by Ben Stevens
This resulted in three people hurling themselves into the sea, with two managing to drown before a small boat – lowered by some of the bearded men – could get to them. The third man was snatched from his desired, watery grave however, and brought back to the boat was tied to a mast and, with us all forced to watch, whipped so brutally that blood poured from his back. His screams were only silenced when salt was rubbed into his wounds, following the end of the whipping, and he lost consciousness…
This misery continued, day-after-day, with all of us envying those who died down there in the suffocating darkness and who were thus thrown overboard by myself and another man – for we were the two biggest, strongest males. But we saw now that even throwing oneself into the sea – on those occasions when we were brought onto deck – was no sure guarantee of obtaining a blessed release from this torment; and that, if we were retrieved from the water, then we would be horribly tortured – and the man we’d seen being whipped died from his injuries a few days later, so badly had he been abused.
But then there came that storm…
3
…Through numerous rough drawings, and the ever-increasing number of Japanese words which the man named Makku quickly picked up, the above story was related to my master and me. Needless to say, what I have written so far took several days to learn, with my master immediately ceasing the interview whenever Makku seemed tired. There was by now what I can only weakly describe as being an ‘easy relationship’ between the three of us (that is, my master, me and the black gaijin) with, especially, an obvious liking between Makku and my master.
As that large man with the ugly scars still showing on his wrists and ankles told his story, his expression barely changed. He was clearly an exceptionally stoic individual. Once or twice his eyes grew wet (always as he was attempting to relate someone else’s suffering, such as that man who’d been retrieved from the sea and so cruelly whipped – never his own), but always he quickly recovered himself.
We had frequent breaks in our work, sharing food and some sake. Makku had been a little uncertain about this drink at the start – I believe he had never before tried any alcohol – but by now he had grown to like it.
My master and I had a room at the castle, going down each morning to enter into Makku’s cell. Despite his somewhat austere surroundings, he was well looked after, but still there was the suspicion felt towards him that the Japanese naturally feel for any foreigner – especially one as generally striking in appearance as that huge black man. The guard could still barely believe that we would enter inside the colossal gaijin’s cell unarmed – even though he was clearly no danger to anyone. (Although, I had no doubt that he could be an extremely formidable opponent, if sufficiently riled.)
We had just managed to learn of the storm that had struck this horrific-sounding ship, with Makku drawing a wind, a rough sea, the ship nearly on its side (and in the process learning arashi, the word for storm), when a messenger sent by Nobunaga – whom we had still to actually meet, so busy with various affairs was that daimyo meant to be – was suddenly stood outside that wooden-barred cell, early one afternoon.
‘My lord requests that you come to meet with him immediately, Ennin-sensei,’ said the messenger, slightly out of breath. ‘There is a matter of urgency, concerning this… this…’
The messenger’s voice faltered, and he weakly gestured towards Makku.
‘…Man,’ said my master curtly, rising to his feet (the three of us were sat on cushions around a low table, on top of which was the roll of paper and brushes so necessary for us to be able to communicate) and gave Makku a slight, perfunctory bow, which the gaijin returned.
‘Mata ne,’ said Makku – ‘We will meet again.’
‘Hai,’ returned my master, as we left the cell, the guard hurriedly locking the door behind us.
We followed the messenger up several flights of stairs, before entering a tatami room made bright by the open windows of paper and wood. I started in surprise – there, together with a formidable-looking man wearing a splendid kimono who could only be Nobunaga, his accompanying samurai bodyguard and another Japanese man, was a white gaijin. He had a beard, black curly hair, and the swarthy look and skin of a seafaring man. An earring dangled from one ear, while those strange trousers of his that they call ‘pantaloons’ were almost comically wide.
The messenger made the introduction – to Nobunaga – and as my master and I gave a low bow the daimyo thanked us for having come here to interview the man being kept in the castle’s basement, and also gave a curt apology for having not granted us an audience until now.
‘This man here is a Portuguese ship’s captain named Joao Pires,’ Nobunaga continued, indicating the gaijin stood near us who viewed these proceedings with a sullen, suspicious eye. ‘He claims that we have something belonging to him – namely, this man being kept here in my castle whom you have lately been interviewing.’
The other Japanese man now revealed himself to be an interpreter, fluent in the Portuguese tongue. Quickly, he related to this Pires what Nobunaga had just said; and a conversation between Pires (speaking of course through the translator), Nobunaga and my master began –
Pires: ‘You have something here that belongs to the country of Portugal. There was a severe and prolonged storm, which caused a Portuguese shipping vessel, carrying a consignment of several hundred slaves towards the Philippines, to drift far off course and ultimately to capsize some distance off the coast of Japan. I have recently learnt that a slave was one of the few survivors (we have also so far located two crew members, who were thus able to tell us what happened); and, as I and my ship are shortly due to return to Portugal with these survivors, I respectfully request that you hand over this valuable cargo to us before we sail.’
Nobunaga: ‘What will become of this black man I currently have here in this castle, if he is given to you? And in what way can a man be labeled a ‘valuable cargo’?’
