Shipwrecks (4 page)

Suddenly the women stopped moving and turned to look out to sea. Isaku turned his head to follow their gaze. He stopped rowing.

A ship big enough to carry three or four hundred bales of rice
could be seen coming around the cape. Its sails were hanging virtually lifeless. The upper part of the sails bore two black stripes as insignia, and cargo and crew were visible on deck. The ship was slowly moving south-east.

Isaku gazed at the ship until it at last disappeared behind the small headland where the crows circled.

Not long after harvest time, ships laden with straw bales of rice became a common sight. Some plied the waters far offshore, others hugged the coastline.

Ships of the feudal clans bore a large family crest in the middle of the sail; the ship passing the village that day had only two black stripes at the top of the sail, clearly signifying that it belonged to a merchant. It must have been waiting for the stormy weather to clear before leaving port. On days when the sea was rough the fires on the beach would be lit as soon as the sun went down.

Isaku heard that Sahei had also been ordered by the village chief to work on the salt cauldrons. It was rumoured that Sahei's family had celebrated their son's coming-of-age by making buckwheat dumpling soup and drinking millet wine. Isaku was envious, but when he thought of his family's circumstances, with his father in indentured service, he realised he could hardly expect such treatment. On the contrary, he knew full well that he had to accept the fact that, with his father away, it was up to him and his mother to keep his young brother and sisters from starving.

Shifts on the salt cauldrons came every ten days. When his turn came, he would go down to the shore alone in the late afternoon and tend the fires until daybreak. If he grew drowsy, he would jump up and down around the hut or go to the water's edge and dip his feet into the cold sea, gazing out into the night and wondering whether
O-
fune-
sama
might be on its way.

Occasionally ships passed by during the day. Mostly when the sea was calm, but sometimes even on stormy days. Tossed about by the waves, these ships would bob up and down wildly, half-furled sails billowing in the wind as they sped away. Isaku and the other villagers stared intently at each ship as it passed.
Every time he saw a vessel he realised that there would be ships passing even on stormy nights.

He heard a disturbing story from Sahei.

Sahei appeared one morning after Isaku had finished his third night on the cauldrons and was putting sand onto the remains of the fire in the hut.

‘How's the work on the salt going?' asked Sahei as he sat down on the log in the hut.

Isaku was annoyed whenever Sahei acted as if he were the older of the two, but he did feel awed by Sahei's size and precociousness. Sahei also had a glint in his eye, the look of a worldly-wise man.

‘I'm managing,' said Isaku, looking away.

‘Do you ever feel like nodding off?' said Sahei, studying Isaku's expression.

Isaku took this to mean that he mustn't be the only one having problems staying awake, which made him feel a little more at ease.

‘I get sleepy all right.' Isaku sat down on the log next to Sahei and rubbed his eyes.

‘Then you're not taking it seriously enough. If you think about how important the job is, you won't be sleepy.' A smirk appeared on Sahei's face. Isaku said nothing, realising that Sahei would take advantage of the slightest opportunity to get an edge on him. Isaku thought Sahei's defiant attitude might mean he was upset that Isaku had been first to receive his order from the village chief to work on the salt cauldrons.

Nevertheless, he was ready to admit that Sahei was undoubtedly right. Quite likely Sahei could get through the night without nodding off, concentrating fully on the salt cauldrons as he kept an eye on the night sea. Isaku blinked weakly, feeling small.

‘You heard about
O-
fune-
sama
and the bailiff?' Sahei said, looking sideways at Isaku.

Isaku turned to look at him. He had no idea what
O-fune-sama
could have to do with a bailiff. Isaku's father and mother seldom talked about village affairs, but in Sahei's family his grandfather and parents discussed all manner of topics; so
it was only natural that Sahei would come to learn a great deal. Sahei's knowledge was another reason Isaku felt a little intimidated by the boy.

‘A bailiff?' he whispered suspiciously.

