Shipwrecks. Part 2

'Then you're not taking it seriously enough. If you think about how important the job is, you won't be sleepy.' A smirk appeared on Sahei's face. Isaku said nothing, realising that Sahei would take advantage of the slightest opportunity to get an edge on him. Isaku thought Sahei's defiant att.i.tude might mean he was upset that Isaku had been first to receive his order from the village chief to work on the salt cauldrons.

Nevertheless, he was ready to admit that Sahei was undoubtedly right. Quite likely Sahei could get through the night without nodding off, concentrating fully on the salt cauldrons as he kept an eye on the night sea. Isaku blinked weakly, feeling small.

'You heard about O-fune-sama and the bailiff?' Sahei said, looking sideways at Isaku.

Isaku turned to look at him. He had no idea what O-fune-sama could have to do with a bailiff. Isaku's father and mother seldom talked about village affairs, but in Sahei's family his grandfather and parents discussed all manner of topics; so it was only natural that Sahei would come to learn a great deal. Sahei's knowledge was another reason Isaku felt a little intimidated by the boy.

'A bailiff?' he whispered suspiciously.

'You didn't know? You mean you started working the salt cauldrons without knowing about it?' sneered Sahei.

Isaku was irritated by Sahei's att.i.tude, as well as somewhat uneasy. He had never seen a bailiff but certainly had heard that they were to be feared stories of how bailiffs would arrest people, tie them up, and cut off their heads or burn them alive on a crucifix or impale them on a pike. Isaku felt crushed by Sahei's hints of a connection between O-fune-sama and the bailiff, and he thought his ignorance made him unfit to work the salt cauldrons.

'Tell me, then. What about the bailiff?' he said.

Sahei didn't reply. He was watching the women on the beach carry the salt away.

'I heard the story from my grandfather,' Sahei began. He explained that it had happened when O-fune-sama came one winter, some time before his grandfather was born. That night, too, in heavy seas a s.h.i.+p had had its bottom smashed open on the reef after being lured to the cauldron fires lit on the sh.o.r.e. It was a s.h.i.+p of considerable size, and though the crew had jettisoned some of the cargo there was still a large amount left.

'The people in the village were ecstatic, but they were shocked when they saw the crest on the sail,' said Sahei, grim-faced.

The sails had been taken down, but the large insignia on them indicated that it was a clan s.h.i.+p. The cargo on board was government property, and stealing it would of course invite harsh retribution. Terror-stricken, the villagers put out boats and rescued the captain and crew clinging to the wrecked s.h.i.+p. They waited for the sea to calm before they unloaded the cargo onto the beach and pulled the sails and the smashed pieces of s.h.i.+p's timber up onto the sh.o.r.e. Also, they retrieved the bodies of two drowned clansmen, one crewman, and a galley boy who had been washed overboard and found at the foot of the cape.

A messenger was sent to the next village over the ridge, and seven days later a young bailiff appeared, accompanied by two attendants. The village chief and the other people in the village prostrated themselves on the ground in the chief's courtyard to greet the bailiff.

The villagers were afraid that the bailiff would suspect that the fires under the salt cauldrons were for luring pa.s.sing s.h.i.+ps onto the rocks. Trembling with fear, the chief had kept his forehead to the ground, muttering simple replies to the bailiff's questions.

Fortunately the official did not catch on to the villagers' secret. He thought it only natural that they should be making salt on the beach and saw nothing strange in the fact that the sailors might mistake the fires for houses and turn their s.h.i.+p towards the treacherous rocks lining the coast. On the contrary, upon hearing the testimony of the rescued sailors, the bailiff was pleased at how the villagers had handled the clan s.h.i.+p. Everyone in the village helped to lay out the cargo and broken pieces of wood from the s.h.i.+p to dry in the sun, or piled them inside the village chief's house or in the yard. Also, the four bodies that had been recovered were temporarily interred in one corner of the yard, and a black flag of mourning was put up.

The bailiff seemed to think that the villagers were blameless, and left with the s.h.i.+p's survivors. In due course, he appeared in the village again, this time with some men leading several oxen. They collected the s.h.i.+p's cargo that had been stored at the village chief's house, lashed it onto the oxen, and carried it away. They took the sailcloth but let the villagers keep what was left of the wrecked s.h.i.+p.

