Tai-Pan by James Clavell Page B

right smartly, Dirk, old lad: The whole of China baint.” Brock drained the mug and hurled it inland. Then he stalked to his longboat. Some of the merchants followed him.
    “ ’Pon me word, dreadful manners,” Quance said. Then he called out in the laughter, “Come on, Tai-Pan, the toast! Mr. Quance has an immortal thirst! Let history be made.”
    “Excuse me, Mr. Struan,” Horatio Sinclair said. “Before the toast wouldn’t it be fitting to thank God for the mercies He has shown us this day?”
    “Of course, lad. Foolish of me to forget. Will you lead the prayer?”
    “The Reverend Mauss is here, sir.”
    Struan hesitated, caught off guard. He studied the young man, liking the deep humor that lurked behind the sky-gray eyes. Then he said loudly, “Reve’n’d Mauss, where are you? Let’s have a prayer.”
    Mauss towered above the merchants. He haltingly moved in front of the table and set down his empty glass and pretended that it had always been empty. The men took off their hats and waited bareheaded in the cold wind.
    Now it was quiet on the beach. Struan looked up at the foothills to an outcrop where the kirk would be. He could see the kirk in his mind’s eye and the town and the quays and warehouses and homes and gardens. The Great House where the Tai-Pan would hold court over the generations. Other homes for the hierarchy of the house and their families. And their girls. He thought about his present mistress, T’chung Jen May-may. He had bought May-may five years ago when she was fifteen and untouched.
    Ayeeee yah, he said to himself happily, using one of her Cantonese expressions, which meant pleasure or anger or disgust or happiness or helplessness, depending on how it was said. Now, there’s a wildcat if ever there was one.
    “Sweet God of the wild winds and the surf and the beauty of love, God of great ships and the North Star and the beauty of home, God and Father of the Christ child, look at us and pity us.” Mauss, his eyes closed, was lifting his hands. His voice was rich, and the depth of his longing swooped around them. “We are the sons of men, and our fathers worried over us as You worried over your blessed Son Jesus. Saints are crucified on earth and sinners multiply. We look at the glory of a flower and see You not. We endure the Supreme Winds and know You not. We measure the mighty oceans and feel You not. We reap the earth and touch You not. We eat and drink, yet we taste You not. All these things You are and more. You are life and death and success and failure. You are God and we are men . . .”
    He paused, his face contorted, as he struggled with his agonized soul. Oh God, forgive me my sins. Let me expiate my weakness by converting the heathen. Let me be a martyr to your Holy Cause. Change me from what I am to what I was once . . .
    But Wolfgang Mauss knew that there was no turning back, that the moment he had begun to serve Struan, his peace had left him and the needs of his flesh had swamped him. Surely, oh God, what I did was right. There was no other way to go into China.
    He opened his eyes and stared around helplessly. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I know not the words. I can see them—great words to make you know Him as once I knew Him—but I cannot the words say any more. Forgive me. Oh Lord, bless this island. Amen.”
    Struan took a full glass of whisky and gave it to Mauss. “I think you said it very well. A toast, gentlemen. The Queen!”
    They drank, and when their glasses were drained, Struan ordered them refilled.
    “With your permission, Captain Glessing, I’d like to offer your men a tot. And you, of course. A toast to the queen’s newest possession. You’ve passed into history today.” He called out to the merchants, “We should honor the captain. Let’s name this beach ‘Glessing’s Point.’ ”
    There was a roar of approval.
    “Naming islands or a part of an island is the prerequisite of the senior officer,” Glessing said.
    “I’ll mention