Autumn Wind
September to October 1635
The autumn wind:
for me there are no gods;
there are no buddhas.
—Masaoka Shiki (1867–1902)4
Late September 1635,
Andoryu (Monterey), California
“Red flag! Red flag!” Marina shouted. “Are you all blind, and deaf to boot?”
Her fellow kirishitan were neither, but those in her immediate vicinity were engrossed in a gambling game. She got the gamblers’ attention by kicking sand over the dice.
“Hey, what do you think—”
“Red flag, you fools!”
The gamblers stifled their protest, and looked up toward the lookout tower, perched precariously on the pine-covered point marking the southern end of Monterey Bay. There, two watchers were posted, and one of them was indeed was waving two red flags over his head.
Another was sending smoke signals into the air.
It was now the gamblers’ turn to yell. “Red flag!”
Hearing the commotion, and then seeing the red flags for himself, Sakai Kuroemon, the samurai in charge of the small battery that guarded Andoryu, ordered an ozutsu, a Japanese-made swivel gun, to be fired off.
* * *
On the beach to the east of Andoryu, First-to-Dance turned to her companion, the grand governor’s daughter, Chiyo-hime. “Are we under attack by the Southern Barbarians you told me about?”
Chiyo-hime stifled a laugh. She couldn’t help but wonder what the Spanish reaction would be if they knew that a scantily clothed and illiterate Ohlone Indian had characterized them as “barbarians.” She had never met a Spaniard herself—the Spanish had been banned from entering Japan in 1624, and she had not met any of the missionaries who sneaked in afterward—but Chinese traders had commented on the hauteur of the hidalgos in Manila.
“No, no. The signal gun would have been fired more than once if ships had been sighted. Even friendly ships. They must have sighted a school of sardines.”
* * *
It was true. A school of sardines could be as many as ten million fish. The sardines jerked and splashed about in a way that set up characteristic ripples, evident to a trained observer. In shallow water, the school disturbed the bottom, giving the water a pinkish tint. And the sky above the school held its own clues; seabirds and dolphins treated the horde of sardines as if it were a parade of Osaka street vendors at festival time, selling sushi from their carts.
Three boats had put out to sea. Two were net-boats, amibune, and the giant sardine net, over a hundred fathoms long, was suspended between them. It was heavy, and fifteen men were needed on each amibune to handle it and to maneuver the boat.
The two senior fishermen on the third boat, the tebune, were monitoring the movements of the school and giving orders to the amibune. Once the latter were together, behind the school, the fishermen grunted and heaved.
“There goes Uncle Long Sardine Net,” Marina said to no one in particular. “We’ll eat well tonight.”
With the net cast in the water, the amibune separated, drawing the net into an arc facing the beach.
On the beach, the local headman was leading a prayer to the Virgin Mary, and “the Angel Ebisu.” Herded by the amibune, the sardines continued to head toward the beach, so apparently the Shinto God of Fishermen did not object to his transfer to the Christian Heaven. The prayer thanked the heavenly powers that the waters of Monterey Bay, for most of the year, was well endowed with sardines, and that near their homes there was a beach, with a shallow, smooth sea floor beyond, on which they could operate their beach nets.
As soon as the amibune reached water shallow enough to stand in, the villagers waiting on the beach ran out to them, and the ropes were passed on to their willing hands. All of the residents of Andoryu helped pull the net to the shore, even children, and women with babies tied to their backs. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, First-to-Dance ran to help, leaving a bemused Chiyo-hime and her samurai guard behind.
With the net ropes safely handed over, some of the amibune crew jumped off to help with the hauling, while the rest maneuvered their boats back behind the seine, and beat the water with bamboo poles.
One of them, a young man named Yakichi, grabbed the same rope that First-to-Dance was holding. “Take a step back, now,” he cried. “Keep the tension steady, don’t jerk the line! Step back again, that’s good!”
The villagers whooped when, at last, the vast haul of sardines was safely deposited on the beach, above the high water line. First-to-Dance let go of the rope with a sigh of relief.
“I guess we’ll be having sardines for the evening meal,” Chiyo said to her guard.
“For the next few weeks at least.”
* * *
The Second Fleet had arrived a week earlier, and the tired and hungry passengers, at least, would appreciate the fresh catch.
However, the grand governor, Date Masamune, had no intention of permitting all of the new batch of colonists to settle at Monterey Bay. The fledgling settlements, at modern Monterey, Salinas, Watsonville and Santa Cruz, could absorb only so many new people at a time. The rest would have to move on.
He gave the necessary orders.
* * *
Yakichi bowed politely to Sakai Kuroemon. “You called for me, sir?”
“Yes. You are a younger son. Your brother will one day own your family’s fishing boat, you will at best be one of his crew.”
“I suppose . . .”
