Kiku's Prayer: A Novel

by Shusaku Endo

  “Ever since that day,” Petitjean tried to comfort the embittered man, “I have prayed continually for your mother.”

  “But you weren’t here when she died….” The man stubbornly protested.

  It is far too bleak here, Petitjean thought. If only I could help these Japanese develop a hopeful, untroubled faith.

  There was a commotion at the door to the house.

  “Officers! Come quickly, padre, it’s officers!” A sharp voice cried from behind Petitjean.

  He and Father Laucaigne clambered through the back door of the house and raced outside. They were greeted by an outhouse with a lurching roof and a grimy pig tied to a stake. With a shrill cry, a flock of chickens scattered in all directions.

  “Padre, come this way!” Kisuke ran ahead of the two priests. They hid in a copse of trees at the base of a hill behind the house.

  Petitjean and Father Laucaigne panted for air amid the verdant aroma of the young leaves. From their position they had a view of several farmhouses squeezed together and hills blanketed with terraced fields.

  Kisuke, who had concealed himself behind a tree trunk and was scrutinizing the hills, turned back to them and whispered, “Padre, they’re over there. The officers …”

  It was true. A single officer and a man dressed like a detective stood halfway up the hill, looking menacingly toward them. For some reason, they made no move to come down from the hill.

  From the distant shoreline they could hear shouts and the beating of drums. The White Dragon Boat competition was still under way.

  An insect with flapping wings hovered around Petitjean’s face. Time passed oppressively.

  The men and women who had fled the makeshift chapel went back inside, their faces radiating blamelessness. The officer and detective who had been watching them climbed to the top of the hill and disappeared in the direction of the village on the opposite side.

  Kisuke raced out of the woods and said to a young man named Ichisaburō, “They’ve gone. Why didn’t they come this way?”

  “Probably because they don’t dare arrest us. You remember what the padre said…. If they seize us Kirishitans, the foreigners in Nagasaki will complain. That’s why they won’t touch us.”

  Doors opened at a number of houses, and the people who had quickly concealed themselves came outside. They encircled Petitjean and Laucaigne who had emerged from the trees. Like the throng who welcomed Jesus when he entered Jerusalem.

  “The officers can’t do anything, because we’ve got the padres here!” When Ichisaburō explained this to the others, they sent up a cheer as though their side had just acquired a million allies. Their cry blended in with the shouts still coming from the White Dragon Boat race at the shore.

  As he listened to the chorus, Petitjean suddenly felt a slight uneasiness. The anxiety that agitated his mind was like a black blotch appearing from nowhere in a blue sky.

  I wonder if something terrible is going to happen.

  His uneasiness had nothing to do with the arrival of the officers. What worried him was the utterly carefree manner in which the Kirishitans were behaving and how boisterously they were celebrating. If they went too far and did something stupid, it would give the magistrate a convenient pretext to take action.

  He spread his arms wide and urged caution on the group. “Now everyone, listen carefully to me. Today the officers from the magistrate have gone. But they will surely come again. Please remember that.”

  The anxiety that had unexpectedly assailed Petitjean’s mind at that moment became a reality ten days after the boat races.

  On that day, an elderly woman in Motohara died. It was the same woman whose hand Petitjean had held and for whom he had prayed on the day they heard the commotion from the White Dragon Boat races.

  She breathed her last in the middle of the night, and her family didn’t discover her until the following morning, so Petitjean and Father Laucaigne were not able to be with her or administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction to her.

  Toward morning, a man with a self-satisfied look on his face cautioned the deceased’s family, “If you have the funeral in the Buddhist way, the old lady might not be able to go to Paraíso.” It was, of course, the same man who had not been able to get Petitjean to come on the day his own mother died.

  “But there’s no telling how much trouble we’ll be in if we don’t notify the priest at the Shōtokuji.” One family member shook his head nervously. When the family member of a peasant in Urakami passed away, they were required to report it to the village headman and to the Shōtokuji, which was their assigned Buddhist parish, and they had to have the funeral services performed by the priest at Shōtokuji. In this manner, the Shōtokuji was able to certify that the family was not Kirishitan and send that report on to the magistrate.

