1636: Seas of Fortune (57 page)

“But what lord could they take refuge with?” demanded Date Masamune. “There are no other daimyo, no other
han
here.”

Shigetsuna bowed. “But there are many Indian tribes. They have taken refuge, it seems, with the Chumash. According to the encyclopedia, the Chumash live on the coast from San Luis Obispo to Malibu, and on the Channel Islands, and inland as far as the western edge of San Joaquin Valley. Just the coastal section alone is, as I best I can figure it, two hundred miles long.”

“So . . . They can hide from us easily.”

“Unless you are willing to force the Chumash to give them up.”

“Is that what you advise?”

“We must resolve this crisis, peacefully or otherwise, before the commissioners arrive. Failing to keep the eta under control could be considered ‘mismanagement.’ And anyway we need the leather.”

* * *

“I don’t understand,” said First-to-Dance. “What’s wrong with skinning animals? All women of the People must do it.”

“I understand, but your people don’t follow the way of the kamis and the buddhas,” said Chiyo.

“That’s fine for you and your father. But your brother, David, and most of your people, they are following the Way of the Christ. Does the Christ say that it’s bad to skin animals?”

Chiyo thought about this. “Not so far as I know. Let’s go ask my brother.”

They found him studying an
ikebana
, a flower arrangement, and put the question to him.

“No-o-o . . .” he admitted. “But the
kirishitan
, they learned the new religion from the Jesuits and the Franciscans, and in the countries they came from, butchers and tanners were considered to be dishonorable occupations. So the padres wouldn’t have challenged the status of the eta.”

“But why did the Christians think it dishonorable?”

David Date shrugged. “Because of the contact with blood?”

“So, just like Shinto!” said Chiyo.

David reached out, repositioning one of the flowers in the vase. “Fish cannot climb trees.”

“It’s too bad, then, that these eta are Japanese, not Indian, since then you wouldn’t care if they skinned animals or not,” said First-to-Dance.

The two women were about to leave, when suddenly Chiyo stopped short. First-to-Dance almost collided into her. “Wait a moment,” said Chiyo. “Why must the eta
remain Japanese?”

“You can be adopted into a new tribe,” said First-to-Dance. “Then you no longer belong to your old tribe.”

The young samurai thought about this. “I think I heard that a few years ago, a hundred
kirishitan
lepers were exiled to Luzon so that samurai swords would not be defiled with their blood. I am not sure whether, once in exile, they could still be considered Japanese.

“And I have heard that the Chinese Emperor has ruled that those Chinese that choose to live in foreign lands are no longer Chinese. That’s why he ignored the massacre of the Chinese in Luzon some years back.”

“You see!”

“Well, I make no promises, but I’ll see what Father thinks.”

* * *

“I must confess that David’s proposal bothers me,” said Shigetsuna. “The young of frogs should be frogs, and the children of eta should be eta.”

Date Masamune clapped him on the back. “Poor Shigetsuna. You live in interesting times. As my son said to me, when there’s need, fish must learn to climb trees.”

Eta Village,

Morro Bay

The eta gathered together around Danzaemon.

“Well, what did the message say?” asked Hinkebei.

“The message enclosed a draft proclamation. The Grand Governor Date Masamune will make it public only if he is assured that we will accept it.

“The grand governor says that he does not have the authority to alter the terms under which those Japanese who are eta must live. However, if we are adopted into an Indian tribe, we are no longer Japanese, and hence we cannot be regarded as eta.”

The crowd murmured. Danzaemon motioned for them to quiet down.

“The grand governor will give us permission to be so adopted only if we agree to meeting certain continuing obligations concerning the supply of leather to New Nippon, and that under no circumstances will we take up arms against New Nippon, even if our new tribe is at war with them.”

Danzaemon raised his arms. “My friends, I believe we can consider this a victory!”

They cheered.

“Hikobei, you must find out whether the Chumash are willing to adopt all of us on such terms.”

* * *

Date Masamune passed the reply to Shigetsuna. “See? Problem solved. Issue the proclamation that the residents of ‘Kawata Mura’ have renounced Japanese citizenship and are now to be treated as Chumash Indians.”

