by Shaun Curry
He picked up his pace towards Nagasaki.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
29 May 1626
Arima, Shimabara Peninsula, Kyushu
In the cool morning sunshine Master Yamaguchi was engaged in his favourite pastime, clipping the leaves of the many bonsai trees in his garden. Shaping the miniature trees relaxed him.
Bonsai was a tradition his family had adopted that dated back more than a millennium in Japan. And, as was his custom, Master Yamaguchi had become a master at the craft, excelling in all bonsai cultivation techniques, including pruning, root reduction, potting, defoliation, and grafting, to produce small trees that mimicked the shape and style of full-size trees. Master Yamaguchi’s private garden was spectacular in design, and admired throughout the village.
A knock on his outside gate refocused the old man’s attention. Catechist Miguel stood outside the yard.
‘Master Yamaguchi, I’m sorry to interrupt. Do you have a moment?’
‘Ah, Miguel. Thank you for the visit.’ Master Yamaguchi walked over to the gate and opened it.
Once again, Miguel was struck by the magnificence of the garden. Along with abundant bonsai trees and other exotic vegetation, the garden was a magnificent display of colourful flowers, mostly pink, peach, and light blue.
On the right side of the garden was a small waterfall where a stream of water flowed from an adjacent mountain; on the left, blue-throated ogawa-komadori birds perched on several handmade miniature wooden houses.
‘Master Yamaguchi,’ Catechist Miguel said, stopping to gaze about the garden, ‘your garden looks even more impressive than the last time I was here.’
‘You are too kind, Miguel, but I’m sure that is not why you visit me today. What’s on your mind?’
‘I’m worried about many things, but I’m most worried about Father Joaquim. He might not make it back from Nagasaki.’
‘It is worrying, Miguel, but I have faith he will return safely.’
‘But if they discover his identity, they will kill him.’
‘Focus your mind on positive outcomes, Miguel.’
‘I am trying, Master Yamaguchi, but the world has turned upside down on us in Japan, particularly since the Daimyo’s latest ultimatum.’
‘I admit, life has changed for Christians, but we must remain optimistic about our future. We must maintain hope.’ Master Yamaguchi placed his hand on Miguel’s shoulder.
‘I see a future filled with death, Master Yamaguchi.’ Miguel shook his head. ‘It is much worse than I imagined.’
‘Why did you come to Japan?’ Yamaguchi asked. ‘What drew you here?’
‘To spread the Word of God.’ Miguel took a deep breath, adding, ‘That and the excitement of the mission.’
‘An exciting mission? What do you mean?’
‘In Europe, the mission in Japan is reputed to be the most exhilarating. It is one of the furthest outposts from Rome and holds great prospects in terms of converts. We heard great stories about the missions here, despite the danger.’
‘I see.’ Master Yamaguchi nodded.
‘Now I am finding it to be more than I can bear.’ Miguel lowered his eyes, his chest caving. ‘From the moment I arrived, the mission seemed almost impossible.’ He looked at Master Yamaguchi again. ‘And the death toll has only risen.’
Yamaguchi nodded again. ‘I agree that recent times have been difficult.’
‘I worry the mission will not survive here, Master Yamaguchi. And I fear I will not survive.’ Miguel dropped his gaze again.
‘Time will improve things, Miguel. God will see to it.’
‘I wish that were true, but I don’t believe it.’
‘What do you want, Miguel?’
‘I want to go home. I’m scared to death here and cannot sleep. I want to go home where I can live without fear of persecution and torture . . . and death. I want to be free again.’
Master Yamaguchi saw the conflict and fear in Miguel’s eyes. ‘Then it is time for you to return home, Miguel.’
‘I wish it were that easy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Father Joaquim . . . I cannot bear to tell him.’
‘He will understand.’
‘Father Joaquim is dedicated to the village and the mission, Master Yamaguchi. He is a brave and committed leader. I cannot bear the thought of letting him down.’ Tears formed in Miguel’s eyes as he continued. ‘There is also the question of getting out of here alive. The Shogun exiled the Society of Jesus a long time ago. We are not supposed to be here. If I’m caught trying to leave, they will kill me.’