“But your headman speaks well of you, and there’s an opportunity. We have a new batch of colonists, who have no knowledge of California. If you would be willing to go with the ones we are sending around the Monterey peninsula, to the place the lord’s scholars call ‘Carmel,’ and teach them how to fish these waters, we can give you some special privileges . . .”
“Please explain, I am quite interested.”
The samurai did so.
“I’m your man,” Yakichi said.
Carmel Bay, California
The ship bearing Yakichi and a contingent of the Second Fleet’s colonists rounded the Point of Pines, and continued around the Monterey peninsula. Its destination was the mouth of the Carmel River, where it would be establishing a han-no han-gyo, a half-farming, half-fishing village.
If Monterey Bay was a fishhook, Carmel Bay was a trident, with the center tine broken off near its base. The center tine was Carmel Point, and was flanked by sandy beaches. But most of the coast, from Cypress Point in the north to Lobos Point in the south, was rocky.
Carmel Point hooked southward, giving some protection to Carmel Beach where the river mingled with the sea. Nonetheless, the skipper hurried the passengers off his ship; the anchorage had a rocky bottom that he didn’t like at all.
The passengers decided to lay out their village, which they named “Maruya” after the Virgin, on a low rise that overlooked the last bend in the Carmel River, a bit over half a mile from the shoreline. As a symbol of their thanks to God for their safe voyage, on the bank of the Carmel they erected a giant cross, twenty feet high, made of native pine.
Maruya/Carmel
The fishermen and samurai of Maruya milled about the Cross of Thanksgiving, erected when the colony was founded a week earlier. An early bird among them had been heading down to where his boat had been left the day before when he noticed something odd about the cross. He walked over for a closer look, then ran back to the village to report.
They had yet to see a single Indian. But there were arrows planted in a circle around the cross, and strings of shells hung on the arms. Were the arrows a challenge, a warning to stay where they were, or a sign of peace, being directed into the ground?
A messenger was sent over the hill country to Andoryu, and from there to the little castle at Kawa Machi/Salinas.
Date Masamune asked First-to-Dance, who had spent the previous winter with the Japanese, and was now the “speaker” for her tribelet, to go to Maruya and advise what the Japanese should do next.
October 1635,
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
The overseer scowled at the new colonists. “You’ve gawked and lazed around long enough, it’s time for you to get to work.
“If you knew how to fish, you’d be down here.” He gestured south, toward the water. “And if you knew how to farm, you’d be out there.” He gestured east. “Jesu help me, you’re a bunch of peddlers and shopkeepers and artisans from Nagasaki and other towns, with no useful skills. Not useful here yet, at any rate.”
He spat. “So permit me to introduce you to your new friends, Father Axe and his brother, Uncle Shovel.”
* * *
Yamaguchi Takuma’s fingers flew, shifting the beads on his abacus, calculating the supplies they would be needing the next day. Occasionally, he glanced at the perspiring laborers. Preparing the ground for a yamashiro, a mountain fortress, in the hills above Santa Cruz, was hard work, and he was glad that he had a skill that freed him from the obligation of manual labor.
One of Date Masamune’s advisors, the old battle-horse Katakura Shigetsuna, had picked the site. It was a long ridge, partially protected by creek gorges. The laborers would clear off the trees and level the ridge; the timber and earth would be used to construct a palisade and rampart.
Takuma had sat in on one meeting in which Shigetsuna explained the project to his foremen and Kodachi Machi’s guard commander, Kanno Shigenari. The site included a small spring, and the water supply could be augmented by building cisterns or digging wells. It was more than a mile from the coast; that distance, plus the elevation, meant that it was safe from bombardment by Spanish warships. The Spanish could drag the guns into firing range, but it would take time, and the Japanese would express their disapproval with their own weapons: cannon, handguns, bows, and even ballistas and catapults. They, at least, didn’t require precious gunpowder.
Given time, the Japanese would strengthen the defenses: add lookout towers, top the walls with thatch or shingles to protect them from the weather; dig trenches for rolling stones down upon the enemy; and turn neighboring hilltops into additional baileys.
Takuma thought it sad to think that the Spanish, who had helped introduce the Christian faith to Japan, might attack the kirishitan of Kodachi Machi. He had, very politely, suggested to Shigetsuna that a large cross be erected on the watch tower, so that if the Spanish came by, they would know that the town was Christian and not shoot at them. Shigetsuna had thanked Takuma for his suggestion, and asked him whether Buddhists ever made war on fellow Buddhists. Takuma had to admit that they did.
But he still thought it might cause the Spanish to hesitate. So why not?
Date Masamune’s Yashiki (Fortified House),
Kawa Machi/Salinas
First-to-Dance was studying her appearance in the mirror that Chiyo had lent her. She wanted to look her best before she met the messenger from Maruya/Carmel. First impressions mattered.
