The officers stood behind Seishirō, Mataichi, and Seikichi and ordered them, “Put both hands behind your back!”
Their wrists were bound together so tightly it seemed their bones might break. Then the ropes were tossed over a beam near the ceiling and the bodies of the three men were pulled into midair.
“Bet that hurts! But there’s even worse pain to come. Of course we’ll set you free if you swear an oath of apostasy….”
The three silent prisoners seemed insolent to the officers, who became all the more infuriated with them.
Bamboo poles made a harsh sound as they beat mercilessly against the three bodies. The poles slashed through the air with a whistle and then a crack as they struck the bodies.
Initially the men grit their teeth to endure the pain and tried to utter no sound. But as the number of blows from the poles reached ten, then fifteen, screams began to escape through their clenched teeth.
Their screams changed from a restrained “Uh!” to agonized cries of “Ah! Ah!” when the number of blows passed thirty. With each howl the ropes that suspended them coiled and spun the three bodies with them.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and an official came into the room. It was Itō Seizaemon. With a deliberate yawn, he asked, “Have they apostatized yet?”
“They’re stubborn as hell.” One of the constables massaged his tired arms as he replied.
“Then pour water on the ropes,” Itō ordered.
When the ropes became damp, they shrank and bit into the flesh. For this “wet rope” method of torture ordered by Seizaemon, the officers took water from a bucket that was kept on hand to revive prisoners who had fainted and poured it onto the ropes that bound the three men.
At that same hour, Kiku was offering a prayer to the Blessed Mother engraved in her medaille. “Please don’t let Seikichi suffer.”
Through the wooden wall the screams of the three men were clearly audible in the hallway. Another six Kirishitans knelt in the hallway in formal fashion, awaiting their turn to be tortured.
The cries of the men being tortured, like the howling of wild beasts. The sporadic wails. In between, the angry shouts of the policemen. The whack of the poles.
Each of these sounds produced its desired effect on the six men in the hallway who were awaiting their own ordeal. With their hands bound behind their backs, they stared at the ground, quivering.
Finally the officers came out of the room, dragging by their legs the three blood-spattered bodies of the men who had blacked out.
With a grin, Itō Seizaemon called out to the six prisoners in the hall, “Open your eyes and take a good look at them. This is what the Nagasaki magistrate does for amusement …! Anybody feel like apostatizing now?”
“Yes, sir.” One of the Kirishitans answered in a mosquito-like voice. “I was wrong. I will change my heart!”
A smile of victory slowly spread across Itō Seizaemon’s face. “You will, eh? So you’ve seen the light? If you do change your heart, we will do nothing to harm you.” He signaled the constable with his eyes.
The abused bodies of the three men were dumped outside the gate of the jail. They were placed as an example for the other Kirishitans, who were taken from the Kojima jail to look at them.
The naked bodies of the three men, prostrate on the ground and soaked with blood in the lingering heat of the sun. Even though flies were already swarming around their faces and the wounds on their bodies, none of them had the strength to shoo them away. The only indication that they were still alive was the groans spilling from their swollen lips. The officers hauled the other Kirishitan men and women from their cells and forced them to look from a distance on this gruesome scene….
“I … I can’t do this anymore!” One woman cried. “I’m sorry to all of you, but I can’t bear it any longer!”
No one reacted against her words. They had all lost the confidence to do so.
“Why doesn’t Deus come to help us? Why does he say nothing about these horrid acts?!”
The bonds of commonality that had linked these people together collapsed at this point. Sensing what had just taken place, Itō Seizaemon hurried back to the magistrate’s office and reported it to Hondō Shuntarō and the others.
“I can’t say that torturing them was the best of all possible methods …” Hondō tried to dispel the bitter aftertaste, “but in this case they left us no choice.” Tonight at Maruyama with his lover Oyō, he would have to drink himself into a stupor.
Again that day, knowing nothing that had transpired, Kiku prayed for Seikichi. As she served Petitjean his meal, she asked, “If I ask this Lady Mary, will she give me everything I ask for? Will Seikichi be spared any harm?”