‘You didn't know? You mean you started working the salt cauldrons without knowing about it?' sneered Sahei.

Isaku was irritated by Sahei's attitude, as well as somewhat uneasy. He had never seen a bailiff but certainly had heard that they were to be feared – stories of how bailiffs would arrest people, tie them up, and cut off their heads or burn them alive on a crucifix or impale them on a pike. Isaku felt crushed by Sahei's hints of a connection between
O-
fune-
sama
and the bailiff, and he thought his ignorance made him unfit to work the salt cauldrons.

‘Tell me, then. What about the bailiff?' he said.

Sahei didn't reply. He was watching the women on the beach carry the salt away.

‘I heard the story from my grandfather,' Sahei began. He explained that it had happened when
O-
fune-
sama
came one winter, some time before his grandfather was born. That night, too, in heavy seas a ship had had its bottom smashed open on the reef after being lured to the cauldron fires lit on the shore. It was a ship of considerable size, and though the crew had jettisoned some of the cargo there was still a large amount left.

‘The people in the village were ecstatic, but they were shocked when they saw the crest on the sail,' said Sahei, grim-faced.

The sails had been taken down, but the large insignia on them indicated that it was a clan ship. The cargo on board was government property, and stealing it would of course invite harsh retribution. Terror-stricken, the villagers put out boats and rescued the captain and crew clinging to the wrecked ship. They waited for the sea to calm before they unloaded the cargo onto the beach and pulled the sails and the smashed pieces of ship's timber up onto the shore. Also, they retrieved the bodies of two drowned clansmen, one crewman, and a galley boy who had been washed overboard and found at the foot of the cape.

A messenger was sent to the next village over the ridge, and seven days later a young bailiff appeared, accompanied by two attendants. The village chief and the other people in the village prostrated themselves on the ground in the chief's courtyard to greet the bailiff.

The villagers were afraid that the bailiff would suspect that the fires under the salt cauldrons were for luring passing ships onto the rocks. Trembling with fear, the chief had kept his forehead to the ground, muttering simple replies to the bailiff's questions.

Fortunately the official did not catch on to the villagers' secret. He thought it only natural that they should be making salt on the beach and saw nothing strange in the fact that the sailors might mistake the fires for houses and turn their ship towards the treacherous rocks lining the coast. On the contrary, upon hearing the testimony of the rescued sailors, the bailiff was pleased at how the villagers had handled the clan ship. Everyone in the village helped to lay out the cargo and broken pieces of wood from the ship to dry in the sun, or piled them inside the village chief's house or in the yard. Also, the four bodies that had been recovered were temporarily interred in one corner of the yard, and a black flag of mourning was put up.

The bailiff seemed to think that the villagers were blameless, and left with the ship's survivors. In due course, he appeared in the village again, this time with some men leading several oxen. They collected the ship's cargo that had been stored at the village chief's house, lashed it onto the oxen, and carried it away. They took the sailcloth but let the villagers keep what was left of the wrecked ship.

Though the village benefited very little, the people were greatly relieved to have avoided punishment. But their fears were not easily allayed, and no more salt was made that year. They regained their composure with the first signs of spring. Soon, however, they were grey with fear again as they were tormented by another unexpected calamity.

One day, three men leading some oxen appeared on the
mountain path. One of these unsavoury-looking characters, wearing a sword in a faded scabbard, presented himself at the village chief's house.

Claiming to be a bailiff, he shouted angrily that people in the village were hiding cargo from the wrecked clan ship. Petrified, the village chief pleaded with him in a trembling voice. But the men paid no heed, and the next day they made everyone in the village, including the village chief, empty their larders of stored provisions and lash everything onto the pack animals, menacing the people with their swords as they drove the oxen back up the mountain path.

After they had left, the villagers realised that these men had merely been posing as bailiffs, and they prepared hatchets and gaffs, resolving to kill the impostors should they return. But they were never seen again.

