by Clint Dohmen
“I have no idea.”
“So now we go over there and meet the lone survivor?”
“You first,” responded Aldo hastily.
“You’re the language expert,” Simon countered.
“I don’t have your sword skills.” Stroking Simon’s ego had rarely failed Aldo.
“I can’t argue with the truth,” Simon conceded. He gestured at Neno to follow him. “Keep your mouth shut, eyes open, hands off your sword, and, most importantly, smile.”
“Si,” Neno replied, far louder than necessary, as was his habit.
I wonder if that’s got anything to do with the fact that he hasn’t had to address anyone on a face-to-face level since he was twelve, Simon thought.
Kojiro watched warily as two men, both with unsettlingly pale, white skin, jumped over to the Ouchi ship: one sprightly, the other not. Kojiro stood still with his heart pounding. He was not afraid of how large the two of them were, although they were both huge, one of them monstrously so. What troubled him was their color. They were the color of ghosts, and one had piercing blue eyes. Kojiro had never seen anybody with an eye color other than brown. It unnerved him.
Simon and Neno approached Kojiro wearing their best forced grins. As Simon approached, he could see that the mark on the man’s clothing appeared to be a black crane encircled in blue. Simon took a quick glance behind him. He expected to see at least a dozen armed Venetian sailors clambering over the railing. There were none. He could see that Aldo was also playing it safe, observing from the aftercastle. Aldo did not lack for encouraging words, however.
“I think he must be tired by now. He has just killed six men in less than two minutes, and beaten another into a delirium so serious that he spilled out his own entrails. How much more energy could he have?”
Simon sized up the man with the extraordinary sword skills. He did not look tired. He looked a mess; shoeless, covered in other men’s blood, clothing in tatters, but he was not breathing hard. In fact, it did not appear to Simon that he was breathing at all. He stood with a ramrod straight back, feet diagonally shoulder-width apart, a slight bend in the knees, and relaxed arms. It was not an intimidating pose, but one from which he could attack in a heartbeat. The man’s eyes were very narrow, and Simon could not tell if that was a hereditary trait or if the man was a master squinter. The eyes were also very hard, and they conveyed nothing as they shifted slowly between himself and Neno.
Simon, moving slowly, opened his palms to show that he held no weapons. Then, still without haste, he made a sweeping bow, complete with gyrating hips and whirling arm movements.
“Marvelous! Marvelous!” cheered Aldo from the aftercastle. He had never seen such a refined gesture from the crude English pilot.
Kojiro thought about attacking the odd-looking giants before they did the same to him, but as he always did, he took the time to consider the situation before he acted rashly. They looked solid in form, so he doubted they were actually ghosts, and the smaller one seemed to have performed some type of comedic bow.
Another thought occurred to him. Are they mocking me? He looked into the eyes of the pseudo-ghosts. In spite of their idiotic grins, they didn’t appear to be laughing at him. Kojiro returned what he believed to have been a bow. He placed his feet and legs together, palms against his legs, and bent slowly forward at the waist, hands sliding down to the front of his legs until they were just above the knees. After holding for a few seconds, he made the same movements in reverse. Normally, he would have held his bow longer to show more respect for new acquaintances, but he did not trust them yet and did not wish to remain in a vulnerable position for too long.
“Simon,” the pilot said when Kojiro straightened, pointing to his chest.
Kojiro said, “Takeda,” as he pointed to his nose.
“To-key-da,” Simon said as best as he could.
The man stated his name again, but this time he said it a little more slowly. “Ta. Kay. Da.”
Simon tried again. “Ta. Key. Da.”
“Perfect!” Aldo bellowed from the safety of the Tigre in a tone that sounded a bit more sarcastic than Simon would have preferred. Simon got the feeling that perhaps Aldo was enjoying this a bit much.
Kojiro tried to pronounce the blue-eyed ghost’s name. “Sai-mone.”
Simon repeated, “Simon.”
And Kojiro repeated, “Sai-mone.”
“Simon.”
“Sai-mone.”
As good as it gets, Simon supposed.