Pires: ‘With respect, lord Nobunaga, I have no real need to answer such a question. This man is the property of Portugal, and – although I will certainly offer you reimbursement for having given him food and shelter until now – I must simply repeat my request that he be given to me without any further delay.’
Nobunaga: ‘Ennin-sensei, you have, I believe, succeeded in communicating with this man… What, exactly, have you learnt?’
Ennin: ‘That he has been the victim of one of the most disgusting, one of the most shameful practices of which I have ever heard. Lord Nobunaga, if you are willing, I will later inform you more fully of all that I have learnt; and I most humbly suspect that you will feel the same way as I, and my servant Kukai here, do now. Suffice for now to say that this man – his name is Makku, incidentally – escaped a living death, to which I have absolutely no desire to return him.’
Pires: ‘Your opinion here does not matter; and in any case, it is entirely without merit. You might just as well concern yourself with the fate of a simple dumb animal…’
Ennin: ‘Which I would still favor over a wretched slave-trader.’
Nobunaga: ‘Ennin-sensei, please… Pires-san, I cannot decide what course of action to take until I have heard more from Ennin-sensei, concerning all that he has discovered about this black man. You should be advised that Ennin-sensei is famous throughout Japan, and that, on certain matters, he answers to the Empress herself. I cannot just dismiss his opinion and so oblige your request, without first hearing everything he has to say.’
Pires: ‘Very well, lord Nobunaga, I will remain at your castle until you have made your decision, although it gives me absolutely no pleasure to do so.’
Nobunaga: ‘Your patience and understanding in this matter is most gratefully appreciated. I will have you shown to a room, where refreshments will be brought to you and where you may wait in comfort until I have made a decision – as quickly as is possible, of course...’
…Once Pires had been shown out of the room, Nobunaga said to my master –
; ‘Now, Ennin-sensei, I will have some food and drink brought to us; and while that gaijin ship’s captain sweats and frets in another room, we will discuss this remarkable-sounding individual I currently have ensconced in the basement of my castle…’
4
Nobunaga, I knew, had the reputation of being a somewhat strict ruler – although also fair – with a heart and a will that were not easily swayed. But after he’d heard all my master had to tell him concerning Makku, he immediately declared his intention to see this gaijin for himself. It surprised me that he’d not done so already, but I guessed Nobunaga to be an extremely methodical man, who dealt with all issues concerning the governing of his territory, and all problems and issues occurring within it, in exact order.
He’d had the man who’d been found washed up on the shore placed in a cell in the basement of his castle: other than requesting that my master meet with this man, he would attend to him when he found the time. And this time was now…
It was obvious that Makku recognized Nobunaga as being an individual of considerable importance. Someone, indeed, who held his entire fate – his life – in his hands.
Makku bowed low, and Nobunaga gave a slight nod, all the while giving that huge black man a strangely evaluating stare. Then he gave another nod, as though he’d just made some decision; and with another cushion being brought in for the daimyo to sit upon, my master set about discovering what remained of Makku’s story.
Of course, we knew already that that vile ship had been blown far off course by a horrendous storm, and had capsized with the loss of almost everyone on board. But over the next few hours (as Pires undoubtedly grew ever more irritable in the room where he was waiting), we learnt a few more details.
Again, so as to avoid wearying the reader, I will relate these details as though Makku had told us them directly –
The ship pitched and rolled around for what felt like days – indeed, for what probably was days. Days on end, every passing hour a torment, as down there in the stinking darkness several hundred of us wept and cried out for deliverance from this hell. The seasickness was horrific, and the stink of corruption grew ever stronger as more and more of us obtained the ultimate form of release, as it were…
Then the hatch above us opened, and the red-faced men came down and untied me and the other man. We were dragged up top, into the howling wind, the waves crashing over the sides of the boat and instantly drenching us.
I realized at once what we had to do. Using wooden buckets, we had to throw the water that was threatening to sink the ship back into the sea. All of the bearded men were engaged in this activity, scooping up the water on deck as fast as they could manage. Myself and the other man had been brought up to work either end of the ship – where the water lay deepest, but also where the risk of being thrown overboard was most acute.
At once I knew it was hopeless. We were going to sink. The waves were gradually pounding this ship to pieces. The bearded men shouted and screamed at one another, trying to be heard above the raging gale, but despite all the wind and noise around a strange calm gripped my soul.
