Lady Yee said she appreciated all that and more, but even the faintest accusation of violence and murder spread at the feet of a doctor sworn by profession and the Hindu faith to preserve all life was in itself a very dangerous wound to the truth, and one that would taint the confidence of those who needed those skills the most. She confessed that a goodly number of people would go without medical services if people of stature and influence did not actively deny these rumors. To that end, Lady Yee had taken the liberty of inviting Dr. Neruda to take tea. She said he had also kindly agreed to submit to an informal interview by the gentlemen most concerned in the outcome of this case of homicide. She declared that it was imperative that her guests satisfy themselves as to the man's innocence, or else compile charges capable of standing up to close scrutiny. Anything less would severely cripple endeavors to bring modest medical care to the Chinese laborers and fishermen of Monterey.
As if on cue, a distant bell sounded, and a moment later Dr. Neruda was shown into the dining room by the houseboy. He was warmly greeted by Captain Hammond and seated in his place at the head of the table. Dr. Neruda looked very trim and dapper in his new suit. His beard and handlebar mustache were closely groomed and brushed in the military fashion. This lent the doctor a further air of understated authority and professionalism. The dark tone of his skin and piercing black gaze appeared to have little influence on the audience since the doctor's educated and skillful use of English was quite disarming. He also possessed a self-deprecating sense of humor that passed for sincere modesty.
Having made polite introductions all around, Captain Hammond made sure Dr. Neruda was served tea, and then went to sit by Lady Yee at the far end of the table. There he would be in the shadows and out of the way, which seconded the fact that he really had nothing more to say in the matter. His wife had mastered the helm with no help from him, so there was no reason to interject so much as a sigh. Like the rest of the men at the table, he would just have to sit back and wait.
Out of respect, Lady Yee addressed Dr. Neruda first. Though she had sent him a short letter outlining what she expected from the meeting, and the reasons for which she felt it was imperative that the doctor be as candid as possible, she also chose to reiterate her motives for the benefit of her other guests. She was determined to avoid even the scent of collusion between parties on either side, and so she even divulged what she had written to Dr. Neruda the day before.
Lady Yee went on, and with nods of agreement from the other five men concerned she told the doctor that this gathering was by no means an official interview, but it had just as important a purpose as far as the people of Monterey, and especially his future patients, were concerned. She declared it her studied conviction that the virulence of destructive rumors and gossip could only rarely be quashed at the root level, and
then usually through the mechanisms of a formal trial. Informally telling the man in the street that a circulating rumor is fallacious and preposterous will have little or no effect upon the tides of gossipmongers who delight in such detrimental twaddle. On the other hand, the common citizen is loath to disbelieve or discount the local men of prestige, power, and influence in their midst. If these good people took up truth and put it about that such-and-such a tale was absurd and totally without merit, then other sober and honest people would adopt the same opinion, and a crisis in confidence might be averted. She asked Dr. Neruda's patience for the sake of the infirmary. The doctor nodded and said he would do all he could to satisfy her august guests' curiosity on any subject they pleased, if it would satisfy the needs of the situation at hand.
Lady Yee signaled for her maid to serve more tea and then asked Marshal Sanchez, as the highest state law officer present, to begin the questions. As an old family
californiano
, Mr. Sanchez smiled with modesty at the recognition of his right to first place.
Marshal Sanchez ran a finger under his mustache and asked a few details about his passage aboard the Canadian ship. Then he reached into a portfolio and withdrew a rusted triangular-bladed dagger ten inches long from tip to guard. This he placed in the middle of the table in front of Dr. Neruda and asked if he'd ever seen such a weapon before.