Kojiro was satisfied that he was not likely to be attacked immediately, so his next thoughts were to secure the ship and aid his friend. He also did not wish to run off without explanation, so he pointed down and said, “Tomodachi.” Not knowing what else to say, and knowing that time was crucial, he turned quickly and walked toward the stairs.
“Tomadaki?” Simon looked at Neno as the crane man walked away. Neno just shrugged. “Tomadaki?” Simon yelled inquiringly back at Aldo, a man with a skill for language the likes of which Simon begrudgingly had to admit, he had never seen.
“Sorry, I need more context,” Aldo called. “There are too many things that may be in the direction he was pointing. He was pointing at the ship, but saying ‘ship,’ then running off would be odd. So I guess, as you Inglese say, I haven’t the foggiest. If you go down with him and live, then perhaps you can report back with some more context, and I can translate ‘tomodachi’ for you.”
Aldo said the word exactly as the foreigner had said it, not as Simon had butchered it, which both impressed and annoyed Simon. The “if you live” condition was not lost on Simon either, but he wouldn’t be in China-adjacent if curiosity didn’t exercise an outsized influence on his behavior. Simon started walking towards the stairs, and Neno followed loyally.
“Buona fortuna,” Aldo shouted as Neno and Simon descended into the galley’s rowing deck.
The compartment under the top deck was dark and smelled of sweat, urine, and feces. Scores of men sat sober-faced, holding oars. Nobody stirred.
“Neno, how many men do you count?” Simon asked in a muffled voice.
Neno looked around. “There seems to be about fifteen oars per side. Three men are sitting on a bench pulling a single oar. That means,” and here Neno paused a good while, “many.”
Kojiro stood in front of the ninety seated men and began to scream something in his native tongue. Of course Simon didn’t understand anything that was being said, but it was certainly being said with authority. After the outburst, Kojiro just stared at the rowers.
One emancipated peasant cautiously got to his feet and was just about to say something, when Kojiro stepped forward and beheaded the man.
Caught by surprise, Neno nonetheless had a loud sailor’s expletive at the ready. “Porca troia!”
Simon was also taken aback, not just by the savagery of the act, but once again, by the speed of Takeda’s blade. He had seen nothing but a momentary flash of steel followed by a man’s head thumping onto the deck. In one smooth motion, Takeda had moved five feet, drawn his blade, cut a man’s head off, replaced the blade in his belt, and moved back to his original position.
Takeda sounded infuriated when he started shouting at the rowers again, and his diatribe continued for quite some time. When he had finished, he paused, and the entire team of rowers answered as one. It sounded to Simon like they were saying “high.” Afterwards, the rowers stared at their hands and bowed their heads as if they had done something in shame.
“Neno, are these rowers wearing chains or shackles?” Simon asked.
Neno squinted at the men in the dimly lit deck. “No.”
Simon took some time to absorb what he was witnessing. “Why aren’t they attacking? There are ninety of them and only three of us.”
Neno had no answer, and they both watched as Kojiro walked a few steps and descended to a lower deck. The rowers remained unmoving and silent with their heads down. A short time later Kojiro reemerged with a body slung over his shoulder. He c
arried it past them and out onto the upper deck.
Simon and Neno followed, where they observed the crane-marked man named Takeda carefully lay the body down on a dry portion of the upper deck. They looked hard at the motionless man. His left arm was askew, and both his face and body were bruised and swollen. He also had stab wounds in at least four places on his body, and the crudely wrapped red dressings gave evidence that he had leaked a lot of blood.
“Did you notice the rope marks on Tee-ko-do’s wrists?” Neno asked, speaking softly for only the second time that week and butchering the name even more badly than Simon had, much to Simon’s gratification.
“Yes, his wrists are raw. I think we solved the mystery as to why this man killed all the others. He certainly wasn’t a voluntary member of the crew.” Simon studied the second man. He looked younger than their new friend, but how young was hard to tell. Takeda’s facial expression did not change as he arranged his friend’s body to make it more comfortable, but he did so with a gentleness that betrayed a compassion Simon wouldn’t have expected from such a proficient killer.