Petitjean nodded vigorously. “I promise she will grant your petitions.”
1. In Japanese, korobu, a word that literally means “to fall down,” was used in this time period to signify apostasy, perhaps something along the lines of “fall away from the faith.”
THE SETTING OF THE SUN
IN ORDER TO reach Maruyama, the pleasure quarters of Nagasaki, one had to cross over the Shian Bridge, the “Bridge of Pondering,” which no longer stands, thanks to land reclamation.
Beyond this bridge lay a smaller bridge, commonly known as the Omoikiri Bridge, or the “Bridge of Resolution.” A single willow tree had been planted on the approach to the bridge, similar to the Mikaeri willow, the “Glancing Back” willow1 at the Yoshiwara quarters in Edo.
In Love Letters from Maruyama of 1684, there is a passage that reads:
Once you pass through the gateway
The aroma of lotus and musk delight the nose,
And the rustle of fine silk sleeves strikes the ear
Once a client has crossed the Bridge of Resolution, the atmosphere of the pleasure quarters is unmistakable.
From the window of the Yamazaki Teahouse at twilight, Hondō Shuntarō enjoyed watching the people on the street below who were caught up in the hedonistic mood of the quarter. Especially these days, with the burden of his assignment at the magistrate’s office to force the Urakami Kirishitans into apostasy even if it meant resorting to torture, he was eager to dispel his feelings of gloom by enjoying the spectacle of the pleasure quarters in the evenings as he drank his saké….
Oyō continued to press liquor on him, but the images of the naked, blood-covered Kirishitan peasants lingered before his eyes no matter how much he gulped down. It was true that he had not laid his own hands on them, but he could forget neither the cruel sounds of the police beating the prisoners nor the sounds of the prisoners’ cries.
“But nearly all the Kuros of Urakami have given up their vile religion, haven’t they? Then please look a little happier!”
“No, there’s one who’s still immovable.” Shuntarō had, of course, said nothing to Oyō about the tortures. In her ignorance she believed that the Kirishitan peasants had submitted to the orders of the magistrate thanks to verbal persuasion.
However—
There was still one immovable man. He was a peasant from Nakano by the name of Sen’emon, who refused to listen to any of the entreaties from the officials. He would not change his views under any form of threat or plea. He boldly answered the officers’ questions, and his responses were exceedingly lucid, making it difficult to regard him as a peasant.
Hondō still had vivid memories of the interrogation he had conducted with Sen’emon two days earlier.
“Now let me ask you: Do the Kirishitans teach you to go against the orders of your superiors?”
Sen’emon replied, “No. The padres told us that we must follow the shogun as long as it didn’t go against the laws of Deus. For generations, my family has been encouraged to pay its taxes, to work hard, and we’ve been doing our very best to follow that. It’s just that …we can’t worship anybody other than Deus.”
“I understand you’ve lost your wife and that you have children at home. Surely it will bring grief and pain to your children if you’re tortured and
then have to return to them with a broken body. You’d better give that some thought.”
“Thank you for those words. But no matter how much pain I have to suffer in the flesh, it’s nothing compared to losing my soul. Those are my feelings.”
Hondō Shuntarō was moved by what Sen’emon said. He was impressed that this humble man would not abandon his resolve. Did faith really make a person that strong …?
When Shuntarō related this experience with Sen’emon to Oyō, rather than being impressed by it she responded with something like distaste, “That’s scary! Men who are that stubborn frighten me!”
“Well, I admire him. His courage is enviable, but that’s a problem for us. Looking at him, I can fully understand why even a mere peasant like him doesn’t fear death or danger because of his faith and devotion. That’s why years ago, even Lord Hideyoshi and Lord Ieyasu were at a loss how to deal with sectarian rebellions2 and why the peasant insurgents of Amakusa fought so ferociously against the military power of several daimyo in the Shimabara Rebellion.3 … What I fear now is that something similar might occur here.”
