Shōgun

by James Clavell

  Toranaga sat down in the center of the room, breathing easily. Immediately Rako sped forward to fan him and the others ran for his kimono. But Toranaga pushed his own kimono toward Blackthorne and took the simple kimono instead.

  Mariko said, “My Master says that he would be pleased for you to accept this as a gift.” She added, “Here it would be considered a great honor to be given even a very old kimono by one’s liege lord.”

  “Arigato goziemashita, Toranaga-sama.” Blackthorne bowed low, then said to Mariko, “Yes, I understand the honor he does to me, Mariko-san. Please thank Lord Toranaga with the correct formal words that I unfortunately do not yet know, and tell him I will treasure it and, even more, the honor that he did me in dancing my dance with me.”

  Toranaga was even more pleased.

  With reverence, Kiri and the servant girls helped Blackthorne into their master’s kimono and showed Blackthorne how to tie the sash. The kimono was brown silk with the five scarlet crests, the sash white silk.

  “Lord Toranaga says he enjoyed the dance. One day he will perhaps show you some of ours. He would like you to learn to speak Japanese as quickly as possible.”

  “I’d like that too.” But even more, Blackthorne thought, I’d like to be in my own clothes, eating my own food in my own cabin in my own ship with my cannon primed, pistols in my belt, and the quarterdeck tilted under a press of sails. “Would you ask Lord Toranaga when I can have my ship back?”

  “Senhor?”

  “My ship, senhora. Please ask him when I can get my ship back. My crew, too. All her cargo’s been removed—there were twenty thousand pieces of eight in the strongbox. I’m sure he’ll understand that we’re merchants, and though we appreciate his hospitality, we’d like to trade—with the goods we brought with us—and move on homeward. It’ll take us almost eighteen months to get home.”

  “My Master says you have no need to be concerned. Everything will be done as soon as possible. You must first become strong and healthy. You’re leaving at dusk.”

  “Senhora?”

  “Lord Toranaga said you were to leave at dusk, senhor. Did I say it wrongly?”

  “No, no, not at all, Mariko-san. But an hour or so ago you told me I’d be leaving in a few days.”

  “Yes, but now he says you will leave tonight.” She translated all this to Toranaga, who replied again.

  “My Master says it’s better and more convenient for you to go tonight. There is no need to worry, Anjin-san, you are in his personal care. He is sending the Lady Kiritsubo to Yedo to prepare for his return. You will go with her.”

  “Please thank him for me. Is it possible—may I ask if it would be possible to release Friar Domingo? The man has a great deal of knowledge.”

  She translated this.

  “My Master says, so sorry, the man is dead. He sent for him immediately you asked yesterday but he was already dead.”

  Blackthorne was dismayed. “How did he die?”

  “My Master says he died when his name was called out.”

  “Oh! Poor man.”

  “My Master says, death and life are the same thing. The priest’s soul will wait until the fortieth day and then it will be reborn again. Why be sad? This is the immutable law of nature.” She began to say something but changed her mind, adding only, “Buddhists believe that we have many births or rebirths, Anjin-san. Until at length we become perfect and reach nirvana—heaven.”

  Blackthorne put off his sadness for the moment and concentrated on Toranaga and the present. “May I please ask him if my crew—” He stopped as Toranaga glanced away. A young samurai came hurriedly into the room, bowed to Toranaga, and waited.

  Toranaga said, “Nan ja?”

  Blackthorne understood none of what was said except he thought he caught Father Alvito’s nickname “Tsukku.” He saw Toranaga’s eyes flick across to him and noted the glimmer of a smile, and he wondered if Toranaga had sent for the priest because of what he had told him. I hope so, he thought, and I hope Alvito’s in the muck up to his nostrils. Is he or isn’t he? Blackthorne decided not to ask Toranaga though he was tempted greatly.

  “Kare ni matsu yoni,” Toranaga said curtly.

  “Gyoi.” The samurai bowed and hurried away. Toranaga turned back to Blackthorne. “Nan ja, Anjin-san?”

  “You were saying, Captain?” Mariko said. “About your crew?”

  “Yes. Can Toranaga-sama take them under his protection too? See that they’re well cared for? Will they be sent to Yedo too?”