“I doubt that our people remember to treat them as Indians and not as eta. As the saying goes, ‘Sparrows, though they live to be a hundred, do not forget their dance.’”

“Write to this Danzaemon, remind him that his folk should dress as do the Chumash when they come among us. That will help. If that is not enough, well, the whip improves a faulty memory.”

* * *

Yamaguchi Takuma deftly pushed down the five earth beads on the third rod, away from the reckoning bar, and moved a heavenly bead down toward it. The
soroban
that Shigetsuna-sama had lent to him had twenty-seven rods, each with two earth beads and two heavenly beads. Not, of course, that Takuma had much occasion to express a number with that many digits—the councilor had never asked him to count the number of grains of sand on the beach!—but the extra rods made it convenient to work with several different numbers at the same time. To multiply, for example.

The
soroban
made arithmetic so easy, he found it hard to believe that in his grandfather’s day, merchants still used calculating rods. Of course, not every merchant was as adept as Takuma; he could even divide one number into another.

This magnificent
soroban
, of course, was not intended for a crass commercial use. Rather, it was for managing the accounts of a great estate. Takuma was proud to be considered worthy to help Shigetsuna-tono with those of New Nippon itself. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough hours in the day to do all of the calculations himself, together with all the other tasks he had been assigned.

“Gombei!”

That was his assistant, who hurried in. He had been engaged in what he thought was brilliant conversation with the daughter of the family who lived next door.

“Sir!”

“I need these calculations done by sunset. Remember, they are for the grand governor, so all the multiplications and divisions must be done twice, and make sure you get the same result each time.”

“Yes sir. Uh, what if a pair of calculations disagree?”

“Then redo them until you get the same number three times in a row!”

* * *

Mathematics was not Gombei’s strong point. Especially when he could hear Shima singing a risque folk song as she went about her chores.

“Oh! my darling boy!” she sang. “Though first we slept a
hiro
apart, by rolling we came together . . .”

Gombei’s only chaperone was Takuma’s son, Hiraku. He was playing with toys in a corner.

Shima was still singing: “Yes, we slowly came together . . .”

Gombei stuck his head out the door. “Hey, Shima, the acoustics are better in here. Why don’t you come in and keep me company?”

“Perhaps another time, Gombei dear,” said Shima. “Hurry up, and you can take a walk with me.” She paused. “If, that is, you can finish before the hour of the Ape.” That was late afternoon.

Gombei was hurrying, all right. But the saying was, “he who chases two hares will not even catch one.” Trying to do the arithmetic faster just led to more mistakes, and thus more rechecks.

Finally, Shima strode in. “How much longer are you going to be, Gombei?” No “dear” this time.

“I’ll be out as soon as these fucking beads give me the same answer three times in a row for 256 times 3473.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Shima, “I’ve never touched a
soroban
in my life.”

“It’s 889,008,” said Hiraku, the forgotten boy in the corner.

“Really?” said Gombei. “I got that the first time. But then I got 888,548.”

“Oh. Then you did the last part on the wrong rod,” Hiraku explained. The last part, by the Japanese method, being the multiplication of the leftmost digit of the 256 and the rightmost of the 3473.

“Hiraku, how did you know the correct number?” asked Shima. “You weren’t even looking at the
soroban
, let alone moving the beads.”

“I just picture the beads in my head.”

* * *

Shima mentioned Hiraku’s mathematical ability to her mother, who told Hiraku’s mother, who told his father. Takuma had not, it turned out, taught Hiraku how to use the
soroban
. He had apparently learned by watching and listening to the lessons that Takuma had given to the apprentice.

Takuma was shocked and pleased to discover that Hiraku was not only adept at addition, subtraction and even multiplication, but that he had figured out for himself that the
soroban
could be used to calculate in hexadecimal as well as in decimal. It had this ability because the
soroban
was copied from the Chinese
Suan Pan
, and in China there were sixteen
liang
-ounces to the
jin
-pound, and sixteen
dou
of grain to the
yu
.

