The Silver Lotus (30 page)

Malakoff shook his head sadly at the retelling. He said he leaned down to turn the faker over, and was almost pleased to discover that Vuychek had fallen on his own blade and driven the dirk halfway into his sternum. He said the look of surprise on Vuychek's face would have been laughable were it not for the blood that began to gush from the wound when he tried to pull the blade out. And even then, with death at his shoulder, he again threatened Malakoff with exposure, prison, and disgrace. This last assault sent the captain over the edge and down into the dark pit he now occupied. He said his opiate-braced temper could tolerate no more betrayal. So rather than help poor Vuychek, who might have been saved, he stood up and with soul-damning fury and invective placed the soul of his boot on the handle end of the dirk. To the shocked and almost voiceless pleadings of his cousin, Malakoff stepped down with all his might and drove the blade down to the hilt like a marlinspike. His anger enjoyed watching the blood froth in bubbles from Vuychek's mouth as he exhaled his last breath with a mucous-muted moan.

Malakoff told Captain Hammond that he was so angry that the question of the body didn't even occur to him at first, but when it did, he expressed his driving indignation by kicking Vuychek's still-twitching frame down through the open bilge hatch. The body crashed with a splash in the oil-slicked water four feet below, and Malakoff confessed his drugged fury was so great that he even rejoiced at the thought
of the feast he had just tabled for the ship's rats. This last declaration seemed to have exhausted the captain. He laid back, closed his eyes, and began breathing deeply with the resurrected torment from the pain in his spine.

Dr. Neruda came out of the shadows to stand by the other side of the bed. He felt for the patient's pulse, and then gave Captain Hammond a sad look that spoke of impending finality. But just when all seemed over, Malakoff breached consciousness like a sounding whale and continued his narrative as though nothing had happened.

Reaching out for Captain Hammond's grasp, Malakoff confessed that he had secretly returned to the ship after he had escaped jail, but he had only done so to retrieve his secret strongbox, which contained his opium, his papers, his money, and his gun. It was only then that he realized that he would soon need to buy more opium, and the ship's purse looked like a viable bank, so he rifled the ship's safe and departed. He cried and confessed that, even at this juncture, the fate of Vuychek's body didn't concern him in the least. Fate had moved matters way beyond such mundane concerns, and besides, there were rats in the bilges that outweighed small dogs, and they would devour anything living or dead, and this included tick soap, insulated wire, candle wax, gunpowder, and ship's tar. The dead man's bones might ultimately be discovered at the bottom of the ship's bilges, but Malakoff was confident that nothing else would remain to tell the story of Vuychek's betrayal or his complicity. But now he knew he could not escape his crimes, and wished to make some small restitution. Malakoff reached for a greasy leather cord around his neck and pulled forth an equally worn leather string pouch.

Chandra Din whispered to Captain Hammond that they had left the talisman in place believing it had some religious significance to the patient. He said that he had known people to go into shock when such things were discovered missing. Malakoff tried to break the leather
thong free but hadn't the strength. Dr. Neruda reached in and unobtrusively cut the greasy thong with scissors. When the purse came away, Malakoff's weakened hand passed the item to Captain Hammond. The oily pouch was the size of a quail's egg, and Malakoff begged Captain Hammond to use the contents to make whatever restitution was possible. Then the dying man closed his eyes and sounded into the depths of his own plummeting dreams. Reaching for Malakoff's pulse, Dr. Neruda voiced his professional contention that full consciousness would never return. Chandra Din compassionately suggested that Malakoff, having now relieved himself of a soul-sinking burden, felt free to surrender his own life in penance. Within moments of this last sad prognosis, Malakoff exhaled with a sigh of relief and then expired, still holding Captain Hammond's hand.

For unspoken reasons, perhaps linked to ancient maritime tradition, Captain Hammond remained to help prepare Malakoff's body for burial. When that was done, he climbed back into his shay, and as dawn rose over the eastern hills pushing back the rolling banks of morning fog from the bay, the captain rode off to leave word with Marshal Sanchez and Sheriff Winslow about what had recently transpired at the infirmary.