Though the village benefited very little, the people were greatly relieved to have avoided punishment. But their fears were not easily allayed, and no more salt was made that year. They regained their composure with the first signs of spring. Soon, however, they were grey with fear again as they were tormented by another unexpected calamity.

One day, three men leading some oxen appeared on the mountain path. One of these unsavoury-looking characters, wearing a sword in a faded scabbard, presented himself at the village chief's house.

Claiming to be a bailiff, he shouted angrily that people in the village were hiding cargo from the wrecked clan s.h.i.+p. Petrified, the village chief pleaded with him in a trembling voice. But the men paid no heed, and the next day they made everyone in the village, including the village chief, empty their larders of stored provisions and lash everything onto the pack animals, menacing the people with their swords as they drove the oxen back up the mountain path.

After they had left, the villagers realised that these men had merely been posing as bailiffs, and they prepared hatchets and gaffs, resolving to kill the impostors should they return. But they were never seen again.

'The daimyo's s.h.i.+ps are big and sail out in deep water, so they run far off the coast. They're st.u.r.dily built, so not many get wrecked. O-fune-sama are the ones on the coastal run, merchant s.h.i.+ps pa.s.sing close by. But, as I said, even the daimyo's s.h.i.+ps can end up as O-fune-sama. Both my grandfather and my father have told me, if O-fune-sama comes when you are looking after the fires, the first thing you have to do is take a look at the crest on the sails. Didn't anyone tell you that?' Sahei said.

Isaku shook his head. He was annoyed that Kichizo hadn't seen fit to mention the sails in his instructions. He felt sure that, just as Sahei had heard from his grandfather and father, he, too, would have been warned to look out for the insignia on the sails, had his father been at home.

'Is there anything else I should know?' asked Isaku, genuinely grateful that Sahei had told him about the marks on the sails.

Sahei pensively tilted his head to one side and looked across the beach; then, almost as an afterthought, said, 'My father told me that if you do see O-fune-sama, you should run straight to the village chief's house and tell him. Don't run home or anything like that.' Isaku thought that this, too, was something he should bear in mind. He could certainly imagine that the shock of seeing O-fune-sama might make him run home to tell his mother.

On the beach the women were working hard scooping salt from the cauldrons and putting it into wooden tubs. Clouds raced across the sky, and spray from the waves splashed on the sh.o.r.e.

'It seems my dad might be going into bondage, too,' Sahei murmured as he gazed out to sea.

Sahei had a sister who was already married, another older sister aged fourteen, and a brother two years younger than Sahei. By all accounts Sahei's family had celebrated the night he had been instructed to work on the cauldrons, but perhaps they were just as short of food as Isaku's family after all. The fourteen-year-old daughter was next in line to be sold into bondage, but if she came back after finis.h.i.+ng her service she would be too old to marry by then. Most likely Sahei's father had made his decision to sell himself out of pity for his daughter.

'My grandfather's at home crying. He says he'd sell himself if he were a little younger.' Sahei tried to force the sullen look from his face.

If O-fune-sama were to come, there would be no need for Sahei's father to sell himself. No doubt Sahei was putting his all into the work on the cauldrons, wis.h.i.+ng with all his heart that O-fune-sama would come so his father would not have to leave the village.

Drowsiness started to get the better of Isaku. He stood up. 'I'm going to get some sleep,' he said to Sahei, who was still sitting on the log. He picked up the dead pine torch and headed towards his house.

The next morning saw the first flurry of snow. No more than a few flakes, barely perceptible on the bl.u.s.tery winds, but it grew heavier in the afternoon, whirling into the house past the fluttering straw mat hanging at the entrance.

Isaku was working hard chopping firewood on the dirt floor, while his mother mended the children's tattered clothes. The cloth was made of thread woven from the inner fibres of the bark from young linden trees growing in the mountains, but none had been collected this summer.

Every year in early summer his father would go into the mountains to get linden saplings. With his father away this year Isaku had his hands full, but he resolved to go into the woods to collect bark from the saplings next summer.

His brother and sisters were sitting huddled together beside the fire. There was still the grain they had bought with Isaku's father's bondage payment but, with no other food to be had through the winter, they would have to ration their supplies tightly until spring. His father's parting words, 'Don't let the children starve', uttered so gravely before he went into bondage, weighed heavily on Isaku's heart.