The doctor took one look, nodded, and said he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of such blades. It was a military dirk, carried by almost every enlisted soldier in the British Indian Army. They were stamped out by the case in Lahore and other places, and of relatively poor manufacture. He added that the soldiers usually ruined what little temper they had by lashing the blades to sticks and using them as cooking skewers. Marshal Sanchez then asked if Dr. Neruda had ever owned such a knife when in the service, and the doctor immediately shook his head in the negative. He said he wasn't acquainted with American military traditions, of course, but in the British and Indian armies, doctors
and medical staff were forbidden to carry arms of any kind. It put them at greater risk of execution if captured. Dr. Neruda picked up a folder he had placed next to his chair and withdrew an aging photograph. It showed three Indian officers in field uniform posing for a formal portrait. He handed this to Marshal Sanchez and continued. He said that he was the officer in the middle, and easy to spot because his uniform was dark blue with green piping and high-collared, whereas the other two officers were attired in khaki with their collars turned down. They also wore gun belts with dirks and pistols in plain sight, while the doctor wore no belt at all to indicate that he carried no weapons. He asked the marshal to note that the officers' dirks were of a finer design and manufacture. If he had felt the need to own such a weapon, he would have acquired an officer's blade, not a cheap blade made for enlisted men. The doctor confessed that, on the other hand, he did own a fine collection of surgical blades. He had several amputation knives that were fourteen inches long and so extremely sharp that they could neatly bisect an eyelash hair lengthwise. And while they were marvelous instruments for saving lives, they were not designed to withstand the rigors required by a contested murder, as the blades were brittle and easily broken.
The marshal took back the knife, put it back in his case, and asked the doctor if he knew the name of the dead man. The doctor said that despite the man's uncalled-for comments, they had never been introduced, nor did the fellow ever volunteer his name. But since he had no intention of making a formal complaint to the captain, who was already well-known for being unsympathetic toward his passengers, the doctor didn't bother to inquire as to the fellow's name. The doctor said it was obvious to him that the man was possibly demented, if not worse, and showed particular signs of being the product of inbreeding.
It was here that Mr. Rice begged to interject a question, and Marshal Sanchez surrendered the floor. The city attorney said he was at pains
to understand why the sailor's outright hostility, albeit in the form of insults, didn't particularly disturb the doctor or his family.
For the first time Dr. Neruda found a reason to laugh. He went on to say that when it came to the art of delivering insults and curses, there were eight-year-old beggars on the streets of Indian cities who were better qualified to do the job. The addle-pated Bosnian crewman couldn't even qualify as a starter against Indian street vendors, who could lace together twenty withering curses, punctuated by an equal number of brilliantly composed insults, and deliver the whole train in one breath, and then, within a blink of an eye, launch right into another lengthy assault. No, the doctor said with a smile, the foulmouthed and befuddled crewman wouldn't know a sepoy from a Sherpa and thought he was talking to a Sikh. The doctor said he assumed this when Vuychek said he knew the Indian carried a blade, but was too great a coward to use it. The doctor chuckled again, and said he thought the poor fellow could be forgiven for being confused. India had always been mother and home to many different kinds of religion, and its people spoke over a hundred different languages, which made matters even more bewildering to the ignorant. Dr. Neruda then apologized for the digression, and said he had really paid no more attention to the addled crewman than he would have to a demented street beggar.
And then Dr. Neruda surprised everyone by saying that in fact he had felt truly sorry for the man, as he had obviously been the tormented tool of somebody even more abusive than himself. Dr. Neruda remarked that in India, mental diseases were well documented, well understood, and in some cases treated very successfully. But sometimes, figuratively speaking, one came across a snarling, dangerously psychotic “yard dog” that had been beaten too many times to bring back in the house. No amount of affection, attention, or medical consideration, aside from a lobotomy or heavy opiates, could make it tame and civil ever again. It was very sad, he said, but the helplessness of the
sailor's condition and his obviously predictable future, though most distressing to contemplate, were inevitable from a medical point of view.
Dr. Neruda paused, and with an iron-bound expression that was unmistakably serious, looked each person at the table in the eyes for a moment, and then closed by saying that “no reputable physician, licensed by virtue of binding oaths sworn to qualified witnesses, could possibly be convinced that killing an apparently mentally deranged person was a remotely rational course of action toward resolving religious questions of self-justification.” When the doctor next looked around the table, all eyes were cast low, and only Lady Yee met his gaze and nodded.
