Shōgun

by James Clavell

  Yabu took the scroll and turned his mind to the present. And to the Anjin-san.

  Blackthorne was watching thirty paces away and he felt his hackles rise under Yabu’s piercing gaze. He heard Mariko speaking in her lilting voice but that did not reassure him. His hand tightened covertly on the pistol.

  “Anjin-san!” Mariko called out. “Would you please come over here!”

  As Blackthorne approached them, Yabu glanced up from the parchment, nodded in friendly fashion. When Yabu had finished reading he handed the paper back to Mariko and spoke briefly, partly to her, partly to him.

  Reverently Mariko offered the paper to Blackthorne. He took it and examined the incomprehensible characters.

  “Lord Yabu says you are welcome in this village. This paper is under Lord Toranaga’s seal, Anjin-san. You are to keep it. He’s given you a rare honor. Lord Toranaga has made you a hatamoto. This is the position of a special retainer of his personal staff. You have his absolute protection, Anjin-san. Lord Yabu, of course, acknowledges this. I will explain later the privileges, but Lord Toranaga has given you also a salary of twenty koku a month. That is about—”

  Yabu interrupted her, expansively waving his hand at Blackthorne, then at the village, and spoke at length. Mariko translated. “Lord Yabu repeats that you are welcome here. He hopes you will be content, that everything will be done to make your stay comfortable. A house will be provided for you. And teachers. You will please learn Japanese as quickly as possible, he says. Tonight he will ask you some questions and tell you about some special work.”

  “Please ask him, what work?”

  “May I advise just a little more patience, Anjin-san. Now is not the time, truly.”

  “All right.”

  “Wakarimasu ka, Anjin-san?” Yabu said. Do you understand?

  “Hai, Yabu-san. Domo.”

  Yabu gave orders to Igurashi to dismiss the regiment, then strode over to the villagers, who were still prostrate in the sand.

  He stood in front of them in the warm fine spring afternoon, Toranaga’s sword still in his hand. His words whipped over them. Yabu pointed the sword at Blackthorne and harangued them a few moments more and ended abruptly. A tremor went through the villagers. Mura bowed and said “hai” several times and turned and asked the villagers a question and all eyes went to Blackthorne.

  “Wakarimasu ka?” Mura called out and they all answered “hai,” their voices mixing with the sighing of the waves upon the beach.

  “What’s going on?” Blackthorne asked Mariko, but Mura shouted, “Keirei!” and the villagers bowed low again, once to Yabu and once to Blackthorne. Yabu strode off without looking back.

  “What’s going on, Mariko-san?”

  “He—Lord Yabu told them you are his honored guest here. That you are also Lord Toranaga’s very honored vas—retainer. That you are here mostly to learn our tongue. That he has given the village the honor and responsibility of teaching you. The village is responsible, Anjin-san. Everyone here is to help you. He told them that if you have not learned satisfactorily within six months, the village will be burnt, but before that, every man, woman, and child will be crucified.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The day was dying now, the shadows long, the sea red, and a kind wind blowing.

  Blackthorne was corning up the path from the village toward the house that Mariko had earlier pointed out and told him was to be his. She had expected to escort him there but he had thanked her and refused and had walked past the kneeling villagers toward the promontory to be alone and to think.

  He had found the effort of thinking too great. Nothing seemed to fit. He had doused salt water over his head to try to clear it but that had not helped. At length he had given up and had walked back aimlessly along the shore, past the jetty, across the square and through the village, up to this house where he was to live now and where, he remembered, there had not been a dwelling before. High up, dominating the opposite hillside, was another sprawling dwelling, part thatch, part tile, within a tall stockade, many guards at the fortified gateway.

  Samurai were strutting through the village or standing talking in groups. Most had already marched off behind their officers in disciplined groups up the paths and over the full to their bivouac encampment. Those samurai that Blackthorne met, he absently greeted and they greeted him in return. He saw no villagers.

  Blackthorne stopped outside the gate that was set into the fence. There were more of the peculiar characters painted over the lintel and the door itself was cut out in ingenious patterns designed to hide and at the same time to reveal the garden behind.

