'What happened to you?' wheezed Father Lucius from his bed.
'I had a fight,' said Jack defensively, unable to hide the bruises ringing
his eyes.
'Looks to me like you lost. I warned you that the samurai could be
ruthless.'
Father Lucius sat up, hacking into his handkerchief. The coughing and
yellow sputum were recently accompanied by a fever and shaking chills.
Conscious of Masamoto's order, Father Lucius still insisted that Jack have
his lessons, despite fatigue often overwhelming him. But after only a few
sentences, they had to stop.
'Jack, I'm afraid this sickness is defeating me in spite of all the teas,
herbs and ointments the local doctor can administer. Even their medicines
are no match for this…'
The priest broke into a coughing fit, pain wracked his face and he
clenched his chest. Slowly, the coughing subsided to be replaced by the
laboured wheezing.
'I'm sorry, Father,' said Jack, not knowing what else he could say.
The hostility that had characterized their earlier meetings had faded
during the course of their lessons into a wary friendship, and Jack did
honestly feel concern for the sick priest.
'No need for pity, Jack. I have done my duty on this earth and will soon
be rightfully rewarded in Heaven.' He made the sign of the cross on his
chest. 'I'll be better tomorrow, but today you must teach yourself. Please
hand me my book.'
Jack reached over to the table and passed over the priest's thick
notebook.
'This is my life's work,' he said, gently caressing its soft leather binding.
'A Japanese–Portuguese dictionary. I have been compiling this book ever
since I came to the Japans over ten years ago. It is the key to unlocking their
language and their way of thinking. Using it, the Brotherhood can bring the
Word of the Lord to every island of Japan.'
Religious fervour shone in Father Lucius's rheumy eyes.
'It's the only one in existence, Jack,' he said, and fixed Jack with a grave
look. He studied him for several moments before, with a shaky hand,
offering the book to Jack.
'Would you take care of it for me, and if I am to pass from this world,
will you ensure that it is placed in the hands of his Eminence, Father Diego
Bobadilla, in Osaka?'
'Yes, Father,' promised Jack, unable to refuse the man's dying wish. 'It
would be an honour.'
'No, it would be mine. You have been a good pupil, in spite of your
beliefs. Your mother must have been a fine teacher. With Akiko's continued
assistance, you'll be speaking as fluently as a natural-born Japanese boy
before the turn of the year.'
He smiled graciously at Jack, then continued in an unusually honeyed
tone.
'Perhaps you would be so kind as to let me look at your father's diary in
return? I fear my days are shortening on this earth and it would give me
great pleasure to read of another's worldly adventures.'
Jack immediately stiffened. Had the offer of the dictionary been a ploy to
get the rutter?
Jack remembered the way the Jesuit's eyes had gleamed with desire when
it had first been presented by Masamoto. Since that day Father Lucius had
often mentioned his father's diary during their lessons. Was it safe? Where
did he keep it? Would he care to regale one of his father's stories? Would he
show him a page from the diary? The priest clearly wanted the rutter, if not
for himself, then most certainly for the Brotherhood.
Jack felt a small spike of anger at Father Lucius's request and wondered
whether the priest's change of heart had been genuine at all, or merely a
ruse to obtain his precious rutter.
'I am sorry, Father Lucius,' replied Jack, 'but as you know, it is private
and the only remaining possession of my beloved father.'
'I know, I know. No matter.' The priest seemed too weary to pursue the
issue any further. 'I will see you again tomorrow?'
'Yes, Father. Of course.'
∗ ∗ ∗
That afternoon under the cherry blossom tree, Jack leafed through the pages
of the dictionary. Father Lucius had been right to speak so proudly of his
work. It contained reams of Japanese words together with their Portuguese
equivalents, detailed notes on grammar, directions for correct
pronunciation, and guidance on proper Japanese etiquette. It was truly his
magnum opus.
'Excuse me, Jack,' said Akiko, approaching Jack from across the little
bridge. 'I hope I'm not disturbing you.'
'No, not at all,' said Jack, putting the dictionary down. 'You're welcome
to join me, but I thought you were going pearl diving today?'
'No, not today,' said Akiko, with soft disappointment.
'Why not? You usually do, don't you?'
'Yes…' She hesitated, clearly considering whether it was appropriate or
not to confide in Jack. Then, apparently making her mind up, she knelt
down beside him.
'Mother says that I'm too old to be associating with such people now.
She says being an ama is not fitting for a lady of the samurai class and she
forbids it.'
'Not fitting? Why would she say that?'
'Pearl diving can be very dangerous, Jack. Ama sometimes get caught up
in rip tides or are attacked by sharks. That is why only lower-caste villagers
are given such work.'
'So why do you do it?' asked Jack, somewhat amazed by her revelation.
