Silence (10 page)

I suppose I should simply cast from my mind these meaningless words of the coward; yet why does his plaintive voice pierce my breast with all the pain of a sharp needle? Why has Our Lord imposed this torture and this persecution on poor Japanese peasants? No, Kichijirō was trying to express something different, something even more sickening. The silence of God. Already twenty years have passed since the persecution broke out; the black soil of Japan has been filled with the lament of so many Christians; the red blood of priests has flowed profusely; the walls of the churches have fallen down; and in the face of this terrible and merciless sacrifice offered up to Him, God has remained silent. This was the problem that lay behind the plaintive question of Kichijirō.

Anyhow, let me simply tell you about the fate that befell us after this.

The three men were summoned to the magistrate’s office at a place called Sakuradai. For two days they were left lying in the prison at the back of the place, until finally they were brought out for questioning. For some reason or other the questioning began with a strangely mechanical question and answer.

‘You know that Christianity is an outlawed religion?’

Mokichi, spokesman for the others, nodded his assent.

‘A report has been sent in that you are practising this outlawed religion. What have you to say?’

All three answered that they were convinced Buddhists living in accordance with the teaching of the monks at the Danna Temple. The next step was: ‘If that is so, trample on the
fumie.
’

A board to which was attached an image of the Virgin and Child was placed at their feet. Following my advice, Kichijirō was the first to place his foot on the image; after him Mokichi and Ichizo did likewise. But if they thought that only by this would they be pardoned, they were greatly mistaken. Slowly there appeared on the faces of the watching officials faint smiles. What had caught their attention was not the actual fact of the Christians placing their foot on the
fumie
but the expressions on their faces as they did so.

‘You think you can deceive us like that?’ said one of the officials, an old man. And now for the first time the three recognized him as the old samurai who’d ridden into Tomogi some days before. ‘Do you think we are fools? Do you think we didn’t notice how heavy and nervous your breathing became.
 
…
?’

‘We are not excited,’ Mokichi exclaimed earnestly. ‘We are not Christians.’

‘Well, let us try one more way,’ came the answer.

And with this the order was given that they should spit on the crucifix and declare that the Blessed Virgin was a whore. Only afterwards did I hear that this was a plan thought out by Inoue, the man whom Valignano had spoken of as being the most dangerous of all. This Inoue, who had at one time received baptism to get advancement in the world, knew well that these poor peasants honored the Virgin above all. Indeed, I myself since coming to Tomogi have been a little worried seeing that the peasants sometimes seem to honor Mary rather than Christ.

‘Come now. Won’t you spit on it? Won’t you repeat the words as you are told?’

Ichizo grasped the
fumie
in both hands and, as the officials prodded him on from behind, he tried to spit on it; but somehow he was powerless. He could not do it. Kichijirō, too, hung back, making no movement.

‘What’s the matter with you?’

At the fierce urging of the officials, a white tear overflowed from the eye of Mokichi and rolled down his cheek. Ichizo, too, shook his head as though caught in the throes of pain. Then both of them at last confessed openly that they were Christians. Only Kichijirō, overcome by the threats, gasped out the required blasphemy against the Virgin.

‘Now spit!’ came the order.

At the command he let fall on the
fumie
the insulting spittle that could never be effaced.

Following upon this investigation, Mokichi and Ichizo were imprisoned for ten days in the prison of Sakuradai. As for the apostate Kichijirō, he was set free and, with that, he disappeared from sight. Since that time he has not returned here. It would be impossible for him to come back.

We have now entered the rainy season. Every day the fine drizzle falls unceasingly. Now for the first time I come to see what a gloomy pest this rain is—a pest that destroys everything both on the surface and at the root. This district is like a country of the dead. No one knew what fate would overtake our two Christians. Fear that they too would eventually be subjected to the same investigation gripped the people, and almost no one went into the fields to work. And beyond the dreary fields how black the sea was!