“This is foolish,” said Swims-Like-Seal. He was one of First-to-Dance’s tribesmen, and had been one of the Indian guests at the feast welcoming the Second Fleet.
“Why do you say that?”
“You should be here, with the leader of these strangers—”
“The Guardians of the Dead,” First-to-Dance reminded him.
“If you say so.” Swims-Like-Seal was one of the tribal skeptics, which was probably one of the reasons he had been sent. There was a faction within the tribe that didn’t much like First-to-Dance. “But my point is that you should be with their big chief, the One Eye, bargaining for concessions for our people. Not gallivanting around looking for the people of the south.”
“You don’t understand. I help him, he helps me.”
“Well, don’t be away so long that he forgets that you’re out there helping him.”
* * *
First-to-Dance hadn’t yet learned how to ride a horse. The only horses in America were those brought by the Europeans, or now, by the Japanese. She would have been happy to walk to Maruya/Carmel but her escort insisted that this wasn’t dignified enough for one traveling in an official capacity, she must either ride a horse or be carried by bearers in a palanquin.
“Please . . . wait . . . a moment . . . First-to-Dance!” It was Shigetsuna, huffing and puffing.
She stopped what she was doing, and bowed. Both the Indians and the Japanese agreed on the importance of showing respect for one’s elders.
“How may I help you, Wise One?”
“One of the presents you gave to us upon your return was a red face pigment. Where does that come from?”
“It’s a soft red rock, it comes from a ridge that lies halfway between here and the Sea of Tule.” Tule was the bullrush that grew in the swampland of the southern end of San Francisco Bay. “We trade for it, or sometimes our people go there to collect it ourselves.”
“I see,” said Shigetsuna. “And which tribe controls it?”
“Controls? I don’t understand. . . .”
“In which tribe’s land does it lie?”
“It moves.”
“Moves? The land moves?”
She pursed her lips. “So sorry, I am not clear. The red-earth-place doesn’t move. Sometimes it is part of the land of the Awaswas, sometimes of the Mutsun, sometimes of the Tamyen.”
“Ah, I understand. It lies between their villages. And can you draw me a picture in the sand that shows the way?”
“I can’t, but Swims-Like-Seal has been there.” She spoke with him rapidly. “Yes, he can draw you a picture.”
“I would like that. In fact, it would be even better if he could lead some of our samurai there. He would be well rewarded.”
There was a quick negotiation, with First-to-Dance interpreting, and Swims-Like-Seal agreed to the terms.
First-to-Dance’s escort helped Shigetsuna mount his horse, and then Swims-Like-Seal got up behind him. This was possible only because the horse was one of the European horses that the Dutch-Japanese invasion force had captured from the Spanish in Manila. The Japanese captors preferred the smaller Japanese breed they were accustomed to, and so Date Masamune had acquired European horses at a bargain price.
“Forget the palanquin,” said First-to-Dance to her escort, eyeing his waist. “I’ll double up with you.”
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
“Hiraki, where is your grandfather?” asked Yamaguchi Takuma. “It’s almost time to eat.”
The nine-year-old looked up. “He went off looking for herbs.”
“Yesterday,” his mother Mizuki volunteered, “he was chortling about some plant he found in the scrubland out to the west. You know, that field that was partially cleared last year. I bet he’s out there again.”
“Should I send Hiraki to fetch him?”
“Let him enjoy himself; he’s retired after all. I’ll give him some rice-gruel when he comes in.”
Maruya/Carmel
“So, you are our native expert,” said Toshiro Kanesada. He put a slight stress on the word “native” that First-to-Dance didn’t like. It was a pity, because otherwise First-to-Dance thought that there was plenty to like about him. He was well-muscled without overdoing it, and taller than most of the Japanese. And he moved like a mountain cat.
“I think we can handle the matter on our own.”
Chiyo had warned First-to-Dance that Kanesada might be a bit resentful of her presence. Kanesada had once been an up-and-coming member of the guard of Honda Masazumi, the lord of Utsunomiya. But in 1622, Masazumi rebuilt a castle without the shogun’s permission. He lost his fief and was sent into exile, and of course all his samurai, including Kanesada, became ronin. It was very difficult for a ronin to become a retainer once more, but the assembly of the First Fleet had created that opportunity.
Kanesada had recently transferred to the small garrison at Maruya/Carmel, becoming its commander. He had put in for the transfer after the ritual suicide of his friend, Hosoya Jinbei.
“I am just here to help prevent misunderstandings,” said First-to-Dance. “The grand governor told me, when I last dined with him, that he has great faith in your abilities.” Thus simultaneously buttering Kanesada up, and putting him in his place.
* * *
First-to-Dance carefully inspected the Indian artifacts that had been placed in the vicinity of the Maruyans’ cross. She jiggled the shells, and felt the feathers on the arrow shafts. The Maruyan headman and Lieutenant Kanesada watched her.
