"Liar! That wasn't what you'd do if your head itched. It looked like some kind of spell to me." Triumphantly Kiku took a step toward him and, though he was older than she, boldly taunted him, "Seikichi. What's a Kuro?"

Seikichi scowled at Kiku but said nothing. It seemed as though the single word had deeply wounded him.

Kiku hesitated for a moment, but then, as if explaining to herself, "Well, you're from Nakano, right? In Magome they call people from Nakano Kuros."

Seikichi hoisted the scale back onto his shoulder, sighed, "You're mean," and began to walk away. There was a loneliness in his retreating figure. Kiku bit her lip and watched intently until that solitary figure had disappeared into the distance.

She had never imagined this would happen. All she had done was to get angry at Seikichi for telling her that he'd gone to Isahaya to build roads but then come to Nagasaki without even telling her, and she'd merely voiced her indignation to him. If Seikichi had just apologized for irritating her like an older brother would, then she would have calmed down.

But in a burst of anger she had said the word Kuro to Seikichi and dealt him an utterly unexpected blow.

"You're mean," Seikichi had said bitterly, and then he had walked away.

Remorse welled up in Kiku's heart. She had no idea why that word had made Seikichi look so sad. But there was no doubt that she had tactlessly hurt him.

Seikichi's angry with me. Now he's never going to like me. Kiku realized for the first time that her actions had produced the opposite effect to what she had antic.i.p.ated. She forgot all about her cleaning ch.o.r.es and stood in a daze.

Gloomy days followed, one after another.

"Kiku, what's wrong with you?" Mitsu worriedly asked Kiku, who had fallen into a terrible slump.

"I ... did something so stupid!" Kiku explained every detail of what had happened to Mitsu, but as she confessed the events of that morning it all came back vividly to Kiku's mind and stabbed at her heart.

The spring Kompira Festival arrived amid those dismal days, on the tenth day of the third month.

Management of the Kompira Festival rotated each year among the seven chief neighborhoods in Nagasaki. Though it has declined in popularity today, in Mitsu and Kiku's day it was one of the liveliest of all the festivals in Nagasaki, whether Shinto or Buddhist.

On the eve of the festival the shrine precincts were already jammed with pilgrims. Food stalls and booths were crammed together on the grounds and along both sides of the road to the shrine.

"Let there be good weather tomorrow!" Children and youths pressed their palms together and pet.i.tioned Kompira, the great avatar of the sea. Especially since the customary kite compet.i.tion couldn't be held if the weather was inclement.

Thankfully, on the day of the festival the skies were clear and there was a light breeze. It was an ideal day for kite flying.

On this day, the men who worked at the Gotya were given permission to go with the Master to Mount Kompira where the Clash of the Kites was held. Some of the larger mercantile houses prepared food and drink and invited their best customers to watch the kite flying to the accompaniment of samisen and drums.

Because Kiku and Mitsu, along with Tome and other girls, had been allowed to leave the shop for the recent Doll Festival, this time they had to stay at work. Still, if they climbed up onto the wooden racks where clothes were hung out to dry, they were able to see swarms of kites dancing in the sky like flocks of birds.

"Kiku, come on!" Making sure the Mistress didn't overhear, Mitsu came to summon Kiku. She was certain that they would earn another tongue-lashing if the Mistress found out they were watching the kite clash on the pretext of hanging clothes out to dry.

But perhaps the Mistress was willing to wink at what they were doing today because even though Tome and even Oyone had congregated on the drying racks, she wasn't uttering a word of complaint.

"Look! There's a helmeted Brahman!" Oyone, who had lived in Nagasaki for a long while, proudly pointed out one kite swirling in the wind.

Though they all were called "kites," those that were entered in the Clash of the Kites were of many different varieties. Each of the kites, with their colorful designs and shapes, had their own names, like "Bald-Headed Priest," "Footman," "Bat," "Paper Door," "Tiny," "Flying Fish," and so on.

As these various kites now creaked and swooped through the sky, they closed quarters with each other, tangled, stormed at one another, and soared upward or plummeted downward.

