Silence (11 page)

Anyhow, if my report now comes to an abrupt end (for all I know you may not even to date have received it), do not think that we are necessarily dead. It is just that in this barren land we must leave one small spade to till the ground.
 
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All around me is the black sea; it is impossible to tell where the blackness of the night begins. I cannot see whether or not there are islands around me. The only thing that tells me I am on the sea is the heavy breathing of the young man who rows the boat behind me—the sound of the oars in the water, the lapping of the waves against the edge of the boat.

One hour ago Garrpe and I parted. We clambered on board separate little ships and left Tomogi—he went off in the direction of Hirado. In the pitch darkness I could not even see him; we did not even have time to say goodbye.

Left all alone, I trembled from head to foot—it seemed that my body was outside the control of my will. Were I to say that this moment was not filled with dread I would be telling a lie. No matter how strong one’s faith, physical fear can overwhelm one completely. When I was with Garrpe we could at least share our fear as one shares bread, breaking it in two; but now I was all alone in the black sea of the night and must take upon myself the cold and the darkness and everything else. (Have all the Japanese missionaries felt such terror? I wonder about them.) And then somehow or other the mouse-like face of Kichijirō, filled with terror, rose up in my imagination. Yes, that cowardly wretch who had trampled on the
fumie
at Nagasaki and fled. Were I an ordinary Christian, not a priest, would I have fled in the same way? What kept me going now might be my self-respect and my priestly sense of duty.

I called out to the young man at the oars, asking him for water; but he made no answer. I began to understand that ever since that martyrdom the people of Tomogi regarded me as a foreigner who had brought disaster to them all—a terrible burden to them. Probably this young man would like to be relieved of the task of rowing me across the waters. To dampen my parched tongue I began to suck my fingers, wet with sea water, and I thought of Christ nailed to the Cross and the taste of vinegar in his mouth.

As the ship slowly changed its direction, I could hear the sound of waves breaking against rocks. It was just like the sound of a black drum, and it had been the same at the time of my last crossing. From here the sea went into a deep inlet where it washed the strand of the island. But the whole island was wrapped in thick, thick darkness nor could I see where the village was.

How many missionaries had crossed over to this island on a tiny boat just as I had done? And yet how different were their circumstances from mine! When they came to Japan, fortune smiled gaily upon their every venture. Everywhere was safe for them; they found houses in which they could rest at ease and Christians who welcomed them with open arms. The feudal lords vied with one another to give them protection—not from any love of their faith but out of a desire for trade. And the missionaries did not fail to use this chance to extend their apostolic work. For some reason or other I called to mind the words of Valignano at Macao: ‘At one time we seriously discussed the question as to whether our religious habit should be made of silk or of cotton.’ As these words suddenly came into my mind, I looked out into the darkness and clasping my knees I laughed softly. Don’t misunderstand me. I have no intention of looking down on the missionaries of that time. The only thing is that it seems so ludicrous that this fellow, sitting in an insect-infested little ship, dressed in the peasant clothing of Mokichi from Tomogi—that this fellow should be a priest just like them.

Gradually the black cliffs drew near. From the shore the smell of rotten seaweed was carried to our nostrils, and when the sand began to grate on the bottom of the ship my young companion jumped out into the sea and with both hands began to pull the ship up on to the beach. I, too, got into the shallow water, and breathing deeply of the salty air I made my way up on to the beach.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘The village is above, isn’t it?’

‘Father, I
 
…
’

Even though I could not see his face, the tone of his voice told me that he did not want to have anything more to do with me. We shook hands and, deeply relieved, he ran into the sea. The dull sound of his feet as he jumped aboard the ship echoed in the darkness.

With the sound of the receding oars echoing in my ears, I thought of Garrpe. Where was he now?

As I walked along the shore I spoke to myself like a mother soothing her child. What was I afraid of? I knew the way. If I went straight I should come into the village which had welcomed me. In the distance I heard something like a low groaning. It was the mewing of a cat. But the only thing I could think of was how to rest my weary limbs and how to put even a little food into my empty stomach.

Arriving at the entrance to the village, the low mewing of the cat became even more distinct. Into my nostrils the wind blew an awful stench which almost made me vomit. It was like rotten fish. But when I set foot in the village I found myself surrounded by a fearful, eerie silence. Not a single person was there.

I will not say it was a scene of empty desolation. Rather was it as though a battle had recently devastated the whole district. Strewn all over the roads were broken plates and cups, while the doors were broken down so that all the houses lay open. The low mewing of the cat from the empty hut seemed somehow impudent, as though the animal was brazenly stalking around the village.

For a long time I stood silent and dazed in the middle of the village. Strange to say, I now felt no anxiety, no fear. The only thing that kept repeating itself quietly in my mind was: Why this? Why?

I walked the village from corner to corner in the deadly silence. Thin, scraggly wild cats wandered all over the place, though where they came from I cannot imagine. They would brush past my legs and glare at me with blazing eyes. Parched and famished I made my way into an empty house in search of food, but in the end the only thing I got was a bowl of water.

As I stood there, the day’s fatigue got the better of me, and leaning against a wall like a camel, I slept. In the middle of my dreams I could feel the wild cats walking around my body and tearing at the stinking, dry fish as they seized it. At other times as I opened my eyes I could see through the broken-down door the thick black sky that held no star.

With the cool gust of morning air I began to cough. Now the sky was white and the mountains that formed the background to the village could be seen faintly from the hut where I was. It was dangerous to stay here. I would get up; I would go out into the road and leave this desolate place. As on the previous night, the ground was strewn with cups and plates and shreds of clothing.

