by Shusaku Endo
July 25th, the feast of Saint James, the ship at last rounded the Cape of Good Hope. On this day a violent wind again arose so that the mast of the ship was broken and crashed down on the deck with a rending sound. Even the sick and Rodrigues and his companions were summoned up to rescue the foresail from the same peril. But scarcely had they succeeded in their attempt when the ship ran on a rock. If the other ships had not been there to help, the Santa Isabella would probably have sunk there and then.
After the storm the wind again calmed down. The sail lay lifeless; only its pitch black shadow fell upon the faces and bodies of the sick who lay like dead men on the deck. And so the days passed one by one with the glaring heat of the sun beating down upon a sea which had not so much as a swell of the waves.
All these mishaps prolonged the journey so that food and water became scarce; but at last on October 9th they reached their destination: Goa.
After arrival they were able to get more detailed news about Japan than had been possible at home. They were told that since January of the year in which they had set sail, thirty-five thousand Christians had caused an insurrection at Shimabara; and in the ensuing bloody conflict with the forces of the Bakufu the rebels had been butchered to the last man—men and women, young and old, all alike had been slain. As a result of the war, the whole district was so desolate that scarcely a human shadow could be seen, while the remnants of the Christians were being hunted down one by one. The news, however, which gave the greatest shock to Rodrigues and his companions was that as a result of this war Japan had cut all trade relations and intercourse with their country. Portuguese ships were forbidden to enter the harbors of Japan.
It was with the realization that they could not be brought to Japan in a Portuguese ship that the three priests reached Macao. They felt desperate.
The town of Macao, in addition to being the base of Portuguese operations in the Far East, was a base for trade between China and Japan. Consequently, if they waited here there was the possibility that some stroke of good fortune might help them on their way.
Immediately on arrival they received clear-cut advice from the Visitor Valignano who was in Macao at that time. Missionary work in Japan, he said, was now out of question nor had he any intention of sending missionaries to a country fraught with such dangers. From the time of the outbreak of persecution in Japan, it should be said, the whole administration of the Japanese Province of the Society of Jesus had been entrusted to this Superior, Valignano, who ten years before had founded at Macao a College for the formation of missionaries bound for China and Japan.
In regard to Ferreira whom the three men intended to seek out after arrival in Japan, Valignano gave the following report: From the year 1633 all news from the underground mission had come to an abrupt and drastic end. Dutch sailors returned to Macao from Nagasaki related that Ferreira had been taken and tortured in the pit. After that the whole matter was obscure and investigation of the true facts was impossible. This was because the Dutch had left on the very day that Ferreira had been suspended in the pit. The only thing that could be said with certainty was that Ferreira had been cross-examined by the newly-appointed magistrate Inoue, the Lord of Chikugo. In any case, the Macao mission could in no way agree to priests travelling to a Japan in such conditions. This was the frank opinion of Valignano.
Today we can read some of the letters of Sebastian Rodrigues in the library of the Portuguese ‘Institute for the Historical Study of Foreign Lands’. The first of these begins at the time when he and his companions heard from Valignano about the situation in Japan.
Chapter 1
(Letter of Sebastian Rodrigues)
Pax Christi. Praised be Christ.
I HAVE already told you about how we arrived at Goa last year on October 9th, and now on May 1st we have reached Macao. Amidst all the difficulties and privations of the journey Juan de Santa Marta became utterly exhausted and it looked as if he was getting malaria, so only Francis Garrpe and myself are working with all our strength at the missionary college here. We certainly received a wonderful welcome.
The problem is, however, that Father Valignano, Rector of the college, who has been here for ten years, has been utterly opposed to our journey to Japan. In his room overlooking the bay he spoke to us at length and this is the gist of what he said: ‘I am obliged to refuse to send any more missionaries to Japan. The sea journey is extremely dangerous for Portuguese ships and you will encounter all sorts of obstacles before even setting foot in the country.’