  She asked him. Toranaga stuck his swords in the belt of the short kimono. “My Master says of course their arrangements have already been made. You need have no concern over them. Or over your ship.”

  “My ship is all right? She’s taken care of?”

  “Yes. He says the ship is already at Yedo.”

  Toranaga got up. Everyone began to bow but Blackthorne broke in unexpectedly. “One last thing—” He stopped and cursed himself, realizing that he was being discourteous. Toranaga had clearly terminated the interview and they had all begun to bow but had been stopped by Blackthorne’s words and now they were all nonplussed, not knowing whether to complete their bows or to wait, or to start again.

  “Nan ja, Anjin-san?” Toranaga’s voice was brittle and unfriendly, for he too had been momentarily thrown off balance.

  “Gomen nasai, I’m sorry, Toranaga-sama. I didn’t wish to be impolite. I just wanted to ask if the Lady Mariko would be allowed to talk with me for a few moments before I go? It would help me.”

  She asked him.

  Toranaga merely grunted an imperious affirmative and walked out, followed by Kiri and his personal guards.

  Touchy bastards, all of you, Blackthorne said to himself. Jesus God, you’ve got to be so careful here. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and saw the immediate distress on Mariko’s face. Rako hurriedly proffered a small kerchief that they always seemed to have ready from a seemingly inexhaustible supply, tucked secretly somewhere into the back of their obis. Then he realized that he was wearing “the Master’s” kimono and that you don’t, obviously, wipe your sweaty forehead with “the Master’s” sleeve, by God, so you’ve committed another blasphemy! I’ll never learn, never—Jesus God in Heaven—never!

  “Anjin-san?” Rako was offering some saké.

  He thanked her and drank it down. Immediately she refilled it. He noticed a sheen of perspiration on all their foreheads.

  “Gomen nasai,” he said to all of them, apologizing, and he took the cup and offered it to Mariko with good humor. “I don’t know if it’s a polite custom or not, but would you like some saké? Is that allowed? Or do I have to bang my head on the floor?”

  She laughed. “Oh yes, it is quite polite and no, please don’t hurt your head. There’s no need to apologize to me, Captain. Men don’t apologize to ladies. Whatever they do is correct. At least, that is what we ladies believe.” She explained what she had said to the girls and they nodded as gravely but their eyes were dancing. “You had no way of knowing, Anjin-san,” Mariko continued, then took a tiny sip of the saké and gave him back the cup. “Thank you, but no, I won’t have any more saké, thank you. Saké goes straight to my head and to my knees. But you learn quickly—it must be very hard for you. Don’t worry, Anjin-san, Lord Toranaga told me that he found your aptitude exceptional. He would never have given you his kimono if he wasn’t most pleased.”

  “Did he send for Tsukku-san?”

  “Father Alvito?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should have asked him, Captain. He did not tell me. In that he would be quite wise, for women don’t have wisdom or knowledge in political things.”

  “Ah, so desu ka? I wish all our women were equally—wise.”

  Mariko fanned herself, kneeling comfortably, her legs curled under her. “Your dance was very excellent, Anjin-san. Do your ladies dance the same way?”

  “No. Just the men. That was a man’s dance, a sailor’s dance.”

  “Since yo
u wish to ask me questions, may I ask you some first?”

  “Certainly.”

  “What is the lady, your wife, like?”

  “She’s twenty-nine. Tall compared with you. By our measurements, I’m six feet two inches, she’s about five feet eight inches, you’re about five feet, so she’d be a head taller than you and equally bigger—equally proportioned. Her hair’s the color of …” He pointed at the unstained polished cedar beams and all their eyes went there, then came back to him again. “About that color. Fair with a touch of red. Her eyes are blue, much bluer than mine, blue-green. She wears her hair long and flowing most of the time.”

  Mariko interpreted this for the others and they all sucked in their breaths, looked at the cedar beams, back to him once more, the samurai guards also listening intently. A question from Rako.

  “Rako-san asks if she is the same as us in her body?”

  “Yes. But her hips would be larger and more curved, her waist more pronounced and—well, generally our women are more rounded and have much heavier breasts.”

  “Are all your women—and men—so much taller than us?”