‘Perhaps you should discuss this with Father Joaquim when he returns,’ Yamaguchi suggested.
‘If he returns,’ Miguel whispered, giving voice to his worry. ‘And who will look after the village if he does not?’
‘Miguel, we are not your responsibility. The village will survive.’
‘I don’t know what to think any more,’ Miguel confessed as he held his head in his hands.
‘Again, I think it best if you discuss matters with Father Joaquim on his return.’
‘Even if Father Joaquim can borrow enough silver from Mateus da Costa and is able to make it back here alive, we still have to move to Yezo.’ Miguel shook his head again. ‘Yezo is too far, and the journey between here and there is much too dangerous. The regime will discover us.’
‘Miguel, you should not—’
Miguel cut off Master Yamaguchi mid-sentence. ‘Our move will expose us. Do you know what they will do when they capture us? They will torture us. They will cut off our feet and burn us alive! Maybe I should attempt a trip to Nagasaki, pose as a trader, and flee to Macao on my own!’
‘Miguel, please, you should discuss matters with Father Joaquim before attempting anything rash.’
‘But I cannot stand the thought of torture! Do you have any idea how painful it is for your flesh to burn?’
Yamaguchi raised his baggy trousers.
Miguel’s eyes widened at the sight of severe burn marks on his foot and lower leg from his childhood.
‘Miguel!’
The young man drew in a sharp sniff and caught his breath before answering. ‘Yes, Master Yamaguchi.’
‘Would you like tea?’
Miguel nodded. ‘Yes, I would like that.’ Miguel wiped his tears with his sleeve and calmed himself.
‘Come, follow me,’ Master Yamaguchi said. He led Miguel through the back door into his small, but tidy, home.
‘Enough of worry. Let us talk about something else. Tell me more of your home in Portugal.’
Soon, a sparkle emerged in Miguel’s eyes as he reflected on home. ‘Ah, Portugal. How I long for home! Portugal is the most beautiful of all European countries. And Lisbon . . . far more beautiful than Rome. Maybe it’s time!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
30 May 1626
Nagasaki City, District of Nagasaki, Kyushu
From the mountain’s summit, Father Joaquim had a panoramic view of Nagasaki’s residential quarters and the bustling trading port below. Columns of smoke rose from chimneys in the populated urban areas, while by the seashore, dozens of ships of all sizes, mainly cargo vessels, docked, unloaded wares and passengers, reloaded, and sailed away. In every direction, he saw figures meeting then scurrying through the marketplace. Nothing much had changed – Nagasaki was still the largest international trading hub in Japan.
Weary from the climb, his brow beaded with sweat, Joaquim began a slow descent, hobbling over stones and gravel while taking in the breathtaking vista of green mountains surrounding a huge, deep blue bay. The vibrancy of the city, nicknamed the ‘Rome of the Far East’, captivated all who visited, residents, foreign traders, and missionaries alike.
Before Father Joaquim’s predecessors had arrived in Japan, Nagasaki had been a small fishing village. It had taken only six decades for the city to become the largest trading port in Japan, mainly because of the Portuguese and their strong trading ties with Macao in China an
d their other colonies.
Joaquim’s feet hurt and he stopped to rest by a large boulder lining the pathway. An underfed youth approached him, balancing a small bag of food on his head. On seeing Joaquim, he set it down by his feet. Joaquim’s stomach gurgled at the aroma of fresh rice and fish. He had not eaten since the day before.
The boy’s curious gaze met Joaquim’s. ‘Will you buy food?’
‘No, my son. But thank you.’
‘You’re not Japanese, are you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, you look different.’
Joaquim smiled. He’d had little to smile about in recent days and the youth’s innocence warmed his soul. ‘That’s right. I come from Portugal.’
The boy raised an eyebrow. ‘Where’s that?’
A sigh of nostalgia left Joaquim’s lips as he recalled his homeland. ‘It’s a long way from here. Portugal is a powerful seafaring nation, and the Portuguese were the first to arrive in Asia from Europe.’
