Shōgun

“I am only a ten-year Christian and therefore a novice, and though I believe in the Christian God, in God the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, with all my heart, our Emperor is directly descended from the gods or from God. He is divine. There are a lot of things I cannot explain or understand. But the divinity of my Emperor is without question. Yes, I am Christian, but first I am a Japanese.”

Is this the key to all of you? That first you are Japanese? he asked himself. He had watched her, astonished by what she was saying. Their customs are insane! Money means nothing to a real man? That explains why Toranaga was so contemptuous when I mentioned money at the first meeting. One hundred and seven generations? Impossible! Instant death just for being innocently in a closed room with a woman? That’s barbarism—an open invitation to murder. They advocate and admire murder! Isn’t that what Rodrigues said? Isn’t that what Omi-san did? Didn’t he just murder that peasant? By Christ’s blood, I haven’t thought of Omi-san for days. Or the village. Or the pit or being on my knees in front of him. Forget him, listen to her, be patient as she says, ask her questions because she’ll supply the means to bend Toranaga to your plan. Now Toranaga is absolutely in your debt. You saved him. He knows it, everyone knows it. Didn’t she thank you, not for saving her but for saving him?

The column was moving through the city heading for the sea. He saw Yabu keeping the pace up and momentarily Pieterzoon’s screams came soaring into his head. “One thing at a time,” he muttered, half to himself.

“Yes,” Mariko was saying. “It must be very difficult for you. Our world is so very different from yours. Very different but very wise.” She could see the dim figure of Toranaga within the litter ahead and she thanked God again for his escape. How to explain to the barbarian about us, to compliment him for his bravery? Toranaga had ordered her to explain, but how? “Let me tell you a story, Anjin-san. When I was young my father was a general for a daimyo called Goroda. At that time Lord Goroda was not the great Dictator but a daimyo still struggling for power. My father invited this Goroda and his chief vassals to a feast. It never occurred to him that there was no money to buy all the food and saké and lacquerware and tatamis that such a visit, by custom, demanded. Lest you think my mother was a bad manager, she wasn’t. Every groat of my father’s revenue went to his own vassal samurai and although, officially, he had only enough for four thousand warriors, by scrimping and saving and manipulating my mother saw that he led five thousand three hundred into battle to the glory of his liege lord. We, the family—my mother, my father’s consorts, my brothers and sisters—we had barely enough to eat. But what did that matter? My father and his men had the finest weapons and the finest horses, and they gave of their best to their lord.

“Yes, there was not enough money for this feast, so my mother went to the wigmakers in Kyoto and sold them her hair. I remember it was like molten darkness and hung to the pit of her back. But she sold it. The wigmakers cut it off the same day and gave her a cheap wig and she bought everything that was necessary and saved the honor of my father. It was her duty to pay the bills and she paid. She did her duty. For us duty is all important.”

“What did he say, your father, when he found out?”

“What should he say, other than to thank her? It was her duty to find the money. To save his honor.”

“She must have loved him very much.”

“Love is a Christian word, Anjin-san. Love is a Christian thought, a Christian ideal. We have no word for ‘love’ as I understand you to mean it. Duty, loyalty, honor, respect, desire, those words and thoughts are what we have, all that we need.” She looked at him and in spite of herself, she relived the instant when he had saved Toranaga, and through Toranaga, her husband. Never forget they were both trapped there, they would both be dead now, but for this man.

She made sure that no one was near. “Why did you do what you did?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because . . .” He stopped. There were so many things he could say: ‘Perhaps because Toranaga was helpless and I didn’t want to get chopped. . . . Because if he was discovered we’d all be caught in the mess. . . . Because I knew that no one knew except me and it was up to me to gamble. . . . Because I didn’t want to die—there’s too much to do to waste my life, and Toranaga’s the only one who can give me back my ship and my freedom.’ Instead he replied in Latin, “Because He hath said, render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.”