  “Generally yes. But some of our people are as small as you. I think your smallness delightful. Very pleasing.”

  Asa asked something and all their interests quickened.

  “Asa asks, in matters of the pillow, how would you compare your women with ours?”

  “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, please excuse me. The pillow—in intimate matters. Pillowing’s our way of referring to the physical joining of man and woman. It’s more polite than fornication, neh?”

  Blackthorne squelched his embarrassment and said, “I’ve, er, I’ve only had one, er, pillow experience here—that was, er, in the village—and I don’t remember it too clearly because, er, I was so exhausted by our voyage that I was half dreaming and half awake. But it, er, seemed to me to be very satisfactory.”

  Mariko frowned. “You’ve pillowed only once since you arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be feeling very constricted, neh? One of these ladies would be delighted to pillow with you, Anjin-san. Or all of them, if you wish.”

  “Eh?”

  “Certainly. If you don’t want one of them, there’s no need to worry, they’d certainly not be offended. Just tell me the sort of lady you’d like and we’ll make all the arrangements.”

  “Thank you,” Blackthorne said. “But not now.”

  “Are you sure? Please excuse me, but Kiritsubo-san has given specific instructions that your health is to be protected and improved. How can you be healthy without pillowing? It’s very important for a man, neh? Oh, very yes.”

  “Thank you, but I’m—perhaps later.”

  “You’d have plenty of time. I would be glad to come back later. There will be plenty of time to talk, if you wish. You’d have at least four sticks of time,” she said helpfully. “You don’t have to leave until sunset.”

  “Thanks. But not now,” Blackthorne said, flattened by the bluntness and lack of delicacy of the suggestion.

  “They’d really like to accommodate you, Anjin-san. Oh! Perhaps—perhaps you would prefer a boy?”

  “Eh?”

  “A boy. It’s just as simple if that’s what you wish.” Her smile was guileless, her voice matter-of-fact.

  “Eh?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Are you seriously offering me a boy?”

  “Why, yes, Anjin-san. What’s the matter? I only said we’d send a boy here if you wished it.”

  “I don’t wish it!” Blackthorne felt the blood in his face. “Do I look like a God-cursed sodomite?”

  His words slashed around the room. They all stared at him transfixed. Mariko bowed abjectly, kept her head to the floor. “Please forgive me, I’ve made a terrible error. Oh, I’ve offended where I was only trying to please. I’ve never talked to a—to a foreigner other than one of the Holy Fathers before, so I’ve no way of knowing your—your intimate customs. I was never taught about them, Anjin-san—the Fathers did not discuss them. Here some men want boys sometimes—priests have boys from time to time, ours and some of yours—I foolishly presumed that your customs were the same as ours.”

  “I’m not a priest and it’s not our general custom.”

  The samurai leader, Kazu Oan, was watching angrily. He was charged with the barbarian’s safety and with the barbarian’s health and he had seen, with his own eyes, the incredible favor that Lord Toranaga had shown to the Anjin-san, and now the Anjin-san was furious. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked challengingly, for obviously the stupid woman had said something to offend his very important prisoner.

  Mariko explained what had been said and what the Anjin-san had replied. “I really don’t understand what he’s irritated about, Oan-san,” she told him.

  Oan scratched his head in disbelief. “He’s like a mad ox just because you offered him a boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “So sorry, but were you polite? Did you use a wrong word, perhaps?”

  “Oh, no, Oan-san, I’m quite sure. I feel terrible. I’m obviously responsible.”

  “It must be something else. What?”

  “No, Oan-san. It was just that.”

  “I’ll never understand these barbarians,”Oan said exasperatedly. “For all our sakes, please calm him down, Mariko-san. It must be because he hasn’t pillowed for such a long time. You,” he ordered Sono, “you get more saké, hot saké, and hot towels! You, Rako, rub the devil’s neck.” The maids fled to obey. A sudden thought: “I wonder if it’s because he’s impotent. His story about pillowing in the village was vague enough, neh? Perhaps the poor fellow’s enraged because he can’t pillow at all and you brought the subject up?”

  “So sorry, I don’t think so. The doctor said he’s very well endowed.”

