Read Online Magnificat by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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matched sofas upholstered in pale leather. “Please. Let us be comfortable while we talk.”
“Thank you,” said Cardinal Hetre. He chose the sofa with the tall window behind him; he disliked heights, he had the start of a headache, and offices like this one made him queasy.
Obata saw his choice as a courtesy, a gesture that indicated their conversation was more important than anything going on beyond them. He took the other sofa and signaled for his personal assistant while he waited for Cardinal Hetre to speak.
“Both of us were born in Canada, and both so far away,” Cardinal Hetre began just as Obata’s personal assistant approached. “Do you miss it?”
“Canada?” Obata guessed correctly. “Sometimes, yes. But it was not an easy thing to be Japanese in Canada, not while I was a boy. I haven’t much nostalgia. And a man in my position cannot afford nostalgia, so it’s just as well. Italy is a beautiful place, Osaka is a beautiful place, Montevideo is a beautiful place, Amsterdam is a beautiful place, Perth is a beautiful place.…” He shrugged. “What may I do to serve you?”
Cardinal Hetre did not seem to hear the question. “But not like Canada. There is something remarkable about Canada.” He looked up suddenly, as if he had only just realized where he was. “Pardon me—what did you say?”
“I said,” Obata responded patiently, “that my assistant will bring you whatever you wish. We have coffees and teas from all over the world, the best wines, whatever you might wish to drink, and if you would like a meal, you may order whatever—”
“A Cotes Sauvages, eight years old at least, if you will, and strong coffee afterward,” said Cardinal Hetre, as if he were putting an unpleasant necessity behind him. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
Cyril Obata had been told that Cardinal Hetre could be an abrupt man, but he had not anticipated quite this degree of curtness. He said to his assistant, “A very good notion. I will have the same,” dismissing him with a wave when he was done.
Cardinal Hetre folded his long, knob-knuckled hands and stared at the ancient Balinese sculpture at the end of the sofa. “Primitive, but with some power.”
“It is the old storm god,” said Obata. “Obata-MacMillian have offices there, in Bali. We supply ships to the government of India from there, and for New Zealand as well.” He studied the Cardinal to see what response this information might bring.
“You have offices all over the world,” said Cardinal Hetre, making it an accusation.
“Yes. Our freighters are becoming the major design now.” He made no attempt to conceal his pride. “When we began, everyone said sailing ships could never compete with standard freighters, but”—he gestured to his office—“we are in thirty-four countries around the world and we have a two-year backlog on orders.” He beamed at Cardinal Hetre. Perhaps the Vatican was interested in shipping, or in financing a venture that required their ships.
“And you have offices in China—the People’s Republic of China?” This slip annoyed him and his face soured.
“We have ship-building facilities at Qingdao, a central office in Beijing, as required by law, with a repair center in Hong Kong.” He recited this as if the facts could not be learned elsewhere.
“Yes,” said Cardinal Hetre. “I suppose you employ many people?” He could feel his headache gathering at the back of his eyes; he resisted it, unwilling to have it ruin his interview with Obata.
“I could have the precise figures, if you require them, Your Eminence,” Obata offered gracefully.
Cardinal Hetre shook his head twice. “No. No, that’s all right,” he said. “I don’t think that would.…” He shifted his position so that he was facing Obata squarely. “It is a very awkward thing,” he confided at last.
“What is, Your Eminence?” asked Cyril Obata.
“This predicament.” He shook his head once more. “You see, it
“Thank you,” said Cardinal Hetre. He chose the sofa with the tall window behind him; he disliked heights, he had the start of a headache, and offices like this one made him queasy.
Obata saw his choice as a courtesy, a gesture that indicated their conversation was more important than anything going on beyond them. He took the other sofa and signaled for his personal assistant while he waited for Cardinal Hetre to speak.
“Both of us were born in Canada, and both so far away,” Cardinal Hetre began just as Obata’s personal assistant approached. “Do you miss it?”
“Canada?” Obata guessed correctly. “Sometimes, yes. But it was not an easy thing to be Japanese in Canada, not while I was a boy. I haven’t much nostalgia. And a man in my position cannot afford nostalgia, so it’s just as well. Italy is a beautiful place, Osaka is a beautiful place, Montevideo is a beautiful place, Amsterdam is a beautiful place, Perth is a beautiful place.…” He shrugged. “What may I do to serve you?”
Cardinal Hetre did not seem to hear the question. “But not like Canada. There is something remarkable about Canada.” He looked up suddenly, as if he had only just realized where he was. “Pardon me—what did you say?”
“I said,” Obata responded patiently, “that my assistant will bring you whatever you wish. We have coffees and teas from all over the world, the best wines, whatever you might wish to drink, and if you would like a meal, you may order whatever—”
“A Cotes Sauvages, eight years old at least, if you will, and strong coffee afterward,” said Cardinal Hetre, as if he were putting an unpleasant necessity behind him. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
Cyril Obata had been told that Cardinal Hetre could be an abrupt man, but he had not anticipated quite this degree of curtness. He said to his assistant, “A very good notion. I will have the same,” dismissing him with a wave when he was done.
Cardinal Hetre folded his long, knob-knuckled hands and stared at the ancient Balinese sculpture at the end of the sofa. “Primitive, but with some power.”
“It is the old storm god,” said Obata. “Obata-MacMillian have offices there, in Bali. We supply ships to the government of India from there, and for New Zealand as well.” He studied the Cardinal to see what response this information might bring.
“You have offices all over the world,” said Cardinal Hetre, making it an accusation.
“Yes. Our freighters are becoming the major design now.” He made no attempt to conceal his pride. “When we began, everyone said sailing ships could never compete with standard freighters, but”—he gestured to his office—“we are in thirty-four countries around the world and we have a two-year backlog on orders.” He beamed at Cardinal Hetre. Perhaps the Vatican was interested in shipping, or in financing a venture that required their ships.
“And you have offices in China—the People’s Republic of China?” This slip annoyed him and his face soured.
“We have ship-building facilities at Qingdao, a central office in Beijing, as required by law, with a repair center in Hong Kong.” He recited this as if the facts could not be learned elsewhere.
“Yes,” said Cardinal Hetre. “I suppose you employ many people?” He could feel his headache gathering at the back of his eyes; he resisted it, unwilling to have it ruin his interview with Obata.
“I could have the precise figures, if you require them, Your Eminence,” Obata offered gracefully.
Cardinal Hetre shook his head twice. “No. No, that’s all right,” he said. “I don’t think that would.…” He shifted his position so that he was facing Obata squarely. “It is a very awkward thing,” he confided at last.
“What is, Your Eminence?” asked Cyril Obata.
“This predicament.” He shook his head once more. “You see, it
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