River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [115]
There was a dazed silence, which helped the stewards to serve another course: even though Bahram’s attention had been distracted by Mr Slade’s thunderous peroration, he did not fail to recognize that the dish that had now appeared on the table was the great glory of Macahnese cuisine – Galinha Africana – grilled chicken, napped with a coconut sauce that was redolent of the spices of Mozambique.
No one else paid any attention to the chicken. From the other end of the table, Mr Lindsay directed a frown at Mr Slade. ‘You must consider yourself lucky, John, that you were born in England. In some countries a man might well lose his head for taking such a tone with his leaders.’
‘Believe me, sir,’ said the Thunderer, ‘I know very well the value of my freedoms. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see them conferred upon the uncountable millions who groan under the yoke of tyranny – most notably the wretches who suffer the rule of the Manchu despot.’
‘But Mr Slade!’ It was the voice of Charles King. ‘If freedom is merely a stick for you to beat others with, then surely the word has lost all meaning? You have blamed Lord Palmerston, you have blamed Captain Elliott, you have blamed the Emperor of China – yet you have not once taken the name of the commodity that has brought us to the present impasse: opium.’
Slade’s heavy jowls quivered thunderously as he turned to face his interlocutor. ‘No, Mr King,’ he said. ‘I have not mentioned opium, nor indeed have I spoken of any of your other hobby horses. And nor will I until your Celestial friends candidly admit that it is they who are the prime movers in this trade. In supplying them with such goods as they demand we are merely obeying the laws of Free Trade …’
‘And the laws of conscience, Mr Slade?’ said Charles King. ‘What of them?’
‘Do you imagine, Mr King, that freedom of conscience could exist in the absence of the freedom of trade?’
Before Charles King could respond Jardine broke in. ‘But all the same, Slade, you’re coming it a bit strong, aren’t you? I cannot see that it will serve any purpose to address the Foreign Secretary so harshly. And as for Captain Elliott he is merely a functionary – we should not ascribe to him greater consequence than is his due.’
Slade opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted by the entry of the dessert, which was a rich and creamy ‘sawdust pudding’ – serradura, topped with a crisp layer of toasted crumbs.
Mr. Lindsay was quick to seize this opportunity and struck his knife upon his glass.
‘Gentlemen, in a minute we will drink to the Queen. But before that I have some good news to share with you. As you know, my term as President of the Chamber runs out in a few months. It is of course the custom for the outgoing President to name a successor. I am happy to announce that our next incumbent will be someone who will ensure that Mr Jardine will remain with us in spirit even after his departure. For he is none other than Mr Jardine’s dearest friend: Mr Wetmore.’
Many hands began to clap and Mr Wetmore rose to his feet in acknowledgement.
‘I am moved, deeply moved, to be trusted with the responsibilities of leadership at a time like this.’ There was a catch in his voice and he paused to clear it. ‘It is some consolation, if I may say so, for the loss of Mr Jardine.’
This too was answered with a burst of clapping. Even as he was joining in the applause, Bahram noticed that his two neighbours were exchanging smiles and glances that seemed to say: ‘Did I not tell you so?’
Under cover of the noise Dent leant close to Bahram’s ear: ‘You see, Barry, how things are disposed of amongst