Read The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet: A Novel for Free Online Page A

Mr Oost, including yours, the Company must make a profit. Its trading factories must keep books. Dejima's books for the last five years are a pig's dinner. It is Mr Vorstenbosch's duty to order me to piece those books together. It is my duty to obey. Why must this make my name "Iscariot"?'
    No one cares to reply. Peter Fischer eats with his mouth open.
    Ouwehand scoops up some sauerkraut with his gritty bread.
    'Strikes me ,' Grote says, plucking out the fowl's innards, 'that it all rests on what the Chief does about any . . . irregularities , eh, spotted durin' this piecin' together . Whether it's a "Naughty-Boy-Now-Sin-No-More", or a firm but fair canin' of one's derriere , eh? Or ruination an' a six-by-five-by-four in Batavia gaol . . .'
    'If--' Jacob stops himself saying, 'if you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear': everyone present violates the Company rules on private trade. 'I'm not the--' Jacob stops himself saying 'Chief's Private Confessor'. 'Have you tried asking Mr Vorstenbosch directly?'
    'Not f'the likes o' me ,' replies Grote, 'to be interrogatin', eh, my superiors?'
    'Then you'll have to wait and see what Chief Vorstenbosch decides.'
    A bad answer , realises Jacob, implying I know more than I'm saying .
    'Yap yap,' mumbles Oost. 'Yap.' Baert's laughter could be hiccups.
    An apple skin slides off Fischer's knife in one perfect coil. 'Can we expect you to visit our office later? Or will you be doing more piecing together in Warehouse Doorn with your friend Ogawa?'
    'I shall do ,' Jacob hears his voice rise, 'whatever the Chief bids .'
    'Oh? Did I touch a rotten tooth? Ouwehand and I merely wish to know -'
    'Did I' - Ouwehand consults the ceiling - 'utter a single word?'
    '- to know whether our alleged third clerk shall help us today.'
    ' "Articled",' Jacob states, 'not "alleged" or "third", just as you are not "head".'
    'Oh? So you and Mr Vorstenbosch have discussed matters of succession?'
    'Is this squabblin' edifyin' , eh,' queries Grote, 'afore the lower orders ?'
    The warped kitchen door shudders as the Chief's servant Cupido enters.
    'What d'you want, yer dusky dog?' asks Grote. 'You was fed earlier.'
    'I bring a message for Clerk de Zoet: "Chief bids you come to State Room", sir.'
    Baert's laugh is born, lives and dies in his ever-congested nose.
    'I'll keep yer breakfast,' Grote chops off the pheasant's feet, 'good an' safe.'
    'Here, boy!' whispers Oost to an invisible dog. 'Sit, boy! Up, boy!'
    'Just a sip o' coffee,' Baert proffers the bowl, 'to fortify yer, like?'
    'I don't think I'd care,' Jacob stands to go, 'for its adulterants.'
    'Not a soul's 'cusin yer 'f a dult 'ry,' gurns Baert, incomprehending, 'just--'
    The pastor's nephew kicks the coffee bowl out of Baert's hands.
    It smashes against the ceiling: fragments smash on the floor.
    The onlookers are astonished; Oost's yaps cease; Baert is drenched.
    Even Jacob is surprised. He pockets his bread and leaves.
    * * *

    In the Antechamber of Bottles outside the State Room, a wall of fifty or sixty glass demijohns, wired tight against earthquakes, exhibit creatures from the Company's once-vast empire. Preserved from decay by alcohol, pig-bladder and lead, they warn not so much that all flesh perishes - what sane adult forgets this truth for long? - but that immortality comes at a steep price.
    A pickled dragon of Kandy bears an uncanny resemblance to Anna's father, and Jacob recalls a fateful conversation with that gentleman in his Rotterdam drawing-room. Carriages passed by below, and the lamplighter was doing his rounds. 'Anna has told me,' her father began, 'the surprising facts of the situation, de Zoet . . .
    The Kandy dragon's neighbour is a slack-jawed viper of the Celebes.
    '. . . and I have, accordingly, enumerated your merits and demerits.
    A baby alligator from Halmahera has a demon's delighted grin.
    'In the credit column: you are a fastidious clerk of good character . . .
    The alligator's umbilical cord is attached to its shell