Seas of Fortune(162)
Jinbei had expressed his appreciation for Date Masamune’s wisdom. But he objected to the shattering of social order. First, Masamune had decided to train a militia, to let peasants parade as if they were warriors. And now he was forcing samurai to work in the fields, as if they were peasants. Under these circumstances, Jinbei warned, how long would it be before the peasants decided that they didn’t need samurai at all?
Masamune had smiled and reminded him that during the sixteenth century, the Age of War, many peasants had become ashigaru, infantrymen, and yet samurai still ruled Japan. And that in the same period, ji-samurai had done exactly what Masamune was asking his retainers to do now. He thanked Jinbei for his advice.
So Jinbei understood his lord’s reasoning. Still, understanding a decision and accepting its consequences were two different things.
Niji Masu/Watsonville
Churoku’s eyes widened in amazement, then narrowed with anger. “Murata! Togu! What do you think you’re doing?”
His fellow farmers Murata and Togu were carrying a stone statue down the hill from their house. “What does it look like we’re doing?” said Murata. “We’re carrying the ta no kami to the paddy, so he can become the yama no kami.” In Shinto belief, the ta no kami was the spirit of the field, and the yama no kami, the spirit of the wild lands, the wooded slope above the village. “Otherwise, the rice will not grow. Now, step off the path, so we can get by.”
“The Forest god? The Field god? There is only one God, the Christian God. How can you call yourselves kirishitan and curry the favor of demons?”
Murata’s face reddened, and it was the red of anger, not exertion. “Demons? The kami aren’t demons. They are angels. Please do not insult me, I am no demon worshiper.”
“Or perhaps the kami are avatars of the Christian God,” said Togu. “Does not the Tenchi, the Tale of the Creation, say that Deusu has forty-two forms?”
“That is nonsense. You must not do this.” Churoku set himself squarely in their path, and crossed his arms to form an “X.” The gesture meant “closed” or “forbidden.”
He glared at the two brothers. “It was one thing to carry out these pagan rituals when we were still in Old Nippon, and were compelled to do so lest we be revealed as kirishitan. It is quite another to do so here, in New Nippon, where we may openly follow the Faith.”
Murata eased down his end of the idol, and Togu followed suit. Both grunted with relief at the easing of their load. “You have your opinion, and we have ours,” said Murata, his voice rising. “Now, let us pass!”
“I’m telling you, Murata, this is a Christian paddy. I’ll not have you desecrate it by erecting the image of a false god! If you want to grow rice the heathen way, then make your own paddy somewhere else!”
“You’re not our padre or our lord, Churoku! I helped dig the ditches to water the seedlings, and this is my paddy as much as yours. This is your last chance.”
Churoku waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. And then stuck out his tongue at them.
They charged him. It was two-against-one, but Churoku was a precocious member of the new militia, and he had his walking stick. He sliced at Murata’s feet, forcing him to leap backward, then jabbed Togu in the belly. “For the Holy Spirit!” Churoku shouted. Togu bent over, holding his tummy, and groaning loudly.
Murata advanced, and Churoku feinted at his face, then rapped him on the knees. “And the Holy Christian Church!” Murata fell, but Togu was now back on his feet and ready for a second round.
By now the commotion had attracted attention. Other villagers had rushed outside. Some just gaped at the fight; others laughed and placed bets. Finally, two of the samurai assigned to Niji Masu appeared on the scene.
The senior samurai commanded them to stop fighting. “Churoku! Murata! Togu! On your knees, this instant, or your heads will roll.” The three commoners quickly complied. “Hands behind your backs.” The junior samurai tied them up. They were chivvied down the path, and confined in a hut.
“The magistrate will deal with you in the morning,” the senior samurai said. “In the meantime, enjoy the view.”
“And the company,” added the other samurai. He laughed.
The next day, the three men were brought before the daikan Moniwa Motonori in his capacity as magistrate of Niji Masu/Watsonville. Motonori heard their stories, and wrinkled his nose. “To cultivate rice, we must work together. But the three of you have disturbed the harmony of this village.
“You are each sentenced to one hundred lashes.”