Kiku's Prayer Part 2

As the ship reduced speed midway out into the harbor, several small boats set out together from the sh.o.r.e and rowed toward the ship. They looked like a colony of ants swarming toward their prey.

Each of the tiny boats carried a j.a.panese peddler. The peddlers reached into the baskets or boxes tied to their backs and pulled from them lanterns, vases, teacups, and saucers. Grinning and bobbing their heads toward the French sailors who peered down at them from the deck, they began hawking their wares, loudly crying, "How'd you like some of these?" "Take a look here! Really cheap!!"

The warship cast its anchor. As he listened to the grating of the anchor, the priest wondered whether some of those he was seeking were among these peddlers.

"All men going ash.o.r.e a.s.semble on deck!" After the officer had given these orders, he said to the priest, "Father, please board the junk with me."

4:30 in the afternoon- Joining a group of sailors including Ensign Guirand, who had invited him onto the junk, the priest transferred to a skiff that a j.a.panese man was rowing.

"How about some of these?" Even then, the boats crowded around the skiff and peddlers called out from both sides. They grinned affably and repeatedly bobbed their heads in deference.

"You there!" The priest abruptly pa.s.sed a coin to one of the peddlers and whispered, "Do you know where I can find any Christians?"

The pleasant grin that had seemed plastered on the peddler's face vanished, replaced by a look of fear. He shifted his eyes and turned his back to the priest, as though he had gotten too close to something taboo.

"Father, what did you ask that man?" Ensign Guirand, who spoke no j.a.panese, inquired.

"I asked him whether any of his fellows were Christians."

"So that's why he looked so edgy." The ensign nodded his head. "If you're a Christian in this country, you get the death sentence, you know."

"I know that. But that wasn't the case until 260 years ago. Back in those days there were more than 400,000 believers on these islands of the Far East. Here in Nagasaki, several beautiful churches had been built, and even little children sang hymns as they played together."

"As many as 400,000?"

"Or possibly even more. But then the rulers of j.a.pan developed a hatred for Christianity, and not only did they ban any missionaries from coming here, but they slammed shut the doors to the country itself. As you know, they allowed only a few Dutch traders to live in Nagasaki." As he gave this explanation, the priest once again shifted his eyes toward the surrounding hills. The rain clouds were finally clearing away, and white billows of steam began to swirl skyward from the valleys between the hills. Still the hordes of cicadas continued their monotonous, melancholy droning. As though it were some sort of heretical hymn....

"Yes, but ... But I ..."

"But what, Father?"

"Of course, this is just a selfish dream of mine, but I intend to find out whether any of the descendants of those early believers still follow our religion."

"I shall pray for your success, Father." He spoke encouragement with his lips, but it appeared that Ensign Guirand had little interest in this topic. Instead, his head was filled with thoughts of the "geisha" in Nagasaki, whom he had heard about from a fellow officer who had visited j.a.pan last year. They were supposedly as tiny as dolls, and as compliant....

"Father, your welcoming party is waiting on the sh.o.r.e." The ensign pointed to the makeshift wharf, piled high with stones. Another priest dressed in white stood as a tiny figure in the distance.

The wharf was populated with not only those who had come to welcome the arrivals but also forty or fifty j.a.panese who had come to see the foreign warship. The priest had experienced the same phenomenon at Yokohama: the j.a.panese people, most likely because they had been isolated from the outside world for so long, displayed an inordinate curiosity about foreign things.

Dark-skinned men wearing dismal kimonos with dismal expressions on their faces. And women with their teeth painted black. Swarms of naked children capering about. These were the j.a.panese. No wonder that Father Furet1 stood out in his white summer habit.

When the skiff reached sh.o.r.e, Father Furet approached with both arms outstretched and a beaming smile on his face.

"You're here, Bernard!" The new arrival2 moved into those outstretched arms, and they gave each other a tight embrace. Two years earlier, they had been comrades studying j.a.panese as they waited in Naha for the day when they could begin to spread the Gospel in j.a.pan.

