James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  Hiraga took a deep breath and launched himself into the void: "One thing, yes, you can do to he'rp me. He'rp me on to ship, ship for

  Ing'rand."

  Tyrer gaped at him. "Eh? You're mad!"

  "P'rease, keep soft, many enemy here,"

  Hiraga said quietly, passionately excited with this stunning, radical idea that had swooped out of the air at him, as if down from the Sun

  Goddess herself. "P'rease 'risten. Many times you say me 'rearn about gai-jin, your country best, neh? I go there with my cousin. We 'rearn best way to make govern, your Par'iment.

  We 'rearn your way. Yoshi right about navy and army, but I think more best to 'rearn banking and business and trading. We need knowing best way, neh? Your way, Ing'rish way, neh?"

  Eloquently Hiraga continued to spin his web, his anxiety lending him extra words and soft cadences. This was his final plan, his only possible escape from Yoshi's trap. He was certain that a year or two spent with gai-jin, with the right introductions and help would be of enormous value to sonno-joi.

  It is the perfect answer to inevitable death if

  I stay, he had reasoned exuberantly. In a year or two we will return, perfect Ing'rish speakers, bursting with their secrets about produk'shun and stoku markit, rifles, cannon, tactics, strategy, the methods they used to conqueror the outside world, even to humble

  China!

  This is the Land of the Gods! China should be ours, not the gai-jin's. Before I leave I'll tell our Choshu shishi leaders of my plan, and somehow keep in touch through letters. "It's simp're,

  Taira-sama. You speak to Captain, we sneak aboard no prob'rem. No one need know."

  "Sir William would never agree."

  "Perhaps no need speak him." Hiraga leaned closer, giving him the option, unsure of himself.

  "Or if speak, I speak too, think he agree, neh? Very important for Ing'rish have

  Japan friend. I good friend. Jami-sama, he he'rp too if ask."

  "Who?"

  "Jami, big beard man, bigger as you.

  Jami."

  "Jamie? Jamie McFay?"

  "Yes, Jami Mukfey."

  Now that the idea had sunk into him, Tyrer's mind began working better. There were tremendous long-term possibilities in doing what

  Hiraga suggested. It had ever been British policy to educate--re-educate--selected foreign students, the more important or princely the better. Many were radicals, or revolutionaries in their own country, India notably. Hiraga was very intelligent and if an enemy of Yoshi, important. Judge a man by his enemies, his father had said.

  And while he chewed over Hiraga's suggestion he also wondered how his father and mother were, and his friends, sad that he could not see them or be in London soon--no home leave for two years. At the same time he was proud to be part of the Diplomatic Service and a cog, albeit very small, in the vastness of British

  Empire building.

  Hiraga's idea is good. It would work. But how to get him out and how to get Sir William to assist--Willie's the key.

  The more he thought about it, the more his hopes sank, the more he had to admit he was stupid to even consider it, becoming more and more certain that Sir William would not, could not countenance such a ploy--not with this man, an admitted killer, not Hiraga who was a pawn in the far greater contest for Yoshi. There was no quid pro quo for Sir William--no compensation, no reason to risk Yoshi's enmity, the power of the future, whatever Hiraga claimed.

  "I'll try," he said, purporting to be confident, not forgetting he was still Hiraga's prisoner, the sword too near. "Can't guarantee anything but I'll try. Where will you be?"

  Hiraga was satisfied, his gamble immense though with room left to maneuver. He had convinced

  Taira, now again on his side. The gai-jin leader would be an ally. "You keep sekret?"

  "Of course."

  "Send word to Raiko. I can meet in vi'rage or here. You say where, Taira-sama.

  Think sooner is better, for ship, neh?"

  "Yes. I'll send you a message tomorrow, or come myself." Cautiously Tyrer began to stand.

  Hiraga beamed. "You go Fujiko?"

  Gloom descended instantly. "There's no

  Fujiko anymore."

  "What? What you mean p'rease?"

  Tyrer told him and he saw Hiraga's face flush.

  "But you have promise, Taira-sama. Me,

  I t'awk, arrange with Raiko, neh?"

  "Yes, but now the contract's off. Raiko says..." Tyrer stopped, frightened by the look on Hiraga's face.

  "Wait, p'rease!" Hiraga stormed out.

  Tyrer peered out of a side window. No one in sight, only waving branches and the smell of sea salt in the air--run while you've the chance, he told himself but then, suddenly, desperately, he wanted to urinate. He used the bucket in the bathroom and felt better. Now he was hungry. And thirsty. He looked around.

  No teapot, no water jug. His hunger and thirst were grinding--like Hiraga's idea was grinding. No way to satisfy either. Without Sir

  William's benevolence Hiraga would be a child in the wilderness. Even Jamie couldn't help much, now that he was out of Struan's. Why should he or anyone help? There was no quid pro quo. Again he peered out of the little window.

  Get out while you can, he thought and went for the door. Then he heard footsteps. He rushed back to his cushion. The shoji was flung open.