Hondō Shuntarō had not intended to describe the current domestic perils to Oyō. But even Oyō would have had some vague awareness of Japan’s present situation.
To begin with, the shogunate was on the verge of collapse. Hondō knew that they were rapidly losing the authority they had held for many long years. And a number of foreign nations, led by the United States, were using a combination of threats, warnings, and proposals to force the shogunate into opening Japan’s doors.
Compared with these tumultuous domestic affairs, perhaps this petty uprising by the Urakami Kirishitans was of little significance.
And yet—
And yet the decision by the Nagasaki magistrate to imprison Kirishitan peasants and force them to apostatize gave Christian nations such as the United States and France an excuse to interfere in Japanese affairs and fanned their animosity toward Japan. That was the real problem.
In Shuntarō’s view, Japan needed to display firm resolve and poise to these foreign powers. He was in favor of opening the country’s doors, but he felt it was absolutely essential that Japan spurn these attempts by foreign nations to intervene in its domestic affairs. That is why he had urged the magistrate to brandish his authority convincingly against the intolerable activities of the Urakami Kirishitans.
“Oyō, there’s a possibility that that insignificant little village of Urakami just might have a powerful impact on Japan’s future….” Oyō was stretched out beside him, and as he spoke, he reached his hand into the folds at the neck of her kimono.
Oyō’s breasts, said to resemble snowballs, were milky white, warm, and soft. Hondō Shuntarō had acquired the unusual habit of fondling Oyō’s strawberry-colored nipples whenever he talked to her about Japan. As he stroked them, inspired ideas would somehow float into his head. And as he caressed her, she narrowed her eyes as if she was experiencing pleasure as well and did not move a muscle.
Ever since the Urakami Kirishitans were arrested, consuls and ministers from France, Portugal, and the United States had come knocking one after another at the Nagasaki magistrate’s office to lodge protests and demand their release. One of the magistrates, Governor Tokunaga of Iwami, had repeatedly rejected their demands, citing the laws of the land as a shield.
But once rumors circulated that the magistrate was torturing the Kirishitans, the protests from other nations grew louder, and a few consuls even demanded the dismissal of the magistrate.
“We … we can’t give in. The law is the law. We can’t release peasants who have violated our laws that proscribe Kirishitan belief.” As he muttered the words, Shuntarō pinched Oyō’s nipple roughly.
Despite his feelings toward the Kirishitans, Hondō Shuntarō did not neglect his visits to Petitjean to study French.
He was convinced that from here on out, a man would be of no use to Japan if he could not communicate with those in foreign lands. That was one of the motivations for his visits to Petitjean, but he also wanted to keep a discreet eye on the activities of this foreigner, who could well be considered the chief instigator of the recent unpleasantness.
For his part, Petitjean was determined to ferret out the real intentions of the magistrate as he exchanged casual conversation with Hondō.
Hondō climbed from the shore at Ōura up the slope that was surrounded by cultivated fields. When he stepped through the gate of the Nambanji, he encountered a young woman who was weeding the garden. An attractive face met his when she turned her towel-wrapped head toward him beneath a blazing sun.
So … Petitjean has a young woman at his place….
He took his customary route leading past the rear of the church and walked toward the Japanese-style house where Petitjean lived along with the other French bateren.4
The lessons began in the room overlooking Nagasaki Harbor where they always met. Hondō had advanced to the point where he could carry on a basic conversation in French.
“I saw a young woman working outside there….” As they chatted after the lesson, Hondō probed, to which Petitjean nodded his head.
“Yes. With another two Frenchmen coming to live here, we needed a new bonne—that’s French for ‘maid.’”
“Are those additional Frenchmen coming with the intent to teach your Kirishitan beliefs to the Japanese?” Hondō asked sarcastically. “That is strictly prohibited, as you know…. Why are you trying to force a religion that we despise onto us?”
Petitjean raised his head with conviction and replied, “We … we believe that the teachings of the Kirishitan faith will bring salvation to the Japanese people. Our aim is for your salvation.”