‘When you fall into the sea, my son, quickly try to find some drifting piece of wood from the boat,’ said my father’s voice, coming to me as clearly as it had before. Then I felt a terrible despair as I thought of all those others (including my sister, who was the only one of my siblings still alive), trapped down there in the bottom of the boat that was surely about to sink. But I could do nothing to save them – they were manacled together by their ankles and, besides, how many of them were even able to swim? Even if one could swim, this was hardly a still sea, with land lying in sight…
…At once the ship tipped violently on its side, and with a great grinding sound began to break up. I tipped into the water, and immediately began to swim as hard as I could. I found a piece of wood quickly – there were so many of them… I also actually collided with one of the bearded men, who desperately tried grabbing hold of me – my guess was that he was unable to swim. I pushed him away from me, and he went under…
Grasping my floating plank of wood – which had become very much the same as my life – I passed through the great waves, frequently submerged and yet with that strange feeling of calm I’d had just before I’d fallen into the water. Those many others I’d spent these past weeks suffering with, down there in the bottom of the boat… They were at least now released from their suffering. I, however, remained alive; and it was down to me to do everything possible to remain that way…
There is little point to say too much else. The storm finally cleared… The sun again shone bright in the blue sky… I suffered agonies of thirst and hunger, my brains feeling as though they were boiling inside of my very skull… And then in a dream I seemed to see land before me. The last thing I can remember was crawling onto that yellow sand and coughing up seawater – and then I was here, inside this room.
That is all.
5
Nobunaga slowly arose, his eyes fixed upon that brave black gaijin.
‘I will go now to see this Portuguese ship’s captain, to give him my answer,’ he said quietly, addressing my master. ‘Kindly remain here until I return.’
And remain we did, the guard standing as usual just outside of the wooden-barred cell. I was filled with suspense – just what decision had the daimyo made? Surely he would not give Makku to that Portuguese captain, after all he’d heard today…? And yet, I knew that Portugal was a powerful nation, with mighty gunboats and strong trade links with Japan, and that for Nobunaga to refuse a request made by one of their ship’s captains might well result in a serious diplomatic incident.
I even sensed the agony of waiting in my master, who was usually so calm and controlled. Only Makku seemed completely unperturbed, although I had no doubt that he also somehow recognized that his future was about to be decided.
Nobunaga returned shortly afterwards, his face grave. I sensed someone standing not far behind him, just out of sight behind the entranceway into this subterranean area. I was suddenly certain that this ‘someone’ was Pires, the ship’s captain, and as I surreptitiously glanced at Makku I could have wept at the sheer injustice of it all.
‘Well,’ said the daimyo, his steely gaze once again fixed upon the escaped slave. ‘You won’t understand the actual words I am about to say; but maybe some of the meaning may be obvious to you, at least. You are clearly a very brave and resourceful man, anyway.
‘It is out of the question for you to return to Africa – only the gaijin sail there, and they desire you for a slave. Besides which, we have absolutely no idea where your small village is located in that impossibly large continent – and you say that it was destroyed anyway…
‘So, if you were not to be given to that Portuguese captain, you would have to remain here in Japan. A very different life for you, certainly, but one to which a man of your abilities could become accustomed, I feel.
‘The question remains, however – What would you do here, exactly…?’
And now, a slight smile showed itself on that daimyo’s otherwise stern face.
‘What I am about to propose is something which will make those other daimyo governing the territories around mine wonder whether I have taken leave of my wits,’ declared Nobunaga. ‘But, let them talk. I myself was not born into wealth nor privilege – I got where I am today by sheer guts, drive and determination, and I recognize these attributes in others.
‘And none more so than in you, Makku-san.’
The daimyo paused, momentarily appearing almost emotional; and then he said –
‘And so, I propose something which I believe will be the best solution for the both of us.’
He at once clicked his fingers, and that person I’d sensed standing in the shadows appeared, carrying a bundle. This man – who in fact transpired to be one of Nobunaga’s samurai – entered the wooden-barred cell, and handed his lord this bundle. And Nobunaga in turn presented it to Makku, who at once clearly recognizing the sheer mag
nitude of what was being offered him immediately fell to his knees before the daimyo, in an obvious sign of acceptance.
‘Come, come,’ said Nobunaga smilingly, taking hold of one of Makku’s great arms and causing him to rise to his feet. To do this, he first had to put down the precious bundle upon the floor – that is, the special kimono worn by all of Nobunaga’s samurai, together with the long and short swords (in scabbards) that are at once indicative of Japan’s warrior-class…
When Makku had risen, his eyes wet, he turned to face my master – but instead of the expected bow, he placed both of his huge hands upon my master’s shoulders, and remained motionless like this for several long moments, staring deeply into my master’s eyes. I understood that this was a sign of the highest respect and gratitude, paid in the manner unique to Makku’s own culture.
‘Come,’ said Nobunaga again, motioning for us all to leave this cell as his accompanying samurai again picked up the precious bundle. ‘My latest and perhaps most remarkable samurai must shortly begin his martial training, and also work somewhat at his spoken and written Japanese…’
‘And that Portuguese captain, my lord?’ asked my master quietly, who seemed as moved as ever I’d seen him by all that had just taken place. ‘What did he say in response to your decision, if I may ask…?’
‘Actually, despite what I said earlier, I have yet to see him. I shall go and do so presently, I suppose,’ returned the daimyo in a musing tone. ‘But I take certain exception to these slave-trading gaijin turning up unannounced at my castle with their demands, Ennin-sensei! So perhaps I shall let him wait just a few more hours, before I inform him that my answer is no…’