‘The
daimyo
's ships are big and sail out in deep water, so they run far off the coast. They're sturdily built, so not many get wrecked.
O-
fune-
sama
are the ones on the coastal run, merchant ships passing close by. But, as I said, even the
daimyo
's ships can end up as
O-
fune-
sama
. Both my grandfather and my father have told me, if
O-
fune-
sama
comes when you are looking after the fires, the first thing you have to do is take a look at the crest on the sails. Didn't anyone tell you that?' Sahei said.

Isaku shook his head. He was annoyed that Kichizo hadn't seen fit to mention the sails in his instructions. He felt sure that, just as Sahei had heard from his grandfather and father, he, too, would have been warned to look out for the insignia on the sails, had his father been at home.

‘Is there anything else I should know?' asked Isaku, genuinely grateful that Sahei had told him about the marks on the sails.

Sahei pensively tilted his head to one side and looked across the beach; then, almost as an afterthought, said, ‘My father told me that if you do see
O-
fune-
sama
, you should run straight to the village chief's house and tell him. Don't run home or anything like that.' Isaku thought that this, too, was something he should bear in mind. He could certainly imagine
that the shock of seeing
O-
fune-
sama
might make him run home to tell his mother.

On the beach the women were working hard scooping salt from the cauldrons and putting it into wooden tubs. Clouds raced across the sky, and spray from the waves splashed on the shore.

‘It seems my dad might be going into bondage, too,' Sahei murmured as he gazed out to sea.

Sahei had a sister who was already married, another older sister aged fourteen, and a brother two years younger than Sahei. By all accounts Sahei's family had celebrated the night he had been instructed to work on the cauldrons, but perhaps they were just as short of food as Isaku's family after all. The fourteen-year-old daughter was next in line to be sold into bondage, but if she came back after finishing her service she would be too old to marry by then. Most likely Sahei's father had made his decision to sell himself out of pity for his daughter.

‘My grandfather's at home crying. He says he'd sell himself if he were a little younger.' Sahei tried to force the sullen look from his face.

If
O-
fune-
sama
were to come, there would be no need for Sahei's father to sell himself. No doubt Sahei was putting his all into the work on the cauldrons, wishing with all his heart that
O-
fune-
sama
would come so his father would not have to leave the village.

Drowsiness started to get the better of Isaku. He stood up. ‘I'm going to get some sleep,' he said to Sahei, who was still sitting on the log. He picked up the dead pine torch and headed towards his house.

The next morning saw the first flurry of snow. No more than a few flakes, barely perceptible on the blustery winds, but it grew heavier in the afternoon, whirling into the house past the fluttering straw mat hanging at the entrance.

Isaku was working hard chopping firewood on the dirt floor, while his mother mended the children's tattered clothes. The
cloth was made of thread woven from the inner fibres of the bark from young linden trees growing in the mountains, but none had been collected this summer.

Every year in early summer his father would go into the mountains to get linden saplings. With his father away this year Isaku had his hands full, but he resolved to go into the woods to collect bark from the saplings next summer.

His brother and sisters were sitting huddled together beside the fire. There was still the grain they had bought with Isaku's father's bondage payment but, with no other food to be had through the winter, they would have to ration their supplies tightly until spring. His father's parting words, ‘Don't let the children starve', uttered so gravely before he went into bondage, weighed heavily on Isaku's heart.

The snow continued to fall throughout the next day, then stopped the following morning, leaving the village covered in a blanket of white.

Isaku and the men put their boats onto the water while his mother went down to comb the shoreline. He hung a line over the side but could only catch the smallest of fish, and very few at that. The currents would have taken the schools of fish far offshore, and the octopus and squid must have been driven by the crashing waves to the seaward side of the reef to find a place to rest.

When the sea was calm, and occasionally even on stormy days, they would see ships passing with their sails half furled. Among them were ships bearing large insignia in the middle of their sails.