“Is this going to take all day?” Kanesada asked.
She ignored him. At last she announced, “this is mostly a peaceful offering, made by the Ixchenta. They live on the other side of this river, near the mouth.”
“Why do you say, ‘mostly’?”
She frowned. “Putting an arrow into the ground is a sign of peaceful intent. But using so many arrows seems to me to also be a veiled threat, ‘we are many, we have arrows to spare, so don’t mess with us.’”
“What do you think we should do next?” asked the headman.
“Set out gifts for them.”
Kanesada agreed. Without discussing it with First-to-Dance, he also placed a samurai in hiding, to spy on the Indians when they came and report back how many there were, their weapons, their state of health, and so on.
One day, the gifts vanished.
The samurai watchman never saw the Indians, coming or going.
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
Yamaguchi Takuma stood outside his home, and greeted his guest. His guest, in turn, bowed and handed over a present, medicine in a clamshell.
“What an honor!” cried Takuma. “I could hardly believe it when I saw you come off the ship. Up to now, we have only had a doshiki, and a few confraternity leaders like myself, to serve the religious needs of a community of over a thousand Christians. But now we have you, a Franciscan brother! Trained in a seminary in Manila, no less!”
Friar Franciscus Tanaka put a finger to his lips. “I would prefer that you say nothing of the matter until the ships leave . . .”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“Don’t you?” The friar stared at him. “Haven’t you wondered why there are no priests among you, or among us new arrivals?”
“I assumed that it was because none of the Japanese-born priests had come out of hiding yet.”
“No, no, there was one; from Nagasaki. And was he sent to Monterey Bay, with the other kirishitan from Nagasaki? No. He wasn’t even placed on the same ship. His ship parted from us early, going somewhere far to the north.
“Plainly, this grand governor doesn’t want the kirishitan of Monterey Bay to have a priest. And if gambling weren’t sinful, I would wager that if I had let the inspectors know that I was consecrated as a friar, I bet I would be shivering somewhere up north, too. Because the grand governor doesn’t want us ‘corrupting’ his precious samurai.”
At least the grand governor’s samurai aren’t hanging us upside-down in a pit of shit, thought Takuma. But rather than say so, he bowed deeply and ushered Friar Franciscus Tanaka into the zashiki, the most formal room of the house. It was the only room whose floor was completely covered with tatami mats, no doubt brought to California from Japan. Their presence marked the Yamaguchi family as being one of quite prosperous commoners before their journey into exile; even a century ago, only samurai dwellings would have had them.
* * *
In the zashiki, the friar was invited to sit with his back to the tokonoma. This was the kamiza, the “top seat.” It would, after all, be gauche to force the guest of honor to view the contents of that alcove: a picture scroll from home, and a bouquet of native flowers.
Franciscus started to murmur some obligatory words of gratitude for the honor bestowed upon him, when the words caught in his throat. An unmistakable butsudan—a Buddhist altar—sat on a cabinet on one side of the room. The doors were closed, but Franciscus knew what would be inside.
No doubt it was necessary to have a butsudan back in Nippon, during the decades of persecution. The authorities might at any time search a home for signs of christian worship, and, failing to find such, still find it suspicious if there were no signs of proper obeisance to the buddhas and kamis. But why would it be brought here, where Christianity was legal?
He sniffed the air. No . . . yes. . . . There was a taint of incense. Incense sticks had been burned here, probably this very day. Probably in front of an ihai, a spirit tablet, now safely stored in the butsudan.
“Is something wrong, Brother Franciscus?” asked Takuma.
Franciscus wanted to rail at him and his wife, but this was not the time. Not when he was a guest at their home. But it horrified him to find a a butsudan in the home of a mizukata, an elected baptizer for a Christian community.
His gaze rose to scrutinize the ceiling, especially above the doors to adjoining rooms. Well, at least they hadn’t compounded their heresies by putting a kamidama, a Shinto shrine, between the crossbeams.
He breathed in and out slowly. “No,” said Franciscus, “nothing is wrong.”
Maruya/Carmel
The first arrow lodged in the straw canopy that shaded the fishing boat.
“Did you hear something?” Yakichi said sharply to his companion, Sakuzo. Thanks to his deal with the authorities, Yakichi had been able to borrow the money for a part-share in Sakuzo’s boat, brought over from Japan.
The second arrow just missed Sakuzo’s head, and only because he happened to lean over the gunwale to look for fish at the key moment.
“Fuck! We’re being shot at!” Yakichi shouted. “Keep down,” he added, and took his own advice.
They were, at the time, about a mile north of the mouth of the Carmel River, about two hundred yards away from Carmel Beach.
They hastily turned the boat toward the open sea, which both made the boat a smaller target, and also allowed them to quickly open up the range. After some frantic paddling, they turned once more to parallel the shore. Very cautiously they made for the river mouth.