  “If he was impotent—that would explain it, neh? It’d be enough to make me shout too. Yes! Ask him.”

  Mariko immediately did as she was ordered, and Oan was horrified as the blood rushed into the barbarian’s face again and a spate of foul-sounding barbarian filled the room.

  “He—he said ‘no.’” Mariko’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “All that just meant ‘no’?”

  “They—they use many descriptive curse words when they get excited.”

  Oan was beginning to sweat with anxiety for he was responsible. “Calm him down!”

  One of the other samurai, an older soldier, said helpfully, “Oan-san, perhaps he’s one of those that likes dogs, neh? We heard some strange stories in Korea about the Garlic Eaters. Yes, they like dogs and … I remember now, yes, dogs and ducks. Perhaps these golden heads are like the Garlic Eaters, they stink like them, hey? Maybe he wants a duck.”

  Oan said, “Mariko-san, ask him! No, perhaps you’d better not. Just calm—” He stopped short. Hiro-matsu was approaching from the far corner. “Salute,” he said crisply, trying to keep his voice from quaking because old Iron Fist, in the best of circumstances a disciplinarian, had been like a tiger with boils on his arse for the last week and today he had been even worse. Ten men had been demoted for untidiness, the entire night watch paraded in ignominy throughout the castle, two samurai ordered to commit seppuku because they were late for their watch, and four night-soil collectors thrown off the battlements for spilling part of a container in the castle garden.

  “Is he behaving himself, Mariko-san?” Oan heard Iron Fist ask irritably. He was certain the stupid woman who had caused all this trouble was going to blurt out the truth, which would have surely lifted their heads, rightfully, off their shoulders.

  To his relief he heard her say, “Yes, Lord. Everything is fine, thank you.”

  “You’re ordered to leave with Kiritsubo-san.”

  “Yes, Lord.” As Hiro-matsu continued with his patrol, Mariko brooded over why she was being sent away. Was it merely to interpret for Kiri with the barbarian on the voyage? Surely that’s not so impo
rtant? Were Toranaga’s other ladies going? The Lady Sazuko? Isn’t it dangerous for Sazuko to go by sea now? Am I to go alone with Kiri, or is my husband going also? If he stays—and it would be his duty to stay with his lord—who will look after his house? Why do we have to go by ship? Surely the Tokaidō Road is still safe? Surely Ishido won’t harm us? Yes, he would—think of our value as hostages, the Lady Sazuko, Kiritsubo, and the others. Is that why we’re to be sent by sea?

  Mariko had always hated the sea. Even the sight of it almost made her sick. But if I am to go, I am to go and there’s the end of it. Karma. She turned her mind off the inevitable to the immediate problem of the baffling foreign barbarian who was causing her nothing but grief.

  When Iron Fist had vanished around the corner, Oan raised his head and all of them sighed. Asa came scurrying down the corridor with the saké, Sono close behind with the hot towels.

  They watched while the barbarian was ministered to. They saw the taut mask of his face, and the way he accepted the saké without pleasure and the hot towels with cold thanks.

  “Oan-san, why not let one of the women send for the duck?” the old samurai whispered agreeably. “We just put it down. If he wants it everything’s fine, if not he’ll pretend he hasn’t seen it.”

  Mariko shook her head. “Perhaps we shouldn’t take this risk. It seems, Oan-san, his type of barbarian has some aversion to talking about pillowing, neh? He is the first of his kind to come here, so we’ll have to feel our way.”

  “I agree,” Oan said. “He was quite gentle until that was mentioned.” He glowered at Asa.

  “I’m sorry, Oan-san. You’re quite right, it was entirely my fault,” Asa said at once, bowing, her head almost to the floor.

  “Yes. I shall report the matter to Kiritsubo-san.”

  “Oh!”

  “I really think the Mistress should also be told to take care about discussing pillowing with this man,” Mariko said diplomatically. “You’re very wise, Oan-san. Yes. But perhaps in a way Asa was a fortunate instrument to save the Lady Kiritsubo and even Lord Toranaga from an awful embarrassment! Just think what would have happened if Kiritsubo-san herself had asked that question in front of Lord Toranaga yesterday! If the barbarian had acted like that in front of him …”