  “In trouble? With the priest at Shōtokuji?” The man who had raised the warning sneered, and the men who had come with him likewise sneered. “Nothing to worry about! The officers of the magistrate can’t arrest us even if they know we’re Kirishitans. And nobody’s afraid of the priest at the Shōtokuji!”

  This was the attitude that had governed the village since the day of the boat races. Despite both abundant proof that the people of this area were Kirishitans and the information that the padre from the Nambanji had come to visit them, the magistrate hadn’t sent a single officer to apprehend them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t afford to make any trouble for the padre at the Nambanji or for the other foreigners living in Nagasaki….

  “We can have the old woman’s funeral just among ourselves as Kirishitans. We can ask the padre to perform it.”

  The family of the deceased ultimately agreed with the crowd’s recommendation, eager to send their mother to Paraíso. Consequently, they did not report the death to the Shōtokuji or to the village head. Instead, they decided to send up a kite over Mount Kompira asking Petitjean to come to them.

  But word quickly reached the village head that a death had occurred that had not been reported to him. He immediately sent a messenger with that news off to the Shōtokuji and raced over to Motohara.

  He assembled all the people out on the road and reproached them, a look of bewilderment on his face. “What kind of reckless game are you playing? If the magistrate finds out about this, you’ll be making trouble for more than just yourselves. You’ll be implicating all the people in Satogō and Nakano and Urakami, and everyone will be punished. Are you all right with that? Does it matter to you that even your wives and children will be punished?”

  But the peasants who had been summoned in from their labors averted their eyes and said nothing.

  “I know that you people are Kirishitans. The reason I haven’t said anything is because you haven’t made any trouble. But if you persist in doing such foolish things, I won’t be able to keep silent any longer.”

  An evening breeze was blowing, and as the sky grew increasingly dark, the warnings and lecture from the village head rambled on and on.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying to you? If you do, then you have to report this death to the Shōtokuji immediately.” By now he was almost pleading, seemingly having reached the end of his patience. He was fully aware that these peasants were defying him with their silence.

  “Excuse me, sir,” one woman called out from the group. “I … I don’t have any use for the priest at the Shōtokuji. My parents and grandparents were all given Buddhist funerals, but I can’t bring myself to believe that they’re going to hell just because of that. But I … As you know, sir, my family’s been Kirishitan for a long time…. And from now on I’d just like to have our funerals in the Kirishitan way.” In the darkness, the woman’s face was not clearly visible. But when she finished speaking, voices of assent rose from all around: “We feel the same way!” “Us, too!” Finally, as though it were the summation of everyone’s view, some cried, “Sir, please just leave us alone!” Then silence reigned for a time.

  “So that’s it,” the village head said with resigna
tion. “If that’s how you feel, then you’ll need to send a declaration to that effect to the magistrate. I won’t say anything. But I also won’t protect you no matter what the magistrate decides to do to you.”

  “The magistrate?! … He can’t lay a finger on us!” At that taunt, everyone burst into laughter.

  That evening, as the headman tried to placate the infuriated chief priest of the Shōtokuji and encouraged him to write a complaint to the magistrate, the peasants persuaded a calligraphy master who lived in the village to compose a statement for them to send.

  “We believe, based on the teachings handed down to us from our ancestors, that no sect other than Christianity offers any hope for the afterlife. Up until now, we have been forced, in accordance with the law, to have last rites for our deceased family members performed at the Shōtokuji, our assigned Buddhist parish. But we have done so only out of duty and not from our hearts. But now a Christian chapel has been built in the foreign settlement, and having heard the teachings there, we find they are in accord with that which we learned from our ancestors, and we embrace it as our faith.”