"What do you think? Will that Dutch House at Dejima send up that wicked foreigner's kite again?" Oyone asked, shifting her body and looking toward Dejima. She told the other girls that for the past two years, a young foreigner had flown a flying-fish kite from the roof of the Dutch trading company and challenged the j.a.panese kite flyers.

"It was so humiliating. Not a single kite could beat it."

"The foreigner was that good? Where do you suppose he learned how to fly a kite?" Mitsu asked, wide-eyed.

"Which one of those kites belongs to the foreigner?"

"He hasn't sent it up yet. I wonder if he's not partic.i.p.ating this year?" Oyone marveled, but almost immediately she cried, "Oh! He's up there on the roof!"

Mitsu and Tome and Kiku turned as one in that direction, forming a row like a flock of society finches.

Just as Oyone had described it, they could see two Dutchmen sitting on the roof of the Dutch trading company in Dejima, laughing and watching the compet.i.tion. And they weren't mere spectators-it was clear from the flying-fish kite they had prepared next to them that they planned to join in the contest.

Before long the two Dutchmen checked the direction of the wind and began to fly their kite.

This year it was a pitch-black kite. It was slathered with black ink and bore no other color or decoration. The sinister-colored kite bobbed up and down for a few moments, but it soon caught a current of wind blowing in from the bay.

The black kite- It sailed indolently overhead, as though glaring down at the spectacle below. Its movements seemed to be challenging the other kites in its vicinity, as though it were saying, "Well? Think you can win, do you?"

The surrounding kites began darting in response to the black kite's taunts.

Kiku and the other girls on the drying rack were not the only ones watching this sparring. People walking along the street and those crossing the bridge all stopped in their tracks and lifted their heads to gaze into the sky. Some raised their arms and pointed to the Dutchmen's kite. It felt as though virtually the entire population of the town had been antic.i.p.ating this battle.

For two years now the j.a.panese residents of Nagasaki had been partic.i.p.ating in this contest and had been consistently beaten by the Dutchmen's kite. They could not imagine where these foreigners had learned their skill or whether they had applied some unusual substance to their kite string, but the fact remained that they were a truly formidable antagonist. Above all else, they were powerful.

Everyone knew that.

"This is deplorable."

The residents of Nagasaki, unlike other regions of j.a.pan, had, over the course of time, learned to treat foreigners with great respect. They had lived in harmony with both the Dutch in Dejima and the Chinese who had lived here for many years.

But when it came to these out-and-out compet.i.tions, for a fleeting moment they all became patriots. Even the women ground their teeth and grumbled, "Isn't there anybody who can smash their kite? The men of Nagasaki really are cowards!"

A kite decorated with two colorful broad stripes surged toward the black kite. Then, like two prizefighters who exchange jabs as they try to a.s.sess their opponent's strengths and likely moves, they gently poked at each other, then pulled back, pulled away then poked again, each compet.i.tor watching for the moment of opportunity.

That opportunity, that skill. Those are what make the difference between victory and loss.

"NOW!" A man standing on the street suddenly clenched his fists and cried out.

The two kites coiled and intertwined with each other.

The man below shouted, "BRAVO!!"

The kites disengaged and pulled away from each other. The victor had been decided.

The double-striped kite had been cut loose from its string and was plummeting to the ground. It had lost.

"d.a.m.n!" a group of children barked and then raced off with poles on their shoulders to snag the vanquished kite.

"Oh no! Oh no!" Oyone groaned.

Kiku, a sore loser herself, pounded her fists on one of the supports holding up the drying rack.

1. Suwa is a Shinto shrine originally built in the mid-sixteenth century. During the Christian era when Nagasaki was gifted to the Jesuits, the shrine was destroyed, but it was rebuilt under shogunal orders in 1625.

2. Sf.u.kuji, the oldest Buddhist temple in j.a.pan built in the Chinese style, dates to 1629.

3. Also known as Girls' Day, the Doll Festival is held every year on March 3.

A DAY OF HOPE.

