by Gai-Jin(Lit)
"A perfect compromise," Pallidar said happily.
END OF VOLUME III
GAI-JIN
A Novel of Japan by
JAMES CLAVELL
Volume IV of Twelve Volumes
Pages i-ii and 679-900
For special distribution as authorized by Act of
Congress under Public Law 89-522, andwiththe permission of the copyright holder.
Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
National Library Service for the Blind and
Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
Inc., 1994.
Copyright 1993 by James Clavell
All rights reserved.
GAI-JIN
BOOK TWO
Monday, 13th October: (continued)
Hiraga was weeding near a side door of the
Legation, an open window nearby, dirty and sweaty, the late afternoon sun still hot. Baggage being piled in carts in the forecourt, horses groomed, some soldiers already drawn up in marching order. Sentries patrolled the circumference walls. Outside the walls massed samurai squatted under sunshades or lolled around, malevolently.
"Now!" It was Tyrer's voice from inside the room. Hiraga made sure he was not observed, ducked down into the undergrowth and quickly opened the door. Hastily, Tyrer led the way down the corridor into a room that overlooked the forecourt and bolted the door. Curtains over the closed windows filtered the sunlight. A desk and a few chairs, rolls of documents, files, and a revolver on the desk. Tyrer sat behind it and motioned to a chair. "Please sit down. Now tell me who are you."
"First, sek'ret I speak Ingerish, yes?"
Hiraga remained standing, at his full height and somehow menacing.
"First tell me who you are and then I will decide."
"No, so sorry, Taira-san. I use to you, a'ready save men. Big use. True, neh?"
"Yes, true. Why should I keep this secret?"
"Safe me... you also."
"Why me?"
"Perhaps not wise have... how you say, ah yes, sek'ret other gai-jin not know. I very he'rp you. He'rp 'rearn 'ranguage, he'rp about Nippon. I say you truth, you say me truth too, you he'rp me I he'rp you. What age p'rease?"
"I'm twenty-one."
Hiraga hid his surprise and smiled from under the brim of his hat, so hard to tell the age of gai-jin who all looked alike. As to the gun his enemy had placed on the table it was laughable. He could kill this fool with his hands before he could touch it. Such a simple kill, so tempting, and this a perfect place, so easy to escape from but, once outside, not so simple to escape the samurai. "Keep se'kret?"
"Who are you? Your name's not Ukiya, is it?"
"Promise se'kret?"
Tyrer took a deep breath, weighed the consequences and came up with disaster on all counts.
"I agree." His heart skipped several beats as Hiraga slid the blade out of the hat brim, and cursed himself for being so reckless to put himself at so much risk. "In for a penny in for a pound," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." He watched Hiraga prick his finger, then hand him the knife.
"Now you p'rease." Tyrer hesitated, knowing what was coming but, having decided, he shrugged and obeyed. Solemnly Hiraga touched his finger to Tyrer's, mixing their blood. "I swear by gods keep sek'ret about you. You say same p'rease by Christian god, Taira-san."
"I swear by God to keep it secret about you as long as I can," Tyrer said gravely, wondering where the binding oath would take him. "Where did you learn English? A missionary school?"
"Hai, but I not Christian." Not safe to tell about our Choshu schools, Hiraga thought, or about Mr. Great Smell, the Dutchman, our
Ingerish teacher who said he had been a priest before becoming a pirate. Truth or lie to this Taira matters not at all, he is gai-jin, a minor leader of our most powerful outside enemy and therefore to be used, distrusted, hated and killed at whim.
"You he'rp es'kape?"
"Who are you? Where do you come from? Your name's not
Ukiya."
Hiraga smiled and sat in one of the chairs.
"Ukiya mean gardener, Taira-san.
Fami'ry name Ikeda." He said the lie easily. "Nakama Ikeda, I who officer want. I twenty-two year."
"Why?"
"Because I and fami'ry, of Choshu, we fight
Bakufu. Bakufu take power from Emperor an--"
"You mean the Sh@ogun?"
Hiraga shook his head. "Sh@ogun is
Bakufu, head of Bakufu. He..." He thought a moment, then mimed a puppet on a string. "Un'erstand?"
"Puppet?"
"Yes, puppet."
Tyrer blinked. "The Sh@ogun's a puppet?"
Hiraga nodded, more confident now he was communicating, having to work hard to remember the words. "Sh@ogun Nobusada, boy, sixteen year, Bakufu puppet. He 'rive Yedo.
Emperor 'rive Ky@oto. Now Emperor no power. More two hundred year, Sh@ogun
Toranaga take power. We fight take power from Sh@ogun and Bakufu, give back
Emperor."
Tyrer's mind, aching with so much concentration--hard to understand this man's speech--instantly realized the far-reaching implications. "This boy Sh@ogun.
How old please?"