"I'll wait here. Leave your trunk there. I'll have someone deliver it. You'll need to go see the j.a.panese authorities to take care of the procedures for disembarkation and to obtain a residence permit. They're difficult, I a.s.sure you."

"I'm well aware."

The sailors who had reached sh.o.r.e ahead of the priest had already formed two lines and were being questioned by the authorities. The man doing the interpreting appeared to be Dutch.

The authorities were, indeed, difficult. They took special pains with the priest to drive home the fact that he must not give any books relating to Christianity or any holy implements such as crucifixes to the j.a.panese and made him swear an oath to that effect. By the time all the bureaucratic formalities were completed, the sun had already set, and the hills surrounding the harbor were turning a dark purple.

"Stay well, Father." After exchanging a firm handshake with Ensign Guirand, the priest returned to the spot where Father Furet was waiting for him.

"Phew! That was exhausting," he grumbled to Father Furet.

"Yes ... But I'm sure you're aware of how strictly the j.a.panese have proscribed Christianity for more than two hundred years."

The two remained silent as they climbed a sloping path. Giant camphor trees with spreading branches edged the path that traced its way beside a long fence. Evening cicadas shrieked mournfully from the trees.

"What is this area called?"

"ura."

He repeated the strange name over and over in his mind. It was the name of the place where he might live out the rest of his life.

"Let me ask you," he finally broached the question that had been on his mind, "Have you found among the j.a.panese you've met any who are secret believers in Christianity?"

"Not one," Father Furet shook his head. Father Furet had come to Nagasaki six months ago. Just four years earlier, in 1858, j.a.pan had finally allowed the doors of seclusion to be opened a crack. They had signed treaties limited to commerce.

As a result, trade representatives from the treaty nations of the United States, Great Britain, and France had taken up residence in Nagasaki along with their families.

These people naturally needed a church. They needed the church that the j.a.panese had reviled for so many long years.

Faced with demands from the trade treaty nations, the Tokugawa shogunate with great reluctance gave permission both for the building of churches that only foreign citizens would be allowed to enter and for the presence of missionaries. However, this was on the condition that they must not seek to spread Christianity among the j.a.panese.

Consequently, Father Furet had come in January in order to build a church here in Nagasaki.

"How is the construction coming?"

Father Furet responded jovially, "It's going very smoothly, Bernard. In fact, when it comes to working with their hands, these j.a.panese are the most skillful in the world. Despite the fact they've never seen a Western church, these carpenters have already completed more than half a chapel that combines Gothic and Baroque styles, basing their work solely on the diagrams and pictures and explanations I've given them." He pointed toward the summit of the hill. "You'll see it as soon as we reach the top of this hill. The view of the bay from the church is extraordinary! I don't think there's a bay this beautiful in all the south of France."

Pet.i.tjean responded with a thin smile while wordlessly bristling at the shrieking of the cicadas. But Father Furet went on animatedly describing the process of erecting the church.

This is where this good priest and I differ in our views, he thought to himself. He had not come to Nagasaki for the benefit of the various foreign representatives who would live here temporarily with their families. He had received permission from his superiors to come to Nagasaki to seek for ... them.

Them ...

Four years ago, he had endured a protracted ocean journey from France to come here to the Far East so that he could preach the Gospel in j.a.pan. Two years ago, when at last he had settled in Naha to learn j.a.panese, he and Father Furet, along with others of their company, heard a remarkable story.

The story was related to them by a Chinese sailor. The man told them he had been to Nagasaki four or five times. He was missing one ear, and at midday he was already drunk on Naha's strong liquor.

"So listen to this. There's still some fellers in j.a.pan who are hidden followers of Christianity. There was a fisherman from near Nagasaki who drifted here in a storm ... and he would cross himself just like you men do."

