Читать книгу Samurai and the Long-nosed Devils - Lensey Namioka - Страница 9

Chapter 4

When Zenta nodded, the Portuguese said, “You arrived just in time. Those men didn’t know, but I could never have lighted my gun in time. Who sent you?”

“We were sent by Hambei, who was acting under Nobunaga’s orders,” said Zenta. “Have Lord Fujikawa’s men tried to attack you before?” “Up to now they were satisfied with a few insults,” replied the Portuguese. “When they got bolder, I simply pointed my gun at them, and that was enough to keep them at a distance. I wonder what made them attack today?” Zenta smiled. “I think your prestige slipped badly when you started to talk to them. You were using a woman’s style of speech.”

“So that was it!” said the Portuguese. “I learned your language from some women in a fishing village. I had been shipwrecked and had to spend a long time in the village recovering. With the men away at sea, it was mostly the women who taught me the language. I keep forgetting that men and women speak differently here. In our language we don’t make a distinction.”

This was added proof that the Portuguese were a strange and barbaric people, thought Matsuzo as he took his first close look at the foreigner. The man’s most prominent feature, of course, was his nose. Not only did it jut out from his face to an extraordinary degree, but the nostrils were correspondingly large. Matsuzo wondered what would happen if the foreigner caught cold and his nose started to run. He might have to catch the catarrh with a basin! Next to the nose, the strangest feature was the eyes. At least they were a normal brown color, although Matsuzo had heard that some foreigners had gray or even blue eyes. They were, however, very round and set so deeply that almost half of the eyelids were hidden. Altogether it was a very craggy face, with prominent protuberances and deep indentations. With his even and white teeth, the foreigner did have a pleasant smile, and the smile made him look very friendly and human.

As they entered the gate of the foreigners’ residence, the Portuguese said, “The name of our priest is Father Luis, and I am called Pedro. Do you mind if we don’t bother with family names? Japanese surnames sound all alike to me, and I suspect that ours are just as confusing for you.”

“You’re probably right,” said Zenta. “ ‘Pedro’ and ‘Father Luis’ are bad enough. I’m sure that my tongue will get permanently twisted from your family names.”

“I have heard that not everyone here has a family name,” said Pedro. “Do you gentlemen have any?”

The blood rose in Matsuzo’s face, but before he could make an angry reply, Zenta hastened to say, “The peasants in our country don’t possess surnames, but we samurai have them. For everyday, however, our given names are enough. I’m called Zenta, and this is Matsuzo.”

“In any case we can’t tell you our real names,” said Matsuzo primly. “Most ronin employ pseudonyms because they might find themselves in situations that could bring dishonor to their families.”

Pedro grinned. “I suspect that I’ve just committed another social blunder. People here seem to get very upset about these things.”

“In our country social blunders can produce violent or even fatal consequences,” said Zenta. “We’d better make it part of our guard duties to see that you don’t make too many more of them.”

“At least I’ve learned this much about your etiquette,” said Pedro, “that one of the first acts of hospitality is to offer people a bath. After we’ve seen Father Luis, let me order a bath and have a room made ready for you.”

The residence of the Portuguese, Matsuzo was relieved to find, was an ordinary upperclass house. Removing their shoes, the three men stepped up to a wooden veranda that ran along the outside of the house. Pedro pushed open a sliding door that led them through a reception hall that would not have disgraced the castle of some petty provincial warlord.

The floor was covered with closely fitting tatami mats bordered with brocade, and the exposed beams of the room were of rare and costly wood. Tall, built-in cupboards on one side of the room had sliding doors painted by artists. However, where a normal room would have an alcove for displaying a flower arrangement, a scroll painting or other artistic work, there was instead a raised platform, covered with a richly embroidered tapestry. On the top were some golden vessels of various shapes. Matsuzo guessed that they were used in ceremonies of the Christian religion.

Leaving the reception hall, the three men passed through a corridor, their feet gliding smoothly on the polished wooden floor. Through a half open door Matsuzo caught sight of a garden landscaped with shrubs, trees, sand and moss. In short, the house looked normal and comfortable. He had been half expecting the foreigners to live in a dark, cavernous mansion made of stone, like the devils in a children’s tale.

Nevertheless Matsuzo decided that the place had a distinctly foreign feel. Perhaps it was the smell, although he wasn’t sure what exactly made the smell different. It was probably a combination of the incense in the religious vessels, different foods cooked in the kitchen and different fabrics used in the clothing and furnishings. Matsuzo wasn’t sure whether he liked the smell or not, but it was exotic and rather exciting.

Some of the furnishings had a very foreign look indeed. When Pedro took the two ronin to Father Luis’s room, they found the priest seated on top of a small table with his back against an upright piece and his two arms resting upon low railings on either side. His legs dangled straight down in front and his feet rested flat on the floor. Matsuzo realized that this small table was a “chair,” something which he had seen only in Chinese paintings.

In one corner of the room was another table, but very large and piled with blankets, with a thick cushion at one end. It took Matsuzo a moment to realize that this table was used as a sleeping couch. Why would the Portuguese want to sleep on this raised platform instead of resting in comfort and security on the floor? One could roll off the platform during sleep and get hurt! Perhaps Portugal was a country overrun with rats and other pests that made sleeping on the floor too dangerous.

Meanwhile Pedro was speaking to the priest in his own language, obviously explaining the presence of the two ronin. When Pedro finished, Father Luis rose to address them. Although Matsuzo couldn’t understand a word, he guessed that Father Luis was welcoming them and expressing his thanks for their intervention.

While the priest was speaking, Matsuzo couldn’t help gazing curiously around the room. In addition to the chair and the sleeping couch, there was a table, about waist high, piled with books bound in leather. Hanging from one wall was a large wooden cross. The priest wore a small metal cross on a chain around his neck, and Matsuzo had heard stories—he was sure it was mere superstition—that the cross was a charm against weapons and disease. This large cross, however, had a carved wooden figure nailed to it by its hands and feet. There was so much agony in the expression of the figure that Matsuzo shuddered and turned away hastily.

The priest noticed his glance and gave him a singularly sweet smile. He said a few words in dismissal and made a gesture. Matsuzo decided that even if the gesture had no magical powers, it was kindly meant.

The room assigned to the two ronin was large, airy and pleasantly cool. To Matsuzo’s relief, a girl was laying out thick, soft sleeping quilts for them on the floor. They would not have to sleep on top of a raised platform after all. The staff, too, seemed to be composed of their own countrymen, and they would not feel isolated.

When the girl had finished making the beds and left, the two men looked thoughtfully at each other. “This Pedro must have some decent instincts, to order a bath and this comfortable room prepared for us,” Matsuzo admitted. “And the priest looked like a gentle sort of person.”

“They are not only decent and gentle,” said Zenta. “They impressed me as brave men. Pedro held himself well when he was in danger from Lord Fujikawa’s samurai. I think that it might even be possible to become friends with these Portuguese.”