Hondō sat up straight and said, “Lord Petitjean. What we’re trying to make you understand is that this is an annoyance to us. We would like you to leave Japan alone. You see, the Japanese have been able to live happily for a very long while without knowing anything about your Kirishitan teachings…. In spite of that, today …well, and even three hundred years ago, you come from Europe to stir up Japan and make trouble for us. That’s why Japan closed its doors.”
“You’re saying that the Europeans came to stir up trouble in Japan three hundred years ago?” Petitjean asked defiantly. “We came to engage in trade and to share the teachings of Christianity that we believe to be true.”
“Lord Petitjean, let’s be honest here.” A fierce look flashed across Hondō’s face. It was the first time Petitjean had seen this perpetually jovial man look so ruthless. “Of course, there were some who came to Japan for trade and some who came to teach the Kirishitan beliefs. I know that from reading through documents in the magistrate’s office. There’s no question that there were virtuous bateren and iruman5 who provided free medical care for the Japanese. But in exchange, during their voyage to Japan the Europeans attacked parts of China and India, subjected them to their own rule, and robbed them of their lands…. That is what Japan feared. The Japanese did not ban your teachings because they were Kirishitan. It was because they feared the avarice of the Western nations that sought to take over Japan with the help of the local Kirishitans.”
Petitjean blushed unwittingly. Hondō Shuntarō had obviously just struck at something that was highly painful and embarrassing for Petitjean.
“But …,” Petitjean hoarsely protested, “but it’s wrong for you to think that the mistakes made by Kirishitan nations like Spain or Portugal were inspired by Kirishitan teachings. The Kirishitan faith did not teach people to pilfer land in India or China or to take control of those countries.” There was a lack of confidence in Petitjean’s strained voice. Neither he nor Father Laucaigne believed it was in any way proper that the Christian nations in the sixteen and seventeenth centuries had invaded Asia and Africa and turned them into colonies. Petitjean could not help but feel that this Asian man, Hondō, had every right to be critical of those actions.
“Lord Petitjean.” Obvious contempt showed on Hondō’s broad face. He was fu
lly aware that this particular issue was one that was painful to the missionary and one he wished to keep buried. “I can’t agree with your rationalizations. If what you said were true, why did your Kirishitan papa say nothing and disregard the fact that the Kirishitan nations were stealing Asian lands, invading our countries, and killing our people?”
“His Holiness did protest.”
“With his lips only. But I’m certain that behind the scenes he approved of spreading the Kirishitan teachings in the vanquished countries. Or would it be more accurate to say that he turned a blind eye to those activities in order to spread your Kirishitan teachings? Lord Petitjean, why can’t you just say that it was a mistake perpetrated by Kirishitans? Lord Petitjean, you’ve instigated an uprising in Japan right now so that you can share your Kirishitan teachings. You’re no different from the bateren of the past.”
Recoiling from Shuntarō’s arguments, Petitjean made an attempt to argue that at least he himself had no such intentions. But with cold precision Hondō struck the fatal blow by asking, “Well, then, why is it that while the Urakami Kirishitans are suffering in prison, you snugly enjoy your little haven here at the Nambanji?”
Hondō Shuntarō realized he had gone too far. Petitjean’s pallid face made it evident that he was struggling desperately to repress his anger. But Hondō had no desire to amend his statement.
“Lord Petitjean, allow me to teach you something…. All but one of the Urakami Kirishitans has sworn an oath that they reject your religion. Eventually we intend to free them.”
With a sallow face Petitjean muttered, “You have brutally tortured those poor peasants.”
“A few of them, yes. We had no choice. We had to do it as a warning for the others….” Clutching the sheath of his sword in his right hand, Shuntarō bowed and left the room. Normally Petitjean would have seen him to the door, but today he sat motionless in his chair.
The sun still baked the garden of the Nambanji. Cicadas screeched violently. And the girl with the towel-wrapped head was still tugging at weeds.