Father Furet and his comrades laughed off the story as the drunken delusions of a Chinese sailor. Such a story simply could not be true.

But one priest received a powerful shock from the story, so severe he could not sleep that night.

While he was still living in Paris he learned that more than two hundred years earlier, nearly 400,000 Christians converts had been won in j.a.pan. The Societe des Missions-etrangeres de Paris had been organized to bring together priests who had decided to labor in foreign lands. The society's headquarters building had on display relics of their predecessors who had proselytized in various Asian lands, along with items that memorialized their sufferings. The building also had a library of books dealing with Asia.

In that library, Pet.i.tjean read the diary and letters of Saint Francis Xavier. Xavier, of course, was the first father to preach Christianity in j.a.pan. It was he who had written, "The j.a.panese are the finest, wisest people we have yet encountered in Asia."

In addition to Xavier's writings, the library holdings included books containing the blood- and sweat-bathed reports of priests who came later to j.a.pan from such distant lands as Spain, Portugal, and Italy.

From these books, the priest learned that j.a.pan, where Christianity had flourished for a time, had abruptly slammed its doors shut, isolating itself from the rest of the world, and had also relentlessly banned the practice of Christianity and worked all manner of tortures on the believers.

He learned that when the 400,000 Christians were compelled to decide whether to die for their faith or to abandon it, more than half of them apostatized against their wills.

Not one Christian is left in j.a.pan. That was the conventional wisdom in the Parisian missionary society. That had also been his conclusion.

All the more reason why the drunken Chinese sailor's story came as such a shock to him.

It might just be true. Perhaps the descendants of the original Christians in j.a.pan continue to secretly preserve their faith.

Unable to sleep, he arose from his crude bed and set a match to a dish filled with lamp oil. Outside it was raining, and he could hear the raindrops slapping the leaves of the hardy banana trees in the garden. Nights in Naha were muggy. Geckos clung to his ceiling.

If it's true, I must find them.

He obtained permission from his superiors to spend a half year required to travel from France to India, from India to Indochina, and then on to j.a.pan. He now had been living for several months in Naha, along with companions who shared his determination. He had achieved the first of his goals.

Because the j.a.panese government still strictly prohibited its people from believing in Christianity, he was able to enter j.a.pan only under the severe limitations that the shogunate had placed on priests, who were allowed to minister only to the foreign populations in Yokohama and Nagasaki.

But if there were a group of believers among the j.a.panese, despite the proscription on their faith ...

I shall seek them out.

From that day forward, this became his solitary quest.

As they approached the crest of the hill, they saw a small light moving ahead.

"Ah, it's Okane-san and her husband." Father Furet raised a hand and waved to them. "This couple are j.a.panese who take care of our cooking and laundry. They aren't Christians, of course. In fact, they're fervent followers of the Oinari faith."

"Oinari?"

"It's a j.a.panese religion that worships foxes. In this country they believe that foxes have been given special powers by the G.o.ds...."

The light drew near. It was a short j.a.panese couple carrying a lantern.

"Okane-san, Mosaku-san-this is Father Bernard Pet.i.tjean." Father Furet patted his shoulder as he introduced him to the couple.

"Yes. My name is Pet.i.tjean. Very pleased to meet you." He gave the sort of j.a.panese greeting that had appeared in his language textbook.

The couple bowed humbly, their backs bent so politely that it almost seemed too polite. This was how the j.a.panese always behaved.

"Has his trunk arrived?"

"It has," the husband answered. "A carrier just brought it a few minutes ago from the wharf, along with some other packages."

The scene was just as Father Furet had described it. Atop the hill was a wooden building designed somewhat in the Western style. It was still only a frame, but a tiny, bluish-purple Gothic-style steeple soared overhead.

"Bernard, this is the first house of G.o.d to be built in j.a.pan. The very first church!" Father Furet's voice brimmed with emotion. "You could see it more clearly if it weren't nighttime. But tomorrow you'll be able to savor the beauty of the harbor view from up here."