But where was I to go? At any rate, rather than going along by the sea where I would surely attract attention, it seemed safer to take to the hills. Somewhere or other there must be Christians secretly living their life of faith as these people had been doing a month before. I would look for them, and find out what had happened here; and after that I would determine what ought to be done. But then quite suddenly the thought of Garrpe rose up in my mind and I wondered what had befallen him.

And so I took a last look around the village, going into the houses. In that desolation, so complete that at times there was scarcely a place to put one’s feet, I finally found a little dried rice. This I wrapped in some of the rags lying on the ground, and carrying it with me I headed for the mountains.

I got to the top of the first mountain, the mud sodden with the drizzle clinging to my feet, and gradually I began to climb along the rice paddies. How poor were the Christians! With what painstaking care they had tilled the plain soil, dividing the fields with fences of stone. Yet with only this narrow strip of land that ran along beside the sea it was impossible to live and at the same time pay taxes. Everywhere was the stench of manure on the poor wheat and chestnuts, while swarms of flies attracted by the smell filled the air and sometimes settled on my face, to my intense annoyance. At last, as dawn broke and the mountains began to stand out in the sky like the blade of a sword, I could see the flocks of crows cawing raucously as they flew in circles among the white clouds.

At the top of the hill I stopped to look down at the village beneath. A brown clump of earth; a cluster of straw roofs; huts made of mud and wood; not a sign of life on the road nor on the black shore. Leaning against a tree I looked down on that valley silvered by the rain. Only the morning sea was beautiful. This sea, holding in its embrace a number of small islands, flashed like a needle in the faint sunlight, while the waves biting at the shore foamed white with froth. I recalled how many missionaries had come and gone across this sea and had been received by the Christians: Xavier, Cabral, Valignano and the rest. Certainly Xavier when he came to Hirado had passed this way. And then Torres, that great and noble Japanese missionary, he too had visited these islands. Yet these men had been loved so deeply by the people, had received such a welcome, had had churches which, though small, were beautiful and decorated with flowers. They had had no need to fly to the mountains for hiding like haunted men. When I reflected on my own condition a strange desire to laugh rose up within my heart.

Today again the sky was clouded. It looked as if it was going to be hot. Crows circled over my head persistently; and when I stopped for a moment their darkly ominous cawing would cease; but when I began to walk they would come after me again. Sometimes one of them would settle on the branch of a nearby tree and, fluttering its wings, it would watch me. Once or twice I threw stones at the cursed birds.

About noon I reached the foot of the crescent-shaped mountain. I kept choosing a road from which I would not lose sight of the sea and the coast; I wondered if there were any villages on those islands in the sea. In the murky sky, rainclouds flowed slowly along like huge ships. I sat down in the grass and began to chew the dried rice I had stolen from the village and cucumbers I had picked up along the way. The juice of these cucumbers restored my strength and courage somewhat. The wind was blowing over the fields; and then, when I closed my eyes, I sensed the smell of something burning. I stood up.

It was the remains of a fire. Someone had passed this way before me and had gathered twigs to light a fire. I put my fingers into the ashes and found some sense of warmth remaining at the heart.

For a long time I pondered. Should I go back or go on? I had spent but one day without meeting a single person, wandering through that desolate village and these brown mountains. It had only been a day, yet now I seemed to have lost my energy and courage. Any man at all—if only he was a man—I would like to meet him. Such was my first thought, followed by a realization of the dangers that such a course of action would bring. But at last, after long reflection, I yielded to the temptation. Even Christ, I reflected, could not overcome this temptation; for he descended from the mountain and called men to his side.

I could tell immediately the direction in which the man who lit the fire had gone. Only one route was possible—the opposite direction from that along which I had come. Looking up at the sky I saw the white sun flashing in the murky clouds in which the crows were cawing with raucous voices.

Carefully I hastened my steps. Over the plain were scattered all kinds of trees. Sometimes they took on the shape of a man and I, all confused, would come to a standstill, while the hoarse cawing of the pursuing crows kept arousing in me an ominous and ugly presentiment. To distract my attention I kept on walking, looking carefully at the various trees as I passed. From childhood I have loved botany and, since coming to Japan, I have been able to distinguish immediately all kinds of trees that I know. There are some trees which God has planted in every country; but here I found others of a kind I had never set eyes on until now.

In the afternoon, the sky brightened a little, reflecting tiny clouds in the pools of blue and white water which remained on the ground. Squatting down I stirred the water to dampen my neck, now bathed in sweat. The clouds disappeared from the water and instead there appeared the face of a man—yes, there reflected in the water was a tired, hollow face. I don’t know why, but at that moment I thought of the face of yet another man. This was the face of a crucified man, a face which for so many centuries had given inspiration to artists. This man none of these artists had seen with his own eyes, yet they portrayed his face—the most pure, the most beautiful that has claimed the prayers of man and has corresponded with his highest aspirations. No doubt his real face was more beautiful than anything they have envisaged. Yet the face reflected in this pool of rainwater was heavy with mud and with stubble; it was thin and dirty; it was the face of a haunted man filled with uneasiness and exhaustion. Do you realize that in such circumstances a man may suddenly be seized with a fit of laughing? I thrust my face down to the water, twisted my lips like a madman, rolled my eyes, and kept grimacing and making ludicrous faces in the water.

Why did I do such a crazy thing? Why? Why?

In the woods a cicada was singing hoarsely. Everywhere else was silent. The sun gradually grew weak; the sky clouded again, and as the shadows lengthened on the plain I gave up hope of ever catching up with the man who had built the fire. ‘Weary it proved, the reckless way of ruin, lonely were the wastes we travelled.
 
…
’ Only the words of the Scripture arose in my heart; and I sang them to myself as I dragged my feet along. ‘The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes round to the north; round and round goes the wind.
 
…
All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full
 
…
All things are full of weariness; a man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.’