  Raiko was shoved on her knees in front of him, Hiraga towering menacingly in the doorway.

  "Oh so sorry, Taira-sama," Raiko said, stumbling over the words in abject haste to apologize and placate him, "oh so sorry,

  I made a terrible mistake...."

  Her words were a fountain. Tyrer understood little of them though he got their message clearly.

  "Enough," he said firmly. "Bring contract now.

  I sign."

  Meekly she brought out the scroll from her sleeve and offered it.

  "Wait," Hiraga ordered. "Give it to me!"

  She obeyed instantly and put her head down again. He scanned the short document, grunted.

  "This as agree, Taira-sama, you sign

  'rater," he said in English again. "This person

  ..." he pointed angrily at Raiko, "says make mistake, says Fujiko begs honor to see you now, so sorry for the mistake. Her mistake. Baka!" he snapped at her, adding in Japanese, "Treat this lord properly or

  I'll destroy this Teahouse! Make sure

  Fujiko is ready, very ready. Now."

  "Hai, Hiraga-sama!" Mumbling profuse apologies she fled.

  Once safely away, she chortled, delighted with her performance, with Hiraga's ploy, and that the deal was done.

  Tyrer, elated, thanked Hiraga too happy to worry about how his obvious friend had changed her so quickly. We'll never understand some things about these people. "I'll sign the contract and bring it back tomorrow."

  "Take time, keep woman dog waiting."

  Hiraga smiled and gave him the scroll. "Now I take you Fujiko.

  Ikimasho."

  "Domo arigato gozaimashita."

  Tyrer bowed as a Japanese would bow to someone owed a considerable favor.

  "Friend he'rp friend," Hiraga said simply.

  Later that evening Tyrer awoke, completely satisfied. His timepiece read 9:20.

  Perfect, he thought. He lay beside Fujiko who was fast asleep, the futons and feather coverlets as clean and sweet-smelling as she was, warm and comfortable--so much better than his bed, rough straw mattress and heavy woolen blankets with their dank smell. The sheen of her skin was golden in the candlelight, the tiny room golden and snug, with the wind worrying the roof and shoji walls and flames.

  Another short nap, he thought, and then I'll leave.

  Don't be silly. There's no need to go back tonight. All papers for tomorrow's Yoshi meeting are ready, a copy of the Treaty in Japanese and

  English in Wee Willie's briefcase and double-checked this afternoon. The agreed battle plan against Sanjiro of Satsuma is ready in the safe for his and Ketterer
's signature. I'll be up with the dawn, bright as a mint-new golden guinea--after the Hiraga shock-u and Raiko's bigger shock-u I deserve a treat. He smiled, shock-u, sounding so Japanese. A contented sigh, good old Nakama, I mean

  Hiraga. He yawned and closed his eyes. And nestled closer. Fujiko did not awaken but opened herself to him.

  In another part of the gardens Hinodeh waited impatiently for Andr`e, due any moment now,

  Raiko had warned, almost ill with anticipation.

  Raiko was slouched in her own quarters, drinking sak`e. Soon she would turn to brandy and to oblivion, the drink swilling away all bad thoughts: her fear and loathing for Hiraga and her hopes for him, her terror over Meikin and esteem for her revenge intermingled with each emptied cup.

  Across the garden, hidden in his safe house

  Hiraga sat in the classic Lotus position meditating to clear the foul headache that the

  Katsumata news and Tyrer had caused.

  Soon Akimoto would return. Then he would decide about Takeda.

  Over the next fence in a garden house of the

  Teahouse of Cherries, Akimoto was sak`e drunk. Lolling across from him, Takeda belched and quaffed his beer. Another sak`e flask was emptied blearily until it slid from

  Akimoto's fingers. His head drifted to his arms. He began to snore. Takeda smiled, not nearly as drunk as he had pretended.

  When he was sure Akimoto was asleep, he slid the shoji open and closed it after him. The night was cold, the wind strong from the south. It whipped around him, ruffling his thatch of uncomfortable, stubbled hair. He scratched vigorously checking the part of the gardens he could see. A maid with a tray hurried from a bungalow to the main building. In the distance he heard men singing drunkenly and a samisen. Somewhere a dog barked. When the maid had vanished, he put on his dark padded jacket, stuck his swords in his belt, stepped into his straw sandals and darted down the path, turned onto another, then another until he was near the fence.

  His cache was under a bush. Five bombs that he and

  Hiraga had made, with fuses of various lengths.

  The bombs were constructed from two sections of giant bamboo tied together, a third of a yard long, half that wide, the hollows of one packed tightly with Katsumata's extra gunpowder, the other with oil, and plugged. Quickly he fused three bombs using the longest fuses he had, about a candle of time each--nearly two hours. The fuses were made of cotton rope, impregnated with a gunpowder solution and allowed to dry. He armed the remaining two with fuses for half that time.

