Kiku's Prayer: A Novel

by Shusaku Endo

  On the afternoon of the third day of the first month, the two finally got some time off and left the Gotōya. Kumazō tied a kerchief over his head and knotted it under his chin so he wouldn’t be recognized. The streets were jammed with people visiting shrines and temples, but the beach at Ōura was deserted. When he spotted the cross atop the church, Kumazō kept his head down as he climbed the hill toward it.

  Mitsu stood at the entrance to the church as he instructed her and stood guard while Kumazō went inside. She could not hear even the faintest sound from the sanctuary after he disappeared into it.

  When he finally emerged with tears in his eyes, Mitsu said, “OK, now will you wait at the beach for me? I’m going to go see Kiku.” She set off in search of Kiku, but she soon learned from Okane that Kiku had run away.

  “She’s gone off to Tsuwano, probably following some man,” Okane said spitefully.

  Kiku toiled doggedly at the Yamazaki Teahouse. She needed to get to Tsuwano as quickly as possible to give encouragement to Seikichi. But she needed money to do that. Never before had she wanted money so badly.

  The New Year holidays passed, and following the customs of the day, on the fourteenth the Mole-Pounding Ceremony1 was held. Children gathered into groups of five or six each, and using bamboo sticks wrapped in rope, they went around to each house, pounding on the stepping-stones at the entrance as they sang:

  It’s mole pounding on the fourteenth!

  Hurray! Three times with the stick—

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  On the fourteenth, with the singing voices of the children echoing all around, an incident occurred at the Karatsu Teahouse, which was not far from the Yamazaki. A courtesan from the Karatsu named Wakamatsu ran away with a client.

  It was common practice in Nagasaki when a person took flight or came up missing for everyone in the city to go out searching for them. On this occasion, groups of young men sent to track down the couple divided up and raced through the mountain forests, beating gongs and drums and calling out, “Bring her back! Bring her back!”

  “Still haven’t found her, eh?” The madam of the Yamazaki Teahouse went outside repeatedly and conversed with those who had gathered to discuss the matter. Even the children out mole pounding joined in the search, half for the fun of it.

  Near nightfall the two were discovered. In a cemetery they had bound their bodies tightly together with rope and had committed lovers’ suicide.

  That night, the government office boorishly enough suspended all activities in the Maruyama district so they could conduct their investigation. Eventually the two corpses were carted in. The man turned out to be a merchant named Shōsaburō from Motoshikkui-machi in Nagasaki.

  “They didn’t have to die like that,” the madam apprehensively described the scene she had just witnessed to Kiku. Apparently the deceased man and woman were clutching each other’s hands firmly, and no effort to separate them met with success.

  I envy them…. In her heart, Kiku was unspeakably jealous of Wakamatsu and Shōsaburō. As a courtesan, Wakamatsu was constrained in both body and heart and could never hope to be united for life with the man she loved. Her grief and Shōsaburō’s ardor for her had led the two of them to die in protest of their helpless fate.

  Kiku felt that her own circumstances were just like those of a courtesan. Seikichi was a Kirishitan and therefore a criminal who had violated orders from their leaders, and she never knew when she might be able to see him again. It was identical to the situation that Wakamatsu and Shōsaburō had found themselves in. And so their love suicide seemed to Kiku less pitiful than it was infinitely beautiful.

  I wonder if he’s forgotten all about me by now.

  Wracked by anxiety, Kiku asked Oyō, “Can you teach me how to write?” She had made up her mind to learn how to write so that she could compose a letter to Seikichi and ask Itō Seizaemon to take it to him in Tsuwano on his next visit.

  Oyō taught her how to write the characters as though she were her own little sister. Being bright, Kiku quickly learned the characters she was taught.

  Mornings commenced in Maruyama just as they did throughout Nagasaki, with the calls of street vendors. Even the clients at the pleasure houses, sound asleep with exhaustion from their night of revelry, were awakened by the vendors’ calls:

  Whiiite-fish! Whiiite—

  The young men called out robustly as they walked about selling whitefish.