'I like it,' said Akiko emphatically, a keen fire lighting up in her eyes.
'Down there you get to see shellfish, octopus, sea urchins and sometimes
even sharks. Under the water, I can go where I want. Do what I want. I'm
free… and that's such a glorious feeling.'
'I know exactly what you mean,' agreed Jack. 'I had that same sensation,
when the Alexandria was under full sail and I was allowed to stand on its
prow. I felt like I was riding the crests of the waves and could conquer the
world!'
They both dropped into silent mutual reverie, gazing up at the autumn
brown leaves of the cherry blossom tree, sunlight dappling their upturned
faces.
'Are you feeling better today?' asked Akiko after a while.
'I'm fine, thank you. Yamato didn't hit me that hard anyway,' he replied
with obvious bravado.
Akiko gave him a doubtful look.
'Well, my nose hurts like hell,' Jack finally admitted, 'and I still have a
headache, but I'm much better today.'
'I am responsible. I shouldn't have let you get involved,' said Akiko,
bowing. 'I apologize for Yamato's behaviour. He should not have acted like
he did.'
'Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault.'
'Because it happened in my house. I am certain Yamato did not mean to
harm you. He merely got carried away in the heat of the moment.'
'Well, I'd hate to see Yamato when he did mean it,' said Jack
vehemently.
'I'm so sorry. You must understand, Jack, Yamato is under great pressure
from his father. Ever since Tenno was killed, Masamoto expects Yamato to
be as skilled a samurai as his brother was, despite being younger. But that
does not excuse his actions or him calling you gaijin. I am so sorry.'
'Will you stop apologizing for him!' said Jack, somewhat exasperated.
'And why does it matter that he calls me gaijin?'
'Gaijin means barbarian. It is the name we give to uncivilized foreigners.
It's not very nice and now that you are a member of his family, Yamato is
wrong to use such a disrespectful term. It is an insult to you.'
At that moment, Yamato strode out of the house, bokken tucked inside his
obi. He gave a purposeful bow in Akiko's direction, but disregarded Jack's
presence entirely.
Jack watched Yamato begin his kata routine, then decided his own course
of action. He packed away Father Lucius's dictionary and stood up.
'Where are you going?' asked Akiko, concerned.
'To get some more practice in,' said Jack and walked over to where
Yamato had commenced his second kata.
'Back for more?' asked Yamato incredulously, not breaking off from his
training.
'Why not? I can't do any worse than yesterday.'
'You certainly have spirit for a gaijin,' said Yamato with mild
amusement.
Jack bit back on his retort. He didn't wish to ruin his chances of learning
more from his rival.
Yamato called to Jiro to retrieve a bokken from the house again.
'Follow what I do. Exactly,' said Yamato to Jack, their weapons in hand.
Yamato stood, his feet together, heels touching. He had slipped his
bokken through his obi on his left-hand side. His left hand, grasping it just
below the hilt, kept it firmly in place by his hip.
'Other way up,' he said, nodding at Jack's bokken. 'The blade edge
should face towards the sky, so that when you withdraw the sword you are
immediately able to make your cut.'
Jack turned the blade over so that the curved edge of the wooden blade
was pointing upwards.
'Good. Now watch me.'
Yamato moved his right hand across his waist and gripped the handle.
His right leg slid forwards, dropping into a wide stance. Simultaneously he
whipped out his bokken, grasping it with both hands, and sliced downwards.
He drove forwards another step, lifting the kissaki up to his imaginary
victim's throat. The attack completed, he then twisted the bokken with a
sharp one-handed flick to the right before stepping up carefully and resheathing his weapon.
'Now your turn.'
Jack went to mimic Yamato's movements, but had not even grabbed the
hilt before he was interrupted.
'No! Your hand must stay close to your body. If you have it out there,
your enemy will just chop it off.'
Jack began again. At every stage Yamato stopped him and corrected his
movements. Jack quickly grew frustrated. There was so much to think about
and Yamato was unflinching in his criticism.
'What's the final flick for?' asked Jack irritably.
'That move is called chiburi,' replied Yamato, giving a sadistic smile. 'It
shakes your enemy's blood from the blade.'
∗ ∗ ∗
The whole afternoon was spent repeating that single kata over and over
again. Little by little Jack progressed through each step of the sequence
until he was able to execute it in one complete move. He was by no means
fluid, but he had learnt the core techniques. The sun was beginning to set by
the time Yamato brought the session to an end.
'Arigatō, Yamato,' said Jack, bowing courteously.
'Dōmo, gaijin.'
'My name is Jack.' And he held Yamato's imperious look, challenging
him to show appropriate respect.
'Your name is gaijin until you prove otherwise,' he said, re-sheathing his
bokken.
Yamato then spun on his heels and, without returning Jack's bow,
disappeared into the house.