  Before he could open the door it swung inward and a frightened old man bowed him through.

  “Konbanwa, Anjin-san.” His voice quavered piteously—Good evening.

  “Konbanwa,” he replied. “Listen, old man, er—o namae ka?”

  “Namae watashi wa, Anjin-sama? Ah, watashi Ueki-ya … Ueki-ya.” The old man was almost slavering with relief.

  Blackthorne said the name several times to help remember it and added “san” and the old man shook his head violently, “Iyé gomen nasai! Iyé ‘san,’ Anjin-sama. Ueki-ya! Ueki-ya!”

  “All right, Ueki-ya.” But Blackthorne thought, why not “san” like everyone else?

  Blackthorne waved his hand in dismissal. The old man hobbled away quickly. “I’ll have to be more careful. I have to help them,” he said aloud.

  A maid came apprehensively onto the veranda through an opened shoji and bowed low.

  “Konbanwa, Anjin-san.”

  “Konbanwa,” he replied, vaguely recognizing her from the ship. He waved her away too.

  A rustle of silk. Fujiko came from within the house. Mariko was with her.

  “Was your walk pleasant, Anjin-san?”

  “Yes, pleasant, Mariko-san.” He hardly noticed her or Fujiko or the house or garden.

  “Would you like cha? Or perhaps saké? Or a bath perhaps? The water is hot.” Mariko laughed nervously, perturbed by the look in his eyes. “The bath house is not completely finished, but we hope it will prove adequate.”

  “Saké, please. Yes, some saké first, Mariko-san.”

  Mariko spoke to Fujiko, who disappeared inside the house once more. A maid silently brought three cushions and went away. Mariko gracefully sat on one.

  “Sit down, Anjin-san, you must be tired.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sat on the steps of the veranda and did not take off his thongs. Fujiko brought two flasks of saké and a teacup, as Mariko had told her, not the tiny porcelain cup that should have been used.

  “Better to give him a lot of saké quickly,” Mariko had said. “It would be better to make him quite drunk but Lord Yabu needs him tonight. A bath and saké will perhaps ease him.”

  Blackthorne drank the proffered cup of warmed wine without tasting it. And then a second. And a third.

  They had watched him coming up the hill through the slit of barely opened shojis.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Fujiko had asked, alarmed.

  “He’s distressed by what Lord Yabu said—the promise to the village.”

  “Why should that bother him? He’s not threatened. It’s not his life that was threatened.”

  “Barbarians are very different from us, Fujiko-san. For instance, the Anjin-san believes villagers are people, like any other people, like samurai, some perhaps even better than samurai.”

  Fujiko had laughed nervously. “That’s nonsense, neh? How can peasants equal samurai?”

  Mariko had not answered. She had just continued watching the Anjin-san. “Poor man,” she said.

  “Poor village!” Fujiko’s short upper lip curled disdainfully. “A stupid waste of peasants and fishermen! Kasigi Yabu-san’s a fool! How can a barbarian learn our tongue in half a year? How long did the barbarian Tsukku-san take? More than twenty years, neh? And isn’t he the only barbarian who’s ever been able to talk even passable Japanese?”

  “No, not the only
one, though he’s the best I’ve ever heard. Yes, it’s difficult for them. But the Anjin-san’s an intelligent man and Lord Toranaga said that in half a year, isolated from barbarians, eating our food, living as we do, drinking cha, bathing every day, the Anjin-san will soon be like one of us.”

  Fujiko’s face had been set. “Look at him, Mariko-san … so ugly. So monstrous and alien. Curious to think that as much as I detest barbarians, once he steps through the gate I’m committed and he becomes my lord and master.”

  “He’s brave, very brave, Fujiko. And he saved Lord Toranaga’s life and is very valuable to him.”

  “Yes, I know, and that should make me dislike him less but, so sorry, it doesn’t. Even so, I’ll try with all my strength to change him into one of us. I pray Lord Buddha will help me.”