The snow continued to fall throughout the next day, then stopped the following morning, leaving the village covered in a blanket of white.

Isaku and the men put their boats onto the water while his mother went down to comb the sh.o.r.eline. He hung a line over the side but could only catch the smallest of fish, and very few at that. The currents would have taken the schools of fish far offsh.o.r.e, and the octopus and squid must have been driven by the cras.h.i.+ng waves to the seaward side of the reef to find a place to rest.

When the sea was calm, and occasionally even on stormy days, they would see s.h.i.+ps pa.s.sing with their sails half furled. Among them were s.h.i.+ps bearing large insignia in the middle of their sails.

The old year came to a close and a new year began. The villagers observed the five-day New Year's holiday. They stayed inside, lighting fires every morning and night in front of their houses to drive away demons. Laughter was forbidden because it was thought to bring bad luck, and even speaking was frowned upon.

On the sixth day of the year the taboo was lifted, but a gloomy atmosphere clung to the village. The s.h.i.+pping of rice had all but come to an end, and only a few s.h.i.+ps would be seen pa.s.sing on calm days, with none risking its sail in stormy weather. There seemed to be little hope of O-fune-sama's coming that winter, so the villagers could do nothing but wait for the arrival of spring. Nevertheless, on stormy nights they continued to light the fires under the salt cauldrons. They had already produced more than enough to supply the needs of the village for the next year, but the surplus would be stored, to be sold in spring in the village over the ridge, and the money earned would be used to buy grain or fis.h.i.+ng implements.

It was agony tending the salt cauldrons on snowy nights. Again and again Isaku would carry firewood through the driving snow and throw it under the cauldrons. The snow appeared to dance wildly, glimmering red from the colour of the flames. Once into February, they were hit by a blizzard. The houses were snowed in; it was almost dark inside. Isaku and his mother cleared the snow from the roof and outside the windows, making a s.p.a.ce for the sunlight to s.h.i.+ne in.

In the middle of that month Teru fell ill with a high fever. Isaku's mother boiled some water, filling the room with steam, and brewed an infusion of medicinal herbs. But his little sister was not even swallowing, so his mother forced it down Teru's throat mouth-to-mouth.

At dawn the next morning Teru's body was cold. His mother's eyes were filled with tears as she quietly caressed Teru's little face.

Several men and women from neighbouring houses gathered, walking behind Isaku's mother as she carried Teru's body, wrapped in straw matting, up the mountain path towards the graveyard. When the fire was lit in the crematory, Isaku's mother squatted beside it, struggling to keep herself from sobbing openly. Isaku looked out to sea, tears streaming down his face. His father had entrusted him and his mother with the lives of his younger brother and sisters, and now he was anguished because they had not been able to keep their promise. He imagined that his mother was thinking about his father.

The horizon appeared faintly white in the distance. Isaku sensed that winter, too, was coming to an end.

4.

The men who set rabbit traps in the woods returned to the village saying they had seen blossom on ume trees in a valley.

The only way the villagers could see flowers was to go into the mountains; the salt winds that lashed the village prevented any flowering plants or trees from surviving on the coast. The next morning the village chief instructed them to guide one of the village elders to the valley. When their finding had been confirmed, the chief ordered salt production stopped. The blooming of plum trees signified the end of winter and their hopes of O-fune-sama's appearing. The men suspended the cauldrons from poles and carried them from the beach to the village chief's house, where they were washed with fresh water and coated with fish oil before being stored away.

The village was shrouded in gloom. When the villagers pa.s.sed each other on the path, they said little, often merely nodding a tentative greeting.

The temperature rose and the snow covering the village began to melt. At times the sound of avalanches could be heard from the mountains. Plumes of snow dust rose from the deeply chiselled valleys. Days of rough seas became infrequent, and occasionally mist would rise off the calm sea. It was said that peach trees were starting to bloom in the mountains.

The village chief ordered some men and women to sell salt in the next village. Isaku's mother was one of those chosen. Carrying straw bales full of salt on their shoulders and steadying themselves with sticks, they trudged slowly in line up the path through patches of snow towards the pa.s.s. Six days later they returned with bales of grain tied to their backs. This was divided among the households according to the number of mouths there were to feed.

