‘As I say, the Chinese visitors arrived with their written characters, and the native Japanese smiled, bowed politely and took their written characters. Thank you very much, they said, we will use your written characters, but – and here’s the rub, the rub for you, Padre, and the genius of the people, the people of this land – they took the Chinese written characters, but they retained their own native sound. For example, when the Japanese historians write that the big-nosed, red-haired Southern Barbarians arrived here by boat, they use the Chinese character shū for boat, but when they read their work aloud, they still say “fune”, the original sound of their native word. Ingenious, is it not?’
Twilight was now engulfing the garden of Nanbanji, and Padre Organtino now again fell to his knees, kneeling down on the red path, clutching the cross of his rosary, mumbling and muttering, ‘O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is …’
The man in the shadows ignored the words of the priest kneeling in the pink sand, simply, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, leaning into his ear and saying, ‘You are probably ignorant and unaware of them, never heard of them, but one only has to look to the magnificent works of Kūkai, Dōfū, Sari and Kōsei, the great calligraphers of this land who first imitated the Chinese style but then created and developed their own style, their kana style …’
‘To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary. Because thy loving kindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee …’
‘Of course,’ went on the man at the ear of Organtino, ‘it is true not only of characters and writing, but also ideas and thought. Think about the harsh Tao of Lao-tze, how it was softened on these shores, and then, of course, there is the telling fate of that sorry little Prince Siddhartha …’
‘Thus will I bless thee while I live,’ said Organtino, his voice rising now, his grip on the cross of his rosary tightening now, ‘I will lift up my hands in thy name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips: when I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches …’
The man glanced up again at Ryūnosuke, shook his head again, sighed and then, back in the ear of Organtino, said, ‘You are not listening to me, I know; it’s not in your nature, I know. Still, you would do well to heed my words, Padre, to listen and to save if not yourself, then save those poor natives who will die because of you – your ignorance, your persistence and delusions – die because of you, and die in vain, believing not in your God, but mistaking your God for theirs …’
‘Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice,’ called out Organtino. ‘My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me …’
‘Yes, yes, babble on, Padre, babble on. But do you not think for one moment that the reason the natives of this land are so happy to worship the Great Sun Buddha is only because they believe that God to be simply their own Great Sun Goddess, Ōhirume? You know, Padre, I have walked in many gardens; I have walked under the flowers of the Sara tree with the great priests of this land, with Shinran and Nichiren, and I can tell you, Padre, when I looked into their hearts, when I gazed upon the image they worshipped there, I found no dark-skinned gaijin-Buddha there, no! No, I found only the pale and gentle, noble image of their own Prince Shōtoku shining there, in their hearts, in the chambers of their hearts …’
‘But those that seek my soul to destroy it,’ shouted Organtino, closing his eyes, ‘they shall go into the lowest parts of the earth …’
‘Fool,’ sighed the man, ‘always talking of destroying, of destruction if not conversion, crusading and conquering, with all your trials and your burnings, clutching the poor, poor figure of Jesus on his cross, the Blameless One, the only Blameless One, donning your regal robes in the name of a man who would never be a king – even though he could have been, oh yes, he could have been, believe me, Padre – building palaces in the name of a pauper who shunned possessions – that old Jew Karl will come closer to the truth than thee, Padre – for you are blind to the wonders of the lands you come to uninvited, deaf to the wisdom of the natives you would seek to subjugate …’
‘THEY SHALL FALL BY THE SWORD,’ screamed Organtino, ‘THEY SHALL BE A PORTION FOR FOXES …’
‘There you go again,’ sighed the man, a sad smile playing on his lips, ‘with your swords and your portions for foxes. But if you would only open your eyes, if you would only get off your knees, Padre, and walk about you, look about you, looking and listening, then you would see and hear and know that the history and tradition of this land, of this place is one of learning and adapting, of recreating and transforming …’
‘But the king shall rejoice in God,’ said Organtino now, opening his eyes now, getting off his knees now, getting to his feet now, holding the cross of his rosary out into the dark, out towards the man, out towards Ryūnosuke.