As soon as they saw the village women standing in the shallows of the river, washing clothes by kicking them about with their feet, they started yelling for them to run to the fort and alert the soldiers.
* * *
“Where is First-to-Dance?” Kanesada demanded.
The sentry gawked at him. “I think . . . I think she said she was going off to gather berries, sir.”
“We can’t wait for her. Sound assembly! For both the guard and the militia!”
“The militia is responsible for village defense, I am leaving four guardsmen on foot to assist them. The rest of us will ride a sweep to the north, to where the shooting occurred.”
Kanesada swung himself into the saddle, and his fellow patrollers followed suit. They rode perhaps two miles, through meadows and open woods, without spotting any Indians.
This is a waste of time, Kanesada decided. By now, they are back in their village, congratulating themselves on giving us a scare. Well, I’ll give them a scare.
“Back the way we came!”
They rode back, and this time, they crossed the Carmel River. It was still low water; the winter rains hadn’t yet begun. He knew, from conversations with First-to-Dance, where the Indian camp was mostly likely to be; it would be positioned near a place convenient for catching the salmon running down the Carmel.
The Indians weren’t accustomed to horses, and therefore they reacted by fleeing or hiding, rather than fighting. Hiding, however, was not a good idea, as the Indians didn’t have time for stealth, or for hiding the signs of their passage. Two women and a child were taken prisoner, and brought back, tied to spare ponies, to serve as hostages.
As he and his men rode back through the gate of the Maruya fort, Kanesada felt quite pleased with himself.
* * *
“Are you sure that these are the same Indians that attacked your fishermen?” First-to-Dance demanded.
“Not these individuals, of course, but their tribe,” said Kanesada. “Their camp was only a few miles away from where the shooting occurred, so who else could it be? And we hold the entire tribe responsible for the actions of any of its members.” Japanese law included the principle of collective responsibility.
“May I see the arrows that were fired at the fishermen, please?”
Fortunately, the fishermen had pulled them out of their boat and brought them to the fort, as proof that they had been attacked, and weren’t malingering. First-to-Dance studied them carefully, her brows narrowing as she did so.
“What happened to the arrows that were left in the ground by our Cross?”
“The headman has them. He kept them as souvenirs.”
“Please have him bring them here.”
In due course, she laid them out, one next to the other, on the floor. She set the two new arrows a foot or so away from the old ones, close enough to make comparisons, far enough away to avoid accidentally mixing the two groups.
She looked up at Kanesada. “As I feared, they are not from the same tribe.”
“How do you know?”
“The way they are painted is different.”
“Wouldn’t that just mean that they were made by different Indians of the same tribe? So they’d know who made a kill?”
“Yes and no. The old ones were made by three different makers, and the new ones by two others. But on the butt ends, the old ones all use two colors, and new ones just one. That tells me that the new ones are from a smaller tribe than the old ones; they needed fewer colors to tell whose was whose.
“And look at the patterns. All of the old ones have eight painted short bands and then a long one, in alternating colors. The new ones both have two long bands, with an unpainted gap in-between.”
Kanesada took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “All right, I’ll have you question the hostages. See what they say about these arrows.”
* * *
The hostages were a disconsolate heap of misery on the floor of the gathering hall of the Japanese village, their hands and feet tied, a guard watching their every move. Not that they could move much. Their eyes were downcast, but they looked up when First-to-Dance spoke to them, and showed them the arrows.
First-to-Dance translated. “They say that their people, the Ixchenta, had nothing to do with this attack. They say that the arrows are made by the Achista, who live to the north, and are their enemies.
“Why, they say, have you attacked them? Did they not welcome you? Have they not let you catch salmon in the river that their grandfather’s grandfather fished in?”
Kanesada stared at her, then dropped his gaze. “I have failed my lord. I have made enemies of our friends, and our real enemies are laughing at us. I must make amends.”
He gave orders for finer food and drink to be brought for the hostages, and presents too, from his own belongings.
“Tell them that I apologize for my mistake, and that I will set them free as soon as I have given them gifts to make up for the deed.” First-to-Dance did so.
“No,” said Kanesada, “that’s not enough. I must atone . . . personally.”
First-to-Dance looked at him, in horrified surmise. “Please, no, Kanesada-san!” First-to-Dance had seen Jinbei’s body, shortly after his ritual suicide, and Chiyo-hime had described to her, in morbid detail, what was involved. “Lord Masamune has absolutely forbidden seppuku without his prior written permission!”
Kanesada’s shoulder slumped. “So I must endure the shame.”
“Is there nothing else you can do, to satisfy your honor, that is less . . . permanent?”
Kanesada looked at the headman, who had been a silent witness of the conversation with the Ichxenta Indians. “Do you have a muchi?” The headman nodded uncertainly. The muchi was a scourge, a piece of bamboo to which barbed thongs were attached. “Please bring it to me,” Kanesada ordered.
