The kirishitan didn’t have the opportunity to wave goodbye to their homeland. By orders of the bakufu, the national authorities, they were to be confined and chained belowdecks until Nippon had vanished below the horizon.
Once that milestone had been passed, they were allowed topside. However, precautions were still taken. These were most extreme on the Dutch and Chinese-operated ships; a wood barrier, with loopholes for guns, had been erected amidships, and the kirishitan were required to remain forward of this obstacle. If they pressed against it, they would be met by musket and even cannon fire, several pivot guns having been repositioned for this purpose. If weather conditions required that the sailors come forward, the Christians would be forced back down, no matter how long they had patiently waited for exercise.
On the Japanese ships, the kirishitan were allowed more freedom. However, all navigational maps and equipment were kept under lock and key, in a fortified cabin, and they and the navigator himself were guarded at all times by samurai.
It was just as well, for the navigators’ peace of mind, that they did not know that the samurai guards were under orders to kill them if the kirishitan seemed likely to take over the ship. Or, for that matter, that the Dutch and Japanese warships of the First Fleet, which had plenty of soldiers on board, had orders to recapture or sink any rebel-controlled ship.
June 1634,
Pacific Ocean
Yamaguchi Takuma bowed politely. “Please, most learned brother of the faith, would you please recite to us from the Catechism?” The other Christians on deck murmured in agreement.
Imamura Yajiro wrested his gaze away from the waves. “Surely there is one on board who is more learned in Christian doctrine than I.”
“There is not,” Takuma assured him. “Indeed, we are astonished by your bravery, that you surrendered yourself to the inquisitors so soon after the edict. None of the padres or irmaos, and you may be our only dojiko.” That was a lay catechist, one who had taken vows, but was not ordained. “The rest hide, and wait for word from those here, on this ‘First Fleet,’ that the government’s promises can be trusted.”
“I assured myself that it was God’s will that this Edict come, and took it as a Sign.”
“So will you read to us?”
“I suppose. Please, give me time to collect my thoughts.”
Yajiro pondered the irony of life. He had been, for some years, an onmitsu—a Tokugawa spy and agent provocateur, moving among the kirishitan as if he were indeed one of them. He was, in fact, a faithful Buddhist.
After the Edict of Exile, his superior had summoned him to a secret meeting. There, he was asked to remain among the kirishitan even as they went into exile, and to send reports from time to time on whether they, or the grand governor of New Nippon, posed any threat to the homeland.
His family—his true family—would receive many honors and rewards in recognition of his sacrifice.
So here he was. And he was now not merely a spy, but an up-and-coming religious leader of the New Nippon kirishitan. How droll.
He addressed his new congregation. “Since we are creating a new community, I will speak of the Creation.”
He paused and scanned his audience. When he was sure he had their undivided attention, he spoke.
“In the beginning Deusu was worshiped as Lord of Heaven and Earth, and Parent of humankind and all creation. Deusu has two hundred ranks and forty-two forms.” The ranking of deities, and their having a proliferation of forms, was a Buddhist concept. This was one of many respects in which the kirishitan understanding of scripture had diverged from Catholic orthodoxy.
“Deusu worked for six days. He divided the light that was originally one, and made the Sun Heaven, and twelve other heavens. He also created the sun, the moon, and the stars, and tens of thousands of angels. The chief of these was Jusuheru, and he had one hundred ranks and thirty-two forms. Deusu also made this world, and put his own flesh and bones into all its elements: earth and water, fire and wind, salt and oil.
“On the seventh day, he blew breath into Adan, the first of men, to whom he gave thirty-three forms.” Thus, the seventh day was not a day of rest. “Deusu also made a woman and called her Ewa.” And so, Eve wasn’t made from Adam’s rib. “He married them and gave them the realm called Koroteru, which had a value of one hundred thousand koku. There they bore a son and daughter, Chikoro and Tanho, and went every day to Paradise, the adjacent han, to worship Deusu . . .”
He continued his sermon, speaking of the temptation of Ewa by Jusuheru, the eating of the Apple, and the loss of Paradise.
“My friends, we seek now an Earthly Paradise . . .” Moses and the Promised Land might have been an apter parallel, but most of the kirishitan had never heard of Moses; he wasn’t in the catechism.