  Of course, the language of the statement was not in the colloquial used by the peasants, but in the style of the calligraphy master. Still, these words were the very first attempt by the peasants of Urakami, who for many long years had obediently followed the dictates of the shogunate, to appeal for freedom. For freedom of belief. Freedom of thought. Freedom to live …

  From that day forward, every morning when she awoke and every evening before she retired, Kiku took out the medaille that Seikichi had given her, taking care that no one saw it. Only her cousin Mitsu knew her secret.

  “It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

  Mitsu had no choice but to nod and say, “Yeah,” but Kiku was oblivious to her opinion in any case. This medaille was her most valuable possession because it had been given to her by Seikichi. And because it came from him, the image of the Blessed Mother engraved on it seemed to her the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  “You mustn’t tell anybody that I have this.”

  “But, Kiku, it scares me. It’s like you’ve become a Kirishitan, too….”

  Kiku pretended not to hear. A child like Mitsu still knew nothing of what it meant for a woman to be in love with a man. Seikichi had explained to Kiku that he and the other Kirishitans in Nakano would never dream of causing trouble for anyone else. All they were doing was following the beliefs they’d been taught by their fathers and grandfathers. Why was that so wrong …?

  Kiku tried to believe in what Seikichi had said. Her love impelled her to do so. But it wasn’t something a young girl like Mitsu could comprehend….

  “Kiku, did you eat the pickles I brought you?” Mitsu whispered from her bed. She had swiped some from the dinner table and given them to Kiku.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m so happy. Tomorrow’s the day my brother’s coming!” Ichijirō appeared outside their shop door on the fifteenth day of every month. It was the happiest day of the month for Mitsu.

  Kiku also enjoyed Ichijirō’s visits. But this time she was frightened. She had the feeling she’d get into trouble over her feelings for Seikichi.

  “You’re lucky to have a brother like him, Mitsu,” she said in sincere envy.

  While the two girls worked the following day, they kept one ear on the back door in case someone should come. Ichijirō always stood and waited by the rear door.

  “Ichijirō!” He arrived past noon while Kiku was washing the lunch dishes. Mitsu signaled her with her eyes and she hurried to the back door.

  “Hello! Are you both working your fingers to the bone?” Ichijirō laughed gleefully. “Nothing’s changed back in Magome, except that Granny’s back is hurting her.” He went on to boast of how valiantly he and the other young men of Magome had fought in the White Dragon Boat races.

  “Our opponent was the dragon boat from Nishidomari, so it was no contest!” Then, as if he had suddenly remembered, he peered intently at Kiku. “But Magome’s the only place that’s quiet right now. Urakami’s in an uproar right now because of what’s happened.”

  “What has happened?”

  “Those lousy Kuros have caused a real stir,” he said quietly, still staring at Kiku. “They sent a ridiculous statement to the magistrate. It said they don’t want anything more to do with the Shōtokuji. The word on the street is that the statement horrified the town headman and he went to talk with the magistrate. And even though the chief priest went to Nakano and Motohara a number of times to try to reason with them, they wouldn’t listen to him.”

  Ichijirō’s face was unusually calm. But he continued staring at Kiku. She understood the meaning of that gaze better than if he had put it into words. With a stiff face, Kiku focused her eyes on her cousin’s mouth….

  After a pause, she asked in a soft voice, “Ichijirō. Will the people in Nakano … will they be put on trial?”

  Ichijirō again responded quietly, “I’m sure they will. If this were the old days, the magistrate’s officers would’ve already raided Nakano and Motohara. But with all the fuss the foreigners are making right now, they’ve just been watching the situation closely. But the magistrate can’t keep silent forever.”

  Kiku said nothing.

  “Kiku,” Ichijirō continued. “Not one of us in Magome has ever made any trouble for the Shōtokuji or our village head. A girl from Magome can’t marry a Kuro.”

  “Ichijirō, if the Kirishitans get arrested, what will happen to them?”

  “They’ll be executed for sure.” For the first time, Ichijirō spoke passionately, as though he were trying to intimidate his cousin. Kiku’s body jerked like a spring.