As he waited for the headman to return, Kanesada laid down his swords, and undid the top half of his hitatare, letting it hang down from his obi-sash. First-to-Dance couldn’t help but admire the view.
Kanesada swung the wicked looking muchi back over his shoulder, whipping those barbs deep into his flesh. First-to-Dance flinched.
After giving himself twenty lashes, Kanesada handed the muchi back to the headman, bowed to the Indians, and said, “tell them they are free to go.” He gathered up his swords and left the room, upper body still bare.
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
Hiraki bowed to his parents. “Will grandfather be all right?”
Takuma and Mizuki exchanged glances. “The headman has sent a mounted messenger to Kawa Machi, to ask that Ihaku-sama come and see him,” Takuma told him. “He is a very great physician from Kyoto. He treated the big merchants, and the samurai, and even the cloud-dwellers.” The last was the poetic name given to the kuge, the court nobles. They didn’t pay well, but the prestige of administering to the court did attract a snobbish clientele that had money.
“Once, he was permitted to reach between curtains and touch the emperor’s toe!” Mizuki added. That was, of course, the emperor Go-Mizunoo, who renounced the throne in 1629, as part of the political fallout from the “Purple Clothes Incident” two years earlier. “And yet, after the ‘America’ Edict, he revealed himself to be a kirishitan. Think of what he has sacrificed for the faith. How can he fail, being so knowledgeable and yet so holy?”
* * *
At last, Ihaku arrived, together with his apprentice. At the entrance, he carefully set down the katana that, as a doctor, he was permitted to carry.
Mizuki greeted them and led them to her father-in-law’s bedside.
“Daizo, tell me about your illness.” Daizo mumbled something, eyes closed. “Daizo?”
Ihaku turned to Mizuki. “When did he first become sick?”
“About three days ago he complained of a headache,” said Mizuki. “I felt his forehead and it was hot to the touch. Yesterday he was nauseous, his tummy hurt, and he vomited several times that night. Today he was listless, and I noticed that he had a rash on his palms, wrists, soles and ankles. He says his calves are aching, too.”
Ihaku felt old Daizo’s forehead, and motioned for his apprentice to do the same. Ihaku looked at him. “What is your diagnosis?”
“Mine?”
“Is there another apprentice in the room?”
“There is excess of both dampness and heat.” Meaning, diarrhea and fever.
“And what is the proper treatment?”
“We must cool the blood with Qin-Wen-Bai-Du, and dry the digestion with Huo Xiang Zheng Qi Wan. As for the head and muscle aches, moxibustion would be best.” That involved applying mugwort to a patient’s skin, near appropriate acupuncture points, and burning it. “But I think we have run out, Ihaku-sensei.”
“Mugwort?” asked Mizuki. “Daizo-san said he found some, or at least a plant like it. I’ll fetch it.” She came back with some California mugwort. “He found it a week or two ago.”
Ihaku rubbed it on his own skin, then sniffed it. “I think this will do.
“I am getting too old for this traipsing about, especially in this alien land,” he told his apprentice. “Perhaps you should stay here and be their resident physician.”
“I am not worthy.”
“When I am dead, you will have to be worthy.”
Maruya/Carmel
“I think I must tender my resignation as commander,” said Kanesada.
“Don’t be foolish,” First-to-Dance replied; “that was a stroke of genius.”
“What, attacking the wrong Indians?”
“No, that was stupid. I meant, scourging yourself.”
“I did it because it’s what the Christians do as penance for sins.”
“Well, that sort of ‘self-sacrifice’ is what shamans do. The Indians went home thinking that you are a powerful medicine man. They will go out of their way to please you, I think.”
Kanesada’s eyebrows twitched, ever so slightly. And then he smiled, so evanescently that First-to-Dance wondered whether she had imagined it. “I suppose I can wait and see how matters unfold. I can always resign next month, if need be.”
First-to-Dance wondered what she might do to persuade Kanesada to smile some more.
Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz
Hiraki suddenly poked his head through the sliding door. “Grandfather wants you, Poppa.”
Takuma walked, first quickly and then slowly, to Daizo’s sickroom.
He was astonished to find his grandfather chanting “Namu Amida Butsu.” This was the the nembutsu, the ticket to Amida’s Western Paradise for the followers of “Pure Land” Buddhism.
“Father! Have you forsaken Our Lord Jesu?”
“Oh no,” said Daizo weakly. “Look!” He held out his rosary beads. “I prayed in the Christian manner first. But what if Deusu refuses to have mercy on my soul? For more than half my life, I was proud, and greedy, and lustful. I pray to Amida Buddha so I can go to the Pure Land if I am not found worthy of Heaven.”
Takuma couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Always trying to hedge your bets, Father.”