In early March, Isaku joined the other villagers on the beach to pray for a good catch of fish that year. In one of the small boats they set up a sacred straw festoon suspended from a four-handed scoop net made of cotton between two thin bamboo rods.

When the village chief arrived at the beach in ceremonial attire, the boat was pushed into the water and its owner took up the oar while his pregnant wife stepped in to join him. The boat pulled away from the sh.o.r.e, bamboo rods swaying each time the man worked the oar, the scoop net fluttering slightly in the breeze. About forty yards offsh.o.r.e the boat stopped.

Facing out to sea, the woman got to her feet, and almost in a fanning motion she vigorously pulled up the bottom of her kimono. By displaying her swollen belly and her v.a.g.i.n.a to the Sea G.o.d, she was praying for the fish to breed prolifically. Isaku and the other people on the beach held their palms together in prayer. Each time she rolled up her kimono she exposed her stocky thighs and b.u.t.tocks. The woman's movements continued until the man, holding the oar in one hand, poured wine from a jar into the sea with his free hand. At this, the woman released her kimono and sat down. Then her husband rowed back to the sh.o.r.e. On the beach she followed the village chief up to his house, where she was served a ceremonial meal.

From that day on, except when the sea was rough, Isaku joined the other fishermen on the water. As was usual around this time, large sardines started appearing. Day by day they increased in number, and no sooner would a line be in the water than a fish would be hooked. There were plenty of good-sized, choice fish among these schools, and they put up a good fight on the line. They could be either eaten raw or ground into a paste to make dumplings to put into soup. Or sometimes Isaku's mother would split them in half and hang them out to dry, saving their insides in a tub to use as fertiliser for the fields.

When the sardine catch began to slacken, five people left the village in the rain to sell themselves into indentured service. Among them were Sahei's father and Tami's sixteen-year-old elder sister. They were accompanied to the next village by family members who would receive the payment from the broker. The line of sedge hats made its way up the winding mountain path and came to a halt halfway. They seemed to be agonising over leaving their birthplace, knowing that some people died in servitude and that, even if they survived, they would not see their village again until their term was over. The line of sedge hats moved off again, swaying as it proceeded until it melted away into the grey murk of the rain.

After the sardines, squid began to appear. Isaku happened to see Sahei awkwardly hauling squid into his boat. Sahei's father had indentured himself for five years, but it was rumoured that he had brought in only fifty silver momme, less than Isaku's father had received for a three-year term. Most villagers agreed that this was a fair price, considering Sahei's father's sloping shoulders and slight build. With his father gone, the burden of looking after the family now rested on Sahei.

There was a tormented look on Sahei's face as he worked his fis.h.i.+ng line; his disconsolate eyes turned in Isaku's direction.

Isaku caught sight of Tami combing the sh.o.r.e for sh.e.l.lfish and seaweed with the other women and children. Tami's elder sister had been sold into bondage for seven years; when she finished her service, her only prospects for marriage would be widowers. Tami was of large build, and if she were to lie about her age the go-between would surely find someone who would take her. If Tami were sold into bondage, Isaku wanted to wait for her to return to the village after her term was up and marry her. But a wife was essential to a household; there was no way he would be able to stay single until then.

Isaku engrossed himself in catching squid. They would not be eaten right away but would be split open and dried. There were squid hanging everywhere on ropes, under the eaves of the houses, in nearby open s.p.a.ces. From the water the village looked like a hive of activity.

One evening in early April, Isaku came home, fis.h.i.+ng-tackle in hand, to find his cousin Takichi sitting with his back against the wall, arms wrapped round his knees. Isaku's mother was tying dried squid into bundles with twine, but as soon as she saw her son she stood up, attached a bamboo basket to each end of a carrying-rod, and left the house. Isaku did the same, following his mother to the sh.o.r.e with a carrying-rod and baskets on his shoulders. They scooped the squid out of the bottom of the boat and put them into the baskets, which they then hooked onto the carrying-rods.

'Takichi's getting married tomorrow, so he's staying with us tonight,' his mother said as she walked back to the house.

So Kura and Takichi are finally tying the knot, Isaku thought. They were both seventeen. Kura was the most st.u.r.dily built girl in the village, and tall as well. She wore extra-large straw sandals and often did heavy work with the men. By contrast, Takichi was puny. He might have been born a fisherman, but physically he was quite frail. With his long, slender face and pigeon-toed gait there was little about him that was masculine.