Captain Hammond had seen people die before, of course, but never quite in these circumstances. He found himself deeply affected by the old man's struggle, not only with a painful death, but also with his own conscience, the latter contest possibly being as close to an act of contrition as he ever came. Still the captain was haunted with the simpler questions. Given the fact that Malakoff certainly had the funds to escape as far away as he liked, why did he chance hiding so close to his pursuers, and in a native environment where he would be obviously out of place? If you're a fox, you hide among foxes, and if you're a seaman . . . Well, perhaps not. The captain remembered that every harbor official in California had been wired Malakoff's description. He
tried to imagine what kind of life the man had been reduced to living, but it almost didn't bear rational contemplation. Captain Hammond had already seen his share of opium addicts in the filthy, waste-bound alleys of numerous harbors. The victims' general physical and mental decay was never something that drew interest beyond possible pangs of pity or waves of gratitude that the situation wasn't reversed. Yet, for a man like Captain Hammond, it remained a worthwhile question to wonder the why and wherefor of a man like Malakoff. The variety of possibilities was emotionally and religiously endless. Luckily, Captain Hammond had long since determined to set the imponderables of life aside for later reflection. But one way or another, the captain knew he would always include the image of the expiring Malakoff within his personal catalog of indelible images. Captain Hammond recalled an old whale hunter who once told him that beating the odds was never a matter of knowing the complex answers to big questions, but rather being innocently curious about the simplest answers, and knowing a falsehood at a reasonable distance. The captain smiled at the recollection and rode on, working this simple logic toward some sense of balance worthy of the night's events.

17

WHEN LADY YEE next saw her husband it was almost noon, and they shared but a few words by way of explanation of what had happened because he was in the company of Marshal Sanchez, Sheriff Winslow, and Mr. Campion. They came in separate transport and gathered under the broad garden veranda to take coffee and a light lunch, and discuss what had transpired. Lady Yee thought it best to remain unseen. She knew she would be told everything eventually, but she wasn't particularly anxious to hear the sad details just yet. She also thought it best to let her husband take the lead, as she wished to avoid being called as a witness during the inquest. She believed the less the public heard about the infirmary, or its part in the Malakoff business, the better for all concerned.

After his guests had departed, Captain Hammond went looking for his wife and found her in the orchard pruning the Japanese pear trees she loved so much. She culled every bloom and potential fruit with the skill of a surgeon, leaving behind only those examples that promised eventual genius.

Macy and Li-Lee were having a little tea party of their own in the shade of a nearby apple tree, and the baby slept soundly in his special basket, which was securely suspended from a low tree branch within reach. Since they couldn't be overheard, the captain sat down on a fruit box and told Lady Yee every particular of the sad story. He related
Malakoff's detailed confession and his sincere deathbed desire to make some restitution. However, he said, the poor man died with an estate of two dollars and ten cents.

Captain Hammond reached into his vest pocket and handed her the little leather purse on its thong. He said he had shown the item to the other men, but they couldn't make any sense of it. The stained leather purse held a worthless white stone the size and shape of a quail's egg, with no more weight than any beach pebble of the same dimensions.

Lady Yee examined the white stone carefully in the sunlight. Then she smelled it, and even tasted the surface. With a perplexed shake of the head, she scratched the surface with a little pruning knife, and then smelled and tasted the stone again. Suddenly she looked up and smiled. She called to Li-Lee to mind the baby, and then walked toward the stone potting shed that was built into the orchard wall. Captain Hammond followed and watched, but said nothing. On the workbench in the shed, Lady Yee arranged a small glass jar and a six-inch square piece of thin rag. She took a can of mineral spirits from the shelf and poured an ounce into the jar. Then she placed the stone in the center of the rag, and pulled up the edges to create a pocket that was then twisted to reveal the shape of the egg. This she tied off with a bit of string and immersed in the mineral spirits to soak. When the captain asked what she expected to happen, Lady Yee was frank and said she hadn't a clue. For all she knew there might be a chemical reaction and an explosion, but she doubted it. To be on the safe side she suggested they go back out into the gardens and wait for a while. The captain just followed his wife into the sunlight. He was soon so distracted by Macy's insistence that he become the guest of honor at her tea party that he forgot about all other matters for a while.