  Mariko had wanted to ask her niece, why the sudden change? Why are you now prepared to serve the Anjin-san and obey Lord Toranaga so absolutely, when only this morning you refused to obey, you swore to kill yourself without permission or to kill the barbarian the moment he slept? What did Lord Toranaga say to change you, Fujiko?

  But Mariko had known better than to ask. Toranaga had not taken her into this confidence. Fujiko would not tell her. The girl had been too well trained by her mother, Buntaro’s sister, who had been trained by her father, Hiro-matsu.

  I wonder if Lord Hiro-matsu will escape from Osaka Castle, she asked herself, very fond of the old general, her father-in-law. And what about Kiri-san and the Lady Sazuko? Where is Buntaro, my husband? Where was he captured? Or did he have time to die?

  Mariko watched Fujiko pour the last of the saké. This cup too was consumed like the others, without expression.

  “Dozo. Saké,” Blackthorne said.

  More saké was brought. And finished. “Dozo, saké.”

  “Mariko-san,” Fujiko said, “the Master shouldn’t have any more, neh? He’ll get drunk. Please ask him if he’d like his bath now. I will send for Suwo.”

  Mariko asked him. “Sorry, he says he’ll bathe later.”

  Patiently Fujiko ordered more saké and Mariko added quietly to the maid, “Bring some charcoaled fish.”

  The new flask was emptied with the same silent determination. The food did not tempt him but he took a piece at Mariko’s gracious persuasion. He did not eat it.

  More wine was brought, and two more flasks were consumed.

  “Please give the Anjin-san my apologies,” Fujiko said. “So sorry, but there isn’t any more saké in his house. Tell him I apologize for this lack. I’ve sent the maid to fetch some more from the village.”

  “Good. He’s had more than enough, though it doesn’t seem to have touched him at all. Why not leave us now, Fujiko? Now would be a good time to make the formal offer on your behalf.”

  Fujiko bowed to Blackthorne and went away, glad that custom decreed that important matters were always to be handled by a third party in private. Thus dignity could always be maintained on both sides.

  Mariko explained to Blackthorne about the wine.

  “How long will it take to get more?”

  “Not long. Perhaps you’d like to bathe now. I’ll see that saké’s sent the instant it arrives.”

  “Did Toranaga say anything about my plan before he left? About the navy?”

  “No. I’m sorry, he said nothing about that.” Mariko had been watching for the telltale signs of drunkenness. But to her surprise none had appeared, not even a slight flush, or a slurring of words. With this amount of wine consumed so fast, any Japanese would be drunk. “The wine is not to your taste, Anjin-san?”

  “Not really. It’s too weak. It gives me nothing.”

  “You seek oblivion?”

  “No—a solution.”

  “Anything that can be done to help, will be done.”

  “I must have books and paper and pens.”

  “Tomorrow I will begin to collect them for you.”

  “No, tonight, Mariko-san. I must start now.”

  “Lord Toranaga said he will send you a book—what did you call it?—the grammar books and word books of the Holy Fathers.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m here for three days. Perhaps this may be a help to you. And Fujiko-san is here to help also.” She smiled, happy for him. “I’m honored to tell you she is given to you as consort and she—”

  “What?”

  “Lord Toranaga asked her if she would be your consort and she said she would be honored and agreed. She will—”

  “But I haven’t agreed.”

  “Please? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t want her. Either as consort or around me. I find her ugly.”

  Mariko gaped at him. “But what’s that got to do with consort?”

  “Tell her to leave.”

  “But Anjin-san, you can’t refuse! That would be a terrible insult to Lord Toranaga, to her, to everyone! What harm has she done you? None at all! Usagi Fujiko’s consen—”

  “You listen to me!” Blackthorne’s words ricocheted around the veranda and the house. “Tell her to leave!”

  Mariko said at once, “So sorry, Anjin-san, yes you’re right to be angry. But—”

  “I’m not angry,” Blackthorne said icily. “Can’t you … can’t you people get it through your heads I’m tired of being a puppet? I don’t want that woman around, I want my ship back and my crew back and that’s the end of it! I’m not staying here six months and I detest your customs. It’s God-cursed terrible that one man can threaten to bury a whole village just to teach me Japanese, and as to consorts—that’s worse than slavery—and it’s a goddamned insult to arrange that without asking me in advance!”