Simon shouted back to the Tigre, “Ship secure.”
Simon heard Aldo issue some commands, and ten men from the Tigre, along with Aldo, jumped aboard the foreign ship and began collecting weapons from both the living and the dead.
“Thanks for the backup,” Simon said facetiously.
“As all mariners know, the capitano is the last man to leave his ship,” Aldo replied indignantly.
Simon smiled for the third time that day and said, “Dear Aldo, please let me introduce you to Tokayda.”
Aldo cringed at Simon’s half-assed attempt at the poor fellow’s name, for he had heard the initial introductions from afar and knew how to pronounce it properly. Aldo bowed deeply and gracefully, with perfect foot comportment and a sweeping removal of his hat. Even in the Doge’s Palace, this bow would have stood out for its master artistry. “It is with the utmost pleasure that I make your acquaintance, Signor Takeda.”
Kojiro stopped tending to Taro and stood. Judging by the garishness of his clothing compared to that of the other pale-skinned gaijin combing the deck, he guessed this was a man of rank on the barbarian boat, if not the captain himself. He had given the same ridiculous, ostentatious bow as the man named Sai-mone had, lending credence to Kojiro’s judgment that this was their custom and not some way of mocking him. So, wishing to return respect where it was offered, he also bowed.
Aldo was a little disappointed that his grand gesture was returned with just a meager bending of the waist, but he took it as a symbol of the barbarian culture’s backward ways and tried valiantly not to take offense.
The man then spoke. “Watashi no namae wa Takeda, Kojiro desu.”
Aldo recognized “Takeda” from the first introduction.
“His name is either Kojiro Takeda or Takeda Kojiro. I’m not sure which is the family name yet, nor do I know which we should use to address him. And I highly doubt it would be polite to address him by his name alone, as that is not common in any culture, but I know nothing of their honorifics yet,” Aldo fretted.
“Do you think that’s our most important concern right now?” Simon asked.
“Language is a tool, and the misuse of it can have consequences as dire as a misuse of the knife at a brit milah.”
Simon gave Aldo a blank stare.
“It is the Jewish ceremony of circumcision.” Aldo searched Simon’s eyes for any sense of comprehension.
Simon continued to stare blankly.
“I apologize, I always forget what a startling lack of cultural variety you English have, unless of course, you count the sheep.” Aldo continued quickly, not giving Simon a chance to interrupt. “When a baby is born into the religion of Judaism, they have the foreskin of their penis cut off with a knife, so you can understand why it is important not to misuse that tool.”
Simon involuntarily reached for his groin area to check on things, feeling sympathy for Jewish babies everywhere. “The Jews were expelled from England almost two centuries ago. I did not know they had such customs.”
“Well, they do, and much like that knife, the misuse of language can lead to very unpleasant outcomes. For example, what’s the name of that ‘gentleman’ on the English throne that is allegedly trying to kill you?”
“He is trying to kill me.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure he is. Now what is his name?”
“King Edward the Fourth.”
“Yes, King Edward the Fourth. Now imagine if I were a traveler from, say, this fellow’s land, and I’m introduced to King Edward the Fourth on a ship, during inauspicious circumstances such as this. Do you think he would take kindly to me calling him Eddy? ‘Hey Eddy, let’s you and I talk business.’ Wars have started for lesser insults.”
“‘Eddy,’” Simon mused. “I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll have to use it if I ever get to meet the bastard. Best not to start a war over language, though, quite right.” Simon then mumbled under his breath, “Maybe should’ve thought of that before you fired the cannons.”
“Excuse me, I didn’t catch that last part.”
“I said maybe you should tell us what else he said before we leave him standing there any longer.”
“Based on the pauses, intonation, and facial inflections, apart from his name being Takeda Kojiro or Kojiro Takeda, the remainder of the sentence correlates to ‘my name is.’ Of this, I am relatively certain.”
Aldo continued. “If you look at his gentle handling of this person and his immediate need to get to him, I would say this is the ‘tomodachi’ that he referred to when he pointed down before going below decks. Putting all of those pieces together, we can safely assume that ‘tomodachi’ means friend, compatriot, crewmate, or something similar.”