20th. Once again the officials rode into the village, this time with a proclamation. Here, on the beach of Tomogi, Mokichi and Ichizo would be subjected to the water punishment.

22nd. A procession, looking like a long line of peas, could be seen approaching from the distance along the rain-blanketed ashen road. Slowly the tiny figures grew in size. In the midst of the group, their arms bound fast and their heads hanging low, surrounded by guards rode Ichizo and Mokichi. The people of the village did not venture out from behind the barred doors of their houses. Behind the long procession were a number of stragglers who had joined from the neighbouring villages to view the spectacle. The whole scene could be observed from our hut.

Arriving at the shore, the officials ordered a fire to be lighted so that Ichizo and Mokichi could warm their bodies drenched by the rain. And then (as I have been told) with an unwonted sense of pity, someone gave them a cup of sake to drink. When I heard this I could not help thinking of how one of the soldiers gave to the dying Christ some vinegar on a sponge.

Two trees, made into the form of a cross, were set at the water’s edge. Ichizo and Mokichi were fastened to them. When it was night and the tide came in, their bodies would be immersed in the sea up to the chin. They would not die at once, but after two or even three days of utter physical and mental exhaustion they would cease to breathe. The plan of the authorities was to let the people of the village of Tomogi as well as the other peasants get a good view of this prolonged suffering so that they would never again approach the Christian faith. It was already past noon when Mokichi and Ichizo were fastened to the trees and the officials, leaving four guards to watch, withdrew on horseback. The onlookers also, who had at first come in great numbers to watch the spectacle, now gradually departed.

The tide came in. The two forms did not move. The waves, drenching the feet and lower half of their bodies, surged up the dark shore with monotonous roar, and with monotonous roar again receded.

In the evening, Omatsu together with her niece brought food to the guards and asked if they might give the two men something to eat. Receiving this permission, they now approached in a small boat.

‘Mokichi! Mokichi!’, cried Omatsu.

‘What is it?’, Mokichi is said to have replied.

Next, ‘Ichizo! Ichizo!’ she said. But the aged Ichizo could make no answer. Yet that he was not dead was clear from the occasional slight movement of his head.

‘You are suffering terribly; but be patient. Padre and all of us are praying. You will both go to Paradise.’

Such were Omatsu’s words of earnest encouragement; but when she tried to put the potato she had brought into Mokichi’s mouth he shook his head. If he must die anyway, he seemed to feel, he would like to escape as quickly as possible from this torment. ‘Give it to Ichizo,’ he said. ‘Let him eat. I can endure no more.’

Omatsu and her niece, distraught and tearful, returned to the shore; and here, drenched by the rain, they raised their voices and wept.

Night came. The red light of the guards’ blazing fire could be seen faintly even from our mountain hut, while the people of Tomogi gathered on the shore and gazed at the dark sea. So black were the sea and the sky that no one knew where Mokichi and Ichizo were. Whether they were alive or dead no one knew. All with tears were praying in their hearts. And then, mingled with the sound of the waves, they heard what seemed to be the voice of Mokichi. Whether to tell the people that his life had not yet ebbed away or to strengthen his own resolution, the young man gaspingly sang a Christian hymn:

We’re on our way, we’re on our way

We’re on our way to the temple of Paradise,

To the temple of Paradise. …

To the great Temple.
 
…

All listened in silence to the voice of Mokichi; the guards also listened; and again and again, amid the sound of the rain and the waves, it broke upon their ears.

24th. The drizzle continued all day, while the people of Tomogi, again huddled together, stared from afar at the stakes of Mokichi and Ichizo. The shore, enveloped by rain, stretched out wearily like a sunken desert. Today there came no ‘gentile’ spectators from the neighbourhood. When the tide receded there only remained in the distance the solitary stakes to which were fastened the two men. It was impossible to distinguish between the stakes and the men. Mokichi and Ichizo adhered to the stakes in such a way that they became part of them. The only indication that they were still alive was the dark moaning of a voice which sounded like that of Mokichi.

