Silence by Shusaku Endo Page B

decoy. I had heard previously that apostates were used as puppets by the government; and the apostates willingly collaborated as though they felt they could justify their own ugly crime by adding one more to their number. Their way of thinking is akin to that of the fallen angels when they allure people into sin.
    Evening began to enfold the surrounding mountains but in the village a red flame of light began to move silently around. Yet there was only silence. The village itself as well as its inhabitants seemed to be accepting its suffering without protest. Long inured to suffering, the people could no longer even weep and cry in their pain.
    For me to abandon the village and go on my way was as painful as tearing the scab off a wound that had just begun to heal. Within my heart a voice cried out: ‘You are weak; you are a coward!’ Only to be answered by another telling me not to be carried away by a moment of excitement and sentimentality: ‘You and Garrpe are probably the only priests in this whole country. If you die, the Japanese church dies with you. You and Garrpe must live, no matter how great the injuries and sufferings that this life entails.’
    Yet I wondered if this were just the voice of my own weakness. There arose in my mind a story I had heard while still in Macao. It was about a Franciscan priest who, escaping a martyr’s death, had carried on an underground apostolate—but then he had given himself up at the castle of the feudal lord, Omura. Because of his momentary rashness, the whole underground work of the mission was impaired and the safety of the Christians was jeopardized. This story was well known. Its moral was that a priest does not exist in order to become a martyr; he must preserve his life in order that the flame of faith may not utterly die when the church is persecuted.
    Kichijirō followed after me like a wild dog. When I stopped he would stop too. ‘Don’t walk so fast,’ he would shout, ‘I’m sick. Tell me where you are going. The magistrate says that the man who finds a father will get three hundred pieces of silver.’
    ‘So my price is three hundred pieces of silver.’ These were my first words to Kichijirō, and as I spoke them a bitter laugh crossed my face. Judas had sold Our Lord for thirty pieces of silver; I was worth ten times as much.
    ‘It’s dangerous to go alone,’ he said. As though somewhat relieved, he caught up with me and kept beating the bushes with the branch of a tree as he walked along by my side. The crying of the birds broke through the darkness of the evening.
    ‘Father, I know a place where there are Christians. It’s safe there. Let’s go. Tonight we can sleep here; tomorrow we’ll set out.’
    Without waiting for my answer, he squatted down, cleverly picked up twigs that were not damped by the evening mist, took out a flint-stone from his pouch and lit a fire.
    ‘You must be hungry,’ he said; and he took from his pouch a few dried fish. When my starving eyes caught sight of them, the saliva began to flow freely in my mouth. Since morning I had had nothing to eat except a little uncooked rice and cucumber, so that the food Kichijirō waved before my eyes was tempting indeed. As the fire broke into flame and the salted fish was slowly roasted, an unbearably delicious scent was wafted to my nostrils.
    ‘Won’t you eat?’
    Baring my teeth, I greedily seized upon the dried fish. One slice was enough to make me compromise with Kichijirō. With a look half of satisfaction and half of contempt he stared at me as I ate ravenously. And all the time he kept chewing grass as though it were tobacco or something like that.
    The surrounding country was now wrapped in darkness; the mountains began to grow chilly; the misty rain seemed to penetrate my body. I lay down beside the fire as though to sleep. But sleep was out of question; for if I once lost consciousness, Kichijirō would steal away. He would sell me as he had sold his companions. Perhaps he