The following week, Katakura Shigetsuna invited Takuma to the castle. It was a mark of approval, especially since the invitation included Takuma’s family.

“Your calculations have been of great assistance in the construction of the castle in a timely and accurate manner, Takuma. I am promoting you, effective immediately.”

Takuma thanked him profusely.

“Keep up the good work. Now, who’s the little fellow hiding behind you? And has he any skills yet?”

“My son. He is very skilled in mathematics.”

“Oh?”

Takuma had Hiraku do some mental calculations for the councillor’s entertainment.

“I have a copy of
Jinko-ki
I can lend you,” Shigetsuna declared. “Why don’t you help Hiraku study it? A talent like his should be nurtured, for the good of the realm.”
Jinko
meant “small-large,” and
ki
was a treatise, so the manuscript was a study of numbers, from smallest to largest. It was written by Yoshida Shichibei Koyu in 1627, and it taught, among other things, how to extract square and cube roots using the
soroban
.

* * *

Date Masamune and his son stood on a tower, watching the moon rise over the Sierras.

“It’s easy enough to say politics is politics,” Masamune grumbled, “but it’s still painful to contemplate being relieved of my grand governorship. I defy any of my peers to have done better, under such circumstances. A virtually unknown domain, populated by savages who don’t speak our language. Fractious colonists, from every part of Japan, thrown together and forced to form a community. Religious differences between the colonists and the samurai who protect them.”

“Surely your governorship is safe now,” said David Date. “The
kirishitan
troublemakers are mining cinnabar, God help them. First-to-Dance negotiated a truce with one of the tribes attacking our miners, and we trounced another, so cinnabar production is up. The eta, excuse me, the “Chumash”
kawata
, are working again, so we have leather.”

“True. But our hold on the mine remains tenuous. By the time the commissioners arrive, the truce could break down, and then matters could be . . . uncomfortable. Nor am I sure that the commissioners will place their seal of approval on the eta solution. It was . . . unorthodox.”

Maruya

Yoshimichi had a strong sense of duty. That sense extended, however reluctantly, to keeping up with paperwork. He was now down to the letter he had put off for last, as it came from Danzaemon. Having to deal with the eta—ex-eta, he reminded himself—was, he was sure, punishment for the sins committed in his last incarnation.

The letter, of course, was written on recycled paper. Back home, there were people who made a living collecting paper trash and selling it to used paper warehouses. From there, it went to the paper mill to be reduced to pulp and reborn, a little grayer and coarser, as a blank sheet of paper. Here in California, recycling was even more important, but of course it was practiced on a smaller and more informal scale.

Before he broke the seal, Yoshimichi noted that it wasn’t made of wax, but rather of a strange black material. It was the first time he had ever seen petroleum tar.

The letter was addressed to “the Honorable ex-
Daikan
for the ex-
Eta
.” Yoshimichi snorted.

“As you see, we are now above quota for leather hides,” Danzaemon had written. “Most are deer skin, but there are a few bear skins. There are plenty more bears where those come from; please send more powder and shot. Some more guns would be nice, too; the damn things take too long to reload.

“It would be very nice if the Dutch could be persuaded to bring us cattle; I think cattle would do well here. At least our cattle would, and I imagine the Dutch beasts aren’t that much different.

“I enclose a present for you, it’s a drill used to make holes in shells. The Chumash hang the shells on strings and use them as money, or trade them to the inland tribes. I think you will find the present most interesting.”

The letter was signed by the “Master” of the “Brotherhood of the Hide.” Later, Yoshimichi would learn that this was done in mimicry of the most important of the Chumash craft guilds, the “Brotherhood of the Canoe.”

The
daikan
grumbled. “Powder? Shot? Guns? Not a chance. I am not going to set a cat to guard dried bonito. Not twice, at least.” He called for his assistant.

“We will have an archery and gunnery competition for the samurai.” As he spoke, he unwrapped the present from Danzaemon. “The six best will have the honor of conducting a bear hunt for—” He stopped speaking, staring at the drill bit.

“Sir?”

“A hunt for the benefit of our Chumash friends. Which I will attend personally. Free my calendar.”