The moaning sometimes ceased. Mokichi had not even the strength to encourage himself with a hymn like that of yesterday. Yet after an hour of silence the voice was again brought to the ears of the people by the wind. Hearing this sound, like that of an animal, the peasants trembled and wept. In the afternoon the tide gradually comes in again; the black, cold color of the sea deepens; the stakes seem to sink into the water. The white foaming waves, swirling past the stakes, break on the sand, a white bird, skimming over the surface of the sea, flies far, far away. And with this all is over.

They were martyred. But what a martyrdom! I had long read about martyrdom in the lives of the saints—how the souls of the martyrs had gone home to Heaven, how they had been filled with glory in Paradise, how the angels had blown trumpets. This was the splendid martyrdom I had often seen in my dreams. But the martyrdom of the Japanese Christians I now describe to you was no such glorious thing. What a miserable and painful business it was! The rain falls unceasingly on the sea. And the sea which killed them surges on uncannily—in silence.

In the evening the officials again arrived on horseback. At their command, the guards gathered damp pieces of wood and, removing the bodies of Mokichi and Ichizo from the stakes, began to burn them. This they did to prevent the Christians from bringing home the remains for veneration. When the bodies were reduced to ashes, they threw them into the sea. The flame they had kindled flared red and black in the breeze; the smoke flowed over the sandy beach while the people, without the slightest movement, vacantly watched its undulations. When all was over, heads hanging like cows, they shuffled back to their homes.

Today, while writing this letter, I sometimes go out of our hut to look down at the sea, the grave of these two Japanese peasants who believed our word. The sea only stretches out endlessly, melancholy and dark, while below the grey clouds there is not the shadow of an island.

There is no change. But I know what you will say: ‘Their death was not meaningless. It was a stone which in time will be the foundation of the Church; and the Lord never gives us a trial which we cannot overcome. Mokichi and Ichizo are with the Lord. Like the numerous Japanese martyrs who have gone before, they now enjoy everlasting happiness.’ I also, of course, am convinced of all this. And yet, why does this feeling of grief remain in my heart? Why does the song of the exhausted Mokichi, bound to the stake, gnaw constantly at my heart:

We’re on our way, we’re on our way,

We’re on our way to the temple of Paradise,

To the temple of Paradise. …

To the great Temple. …

I have heard from the people of Tomogi that many Christians when dragged
off
to the place of execution sang this hymn—a melody filled with dark sadness. Life in this world is too painful for these Japanese peasants. Only by relying on ‘the temple of Paradise’ have they been able to go on living. Such is the sadness which fills this song.

What do I want to say? I myself do not quite understand. Only that today, when for the glory of God Mokichi and Ichizo moaned, suffered and died, I cannot bear the monotonous sound of the dark sea gnawing at the shore. Behind the depressing silence of this sea, the silence of God.
 
…
the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent.

This may well be my last report. This morning we got word that the guards are getting ready to comb the mountains. Before this search can get under way we have got the hut back to its original condition and have done away with every trace of our hiding there. So now we leave the hut. And where will we go? Neither Garrpe nor I have yet decided. For a long time we talked the thing over wondering if we should flee together or separate. Finally we decided that even if one became a prey of the gentiles it was better that the other should remain. In other words, we would part company. And yet why on earth do we remain in this country at all? We did not make that long journey around Africa, across the Indian Ocean, on to Macao and then to Japan just to flee like this from one hiding place to another. It was not to hide in the mountains like fieldmice, to receive a lump of food from destitute peasants and to be confined in a charcoal hut without being able even to meet the Christians. What had happened to our glorious dream?

Yet one priest remaining in this country has the same significance as a single candle burning in the catacombs. So Garrpe and I vowed to one another that after our separation we should strive might and main to stay alive.