Isaku had often heard the rumour that they first got to know each other out in the woods, meeting by chance while collecting firewood. By all accounts, it was Takichi who was seduced. But such outdoor encounters were frowned upon, so Takichi had complied with Kura's family's request and started to visit her regularly at night.

Quite some time had pa.s.sed since Takichi's father and older brother had been swept out to sea while fis.h.i.+ng, and he now lived with his mother. She spent most of her time lying down, complaining about the pain in her hunched back. Rumour had it that Takichi's mother was very eager to see her son marry such a st.u.r.dy young woman as Kura, and relentlessly urged him to the girl's house.

On the night before the wedding the man had to stay away from his own house, and on the wedding day the young girls among his relatives would accompany the go-between to the bride's house to take part in her farewell dinner, and then lead the bride and her parents to the bridegroom's house. There, the bride, fully adorned for the occasion, would exchange nuptial cups with her mother-in-law, after which the celebration would begin, and the mother-in-law would serve the bride a heaped wooden bowl of rice. While this was happening, the man would stay in hiding, coming back to the house late at night to consummate the marriage.

Isaku's house had been chosen because Takichi would feel at ease staying with relatives.

Isaku and his mother carried the squid into the house. His mother's expression suggested she was pleased with the size of the day's catch. Takichi stood up by the wall and asked, 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

'A man about to get married doesn't have to lift a finger. You just sit back and think about your bride's tail.' Visibly relieved, Takichi sat down again.

Steam started to rise from the vegetable porridge in the pot over the fire, and Takichi joined Isaku and his family around the fireplace. There had been a chill in the home since his father had gone into bondage, but somehow Takichi's presence seemed to improve things. Isaku's younger brother and sister cast contented looks in their guest's direction. Occasionally, as though he were remembering something, the hint of a smile would appear on Takichi's face as he ate. After the meal Isaku's mother picked up a knife and started gutting the squid on the dirt floor.

Isaku sat opposite his cousin and next to the fireplace. He wanted to ask how Takichi had courted Kura and how he had made love to her, but held back for fear of his mother's ire.

Isaku asked Takichi about saury fis.h.i.+ng, which was due to start soon. During the rainy season the previous year, Isaku had gone after these fish but caught nothing, even though the waters were supposedly teeming with them. Takichi, on the other hand, had already proven himself as a fisherman, and Isaku envied the way his cousin was able to provide for his aged mother.

'Once you get the knack you can catch them blindfolded,' said Takichi softly.

'I just can't get it. But I've got to try and catch as many as I can to keep my brother and sister from starving.'

Takichi stared at his obviously distraught cousin and said, 'When we start fis.h.i.+ng, bring your boat over beside mine and I'll show you how.'

'Please!' said Isaku imploringly.

The fishy smell of squid innards began to hang heavy in the air.

The following evening Isaku's mother went out to join her relatives at Takichi's house while Isaku stayed home, gutting the squid in her place. She came back after dark, her face red and puffy from wine.

'It must be about time you went and got busy with your wife,' she said to Takichi, who was sitting near the fireplace. He nodded, thanked his aunt for letting him stay the night, and took his leave. Isaku's mother sat down on the straw matting.

Isaku was sitting beside the fireplace, and when he happened to look at his mother's face, glowing for an instant in the firelight, he was frightened by the strange look in her eyes. They were glazed and misty with tears. He a.s.sumed she was thinking about his father and his dead baby sister.

When parties of villagers went to the neighbouring town to sell dried fish or salt, they would always call on the labour contractor's. This was the only way they could hear news of their indentured kin. Sometimes they would hear reports of deaths, or that the person was ailing. Without exception, those who were sick would eventually die, but even knowing this, the family would pray for their loved one's recovery. There was no news of Isaku's father, which meant that he was almost certainly free from illness and working safely somewhere.

Isaku moved away from the fireplace and curled up under his straw matting, his eyes barely open as he peered at his mother's face.

The mountains turned a deep shade of green. Light winds, seldom stronger than a breeze, started coming in, mostly from the east. Flies began to exhibit their prolific powers of breeding and swarmed over the squid hanging out to dry. When evening came, buzzing mosquitoes flitted by one's ear.