"Sixteen year Sh@ogun Nobusada.
Bakufu say what do," Hiraga said again, curbing his irritation, knowing he must be patient.
"Emperor much power but no..." He searched for the word, could not find it so explained another way,
"Emperor not 'rike daimyo. Daimyo has samurai, weapon, many. Emperor no samurai, no weapon. Can no make Bakufu obey. Bakufu have armies, Emperor not, wakatta?"
"Hai, Nakama, wakatta." A thousand questions were jostling to be asked and Tyrer knew this man could be a well to be emptied, but it must be done cautiously and this was not the place. He saw the intense concentration on the man's face and wondered how much of what he said Nakama actually understood, reminding himself to speak slowly and as simply as possible. "How many of you fight against the Bakufu?"
"Many." Hiraga slapped at a vagrant mosquito.
"Hundreds, thousands? What sort of people, ordinary people, gardeners, workmen, merchants?"
Hiraga looked at him, bewildered. "They nothing. On'ry serve samurai. On'ry samurai fight. On'ry samurai hav weapon. Kinjiru other have weapons."
Tyrer blinked again. "You're samurai?"
More bewilderment. "Samurai fight. I say fight Bakufu, yes? Nakama samurai!"
Hiraga took off his hat and pulled away the soiled, sweat-stained cloth that served as a turban to reveal his characteristic shaven pate and topknot. Now that Tyrer could see his face clearly, for the first time without the low-brimmed coolie hat and the first time he had really looked at him, he saw the same, hard slanting eyes of a two-sworder, and the vast difference in bone structure from villagers. "When Shenso, captain samurai, see me so, I dead."
Tyrer nodded, his mind amok.
"Easy me es'kape. P'rease, give so'rdier c'rothes."
Tyrer was finding it hard to keep the excitement, and dread, off his face, part of him desperate to flee, the other avaricious to have all this samurai's knowledge that could, no would, be a major key to unlock the world of Nippon and his own future if handled correctly. Just as he was about to blurt out his agreement he remembered Sir
William's previous admonition and, thankfully, took time to compose himself.
"Easy es'kape, yes?" Hiraga repeated impatiently.
"Not easy, possible. But risky. First I have to be convinced to be sure you are worth saving."
Tyrer saw the sudden flash of anger--perhaps it was anger together with fear, he could not decide. Christ, samurai! I wish Sir William was here,
I'm out of my depth. "Don't think I can r--"
"P'rease," Hiraga said as a supplicant, knowing that this was his only real chance to break out of the trap, but thinking, Hurry up and agree or I shall kill you and try to escape over the wall. "Nakama swear by gods he'rp
&
nbsp; Taira-san."
"You swear solemnly by your gods you will answer all my questions truthfully?"
"Hai," Hiraga said at once, astounded that
Tyrer could be so naive as to ask that question of an enemy or believe his affirmative answer-- surely he cannot be that stupid? What god or gods? There are none. "By gods I swear."
"Wait here. Bolt the door, only open it to me."
Tyrer put the revolver in his pocket, went and found Pallidar and McGregor and took them aside breathlessly. "I need some help. I've found out Ukiya is one of the men wanted by the samurai, it turns out he's a sort of dissident. I want to disguise him as a soldier and sneak him back with us."
Both officers stared at him. Then
McGregor said, "Excuse me, sir, but do you think that's wise? I mean the Bakufu are the legal government and if we get caught th--"
"We won't get caught. We just dress him up as a Redcoat and put in the middle of soldiers. Eh, Settry?"
"Yes, we could do that, Phillip, but if he's spotted and we're stopped we'll be up the creek without a paddle."
"Do you have an alternative suggestion?"
Tyrer said, a nervousness to his voice as his fear-excitement rose. "I want him smuggled out. Without his help we would probably all be dead and he will be extremely useful to us."
Uneasily the other two men looked at each other, then at Tyrer. "Sorry, it's too dangerous," Pallidar said.
"I-don't-think-so!" Tyrer snapped, head aching. "I want it done! It's a matter of extreme importance to Her Majesty's
Government and that's the end to it!"
McGregor sighed. "Yes sir, very well.
Captain, what about mounting him?"
"As a dragoon? Ridiculous idea, a gardener won't be able to ride for God's sake.
Much better let him march, surround him with sold--"
"Fifty pounds against a brass farthing, the bugger can't keep step, he'll be as obvious as a whore in a Bishop's underpants!"
Then Tyrer said, "What about if we put him in uniform, bandage his face and hands and carry him on a stretcher--pretend he's sick."
The officers looked at him, then beamed. "Good oh!"
"Even better," Pallidar said happily,
"we pretend he has some foul disease, smallpox--measles--plague!" In unison they laughed.