  “But the magistrate can’t do anything to them now, can he? So there’s hope that they’ll be all right, isn’t there?” Kiku sounded as though she were pleading with Ichijirō.

  But he responded icily, “Hope they’ll be all right? No hope at all. There might be if they’d sign an oath that they’d given up being Kirishitans…. But they insist they won’t do that…. The village head doesn’t have any idea what to do with them. And now word of all this has reached Nagasaki. The magistrate won’t be able to hide it anymore….”

  What Ichijirō said was true. He was very familiar with the events because he had heard what the magistrate was doing and what was going on from the chief priest of the Shōtokuji.

  “All right, I’ve got to go.” When he had said what he came to say, he turned to his sister Mitsu and said gently, “I’ll be back again. Anything you need?”

  Kiku said nothing for a long while after Ichijirō left. Mitsu tried to encourage her by saying, “Kiku, you’ve got to cheer up.” Kiku merely nodded, and seemed to be deep in thought.

  On that same day—

  Lord Tokunaga, ruler of Iwami Province and magistrate of Nagasaki, sent a special summons to Hondō Shuntarō to solicit his opinion. There were at the time two magistrates in Nagasaki; one was Lord Tokunaga of Iwami, the other Lord Nosé, ruler of Ōsumi Province.

  The two magistrates were divided in their views. Tokunaga, fearing the impact that the situation in Urakami might have on other villages, took a hard line, insisting that the only way to maintain the dignity of the magistrate’s office was to suppress the uprising at once. Nosé, on the other hand, held a more moderate view and, concerned about the enormous implications of having this whole affair become entangled with the ongoing issues in foreign relations, argued that they should adopt a watchful stance and request a judgment from the shogunate. Consequently, Nosé immediately left Nagasaki and headed for the capital to request instructions from the Kyoto marshal.

  “Lord Nosé is too soft,” Tokunaga sighed. “The upheaval is no longer limited just to Urakami. According to the reports from several village headsmen, some of the Kirishitans who’ve been hiding out in places like Shitsu and Kurosaki and Inasa are now openly traveling to Urakami, where they meet and talk together and build up each other’s morale. The Kirishita
ns in Urakami continue to boast that they’ve cut off all association with their Buddhist priest, and their ranks grow by the day. If we do nothing out of fear of France, we’ll be guilty of taking this too lightly.”

  “It’s the times we’re living in, isn’t it?” Hondō Shuntarō folded his arms. If this were still the days of the earlier shoguns, he mused, no one would have dared do anything that challenged the authority of the rulers. But these days, when many of the daimyo domains, especially Chōshū and Satsuma, did not take the shogunate seriously and ignored their bidding, even indigent peasants like these in Urakami were beginning to make a mockery of the central government’s power.

  “As I’ve been studying language with Petitjean at the Nambanji, I’ve been discussing various things with him. I think these attitudes of the Urakami peasants have been fed to them by Petitjean and Laucaigne.”

  “What have Petitjean and the other priest been telling them?”

  “That the shogunate has requested support from France because they can’t control Chōshū and Satsuma. And that that’s why they can’t touch the Kirishitans here, because the religion they follow is the state religion of France….” Hondō watched as the blue veins in the magistrate’s temples bulged.

  “Can’t touch them …? Petitjean came right out and said that?”

  “Not in so many words. But he says it in his attitude when he breaks the promise he made with your office when the Nambanji was built here in Nagasaki.”

  The magistrate nodded bitterly. Then he lowered his eyes and muttered as though to himself, “I understand there are some antiforeign roughnecks who frequent the Maruyama pleasure quarters who’d love to cut down Petitjean….”

  Shuntarō had heard the same rumor from the young geisha Oyō. It would be a serious matter for the nation if anyone did something so foolish. He must act before this turned into an international incident.

  “I … I believe it’s time to make a move and arrest the main instigators in Urakami in order to underscore the authority of the magistrate. If we do nothing, these people and Petitjean will grow increasingly cocky, and that will only provoke the antiforeign element….”