The boy raised a quizzical brow, but said nothing.
‘There are many Portuguese traders in Nagasaki.’
‘Why?’
‘They trade – buy and sell things.’
‘So they live here? Like you?’
‘Yes. Other nationalities have done the same – the Dutch, the French, and the English – but the Portuguese have been the most enduring.’
‘Won’t you buy my food? You’re a rich merchant, aren’t you?’
Joaquim chuckled, patting his bag. ‘Regretfully, I have no money today, and I have food of my own.’ He set his hand on the boy’s shoulder, rose to his feet, and bade him farewell.
Two hours later, as Father Joaquim emerged from a trail at the base of the mountain, two city officials dressed in samurai attire met him on the path.
‘Where are you coming from?’ one official asked.
Joaquim found a leash in his bag. ‘Have you seen my dog?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘My dog. He ran up the trail ahead of me. Did you see him?’
The official squinted and shook his head. ‘No, we haven’t seen a dog.’
Father Joaquim dug into this bag and fetched silver coins. ‘Here,’ he said as he handed two silver coins to each of the officials. ‘It’s a large black Portuguese dog. If you see it, please let me know. I live in the foreign quarters – house number thirteen.’
As he passed the officials, he added, ‘His name is Cão, and he’s been with me a long time. I must get him back.’
The city officials gripped their silver coins, nodded agreement, and continued on their way. Joaquim grinned to himself, thinking, works every time. He strutted as though he belonged, towards the foreign residential quarters.
As he walked through the streets of Nagasaki he couldn’t help comparing the architecture to that in his village of Arima. Rather than the simple board buildings of his impoverished village, here each street had rows of houses with traditional, gently curved, Japanese-style roofs. The air was scented with cooked food, fresh spices, the tang of burning wood from cooking grills, and lingering tobacco smoke. What struck Father Joaquim as unusual, however, were dozens upon dozens of boarded-up homes.
Minutes later, he arrived at house number thirteen and recognized in surprise the symbol on the door – the Chinese character for Buddhism. Someone had used great care and diligence to engrave the symbol in the wood. He knocked.
Almost right away, the door swung open and a smiling face greeted him. ‘Father Joaquim,’ a Portuguese man whispered, with eyes that sparkled. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. Come in, old friend, please.’
‘Mateus, it’s good to see you, too.’ Once inside, the men embraced.
Mateus was short and middle-aged, and, Joaquim noted, a little stouter than he remembered him to be. Mateus had dark hair, olive skin, kind brown eyes, a thick dark beard with subtle streaks of grey in it on one cheek, and an almost ever-present pipe from which sweet-smelling tobacco smoke wafted. Joaquim couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t like the jovial businessman.
‘So, what do you think of the new engraving?’ Mateus cocked his head to one side.
‘Surprising.’ Joaquim smiled.
‘A necessary decoy, alas. These days, foreigners must profess their following of Buddha to live in Nagasaki. The symbol keeps the authorities at bay.’
‘A sign of the times.’ Father Joaquim sighed.
‘Indeed.’ Mateus nodded and asked, ‘What brings you to Nagasaki, Father? Nothing good, I’m sure.’
Smiling at the remark, Joaquim removed his shoes at the door and sat down at Mateus’s small kitchen table, atop which sat bottles of traditional Portuguese liqueurs, reams of pungent tobacco, a second smoking pipe, and a trading ledger.
‘I’m an optimist, Mateus, you know that. But my burdens have grown heavier, and I need to address problems.’
‘What problems?’
‘Taxes.’
‘Oh.’ Mateus took a large puff from his pipe and fetched two wooden mugs. ‘Don’t get me started about taxes.’ He grabbed a bottle of wine and a pitcher of water. ‘Wine or water, Father?’
‘I think I need wine.’ Joaquim rubbed his beard.
Mateus poured red wine into the mugs, and Joaquim took a big sip before continuing. ‘Daimyo Matsukura Shigemasa has driven up our taxes again and is putting even greater pressure on all the villages to expose Christians.’