Just then Li-Lee silently slipped from the shadows, approached Lady Yee, and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Lady Yee nodded, tapped her husband's arm, and indicated that she was leaving for a few moments, and then silently withdrew so as not to disturb the interview. The maid led the way to the kitchen where Lady Yee was introduced to Jojo Toyuka, the fifteen-year-old Japanese cabin boy. He sat happily eating Chinese custard tarts under Ah Chu's watchful gaze. The boy appeared quite contented and composed, and didn't seem to care where he was as long as he was being fed so well. Lady Yee told him why he was asked to come and about the men who were going to ask him questions. He didn't appear the least disturbed by any of it, and though his English was broken and he relied here and there on pidgin or maritime slang, he had a forthright manner, and could make himself understood to Lady Yee's satisfaction.
On the way back to the dining room Lady Yee asked Li-Lee what had been done with the ship's cook, Mr. Beal. The maid said that he was enjoying his pipe and a bottle of beer out in the garden under the grape arbor. He knew to wait there until called. Lady Yee voiced her approval and resumed her seat without drawing attention. Her husband cast an inquiring expression, but Lady Yee simply returned her attention to the interview.
Dr. Neruda was answering a question posed by Mr. Campion. He was saying that as a Hindu, he had vowed to care for all sentient life. His people ate no flesh of any kind and refused to kill even insects. This interested the harbormaster. He asked how, if they didn't kill flies, they eliminated these pests from hospital wards, surgeries, and morgues. Dr. Neruda said that for centuries, just as now, they had captured them in honey or fruit-baited traps made of glass or pottery, and at night they took the traps outside and released the detainees. And though he said the flies came to no harm in the traps, it did seem that the tree frogs and rock lizards always gathered about to celebrate the mass release.
Next Sheriff Winslow took his turn, and politely asked Dr. Neruda if he had any reason to suspect that any other person on the passenger list had suffered indignities at the hands of this man Vuychek. The doctor said that he and his family did not fraternize with the other passengers except at meals, and even then people tended to avoid conversing with the dark-skinned foreigners in their midst. If Vuychek had extended his vituperation to others, no one took the opportunity to discuss the matter with Dr. Neruda. Then he volunteered that the same was also true of the ship's company in general, with whom he had even less reason to be on conversant terms. He had no reason not to assume that other members of the crew shared Vuychek's opinions about race, and he chose not to test the waters. He closed by apologizing that he had no further information or opinions that would reflect on the fate of the dead man. Then the doctor posed an unexpected question of his own. He asked the seated gentlemen whether Clausa Vuychek had received a proper burial under Muslim rites. Mr. Rice said the answer, sadly, was no. There were no Muslim clerics to officiate at such proceedings, and nobody else knew what was required. There were a few Asian Muslim families scattered around the county, of course, but no mosques to speak of, and no time or money to go in search of such niceties. The man was technically indigent, and his body was buried in a
potter's field under a numbered marker. Under the circumstances, that was the best that could be expected.
There was an uncomfortable pause as this information sunk in, but since there seemed to be no further questions, Lady Yee took back the mantle of hostess and speaker of the house. She confirmed there was nothing else, and asked her guests to allow Dr. Neruda, who had been most patient, to return to his family and his work. All five men immediately concurred, and in turn each thanked the doctor for his cooperation and his candor. In parting, they all heartily, and somewhat self-consciously, wished him good fortune in his new life in America.
Captain Hammond looked over at his wife, and the expression on her face told him at once that she believed she had won her point with a wide margin. She had been totally convinced that once these men had met and talked with Dr. Neruda, any lingering doubts as to his complicity in the death of the unfortunate sailor would melt away. The doctor's self-deprecating good manners, obvious compassion, and religious devotion to nonviolence all spoke of a man incapable of murder, especially for something as trifling as a few religious insults.