  A last look at the sky. Clouds raced with the wind. Good. He picked up two long-fused bombs and was gone, melding nicely with the night, through the secret fence door into the garden of the Three

  Carp that was south of the Cherries and headed for the southernmost garden house, like all of them, raised half a yard on low pilings. It was occupied and illuminated. Warily he crawled under it. He lit the fuse with a flint, the noise deadened by the wind. The fuse caught. A woman's footstep sounded above and he froze. Sound of the shoji being opened. After a moment it closed again.

  Errant leaves heaped over the spluttering fuse concealed it almost completely and once more he was away, a shadow amongst shadows--to duck into the shrubbery seeing a gai-jin coming down the path. The man passed without noticing him, then again he was in motion, running for the main Teahouse building.

  Another fire bomb was settled there neatly.

  Now back through the fence, avoiding a servant, waiting for a portly old maid to trundle by, reaching the cache, there to collect the last of the long-fuse bombs and hastening away again. This he lit and placed under his own house, Akimoto's snores rumbling above. Takeda's lips drew back with his smile. A last time he darted back to the cache, sweating and euphoric. So far, all according to Ori's plan. Hiraga was gai-jin infected. So was Akimoto. He was not. He would do it alone.

  With the remaining bombs he went across the garden and over the fence to the next and to the next and there was the secret well head. Quickly he went down into it, replacing the cover, no need to fear that Hiraga was below.

  In the tunnel and safe he began to breathe again and lit the oil lamp. Scattered around were

  Hiraga's bed and few possessions.

  Katsumata's knapsack with the metal-cased bombs was under a blanket. He added his own two, shouldered the bag and hurried down the tunnel. Soon the water barrier was ahead.

  Quickly he was out of his clothes, tying them into a bundle.

  The freezing water made him struggle for breath. When he reached the narrowest part where the roof sank toward the water, his head was just below it and the water not quite to his chin. With difficulty he managed to hold the lamp and knapsack above the surface. On the other side he dressed hurriedly, shivering and cursing, still so much to do.

  Never mind, he had begun. Soon he would be finished and then would live forever. His fervor warmed him and drove the cold away.

  At the far end where iron bars led upwards and the well vanished below, he stopped to collect his breath. Now upwards. Once he slipped, almost fell but regained his hold and held on until his heart stopped racing. Up again. With great care he moved the broken cover aside and peered out. No

  Man's Land was empty. Drunk Town was busy with slavering and shouts and drunken singing, a few men reeling along alleys not far away, dogs barking at them.

  Drunk Town was south of the village and the

  Settlement that hugged the coast on a south-north line, as the Yoshiwara was generally southwards of

  Drunk Town. Ori first, then Katsumata and

  Hiraga had planned where to plant the fire initiators so that a wind from the south would drive the flames before it to consume all in its path.

  He left the knapsack in the weeds, and secreted one short-fused bomb against a rickety godown, the other behind a hovel.

  Rubbish covered the smoking fuses.

  Hurrying back for the remaining bombs he had to slump into hiding near a pile of rubbish.

  Approaching from the village a patrol of soldiers was making their nightly rounds. Their route went from the British Legation, along High

  Street, through the village, across No Man's

  Land, down through Drunk Town and back along the promenade again. Twice nightly. When they reached the alley, thirty yards from him, they stopped in the lee of the godown for a smoke and to relieve themselves.

  Takeda cursed, pinned down.

  More than three quarters of a candle had passed since lighting the first fuse.

  "Good evening, Hinodeh," Andr`e said earlier when he had arrived at their garden sanctuary.

  "Sorry I late."

  "Good evening, Furansu-san. You are never late. Whatever you do is correct." Smiling at him. "Will you take sak`e?"

  "Please." He sat opposite and watched her pour, his legs in the space under the table where a small brazier warmed the air, the heat kept in by the eiderdown that was spread over the table and wrapped around them. Her grace was ever more pleasing, hair like glistening jet held with decorative pins, a touch of rouge to her lips, her long sleeves held delicately away from the flask.

  Tonight she wore a kimono he had never seen before, a glorious shade of green, his favorite color, with cranes, the symbol of long life, embroidered in silver thread all over, the edge of a sheer under-kimono peeping out enticingly. With a bow she handed him the cup and then, to his surprise, poured for herself from another flask that contained warm sak`e--his was cold as he preferred. It was rare for her to drink.

  With a special smile, she lifted her cup.

  "A ta sant`e, ch@eri, je t'aime."

  She copied his accent as he had taught her.

  "A ta sant`e, ch@erie, je t'aime," he said, an ache in his heart, not believing that she did, how could she?

  They clinked cups and she drained hers, choked a little, at once poured for him again and for herself. The same smile and she offered her cup to touch his.

  They drained them and again she poured.


  "Mon Dieu, Hinodeh, you careful, yes?" he said with a laugh. "Not used to sak`e.

  Careful, no become drunk!"

  She laughed, sparkling white teeth, voluptuous lips. "Please, Furansu-san, tonight is special. Drink and be merry.