There was certainly a commanding view of the harbor from where they stood. But the harbor was now shrouded in the dark of night, and the green vegetation was only faintly visible because of the moonlight, not because of lights from the houses.

"It's still primitive here compared with Yokohama. They have no gas or electric lights. They make paper lanterns. They set a flame to vegetable oil and use that as a light in the darkness. When I first got here, they didn't have any candles, and it was quite perturbing."

"How is the food?"

"We get only j.a.panese food. That's all Okane-san knows how to make. But now that you're here, perhaps we can begin to teach her how to prepare something we'll find edible."

"Have you made any j.a.panese friends?"

"Friends? Well, if you're talking about detectives from the magistrate's office, I've gotten to know a number of them. But they're wary of me. Because I'm a Kiris.h.i.tan.3 The officers here detest Kiris.h.i.tans even more than do their counterparts in Yokohama."

A thatched farmhouse beside the partly built church was quarters for Father Furet and Pet.i.tjean.

As the days pa.s.sed, Pet.i.tjean recognized that Okane-san and her husband were certainly faithful servants, but with his halting command of j.a.panese he often couldn't understand the Nagasaki dialect they spoke.

The lively noise of construction filled the air each day. Generally when Father Furet had finished saying Ma.s.s and had had his breakfast, he would head for the building site to discuss various aspects of the construction with the carpentry foreman. From time to time the foreman would c.o.c.k his head, scribble a diagram on the ground, and then stare at it in deep thought. In a way, the look on his face reminded Father Pet.i.tjean of an image of some Asian philosopher.

But the j.a.panese were certainly fond of their tobacco! When their labors for the day were finished, everyone from the foreman down to the carpenters would pull a slender bamboo pipe from a pouch hung round his waist and pop it into his mouth. He was even more surprised to see even Okane-san smoking through her blackened teeth.

As the construction progressed, spectators began to gather. Nursemaids carrying infants on their backs, children, and even some adults went out of their way to climb the hill and a.s.semble near the construction site, gaping at the partially completed structure.

"Please come closer. It's OK to come have a look." Even though Father Furet extended the invitation in their peculiar Nagasaki dialect, not one person made a move. They would never come even a single step closer. They knew that police from the magistrate's office could show up at any time.

And from time to time, a detective with several companions would arrive from the magistrate's office.

"Go home! Go home!" they would brusquely order the spectators. "This isn't a carnival show. And you know you can't have anything to do with the Kiris.h.i.tans."

At that the crowd would scatter like baby spiders, but the next day, a new flock of spectators would materialize.

One day, after making sure no detectives were around, Pet.i.tjean quietly approached the group.

"What do you call those?" he asked purposefully, pointing toward the cicadas emitting their stifling cries from the gigantic trees. He hoped, of course, to create a friendly camaraderie with the j.a.panese. The adults said nothing for a moment, so a child responded, as though speaking to a dimwit, "It's called a semi."

Pet.i.tjean, hoping to elicit a laugh, mimicked the shrill cry of the cicadas. "Many semi. Jii! Jii! Jii!" It was true that swarms of cicadas here in Nagasaki screeched throughout the day.

The children snorted at his silly imitation.

Then he pointed to his head and quietly said, "I am Kiris.h.i.tan. Do you know any Kiris.h.i.tan people?"

At this point, the spectators clammed up, with the same frightened look on their faces he had seen just days before among the peddlers on the tiny boats.

But obviously these j.a.panese were filled with the same curiosity, industry, and intelligence that had impressed Saint Francis Xavier more than three hundred years earlier. That was evident from watching how the carpenters worked. The workers here could finish in only three days tasks that would take carpenters in Pet.i.tjean's homeland of France a week to complete. They worked a.s.siduously, the only exceptions being during lunchtime and their midday break.

And how deft they were with their hands! Pet.i.tjean could watch them move their hands every day without tiring of it.