His opposition is not altogether unreasonable, in view of the fact that since 1636 the Japanese government, suspecting that the Portugese were in some way connected with the Shimabara rebellion, has completely cut all commercial relationship with them. Not only this, but in the journey from Macao the seas neighbouring on Japan are infested by English and Dutch warships which open fire on our trading ships.
‘And yet our secret mission could with God’s help turn out successful,’ said Juan de Santa Marta, blinking his eyes fervently. ‘In that stricken land the Christians have lost their priests and are like a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Some one must go to give them courage and to ensure that the tiny flame of faith does not die out.’ At these words a shadow passed over Valignano’s face, and he remained silent. No doubt to this very day he was deeply troubled by the dilemma of his duty as a Superior and the fate of the unfortunate, persecuted Christians. And so the old man said no word, resting his forehead on his hands.
From his room the harbor of Macao could be seen in the distance. The sea was red in the evening sun. Black junks floated on the water, scattered here and there like black smudges.
‘And one more point. We have an added duty: we want to find out the truth about our teacher Ferreira.’
‘About Ferreira we have had no further news. The reports about him are vague. Anyhow, at present we don’t have any plans for investigating the truth or falsity of what has been said about him.’
‘Is he alive?’
‘Even that we don’t know. … ’ Valignano raised his head and heaved a deep sigh as he spoke. ‘The reports he sent me regularly from the year 1633 have come to a sudden end. Whether he unhappily got sick and died, whether he is lying in the prison of the infidel, whether (as you are imagining) he won a glorious martyrdom, or whether he is still alive trying to send some report but unable to do so—about this at present we can say nothing.’
Valignano did not so much as utter a word about rumors that Ferreira had succumbed beneath the torture of his enemies. Like us, he was loth to attribute such fanciful charges to his old friend.
‘Moreover. … ’ And now Valignano spoke with some emphasis, ‘In Japan there has now appeared a person who is indeed a terror for the Christians. His name is Inoue.’
This was the first time we had heard the name of Inoue. Valignano went on to say that in comparison with the savagery of Inoue someone like Takenaka, the former magistrate of Nagasaki who had butchered so many Christians, was no more than a simple-minded person.
And so to imprint on our memories the name of this Japanese whom we would undoubtedly meet after landing in Japan, we repeated the unfamiliar sounds again and again: I-NO-U-E.
From the last report sent by the Christians in Kyushu, Valignano had a good deal of knowledge about this man. Since the rebellion of Shimabara he had become for all practical purposes the architect of the Christian persecution. Quite unlike his predecessor Takenaka, he was cunning as a serpent so that the Christians who until now had not flinched at threats and tortures succumbed one by one to his cunning wiles.
‘And the sad fact’, went on Valignano, ‘is that he was formerly of our faith. He is even baptized.’
About this persecutor I will probably be able to give you more information later on, but what I want to tell you just now is that Valignano, prudent Superior though he is, was finally moved by our pleading—especially by that of Garrpe—and consented to our secret mission to Japan. So now the die is cast. For
the conversion of Japan and the glory of God we have somehow made our way to the East; now we face a future which is certainly fraught with even greater perils and hardships than that sea journey around Africa and across the Indian Ocean. But ‘if you are persecuted in one town, flee to another’; and within my heart there constantly arise the words of the Apocalypse that honor and glory and power belong to God alone.
As I have already told you, Macao is at the mouth of the great river Chu-Kiang. It is built on one of the many islands with which the entrance to the bay is studded, and like all the towns of the East there is no wall surrounding it, so that it is impossible to say where the city boundaries are. The Chinese houses stretch out like dust. But anyhow, no matter how many towns and cities of our country you imagine you can never get a picture of what it is like. The population is said to be about twenty thousand, but this number is almost certainly false. The only thing here that might recall our own country are the governor’s palace, the Portuguese warehouses and the cobbled roads. A fortress with cannons stands facing out into the bay, but fortunately until this day the cannons have never had to go into action.
The greater part of the Chinese show no interest in our teaching.