  Every time Kiku heard the voices of the fish peddlers she thought of Seikichi’s voice. How she had waited with her heart pounding to hear that pleasing voice from far down the road when she worked at the Gotōya!

  Seikichi’s voice was wonderful, a joy to listen to. Kiku had listened to it with real admiration.

  But Seikichi no longer walked any of these streets.

  Before she went to bed each night, she read and reread her letter to Seikichi that she had finally half completed with Oyō’s help. She had struggled to write:

  Im sure your having a hard time. I was hopeing to see you so I wanted to come to tsuwano, but I couldnt so well have to talk in letters. Be brave.

  She had to figure out some way to get this letter to Itō Seizaemon. Ironically enough, right now Seizaemon was the only person who could provide her with any information about the man she loved.

  “When will Lord Itō be back from Tsuwano?” she repeatedly asked Oyō and the madam.

  “He said he’d be back when winter ends, so I’m sure it will be soon.”

  With that information, she began to wish earnestly that the spring sun would quickly shine on Nagasaki Bay, which right now was still frigid.

  The third month finally came. As the Peach Blossom Festival2 approached, the young street vendors began strolling about calling “Festival dumplings! Cold saké laced with flowers!”

  The festival was near its end when the madam came racing into the kitchen calling, “Kiku! Kiku! Lord Itō is here!”

  With a broad smile the madam welcomed him. “Lord Itō, Kiku has been counting the days until you came again.”

  Apparently Itō mistook what the madam was saying and gave a vulgar chuckle. “So she’s been looking forward to my return, has she? Excellent, excellent! Bring me some saké right away. And would you call that girl for me?”

  “Lord Itō, Kiku isn’t a hostess here,” flustered, the madam responded. “I’ll get Oyō for you.”

  “I don’t want Oyō!” He shook his head vigorously. “I want Kiku to pour for me.”

  On orders from the madam, Kiku carried a saké bottle and a side dish to the room on the second floor. Seizaemon had stretched himself out on the floor, using his arm as a pillow, and watched with great interest out of one eye as Kiku’s white arms rose and fell.

  Kiku being who she was—

  She was painfully conscious of Itō Seizaemon’s gaze from behind her as she arranged the bottle and cup and dishes on the table. She knew that his eyes were drinking in the movements of her neck, her back, her hips, her feet. It gave her an unpleasant feeling that sent a shudder through her.

  “There’s this place they call the three-foot cell,” Itō abruptly muttered, as though to himself. “Stay there and just listen for a minute. A three-foot cell, it’s called. Once you’re stuffed in there, you can’t stand or even move about. It’s three feet high and three feet wide. There’s only enough room for one adult body to fill up every bit of space. It’s got a small opening in the roof, and once a day they push two tiny little rice balls in. That’s all the prisoner gets to eat for the whole day.”

  Kiku’s body stiffened as though petrified. Itō gave a thin smile as he watched her back become rigid and continued his description.

  “Since they can’t move a muscle, they have to just relieve themselves where they are. I imagine their bodies start to ache the very first day. By the second day the pain is unbearable. Day after day goes by as they sit in their own body waste. Can’t be helped. That’s what happens to people who won’t follow orders from above an
d refuse to give up their perverse beliefs no matter what you say to them. Hey, pour me another drink!”

  Kiku turned her pallid face toward him. Her eyes cringed with anger and pain.

  “Hey, why’s your hand shaking? Seems like I frightened you a bit with my little story. But your friend Seikichi …”

  “Was Seikichi put in that tiny cell?”

  “Only for a little while. It was just as a warning to the others.” Still reclined on the floor, Itō brought the cup to his dry lips, closed his eyes, and savored the saké. “But listen to this: he got out because I was clever enough to arrange it so that he was punished for only two days. I did it all for you. If I hadn’t taken care of him …” He picked up the bottle himself and refilled his cup. “’Cause already two of them took sick in the little cell and died.”

  “I beg you. Please don’t put Seikichi in that horrible cell again!”