“It’s good business sense. Hmm. While you’re at it, make sure to have an ihai made for me.”
The ihai was a memorial tablet; the family would pray before it during the Forty-Nine Days of Judgment, in which the fate of the new soul was decided. That is, which heaven, if any, it would go to, and if it were sent to jigoku—the Buddhist hell—how many millennia it would remain there. Pure Land Buddhists didn’t rely on ihai; they thought that faith in Amida Buddha was sufficient for them to be reborn directly to Paradise.
The early Christian converts burnt their family ihai, but this was construed as evidence that the Christian church did not believe in filial piety, leading to official displeasure. The Jesuits decided to tolerate ancestor veneration as a secular practice; the Franciscans, Dominicans, and Augustinians, whose missionaries began coming to Japan in 1602, vehemently disagreed. For the kirishitan, it had all been very confusing.
“My illness has reminded me of how close I am to passage to the other side,” said Daizo.
“Don’t speak that way, Father. Your fever has gone down; soon you’ll feel yourself again.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But the next time, Death may take me suddenly by the throat, and deny me the opportunity to say what I must. We need to talk about the division of my property, and the future of our family.”
And so they spoke. Then Daizo said, “My throat is dry, bring me some sake.”
“The doctor said, ‘no strong drink.’”
“And if I die tomorrow, nonetheless, would you want your memory burdened by the thought that you had denied me one last pleasure?”
Takuma brought him the sake.
* * *
But the fever returned, and the rash continued to spread, until it covered his entire body. Each day, Daizo seemed less and less aware of his surroundings. He also complained about there being too much light in sick room. Three days after Ihaku’s visit, Daizo took a sharp turn for the worse. He was short of breath all day, and awoke several times that night, gasping for air. In the morning, Takuma couldn’t help but notice how swollen Daizo’s legs and abdomen had become. Takuma sent for Dr. Ihaku once more.
Ihaku returned, and then motioned Takuma out of the sickroom. He slid the door shut and whispered, “I am sorry. He has less than one chance in ten thousand of living.” The physician’s shoulders slumped, ever so slightly. “There is nothing I can do, other than join you in prayer.”
The next day, Daizo was dead.
* * *
The ojiyaku had arrived at the cemetery. His title literally meant “the grandfather official,” he was the leader of the local chapter of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a Jesuit confraternity. As such, he outranked Takuma, who was merely a mizukata, a baptizer.
The ojiyaku held up a candle and slowly and reverently drew two strokes in the air with it, one vertical, the other horizontal. Then he lit it and blew it out, three times in succession, and each time cried, “The way is open!” He lit it a fourth time and placed it down beside the corpse of Daizo, the revered father of Yamaguchi Takuma. Hiraki held his mother’s hand.
He very carefully took out of a bag a small porcelain flask, kissed it, and removed the stopper. Inside was a small quantity of holy water. It was an extremely precious commodity in California. Since there were no priests to bless water locally, it had to be blessed by the imprisoned missionaries back home, and then shipped across the Pacific. The shogunate charged dearly for it. The First Fleet had nearly run out of its entire supply, but fortunately more had been brought over by the Second Fleet.
The ojiyaku dipped a piece of bamboo into the flask and then used it to sprinkle a few drops over the deceased. The mourners then joined him in prayer. They prayed that the man’s soul would go to heaven, and they prayed that the deceased’s ghost would not wander during the first forty-nine days after death, when it was most dangerous to the living.
At last, came the final “Amen!” The ojiyaku put an omaburi, a paper cross, into the deceased’s right ear, and then motioned for the coffin to be closed. There was, of course, a cross incised into the lid. Several strong men grabbed hold of the coffin handles and delicately lowered it into the grave.
The ojiyaku was handed a shovel, and he thrust its blade into the earth. He lifted, and upended the first, ceremonial dirtful onto the coffin. Then he handed the shovel to one of the younger men, and the grave was soon filled in.
Ninth Month, 13th day (October 23, 1635)
There was a long, slow procession to the cemetery outside the town. The colonists placed flowers and lit candles on the graves, and then sat down on the grass nearby and opened their picnic baskets. They spent most of the day “visiting” with (and sometimes toasting) the dead.
Their serenity was disturbed by the arrival of Franciscus and his followers, some of whom looked as though they had been doing some drinking of their own.
“Are you good Christians?” he asked the mourners. “It is good to pray, in church, for the reduction of the departed’s time in Purgatory. But I think that some of you have gone beyond that. How many of you keep ihai in your homes? Do you burn incense and kowtow to them, as if their souls were enshrined in them? Do you pray to your ancestors, asking them to aid you, as if they were the demons who masquerade back in Nippon as buddhas and kamis? Do you have butsudan or kamidana in your homes?
“If you have done any of those things, then you are not Christians at all, you are apostates. You should be denied all communions of the Church and when you die, you will go to Hell for all eternity.”
