Shōgun

“We—our men don’t have hair on their chests or arms like you do. Not very much. He says you’ve a very good build.”

“So has he. Please thank him.” Blackthorne walked away from her to the head of the gangplank, aware of her and the young woman, Fujiko, who was kneeling on the poop under a yellow parasol, a maid beside her, also watching him. Then, unable to contain his dignity enough to walk naked all the way down to the sea, he dived over the side into the pale blue water. It was a fine dive and the sea chill reached into him exhilaratingly. The sandy bottom was three fathoms down, seaweed waving, multitudes of fish unfrightened by the swimmers. Near the seabed his plummeting stopped and he twisted and played with the fish, then surfaced and began a seemingly lazy, easy, but very fast overarm stroke for the shore that Alban Caradoc had taught him.

The small bay was desolate: many rocks, a tiny pebbled shore, and no sign of life. Mountains climbed a thousand feet to a blue, measureless sky.

He lay on a rock sunning himself. Four samurai had swum with him and were not far away. They smiled and waved. Later he swam back, and they followed. Toranaga was still watching him.

He came up on deck. His clothes were gone. Fujiko and Mariko and two maids were still there. One of the maids bowed and offered him a ridiculously small towel, which he took and began to dry himself with, turning uneasily into the gunwale.

I order you to be at ease, he told himself. You’re at ease naked in a locked room with Felicity, aren’t you? It’s only in public when women are around—when she’s around—that you’re embarrassed. Why? They don’t notice nakedness and that’s totally sensible. You’re in Japan. You’re to do as they do. You will be like them and act like a king.

“Lord Toranaga says you swim very well. Would you teach him that stroke?” Mariko was saying.

“I’d be glad to,” he said and forced himself to turn around and lean as Toranaga was leaning. Mariko was smiling up at him—looking so pretty, he thought.

“The way you dived into the sea. We’ve—we’ve never seen that before. We always jump. He wants to learn how to do that.”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

“I can teach him—at least, I can try.”

A maid was holding a cotton kimono for Blackthorne so, gratefully, he slipped it on, tying it with the belt. Now, completely relaxed, he explained how to dive, how to tuck your head between your arms and spring up and out but to beware of belly flopping.

“It’s best to start from the foot of the gangway and sort of fall in head first to begin with, without jumping or running. That’s the way we teach children.”

Toranaga listened and asked questions and then, when he was satisfied, he said through Mariko, “Good. I think I understand.” He walked to the head of the gangway. Before Blackthorne could stop him, Toranaga had launched himself toward the water, fifteen feet below. The belly flop was vicious. No one laughed. Toranaga spluttered back to the deck and tried again. Again he landed flat. Other samurai were equally unsuccessful.

“It’s not easy,” Blackthorne said. “It took me a long time to learn. Give it a rest and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Lord Toranaga says, ‘Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today I will learn how to dive.’ ”

Blackthorne put his kimono aside and demonstrated again. Samurai aped him. Again they failed. So did Toranaga. Six times.

After another demonstration dive Blackthorne scrambled onto the foot of the gangplank and saw Mariko among them, nude, readying to launch herself into space. Her body was exquisite, the bandage on her upper arm fresh. “Wait, Mariko-san! Better to try from here. The first time.”

“Very well, Anjin-san.”

She walked down to him, the tiny crucifix enhancing her nudity. He showed her how to bend and to fall forward into the sea, catching her by the waist to turn her over so that her head went in first.

Then Toranaga tried near the waterline and was moderately successful. Mariko tried again and the touch of her skin warmed Blackthorne and he clowned momentarily and fell into the water, directing them from there until he had cooled off. Then he ran up to the deck and stood on the gunwale and showed them a deadman’s dive, which he thought might be easier, knowing that it was vital for Toranaga to succeed. “But you’ve got to keep rigid, hai? Like a sword. Then you cannot fail.” He fell outward. The dive was clean and he trod water and waited.

Several samurai came forward but Toranaga waved them aside. He held up his arms stiffly, his backbone straight. His chest and loins were scarlet from the belly flops. Then he let himself fall forward as Blackthorne had shown. His head went into the water first and his legs tumbled over him, but it was a dive and the first successful dive of any of them and a roar of approval greeted him when he surfaced. He did it again, this time better. Other men followed, some successful, others not. Then Mariko tried.