The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [121]
As the years passed Richard Moore became fearful of writing to his old friend more than once a year as each letter elicited an even larger check. And, when toward the end of 1986 he did write, he made no reference to the dean and chapter’s decision to designate 1988 as the cathedral’s appeal year. Nor did he mention his own failing health, lest the old Japanese gentleman should feel in some way responsible, as his doctor had warned him that he could never expect to recover fully from those experiences at Tonchan.
The bishop set about forming his appeal committee in January 1987. The Prince of Wales became the patron and the lord lieutenant of the county its chairman. In his opening address to the members of the appeal committee the bishop instructed them that it was their duty to raise not less than three million pounds during 1988. Some apprehensive looks appeared on the faces around the table.
On August 11, 1987, the bishop of Taunton was umpiring a village cricket match when he suddenly collapsed from a heart attack. “See that the appeal brochures are printed in time for the next meeting,” were his final words to the captain of the local team.
Bishop Moore’s memorial service was held in Taunton Cathedral and conducted by the archbishop of Canterbury. Not a seat could be found in the cathedral that day, and so many crowded into every pew that the west door was left open. Those who arrived late had to listen to the archbishop’s address relayed over loudspeakers placed around the market square.
Casual onlookers must have been puzzled by the presence of several elderly Japanese gentlemen dotted around the congregation.
When the service came to an end the archbishop held a private meeting in the vestry of the cathedral with the chairman of the largest electronics company in the world.
“You must be Mr. Sakata,” said the archbishop, warmly shaking the hand of a man who stepped forward from the small cluster of Japanese who were in attendance. “Thank you for taking the trouble to write and let me know that you would be coming. I am delighted to meet you at last. The bishop always spoke of you with great affection and as a close friend—‘Chopsticks,’ if I remember.”
Mr. Sakata bowed low.
“And I also know that he always considered himself in your personal debt for such generosity over so many years.”
“No, no, not me,” replied the former major. “I, like my dear friend the late bishop, am representative of higher authority.”
The archbishop looked puzzled.
“You see, sir,” continued Mr. Sakata, “I am only the chairman of the company. May I have the honor of introducing my president?”
Mr. Sakata took a pace backward to allow an even smaller figure, whom the archbishop had originally assumed to be part of Mr. Sakata’s entourage, to step forward.
The president bowed low and, still without speaking, passed an envelope to the archbishop.
“May I be allowed to open it?” the church leader asked, unaware of the Japanese custom of waiting until the giver has departed.
The little man bowed again.
The archbishop slit open the envelope and removed a check for three million pounds.
“The late bishop must have been a very close friend,” was all he could think of saying.
“No, sir,” the president replied. “I did not have that privilege.”
“Then he must have done something incredible to be deserving of such a munificent gesture.”
“He performed an act of honor over forty years ago and now I try inadequately to repay it.”
“Then he would surely have remembered you,” said the archbishop.
“Is possible he would remember me but if so only as the sour half of Sweet and Sour Pork.”
There is one cathedral in England that has never found it necessary to launch a national appeal.
DO NOT PASS GO
MAY 1986
Hamid Zebari smiled at the thought of his wife, Shereen, driving him to the airport. Neither