Shogun - Clavell James - Страница 19
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His fingers probed deeper and ever deeper. "They put me with a blind monk who taught me how to massage and to see again with my fingers. Now my fingers tell me more than my eyes used to, I think.
"The last thing I can remember seeing with my eyes was the bandit's widespread mouth and rotting teeth, the sword a glittering arc and beyond, after the blow, the scent of flowers. I saw perfume in all its colors, Yabu-sama. That was all long ago, long before the barbarians came to our land-fifty, sixty years ago - but I saw the perfume's colors. I saw nirvana, I think, and for the merest moment, the face of Buddha. Blindness is a small price to pay for such a gift, neh?"
There was no answer. Suwo had expected none. Yabu was sleeping, as was planned. Did you like my story, Yabusama? Suwo asked silently, amused as an old man would be. It was all true but for one thing. The monastery was not near Osaka but across your western border. The name of the monk? Su, uncle of your enemy, Ikawa Jikkyu.
I could snap your neck so easily, he thought. It would be a favor to Omi-san. It would be a blessing to the village. And it would repay, in tiny measure, my patron's gift. Should I do it now? Or later?
Spillbergen held up the bundled stalks of rice straw, his face stretched. "Who wants to pick first?"
No one answered. Blackthorne seemed to be dozing, leaning against the corner from which he had not moved. It was near sunset.
"Someone's got to pick first," Spillbergen rasped. "Come on, there's not much time."
They had been given food and a barrel of water and another barrel as a latrine. But nothing with which to wash away the stinking offal or to clean themselves. And the flies had come. The air was fetid, the earth mud-mucous. Most of the men were stripped to the waist, sweating from the heat. And from fear.
Spillbergen looked from face to face. He came back to Blackthorne. "Why-why are you eliminated? Eh? Why?"
The eyes opened and they were icy. "For the last time: I don't know."
"It's not fair. Not fair."
Blackthorne returned to his reverie. There must be a way to break out of here. There must be a way to get the ship. That bastard will kill us all eventually, as certain as there's a north star. There's not much time, and I was eliminated because they've some particular rotten plan for me.
When the trapdoor had closed they had all looked at him, and someone had said, "What're we going to do?"
"I don't know," he had answered.
"Why aren't you to be picked?"
"I don't know."
"Lord Jesus help us," someone whimpered.
"Get the mess cleared up," he ordered. "Pile the filth over there!"
"We've no mops or-" "Use your hands!"
They did as he ordered and he helped them and cleaned off the Captain-General as best he could. "You'll be all right now."
"How-how are we to choose someone?" Spillbergen asked.
"We don't. We fight them."
"With what?"
"You'll go like a sheep to the butcher? You will?"
"Don't be ridiculous - they don't want me - it wouldn't be right for me to be the one."
"Why?" Vinck asked.
"I'm the Captain-General."
"With respect, sir," Vinck said ironically, "maybe you should volunteer. It's your place to volunteer."
"A very good suggestion," Pieterzoon said. "I'll second the motion, by God."
There was general assent and everyone thought, Lord Jesus, anyone but me.
Spillbergen had begun to bluster and order but he saw the pitiless eyes. So he stopped and stared at the ground, filled with nausea. Then he said, "No. It it wouldn't be right for someone to volunteer. It - we'll - we'll draw lots. Straws, one shorter than the rest. We'll put our hands - we'll put ourselves into the hands of God. Pilot, you'll hold the straws."
"I won't. I'll have nothing to do with it. I say we fight."
"They'll kill us all. You heard what the samurai said: Our lives are spared - except one." Spillbergen wiped the sweat off his face and a cloud of flies rose and then settled again. "Give me some water. It's better for one to die than all of us."
Van Nekk dunked the gourd in the barrel and gave it to Spillbergen. "We're ten. Including you, Paulus, " he said. "The odds are good."
"Very good-unless you're the one." Vinck glanced at Blackthorne. "Can we fight those swords?"
"Can you go meekly to the torturer if you're the one picked?"
"I don't know."
Van Nekk said, "We'll draw lots. We'll let God decide."
"Poor God," Blackthorne said. "The stupidities He gets blamed for!"
"How else do we choose?" someone shouted.
"We don't!"
"We'll do as Paulus says. He's Captain-General," said van Nekk. "We'll draw straws. It's best for the majority. Let's vote. Are we all in favor?"
They had all said yes. Except Vinck. "I'm with the Pilot. To hell with sewer-sitting pissmaking witch-festering straws!"
Eventually Vinck had been persuaded. Jan Roper, the Calvinist, had led the prayers. Spillbergen broke the ten pieces of straw with exactitude. Then he halved one of them.
Van Nekk, Pieterzoon, Sonk, Maetsukker, Ginsel, Jan Roper, Salamon, Maximilian Croocq, and Vinck.
Again he said, "Who wants to pick first?"
"How do we know that - that the one who picks the wrong, the short straw'll go? How do we know that?" Maetsukker's voice was raw with terror.
"We don't. Not for certain. We should know for certain," Croocq, the boy, said.
"That's easy," Jan Roper said. "Let's swear we will do it in the name of God. In His name. To-to die for the others in His name. Then there's no worry. The anointed Lamb of God will go straight to Everlasting Glory."
They all agreed.
"Go on, Vinck. Do as Roper says."
"All right." Vinck's lips were parched. "If-if it's me-I swear by the Lord God that I'll go with them if-if I pick the wrong straw. In God's name."
They all followed. Maetsukker was so frightened he had to be prompted before he sank back into the quagmire of his living nightmare.
Sonk chose first. Pieterzoon was next. Then Jan Roper, and after him Salamon and Croocq. Spillbergen felt himself dying fast because they had agreed he would not choose but his would be the last straw and now the odds were becoming terrible.
Ginsel was safe. Four left.
Maetsukker was weeping openly, but he pushed Vinck aside and took a straw and could not believe that it was not the one.
Spillbergen's fist was shaking and Croocq helped him steady his arm. Feces ran unnoticed down his legs.
Which one do I take? van Nekk was asking himself desperately. Oh, God help me! He could barely see the straws through the fog of his myopia. If only I could see, perhaps I'd have a clue which to pick. Which one?
He picked and brought the straw close to his eyes to see his sentence clearly. But the straw was not short.
Vinck watched his fingers select the next to last straw and it fell to the ground but everyone saw that it was the shortest thus far. Spillbergen unclenched his knotted hand and everyone saw that the last straw was long. Spillbergen fainted.
They were all staring at Vinck. Helplessly he looked at them, not seeing them. He half shrugged and half smiled and waved absently at the flies. Then he slumped down. They made room for him, kept away, from him as though he were a leper.
Blackthorne knelt in the ooze beside Spillbergen.
"Is he dead?" van Nekk asked, his voice almost inaudible.
Vinck shrieked with laughter, which unnerved them all, and ceased as violently as he had begun. "I'm the-the one that's dead," he said. "I'm dead!"
"Don't be afraid. You're the anointed of God. You're in God's hands," Jan Roper said, his voice confident.
"Yes," van Nekk said. "Don't be afraid."
"That's easy now, isn't it?" Vinck's eyes went from face to face but none could hold his gaze. Only Blackthorne did not look away.
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