Occasionally cargo vessels would pa.s.s by, but the villagers barely looked up from the job at hand as the s.h.i.+ps retreated steadily into the distance across the calm sea.

The number of squid caught began to dwindle, and fewer were seen hanging out to dry. Those already dried were tied up with twine and packed away.

On early mornings in mid-May people carrying bundles of dried squid on their backs would appear on the path, to be joined by others as they climbed up the mountain path.

His mother, too, twice carried such bundles of squid to the next village. The amount of grain she brought back in return was nothing to speak of, but she seemed cheerful all the same. She had stopped in at the labour contractor's to ask about his father, and there was no news. No news was good news; he must still be fit and well. Isaku felt relieved at this, but then he heard his mother say that Tami's elder sister had fallen sick after working only two months.

'And the broker's got the gall to complain that he's been had after he's been paid a big fat commission,' his mother said, spitting out the words in outrage.

If a bond servant died, the broker would have to pay a certain amount of compensation to the employer on the grounds that he had provided an unfit worker. For this reason the broker would choose only physically sound people. To cover a possible financial loss from a worker's death, he would pay the bond servant's family a great deal less than what he got from the employer. Isaku's village provided a good supply of workers.

No doubt Tami's family would have heard by now, but Isaku wondered how they might take the news. Of course they would be distraught; but he thought they might harbour other thoughts as well. They had already received the bond payment, and Tami's sister's departure meant they had one less mouth to feed. On top of that, even if she were able to return to the village after finis.h.i.+ng her bond service, in terms of age she would be unable to command a favourable match. In this respect, the news that Tami's sister had fallen sick with what could only be a fatal illness might not necessarily be viewed as misfortune for the family.

Putting the grain she had brought back into an urn in the larder, his mother muttered, 'There's no way your father's dead. He's too strong,' almost as though she were trying to admonish herself for a moment's doubt.

In the evening of the day after his mother returned from her second trip taking dried squid to the next village, Isaku was pulling his boat onto the sh.o.r.e when he heard the man beside him say, 'There's a rainbow,' as he removed the oar from his boat. Looking up, he could see it stretching faintly from the top of the mountain ridges to the sea. The first rainbow of the year.

'The saury'll be here soon,' said the man enthusiastically as he swung his oar onto his shoulder and headed up the sh.o.r.e.

The colours of the rainbow gradually deepened, emblazoning the evening sky. Rainbows in the late afternoon were seen as a good omen, especially those in early summer, which were judged to herald a good saury season. But Isaku felt uneasy as he watched the rainbow. His skill at catching saury left much to be desired and, if his haul was as poor as the previous year's, his family would go hungry. The saury season was crucial for the villagers, as the very survival of their families through that year hinged on their ability to stock up on this vital source of nourishment. Takichi had said he would teach Isaku the knack of catching saury, but maybe that had merely been a lighthearted slip of the tongue the day before his wedding.

Isaku occasionally saw Takichi on the sh.o.r.e, and sometimes caught sight of him fis.h.i.+ng way out on the water. Whether or not it was because he had claimed a wife was not clear, but Takichi seemed to have a hint of self-confidence in his eyes. Though Takichi was small, Isaku felt that he looked down on him with an air of condescension. Isaku imagined that Takichi's demeanour meant that his cousin would not teach him how to catch saury after all.

But an even more dramatic change in Kura caught the attention of the villagers. She would come down to the sh.o.r.e as soon as she saw that Takichi had returned from the day's fis.h.i.+ng. She was a different person in Takichi's presence, meekly following his every instruction. Strong as she was, she would effortlessly swing the large tub holding the day's catch onto her shoulder and hurry back to their house. Takichi would saunter up the slope virtually empty-handed. Smiling lasciviously, the villagers would joke that Takichi must have knocked the stuffing out of her.

On days when the sea was rough, Isaku would tie a hatchet and twine to a carrying frame and go into the woods to collect bark from linden trees for making cloth. Snakes were common among the thicker groves of linden trees, so Isaku wore leggings on top of close-fitting trousers.

It was raining only lightly, but the wind was strong. Isaku held down the edge of his sedge hat to keep it from being blown off as he made his way up the damp mountain path.