On this point Japan is undoubtedly, as Saint Francis Xavier said, ‘the country in the Orient most suited to Christianity’. However, ironically enough, as a result of the Japanese government’s forbidding ships of its own country to go to foreign lands, the monopoly of the silk trade in the whole Far East has now fallen into the hands of the Portuguese merchants in Macao so that the total income of this import is expected to rise to four hundred seraphim as opposed to one hundred seraphim last year and the year before.
Today I have wonderful news for you. Yesterday we at last succeeded in meeting a Japanese. Formerly it seems that quite a number of Japanese religious and merchants came to Macao, but with the closing of their country such visits were brought to an end and even the few who were here returned to their own country. Even when we asked Valignano we got the answer that there were no Japanese in this town. And yet, quite by chance we found that there was a Japanese living in the midst of the Chinese in this town. Let me tell you how we came to meet him.
Yesterday—an awfully rainy day—we visited the Chinese sector of the town to see if we could somehow get a ship bound secretly for Japan. We wanted to find a captain and sailors. Macao in the rain. … The rain makes this wretched town even more wretched. The whole place was shrouded in ashen grey, while the Chinese, huddled in little houses that looked like dog-kennels, left the dirty streets so deserted that there was not a shadow of life in them. As I look at such streets I think (I wonder why?) of the mystery of human life—and then I grow sad.
Going to the house of the Chinese to whom we had an introduction we spoke about our business, and he promptly told us that there was here in Macao a Japanese who wanted to return to his native country. In answer to our request his little boy went in search of the Japanese.
What am I to say about this man, this first Japanese I ever met in my life? Reeling from excess of alcohol, a drunken man staggered into the room. About twenty-eight or nine years of age, he was dressed in rags. His name was Kichijirō. When finally he answered our questions we learned that he was a fisherman from the district of Hizen near Nagasaki. Before the famous Shimabara insurrection he had been adrift on the sea and had been picked up by a Portuguese ship. Whether or not it was due to his drunkenness I do not know, but there was a crafty look on his face, and as he spoke he would roll his eyes.
‘Are you a Christian?’ The question came from Garrpe. But the fellow suddenly shut up like a clam. We could not understand why Garrpe’s question should make him so unhappy. At first he did not want to talk at all; but at length, yielding to our entreaties, he began bit by bit to tell the story of the Christian persecution in Kyushu. And here it is. In the village of Kurasaki in Hizen he had witnessed the spectacle of twenty-four Christians being subjected to the water punishment by the local daimyo. Wooden stakes were fixed in the sea at the water’s edge and the Christians were bound to them. When the tide came in, the water would reach up to a certain mark, and then recede. The Christians gradually became utterly exhausted and after about a week they died in the most terrible agony. Did even Nero of Rome devise such a cruel method of death?
As our conversation went on, we noticed a strange thing. While Kichijirō described this hair-raising spectacle, his face became distorted; then suddenly he lapsed into silence. He shook his hand as though some terrible memory rose up from the past to haunt him. I wonder if among those twenty or so Christians who underwent the water torture there were some of his friends and acquaintances. Perhaps we had put our finger on an open wound which should not have been touched.
‘Well, anyhow you are a Christian, aren’t you?’ Again Garrpe put the question persistently. ‘You are. Aren’t you?’
‘I’m not,’ said Kichijirō shaking his head. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Anyhow, you want to go back to Japan. We have money to buy a ship and to get together a captain and sailors. So if you would like to return to your country … ’
At these words those Japanese eyes, drunken and dirty yellow, flashed craftily and, remaining squatting on his knees in a corner of the room, with trembling voice as though he were speaking in self-defence he begged to be allowed to return to his own country if only to see again his beloved relatives who remained at home.
Thus began our dealings with this jittery fellow. In the dimly lit and dirty room a fly kept buzzing around and around. On the floor lay the empty sake bottles from which he had drunk. But anyhow, it is good to have this fellow. Once we land in Japan we won’t know right from left. Someone will have to shelter us. We will have to get in contact with Christians who can protect us. So now we can use this man as our first guide.