  “Well, that … That all depends on what you’re willing to do now.” He spoke in a deliberate voice that was a curious mixture of hope and dejection. “What you’re willing to do … What you’re willing to do.”

  “What is it … that I need to do?”

  “I think you know….” He leered at her, relishing the game. “Working here as you do, I think you must know what goes on between Hondō Shuntarō and Oyō when they’re alone together. What does her voice sound like … when they’re going at it?” Itō reached out his hand and clutched Kiku’s ankle.

  “No!” Kiku cried. “Stop it!”

  She wrenched her body and tried to push Itō away with her right hand. Suddenly a ferocious look swept across his face.

  “What? Is it that disagreeable to have me touch you?”

  Kiku said nothing.

  “I’m not going to force myself on anybody who doesn’t want it. At Tsuwano all I ever do is torment people against their will and then report on what they say. But hey, hold on a minute. Next time I come back to Nagasaki, as my gift to you I’ll let you know what’s happened to Seikichi.”

  He brought the cup to his mouth and drained out the saké. Drops of the liquor spilled from his mouth ringed with scruffy whiskers and soaked his collar.

  “Go downstairs!” He spat at Kiku. “And tell the boss … tell her to get me a more cooperative girl. A cooperative girl, for your information, is a girl who’ll give me her body with a smile when I touch her.”

  He couldn’t tell whether or not Kiku heard him: she was immobile, staring at a spot in the air as though in a daze. Itō, of course, had no clue what she was thinking.

  “Hey! Didn’t you hear me tell you to go downstairs? Useless girl …”

  Still Kiku did not speak.

  “What are you looking so idiotic about?”

  “Lord Itō,” Kiku suddenly looked up at Itō and responded, “If … If I … If I do as you say … will you send Seikichi back to Nagasaki?”

  “Back to Nagasaki?” Itō’s droopy eyes widened in surprise. And then he inadvertently let show the good in himself and answered honestly, “What are you talking about? I don’t have that kind of power. But I can certainly make things easier for him in his cell at Tsuwano.”

  “Make it easier—how?”

  “I can slip him a little extra to eat. If you give me some money, I can get that to him. Even in prison, there’s times when money is king. A man can even get his time spent in hell shortened with a few coins.”

  “Even the time in the three-foot cell?”

  “Well, if I give them the word … he can probably avoid the place altogether.”

  Kiku was silent. As she pondered what to do, Itō’s eyes hungrily studied her profile.

  “Lord Itō?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then … I’ll do … I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” At that, she closed her eyes, almost as though she were about to stretch out on an operating table.

  “If you’re going to be so prim about it … it sort of takes away the fun. Hold on—I’m going to have another bottle or two to drink.” Itō brought the cup to his lips, eager to become intoxicated as quickly as possible.

  In that instant, two distinct images appeared on the screen of Kiku’s closed eyelids.

  One was of herself, dressed up as a new bride. She was so happy, walking alongside Seikichi through the fields of lotus flowers in Urakami….

  The other was an image of Seikichi, his arms tied behind his back, crammed into that box-like little cell. With froth seeping from his mouth, he gave a low moan. He had been seated in that same position for days, in a box that hardly any sunlight could pierce.

  Seikichi, please stay strong! I’m going to do something to help you right now!

  She had made up her mind, even though helping Seikichi meant doing what Itō Seizaemon told her to do. And doing his bidding meant defiling her body. It also meant abandoning forever her dream of becoming Seikichi’s bride.

  “Aaah … !” A groan escaped through Kiku’s lips. Itō, his face flushed with arousal and alcohol, impatiently insinuated his right hand between the hems of her kimono and tried to push her body back onto the floor with his left.

  “Aaah … !” Her groan was filled with pain and disgust and grief. There was not the slightest trace in her cry of the pleasure a woman feels when she gives her body to a man she loves. In that moment, she had to abandon her dream of happiness, her dream of spending her life at Seikichi’s side, walking together through the lotus fields of Urakami. She had to discard her dream of busily working as his wife and becoming the mother of his children….

  Soy flour! Say—come get your flour here!