  What’s the matter now? Mariko was asking herself helplessly. What has ugliness to do with consort? And anyway Fujiko’s not ugly. How can he be so incomprehensible? Then she remembered Toranaga’s admonition: ‘Mariko-san, you’re personally responsible, firstly that Yabu-san doesn’t interfere with my departure after I’ve given him my sword, and secondly, you’re totally responsible for settling the Anjin-san docilely in Anjiro.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Sire. But I’m afraid the Anjin-san baffles me.’

  ‘Treat him like a hawk. That’s the key to him. I tame a hawk in two days. You’ve three.’

  She looked away from Blackthorne and put her wits to work. He does seem like a hawk when he’s in a rage, she thought. He has the same screeching, senseless ferocity, and when not in rage the same haughty, unblinking stare, the same total selfcenteredness, with exploding viciousness never far away.

  “I agree. You’re completely right. You’ve been imposed upon terribly, and you’re quite right to be angry,” she said soothingly. “Yes, and certainly Lord Toranaga should have asked even though he doesn’t understand your customs. But it never occurred to him that you would object. He only tried to honor you as he would a most favored samurai. He made you a hatamoto, that’s almost like a kinsman, Anjin-san. There are only about a thousand hatamoto in all the Kwanto. And as to the Lady Fujiko, he was only trying to help you. The Lady Usagi Fujiko would be considered … among us, Anjin-san, this would be considered a great honor.”

  “Why?”

  “Because her lineage is ancient and she’s very accomplished. Her father and grandfather are daimyos. Of course she’s samurai, and of course,” Mariko added delicately, “you would honor her by accepting her. And she does need a home and a new life.”

  “Why?”

  “She is recently widowed. She’s only nineteen, Anjin-san, poor girl, but she lost a husband and a son and is filled with remorse. To be formal consort to you would give her a new life.”

  “What happened to her husband and son?”

  Mariko hesitated, distressed at Blackthorne’s impolite directness. But she knew enough about him by now to understand that this was his custom and not meant as lack of manners. “They were put to death, Anjin-san. While you’re here you will need someone to look after your ho
use. The Lady Fujiko will be—”

  “Why were they put to death?”

  “Her husband almost caused the death of Lord Toranaga. Please con—”

  “Toranaga ordered their deaths?”

  “Yes. But he was correct. Ask her—she will agree, Anjin-san.”

  “How old was the child?”

  “A few months, Anjin-san.”

  “Toranaga had an infant put to death for something the father did?”

  “Yes. It’s our custom. Please be patient with us. In some things we are not free. Our customs are different from yours. You see, by law, we belong to our liege lord. By law a father possesses the lives of his children and wife and consorts and servants. By law his life is possessed by his liege lord. This is our custom.”

  “So a father can kill anyone in his house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re a nation of murderers.”

  “No.”

  “But your custom condones murder. I thought you were Christian.”

  “I am, Anjin-san.”

  “What about the Commandments?”

  “I cannot explain, truly. But I am Christian and samurai and Japanese, and these are not hostile to one another. To me, they’re not. Please be patient with me and with us. Please.”

  “You’d put your own children to death if Toranaga ordered it?”

  “Yes. I only have one son but yes, I believe I would. Certainly it would be my duty to do so. That’s the law—if my husband agreed.”

  “I hope God can forgive you. All of you.”

  “God understands, Anjin-san. Oh, He will understand. Perhaps He will open your mind so you can understand. I’m sorry, I cannot explain very well, neh? I apologize for my lack.” She watched him in the silence, unsettled by him. “I don’t understand you either, Anjin-san. You baffle me. Your customs baffle me. Perhaps if we’re both patient we can both learn. The Lady Fujiko, for instance. As consort she will look after your house and your servants. And your needs—any of your needs. You must have someone to do that. She will see to the running of your house, everything. You do not need to pillow her, if that concerns you—if you do not find her pleasing. You do not even need to be polite to her, though she merits politeness. She will serve you, as you wish, in any way you wish.”