Kojiro heard the chubbier foreigner say tomodachi, and he pointed to Taro and repeated it. “Tomodachi.”
Aldo straightened up, took a step forward, and while the sounds remained fresh in his mind, he repeated, “Atashi o nama wa Aldo Mitachionne.”
Inwardly, Kojiro was shocked, but outwardly, he tried to remain expressionless. He wondered if this second gaijin with the ridiculously large mustache possibly spoke some of his language. His language is not perfect, but his pronunciation and intonation are surprisingly good.
Kojiro probed with a greeting. “Hajimemashite.”
Aldo was pleased to see a trace of surprise on the man’s stoic face, so he continued with the rhythm to which he always danced when encountering new languages. Much of Aldo’s linguistic talent arose from his natural ability to mimic pronunciation and intonation. It didn’t hurt that he had an excellent memory and a studious dispensation, but the less obvious source of his ability was his common sense. Common sense enabled him to observe another’s behavior, and then feeling would guide him through the subtleties.
Aldo had been his parents’ joy growing up. His mother’s joy because after two helpings at every meal, he was the lone child amongst his five siblings who always asked for thirds. He was his father’s joy because, like the truest of true Venetians, he was a merchant at heart and had the sea in his blood. In fact, he’d done nothing to disappoint his family until he turned thirty and decided to sail to China with a crazy Englishman. “Ha jee may ma she tay,” Aldo tried.
Kojiro could see that the man was simply mimicking him, but still, he was good at it, and Kojiro appreciated the effort. Kojiro looked at Simon and said, “Hajimemashite.”
Simon tried to repeat, as Aldo had done, but he couldn’t remember the order of the sounds, nor much of the sounds themselves for that matter.
“Jee gee may may see tay.”
Aldo then pointed at Simon and said, “Tomodachi,” in spite of his embarrassment.
Kojiro nodded in understanding.
Aldo then pointed at Kojiro and asked. “Tomodachi?”
Kojiro responded, “Hai, tomodachi desu.”
Chapter 3
SIMON WANTED TO help Kojiro’s friend
but he had no medical skill personally, and the Tigre had lost its doctor. For all Simon knew the natives were still eating him for leftovers.
Simon didn’t really think his absence mattered terribly; the doctor never seemed to actually cure anybody of anything. He mixed potions and made solemn pronouncements about the will of God, but the live/die ratio of the sailors he had treated skewed dramatically in favor of “die.” This, of course, was where God came into the picture, as in, “It was, unfortunately, the will of God that this poor sinner had to die.” Conversely, in the rare situation where someone actually survived the doctor’s bizarre treatments, it was invariably due largely to his own skills as a healer, with only a modicum of God’s power assisting his skillful hands. Whatever the case, the Tigre had nothing to offer Kojiro for his friend. Their own crew were little more than sickly skeletons as it was. Simon tried to communicate their helplessness by opening his hands palms up and shaking his head. Kojiro seemed to discern his meaning as he went back to caring for his friend.
Aldo looked to Simon. “What now?”
“Well, there are two things I should tell you. First, the boat we have just commandeered has about ninety natives sitting below deck on rowing benches.”
“Just sitting there?”
“Aye.”
“And they outnumber us?”
“Roughly four to one.”
“We must guard them immediately, no?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Perché no? Why not?”
“Our new friend here seems to have that under control. You don’t want to know how.”
Aldo thought that perhaps he didn’t.
“Second, this ship has so many valuables onboard, I’m almost more afraid of charging angry leprechauns than I am of the ninety rowers. It may be why they were quick to fire on us.”
Aldo’s eyes widened. “You mean trinkets of gold and the like?”
“Trinkets, silks, paintings, gems, and much more of ‘the like,’” Simon answered.
“Well, I think we’ve earned them,” Aldo pronounced. “Attacking us, a peaceful trading delegation from Venice, is in total violation of maritime law, not to mention common decency. It is only just compensation.”