For a long time Kichijirō sat facing the wall, clasping his knees and thinking deeply about the terms we now offered. Then he agreed. For him it is an adventure fraught with danger, but I suppose he feels that if he misses this chance he will never again be able to get back to Japan.
Anyhow, thanks to Father Valignano it looks as if we are going to get hold of a big junk. Yet how frail and passing are the plans of men! Today we got news that the ship is eaten up by white ants. And here it is terribly difficult to get hold of iron and pitch.
Every day I keep writing this report bit by bit, so that it looks like a diary without a date. Please be patient in reading it. A week ago I told you that the junk we had succeeded in getting hold of was almost consumed by white ants; but now, thanks to God, we have found a method of overcoming this difficulty. We are going to seal up the inside and then set sail for Taiwan. Then if this emergency measure looks like holding out longer, we will go straight on to Japan. We ask for God’s protection that we do not run into any big storm in the East China Sea.
This time I have bad news for you. I told you that Santa Marta, completely exhausted by the long, painful sea journey, looked like he was catching malaria. Now once again he has been seized by a severe fever accompanied by shivering all over his body. He is in bed in one of the rooms of the College. You who knew him in his former vigorous health cannot imagine how wretchedly thin and broken-down he has become. His eyes are bloodshot and dim, and if you put a wet towel on his head it becomes warm as though it had been immersed in hot water. To go to Japan in such a condition is simply unthinkable. Valignano says that unless we leave him here for treatment he cannot give permission for the journey of the other two.
‘We go first,’ said Garrpe to console Marta. ‘We’ll prepare the way so that you can come afterwards when you get better.’
But can anyone predict what will happen? Perhaps he will live a safe and happy life, while we like so many other Christians will be captured by the infidel. …
Marta remained silent, his cheeks and chin covered with a thick stubble; and he stared at the window. What was in his mind? You who have known him for so long can certainly und
erstand his feelings. The day when we boarded ship, received the blessing of Bishop Dasco and sailed out of the River Tagus was followed by the long terrible journey. Our ship had been visited by thirst and sickness. And why did we endure all this? Why did we make our way to this crumbling town in the Far East?
We priests are in some ways a sad group of men. Born into the world to render service to mankind, there is no one more wretchedly alone than the priest who does not measure up to his task. Marta in particular since our arrival in Goa had a very special devotion to Saint Francis Xavier. Every day, while praying at the shrine of the saint in India, he had prayed that he might go to Japan.
Every day we keep praying that his health may be restored as soon as possible. But he makes no progress. Yet God bestows upon man a better fate than human knowledge could possible think of or devise. Our departure draws near. Only two weeks remain. Perhaps God in his omnipotence will miraculously make all things well.
The repair of the ship is proceeding rapidly. The new boards we put in after the trouble from the white ants make it look completely different. It looks as if the twenty-five sailors that Valignano found for us will bring us to the sea near Japan. These Chinese look thin and wasted like sick men who have not eaten for months; but the power of their wiry hands is incredible. With these thin arms they can lift the heaviest food boxes with ease.
Their arms look like iron pokers. Anyhow, we are only waiting for a suitable wind to set sail.
As for our Japanese, Kichijirō, he mingles with the Chinese sailors, carries baggage and helps with the mending of the sail; but we are missing no chance of watching closely the character of this Japanese upon whom our whole future fate may depend. By now we have come to realize what a cunning fellow he is. And his cunning comes from weakness of character. Listen to what happened the other day. When the eyes of the Chinese overseer were upon him he made a show of working with all his might, but when the overseer went away he immediately began to idle. At first the other sailors said nothing, but at length they were able to put up with it no longer and beat him soundly. That in itself is not too important, but what astonished us was that when he was struck down and severely kicked by three sailors he grew deadly pale and, kneeling on the sand where he had fallen, pleaded for pardon in the most ugly way you could imagine.