There was a stunned silence. It was Otomurai, the day for remembering those recently dead, and praying that if they were in purgatory, that their souls would quickly pass into heaven. Before Christianity was banned in Japan, there would have been a mass in church, at least in those towns that had a church. But a mass could only be celebrated with a priest. Now, the kirishitan had to make do with Otomurai, itself a fractured memory of the Catholic All Souls’ Day. To the mourners, there was nothing un-Christian about what they were doing.
Yamaguchi Takuma tried to intercede. “Please, Brother Franciscus, you are disturbing the harmony of the occasion. Let us have the leaders of the confraternities meet with you to discuss your concerns, and we—”
“Why should I consult with you? Are you my equals in Christian learning? I studied the faith in a seminary in Manila. You had what, ten days instruction in the catechisms, spread over as many years?
“And as for you, Takuma, you are one of the big offenders! You have a butsudan, wreathed in incense. Why, I think your father’s death is divine punishment for your family’s sins!”
Takuma’s eyes widened. “How dare you!”
“To Takuma’s house,” Franciscus shouted. “Smash the butsudan, burn the ihai! Set an example for the community; no backsliding is to be tolerated.”
Takuma tried to block them, but was knocked down. But Franciscus and his followers didn’t get very far, as Takuma’s friends slammed into them.
Some minutes later, the brawl still going strong, the samurai arrived, and trussed up everyone still standing. Katakura Shigetsuna and David Date came and questioned everyone; Takuma and his friends were released, with warnings and fines, and Franciscus and his supporters were sent to Date Masamune for judgment.
* * *
Date Masamune cleared his throat. “Ahem. Herald, please remind everyone present of the text of clause five of the Edict of Kan’ei 11 concerning the kirishitan.”
The obugyô bowed, took a deep breath, and began reciting it from memory: “‘In order to be permitted to go to New Nippon, they must take oath, on pain of eternal punishment by the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, as well as by Saint Mary and all Angels and Saints—”
“Skip to part (c), please,” Masamune interjected.
“Ahem, ‘(c) they will not oppress the worshipers of the buddhas and kamis, or the followers of Confucius, in that land, or prevent any Christian from renouncing that faith and returning to any of the traditional religions of Nippon.’”
Masamune stared at each of the prisoners in turn. “You took that oath?”
They inclined their heads.
“Say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ please; you were quick enough to speak earlier.”
“Yes, milord,” they chorused. Franciscus tried to justify his actions, but didn’t get far. “But—” A guardsman silenced him with a heavy slap against the side of his head. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“And, Herald, what says clause two of the Black Seal Edict concerning New Nippon?”
“‘Within the province of New Nippon, freedom of worship is permitted, provided that it does not disturb public harmony.’”
Masamune said nothing for a whole minute. Naturally, no one else dared break the silence. Finally, he pronounced his judgment. “Prisoners, you are oath-breakers and law-breakers. I could have you beheaded here and now. I could crucify you, or burn you at the stake. I could have you bound and thrown into the sea, or left as chew toys in front of a bear den. Moreover, under the doctrine of collective responsibility, I could punish every member of your families, to the same or a lesser degree.
“However, I have decided that the most appropriate punishment for you is internal exile. Our Indian friends have shown our scholars the rock from which they make their red body paint. It’s tansha, which our Dutch call cinnabar. The Dutch are willing to pay handsomely for it, our Indians are going to lead us to the site, and you are going to do the mining.”
The cinnabar deposit he had in mind was New Almaden, in modern Santa Clara County, named by the Spanish colonists of the old time line California after the Almaden mine in Spain. One of the Spanish missionaries that once came to Japan could have warned the prisoners that this sentence wasn’t much of an improvement on beheading. The mine of old Almaden doubled as a penal institution, and one out of four of its prisoners died of mercury poisoning before their scheduled release dates.
“Assuming you cooperate with the soldiers and overseers I send along, I will permit you to worship there as you think best.
“And may your God have mercy upon you.”
Maruya/Carmel
“Well, Kanesada-dear, I have good news and bad news,” said First-to-Dance. “Which do you want first?”
He didn’t object to the familiar use of his first name. They were in private, and, the day before, he had joined First-to-Dance on one of her berry-picking expeditions. Just the two of them.
“The good news, I guess.”
“Relations with the Ixchenta couldn’t be better. They appreciated your pushing back the Achista to the far end of the cape, and they are still talking about what a powerful magician you are.
“In fact, I just found out that only a week after your scourging, a whale was stranded on the coast near their main village, and many of the Ixchenta are sure that it was the result of your magic. They called the ship that you and your colonists came in ‘the whale with wings,’ and they say ‘the blood of the Great Witch Doctor of the Waters calls to the creatures of the sea.’”
“What’s the bad news?”
“They’ve finished eating the carcass and they want you to do it again.”