton. How many cans were in a chest? A hundred? I selected the lower dollar figure and worked on the conversions, which came to less than a thousand rupees for fifty cans of the lower grade. If the chest price was around fifteen hundred rupees, something was wrong, for we could not pay ourselves back at that rate. Finally I realized that in my ignorance I had been imagining tins the size that held Darjeeling tea. Only the tiniest amount of opium was ever used at one time. What size tins did it come in? One would need to have more than seventy-five tins to break even at the auction price. Then there were shipping and other costs. Since I could not begin to estimate these, I saved my questions and parceled them out—one to an uncle—the next time we were together as a family.