‘And your village?’ Mateus asked, his brow furrowing.
‘We’re managing, but I need a favour.’
‘Hah! I knew it.’ Mateus slapped his thigh and smiled. ‘What do you need?’
‘Five hundred large silver coins.’
‘Holy saints! You must be joking.’
‘I wish I were.’ Joaquim raised his eyebrows, acknowledging the audacity of his request.
‘That’s more than I have under my mattress,’ Mateus chuckled.
‘I thought it might be.’
Mateus thought for a moment, then said, ‘I can borrow it.’
‘From whom?’
‘Other Portuguese traders.’
Joaquim said, ‘Will they lend you that much?’
‘I’ll find out tomorrow night.’
‘Are you comfortable asking them this, Mateus?’
Mateus grinned and winked. ‘I’ll go to the gaijin bar where the merchants like to gather and drink. I’ll ask when they are drunk and in a good mood.’
‘You traders never change,’ Father Joaquim replied.
‘If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s the thought of making a quick profit. That, and our love of wine and women.’
‘It is different from the missions.’
‘And how is that, Father? Things are only getting worse for Christians hiding in Nagasaki. How is life on the outskirts?’
‘Difficult, I’m sorry to say, and politics is likely to make it worse.’
‘Because of the new Nagasaki governor’s arrival?’
‘Yes. I’ve heard reports that Kawachi is vicious. Brothers, sisters, and children, all slaughtered like goats in the streets and in their homes. No one is safe.’
‘What will you do?’
Father Joaquim rested his forehead on the outstretched fingers of his right hand. ‘You and the others must be vigilant now. For the first time, the Shogun will have one of his own running Nagasaki, and he will not turn a blind eye. As for us, after we pay our taxes, we will slip away to Yezo in the north.’
‘That’s a long way away. Do you not fear capture?’
‘Our Lord will guide us.’
‘Father, I’m a believer and a good Christian, but I worry about you.’
‘Have no worries, Mateus. “Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.”’
‘Bless you, Father.’ He paused. ‘But I still worry.’
‘None of us need worry unduly, Mateus
. We need only seek God’s help. He will answer our prayers.’
Mateus nodded, taking a moment to think. ‘Father, we have been friends a long time.
‘Yes, Mateus, a very long time.’
‘Is it not time for you to return to Europe?’
‘I am not that man any longer, my friend. You know that. There is nothing for me there. That man – the young teacher and faculty member at the College of Jesus, in Coimbra – has been washed away, along with the blood that was on my hands. My home is here. This is where God has sent me to do His work. It is where I must do His bidding. I am His soldier now.’
‘You have done all you can here. The padres are no longer welcome and if the authorities catch you, they will crucify you.’
‘I cannot abandon my converted brethren, Mateus. Never.’
Mateus sat silent for a moment, familiar with Joaquim’s resolve.
‘I admire you, Father. Your strength and spirit are an inspiration.’
‘Praise the Lord, Mateus, not me. My strength comes from Him.’
Mateus let out a long sigh. ‘Get some rest, Father. You’ve had a long journey. Please, take my bed.’
‘Are you sure? What will you do?’
‘What I always do in the evening – visit the gaijin bar in the port. It may be a quiet night, but perhaps I will get lucky with a woman and some cards.’ He grinned and shrugged apologetically.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
31 May 1626
Shogun’s Castle
Inside his castle, Shogun Iemitsu prepared for an official assembly. Like the rest of his castle, the Shogun’s meeting chambers were enviable. Resplendent Japanese artwork and calligraphy adorned the walls of the chamber’s high ceilings, interrupted at precise intervals by strong mahogany beams and light, painted screens. In designing, building, and decorating the magnificent castle, no cost had been spared.
High in the rafters hung the Shogun’s flag and family crest. The flag itself was all white, and the Shogun’s symbolic family crest, or mon, was circular in form, containing three hollyhock leaves. The hollyhock leaf resembled wild ginger, and the triple hollyhock had become a recognized icon throughout Japan, symbolizing the strength of the Tokugawa clan and the Shogun’s dominance over the country.