The samurai officer and the guards they had agreed to allow within the now empty Legation followed Tyrer, McGregor and four dragoons throughout the house. Their search was meticulous, every room, every cupboard, even the attics. At length he was satisfied. In the hall were two stretchers, on each a soldier, both feverish, both bandaged, one partially, the other, Hiraga, completely--head, feet, and hands--outside his soaking uniform.
"Both very sick," Tyrer said in
Japanese, Hiraga having given him the words.
"This soldier has spotted disease."
The very mention of the words caused the samurai to blanche and move back a pace--outbreaks of smallpox were endemic in the cities but never so bad as in China where hundreds of thousands died.
"This... this must be reported," the officer muttered, he and his men covering their mouths as all believed infection and spread of the disease was caused by breathing befouled air near a sufferer.
Tyrer did not understand so he just shrugged.
"Man very sick. Not go near."
"I am not going near him, you think I am mad?" The big man went on to the veranda.
"Listen," he said quietly to his men.
"Don't say a word about this to the others in the square or there may be a panic. Stinking foreign dogs. Meanwhile keep your eyes open, this
Hiraga is here somewhere."
They scoured the grounds and outhouses, the full compliment of Legation staff and soldiers drawn up in the shade, waiting impatiently to begin the march down to the wharf and to the waiting boats. At last satisfied, the officer bowed sourly and stalked back through the gates, samurai massed outside, Joun still bound near the front ranks, the petrified gardeners kneeling in a row, all hats off and naked. As he approached they cowered deeper into the dirt.
"Get up!" he said angrily, disgusted that when he had ordered them to strip, not one of them had the shaven pate of a samurai, or any sword cuts, wounds or other sign of samurai status, so he had been forced to conclude his prey was still hiding inside, or had escaped. Now he was even more angry and stomped in front of Joun.
"To disguise himself, the ronin Hiraga has shaved his head or allowed his hair to grow like one of those scum gardeners. Identify him!"
Joun was on his knees, broken, near death.
He had been beaten and brought back to life and beaten and brought back again on Anjo's orders.
"Identify this Hiraga!"
"He's... he's not, not there." The youth cried out as the officer's iron hard foot thudded into his most sensitive parts, then again, the gardeners shivering and terrified. "He's not... not there...." Again the merciless blow. In desperate, helpless agony, beyond himself, Joun pointed at a youngish man who fell on his knees screaming his innocence.
"Shut him up!" the officer shouted. "Take him before the judge, thence to prison and crucify the scum, take them all, they are guilty of hiding him, take them all!"
They were dragged away shrieking they were guiltless, the youngish man squealing that he had seen
Hiraga earlier near the house and if they let him go he would show them but no one paid any attention and quickly his cries and all their cries were ended, brutally.
The officer wiped the sweat off his brow, satisfied that he had carried out his orders. He took a sip from a water bottle and spat to clean his mouth, then drank gratefully.
Eeee, he thought and shivered. The spotted disease! A gai-jin disease brought from outside!
Everything rotten comes from outside, gai-jin have got to be thrown out and kept out for all time.
Angrily he watched the bands forming up, soldiers strutting, his mind on the shishi he sought.
Not possible that that gardener was a famous shishi, the Hiraga of the fight. Karma that I and my men arrived too late that day to see him and the others who escaped. Not karma, God was watching over me.
If I had seen them I could not have pretended to accept the one Joun pointed out. Where is this
Hiraga? He is hiding somewhere. Please
God, help me.
Eeee, life is curious. I hate the gai-jin yet I believe in their Jesus God, though secretly, like my father and his father and his back to before Sekigahara. Yes I believe in this
Jesus God, the only thing of value from outside, and didn't the Jesuit Teacher
Princes say Belief gives us added power and that when we had a problem to worry it as a dog worries a bone.
Hiraga is hiding somewhere. I have searched carefully. Therefore he has disguised himself. As what? A tree? What?
Inside the walls preparations for departure continued. The flag came down. Bands were playing now. Horsemen into their saddles. Stretchers into a tumbril. Gates opening, the mounted soldiers forming up, led by the gai-jin with the
Japanese name, now passed and going down the hill and--
The bandages! The revelation burst in the officer's mind. There is no plague! Clever, he thought excitedly, but not clever enough! Now, do
I confront them and bottle them up in one of the narrow streets? Or do I assign spies to follow him and peg him to lead me to others?
I peg him.
Tuesday, 14th October:
The engagement party was in full swing under the oil lamps that lit the crowded main hall of the Club
--the whole building taken over by Malcolm
Struan and bedecked for his party. All respectable members of the Settlement had been invited and were present, all officers who could be spared from the fleet and Army--and outside on the
High Street patrols of both services were ready to inhibit drunks and undesirables from
Drunk Town.
Angelique had neve
r looked more striking-- crinoline, Bird of Paradise feather headdress and dazzling engagement ring. The dance was a pulsating waltz by Johann Strauss the