Later, just as he had finished his third cup of imaginary tea, as well as a command performance of “The Owl and the Pussycat,” Captain Hammond heard his wife call to him from the potting shed.

Lady Yee stood at the door of the shed holding the jar of spirits with the stone still suspended within. Upon closer examination, Captain Hammond noticed that the clear spirits had become milky. With the air of two inquisitive children, husband and wife sat down on the shed's stone steps, and Lady Yee pulled forth the stone still tied in its rag. When the stone was unwrapped, it was noticed that the surface of the egg had become densely wrinkled, and part of that surface material clung to the rag in spidery strands. Captain Hammond and Lady Yee looked up at each other with identically quizzical expressions. Then Captain Hammond withdrew his little penknife and handed it to his wife. She in turn pressed the blade into the surface of the stone, and to their surprise the white skin split like the leather shell of a turtle's egg, and in doing so revealed a bright, blood-crimson stone that they both knew immediately was a ruby, and as the afternoon sunlight revealed, not just any ruby, but a flawlessly cut and polished ruby without scratches or imperfections of any kind.

Captain Hammond seemed confused by the shape. Who, he asked, would cut such a fine stone without facets? Lady Yee recalled that there was only one nation that, owing to ancient Christian symbols of rebirth and regeneration, venerated the egg as a religious icon, a nation whose wealthy masters could afford such stones. She smiled and said the ruby was obviously cut in Russia for a czar or church prelate. She mused that it had not been cut in facets because it had once been part of a larger arrangement that emphasized the egg shape to make a symbolic point. Perhaps it was a center jewel from some royal ceremonial regalia. She naturally assumed the stone was stolen, of course, but she cared little. She also assumed that if Malakoff had painted it with white lead, he didn't want it discovered either, which also led her to believe it was a valuable jewel.

Borrowing a handkerchief from her husband, Lady Yee gave the ruby egg a final cleaning, and then rubbed the gem on either side of her
nose. The fine facial oil imparted a lustrous sheen to the stone. But it was only when she held it up in the bright sunlight that the true magic of the ruby became apparent; the sunlight entering the gem seemed to converge at the heart of the stone and created an animated, fiery core of ruby light that was almost hypnotic.

Captain Hammond and his wife remained seated on the stoop admiring the scorching brilliance of the gem. Then, after a few moments' reflection, Lady Yee asked whether fifteen thousand dollars in compensation for the ship's survivors and crew would help Malakoff's soul rest any easier. Lady Yee said she didn't mean to include the owners of the ship, of course, as those skinflints would most certainly recoup their losses from the insurance companies. Besides, Mr. Atwood had long since signed on another crew and steamed the battered old freighter north, much to the visual relief of everyone on the bay. But there were others, she said, who had been marooned and left behind in strained circumstances, including Dr. Neruda and his family. They had all paid premium prices to travel like cattle just to escape from political violence, and they would never see their money again if they waited for the ship's owners to soften their hearts. Besides, there were debts owed to the city for taking care of those people. The city fathers would be very pleased if Captain Hammond could find a way to recompense the public coffers as well.

Captain Hammond thought about this for a moment, and said he believed that was an excellent idea, but where were they going to find somebody with fifteen thousand dollars and a desire to own a ruby egg? Besides, they would have to get a professional appraisal to secure a buyer, and that could take months if not years, and then the word would be out. If the gem were stolen, the owner would be well within his rights to demand its return, and then no one would see any profit, and they would be out expenses.

Lady Yee suddenly looked up and said she would buy the gem for fifteen thousand dollars, and she didn't need a professional appraisal
either. She had grown up around precious gems, and she knew from the manner in which the stone had been cut and polished, and how it transmitted light and color, that it was not only authentic, but also almost perfectly flawless. She was convinced that such a rare stone, cut in such an unusual shape, could only have been the work of Russian or French jewelers, commissioned by Russian royalty. Though she did point out, this didn't mean that the Russians hadn't stolen the rock from its original owners, who were most likely Turks. Then Lady Yee laughed and said she even knew a way to turn a profit on the transaction.