  Outside, the street vendors raised their monotone voices loudly as they passed by. Children were kicking stones along the road—it was exactly the same kind of game that Kiku and Mitsu had played years ago in Magome.

  Seikichi! Seikichi! Seikichi!

  Inwardly, Kiku desperately repeated Seikichi’s name first as Itō’s body covered hers, his drunken breaths coming faster until he was almost gasping for air, and again as she clenched her teeth to endure the searing pain that tore through her body. Seikichi’s name was all she had to cling to.

  A long time passed. When finally Itō ceased his protracted labors, he pulled his body away from hers. But Kiku did not stir; she merely gazed absently at the ceiling.

  Eventually—Eventually pallid tears slowly flowed from her almond eyes, then slowly dribbled along her cheeks.

  Soy flour! Say—come get your flour here!

  The droning voice of the vendor was back, clearly audible.

  One potato, two potato, three potato, four!

  We got no treats from the lady next door.

  Her kids’ll all be devils from the day they’re born,

  And her grandkids’ll all have a long sharp horn!

  The children sang as they kicked rocks. Just as Kiku and Mitsu had sung as young girls in Magome.

  The lotus flowers that covered the fields, back when they were innocent, and her dream of becoming Seikichi’s wife had all flown off far into the distance. An unending stream of tears welled in Kiku’s eyes, then flowed down her cheeks….

  After a while—

  When Itō Seizaemon stood up, he glanced awkwardly at Kiku, then suddenly in a gentle voice said, “I’ll be back again. Before then, think of any messages you’d like to send to that fellow in Tsuwano. You can send money if you want….” With that, he fled down the stairs.

  “Oh, are you leaving …?” The madam looked at Itō with a strained smile, then winked and said, “So, how was Kiku?”

  “Umm … OK.” Itō hastily went out the door.

  After watching him leave rather downcast, the madam quietly went up to the second floor. Kiku had her back to the door and was quietly gathering up the scattered bottles and bowls.

  “Once you’ve finished cleaning up, why don’t you take a little break until this evening? We won’t have any more customers until after dark.” She spoke to Kiku with greater compassion than usual.

  That night,
two or three groups of customers came in, and at one point Oyō came downstairs to speak to the madam. “Mama, there’s something funny about Kiku tonight.”

  “Funny how?”

  “I can’t really say, but she’s a lot quieter than usual. Did something happen in Tsuwano?”

  “Not that I know of,” the madam feigned ignorance.

  Two or three days later, the madam unexpectedly asked Kiku, “Kiku, this isn’t something I’m trying to force you into, so please just relax and listen, OK? Have you given any thought to becoming a geiko like Oyō?”

  Kiku said nothing.

  “A girl as pretty as you with just a little work could become the top geiko in Maruyama. You’d make good money for a long, long while, and you could use it to help your man in Tsuwano….”

  Kiku still did not reply. Dark currents of fate had swept her up and were carrying her toward some unknown destination. No matter how hard she struggled against those currents, ultimately she would be borne away…. That was the sort of acquiescence that governed her heart right now.

  Itō came back to the teahouse another two or three times. He was careful to choose the afternoon hours, when no other clients were about, to make his appearance. As a house, they were not particularly grateful to have him for a customer, but since he was an official at the Nishi Bureau, the madam had no choice but to welcome him with a smile.

  He always drank saké in the same room on the second floor, and then he would pull Kiku, who sat silently pouring his drinks, into his arms. Wordlessly Kiku laid back, and Itō climbed on top of her.

  But when he was finished with her, he would leave with a strangely uncomfortable look on his face, as though he were ashamed of himself.

  Clients were still few in number when Itō climbed down the slope from Maruyama, now lit by the declining western sun, and he muttered to himself, “I’m … I’m a despicable man. A truly despicable man.”

  He blinked his eyes.

  1. The mogura-uchi is celebrated most commonly in Kyushu, with the pounding of sticks on the ground symbolizing the extermination of moles, which were the bane of a farmer’s existence. Similar to the custom at Halloween, the children usually received candy, tangerines, or coins from the houses they visited.