church or cross.
Valignano and the other missionaries at Macao had warned us not to imagine that the churches in this country were the same as those at home. The feudal lords had told the priests to use as churches the mansions and temples that were already there. Indeed it sometimes happened because of this that the peasants confused Christianity with Buddhism, thinking that they were the same thing. Even Xavier, because of the mistake of an interpreter, came near to failure on this point. Some Japanese, hearing his sermons, thought that our God was the sun which the people of this country had revered for many generations. Consequently, the fact that I saw no buildings with spires attached did not mean that there were no churches here. Among the mud cabins down below there might well be one that was a church. And it might well be that the poverty-stricken Christians were hungering for a priest to administer the Blessed Sacrament, hear their confessions and baptize their children. In this desert from which missionaries and priests had been expelled the only one who could give the water of life to this island tonight was myself. Yes, only myself, dressed in these dirty, tattered rags with my arms clasping my legs. ‘Lord, everything that You have created is good. How beautiful are your dwellings!’
Violent emotion surged up within my breast, as supporting my body with my staff I slithered down the slope still wet from the rain and ran toward my parish—yes, this was my parish, this was the charge Our Lord had entrusted to me. But as I ran, suddenly from one corner of the village surrounded by pine trees there came the voice of a man. It seemed to rise up from the depths of the earth. Staff in hand I stopped in my traces only to see clearly the dull red flame of a fire. Instinctively realizing that something had happened I ran back up the slope down which I had been sliding so fast. There on the far side of the slope what did I see but the figure of a man dressed in grey peasant clothing and fleeing from me with all his might. Then the fellow looked in my direction and came to a standstill. The hollow terrified face looked at me with something of relief: ‘Father!’ He waved his hand as he shouted the word. Then again screaming something he pointed to the village. He was signalling to me with his hand to conceal myself. Running up the hill as fast as I could, I tried to hide myself like a wild animal in the shadow of a great rock. I was panting and trying to control my breathing. I heard the sound of footsteps; and then from between the rocks beyond appeared the dirty, mouse-like little eyes of the fellow watching me.
I went to wipe away the perspiration that was rolling down my face; but when I looked at my hand I saw that it was not perspiration but blood. I had struck up against something while jumping down.
‘Father!’ From the shadow of the rock the little eyes were peering at me. ‘Father, how glad I am to see you …’
The servile laugh. The attempt to curry favor. The stubble sticking out from the chin, ‘It’s dangerous here,’ he said. ‘But I’ll look after you.’ Silently I looked into that face. Kichijirō, the whipped dog, was smiling at me with furtive eyes. Plucking the grass, pushing it into his mouth and biting it with his yellow teeth, it’s terrible,’ he muttered as he looked down at the village.
As I looked at him, it dawned on me that this was the fellow who had lit that fire in the terraced fields, the fellow who had dirtied the hut. But why was he roaming through the mountains just like me? He had trampled on the fumie; what had he to fear?
‘Father, why have you come to this island? This is a dangerous place. But I know a village where there are some hidden Christians.’
I kept staring at him in silence. Every village this fellow passed through had been surprised by the government officials. Suspicions from the past came crowding into my mind. Perhaps he was no more than a
Valignano and the other missionaries at Macao had warned us not to imagine that the churches in this country were the same as those at home. The feudal lords had told the priests to use as churches the mansions and temples that were already there. Indeed it sometimes happened because of this that the peasants confused Christianity with Buddhism, thinking that they were the same thing. Even Xavier, because of the mistake of an interpreter, came near to failure on this point. Some Japanese, hearing his sermons, thought that our God was the sun which the people of this country had revered for many generations. Consequently, the fact that I saw no buildings with spires attached did not mean that there were no churches here. Among the mud cabins down below there might well be one that was a church. And it might well be that the poverty-stricken Christians were hungering for a priest to administer the Blessed Sacrament, hear their confessions and baptize their children. In this desert from which missionaries and priests had been expelled the only one who could give the water of life to this island tonight was myself. Yes, only myself, dressed in these dirty, tattered rags with my arms clasping my legs. ‘Lord, everything that You have created is good. How beautiful are your dwellings!’
Violent emotion surged up within my breast, as supporting my body with my staff I slithered down the slope still wet from the rain and ran toward my parish—yes, this was my parish, this was the charge Our Lord had entrusted to me. But as I ran, suddenly from one corner of the village surrounded by pine trees there came the voice of a man. It seemed to rise up from the depths of the earth. Staff in hand I stopped in my traces only to see clearly the dull red flame of a fire. Instinctively realizing that something had happened I ran back up the slope down which I had been sliding so fast. There on the far side of the slope what did I see but the figure of a man dressed in grey peasant clothing and fleeing from me with all his might. Then the fellow looked in my direction and came to a standstill. The hollow terrified face looked at me with something of relief: ‘Father!’ He waved his hand as he shouted the word. Then again screaming something he pointed to the village. He was signalling to me with his hand to conceal myself. Running up the hill as fast as I could, I tried to hide myself like a wild animal in the shadow of a great rock. I was panting and trying to control my breathing. I heard the sound of footsteps; and then from between the rocks beyond appeared the dirty, mouse-like little eyes of the fellow watching me.
I went to wipe away the perspiration that was rolling down my face; but when I looked at my hand I saw that it was not perspiration but blood. I had struck up against something while jumping down.
‘Father!’ From the shadow of the rock the little eyes were peering at me. ‘Father, how glad I am to see you …’
The servile laugh. The attempt to curry favor. The stubble sticking out from the chin, ‘It’s dangerous here,’ he said. ‘But I’ll look after you.’ Silently I looked into that face. Kichijirō, the whipped dog, was smiling at me with furtive eyes. Plucking the grass, pushing it into his mouth and biting it with his yellow teeth, it’s terrible,’ he muttered as he looked down at the village.
As I looked at him, it dawned on me that this was the fellow who had lit that fire in the terraced fields, the fellow who had dirtied the hut. But why was he roaming through the mountains just like me? He had trampled on the fumie; what had he to fear?
‘Father, why have you come to this island? This is a dangerous place. But I know a village where there are some hidden Christians.’
I kept staring at him in silence. Every village this fellow passed through had been surprised by the government officials. Suspicions from the past came crowding into my mind. Perhaps he was no more than a
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