PEt.i.tJEAN ALSO WAS watching the kite contest. To his side stood Sakichi, his arms folded in evident frustration.

Sakichi clacked his tongue in disdain and sputtered, "If that's the way they go in for the attack, it's no wonder they got their string cut!"

After the first kite suffered a tragic defeat, another flying-fish kite that had been waiting its turn slid up to the Dutch house's black kite, seeming to boast, "My turn now!"

It drew near. It pulled back. It attacked. It looked like a battle to the death between two cuttlefish in the depths of the sea. The colored square kite even resembled the shape of a cuttlefish.

From time to time Sakichi forgot himself and shouted out, "Hurray!" Despite his cheers, however, one after another the j.a.panese kites spiraled headlong into the ocean.

"Mr. Foreigner, what are we going to do?" Sakichi looked nervously at Pet.i.tjean. He was hoping to gain some fame for his kite as one foreigner competed against another, but he seemed to be losing confidence. In all honesty, from the time the black kite first climbed into the sky, Pet.i.tjean too had concluded he had no chance of winning.

He had never told Father Furet that he had made a kite at Sakichi's request or that he had thrown himself into training with it. Were he to be found out, he had no doubt that the priest would be genuinely outraged, as Father Furet was busy preparing to return to France by way of the Ryky Islands.

"It doesn't really matter if I win. You made this kite for me, Sakichi. I'd just like to see it fly." Pet.i.tjean pointed to the kite that Sakichi was holding. A Christian cross had been painted on the kite so that onlookers would immediately recognize that its operator was a priest.

"And you've worked really hard to learn how to fly it, Mr. Foreigner," Sakichi nodded, handing the stick wrapped with kite string to Pet.i.tjean. "The wind's coming in from the ocean. Keep a close eye on shifts in the wind." Sakichi had repeatedly emphasized to him that he must not rely solely on the strength of the kite to win the battle. If he took advantage of the power of the wind, the potency of the gla.s.s-encrusted string would double.

Slowly, slowly the string Pet.i.tjean held in his hands was dragged into the sky. He felt the resistance in his hands as the kite rose above the rooftops and soared upward as though sucked up into the spring sky.

A kite plainly emblazoned with a scarlet cross. It should be visible from every direction in Nagasaki. If there were in fact any descendants of the Kiris.h.i.tans in this city, they would surely see this kite painted with a cross. Therein lay Pet.i.tjean's aim.

The black kite glided languidly above. Like a bald eagle riding the wind currents, his wings spread wide, he ruled the skies over Nagasaki. Compared with him, all the other kites were no better than second-rate birds. And now the flying-fish kite with the scarlet cross was closing in on the eagle.

"Who's flying that kite?" Pedestrians below stopped, gazing up at this reckless melee.

"I hear it belongs to one of the foreigners at the Nambanji. That makes this a battle between foreigners from two different countries. Very interesting!"

"Really? Foreigner against foreigner?"

Just as Sakichi had antic.i.p.ated, at every street corner and along every road, spectators had gathered into small groups and were staring up into the sky. It was a foregone conclusion that the black kite would emerge victorious, but with its drawing so many people's attention, Sakichi planned to make the rounds afterward and announce, "I made that kite!"

The kite string transmitted the kite's groan to Pet.i.tjean's fingers. It seemed almost to be trembling in antic.i.p.ation of the battle. "Don't move in yet!" Sakichi, the military strategist, cautioned Pet.i.tjean as he checked the strength and direction of the wind. "Not yet! Not yet!!"

Though it closed in on the black kite, the crucifix kite did not attempt to interlace its strings just yet. Pet.i.tjean smoothly let out his string, like a knight desperately restraining a horse that snorts and strains to break into a mad dash.

It was a battle of patience. The black kite advanced, as though out of patience, but Sakichi calculated the strength of the wind and cried, "Not yet! Not yet!!" He also gauged the direction of the wind. And in a moment he shouted, "Now! NOW, Mr. Foreigner!!"

With a whoosh the string jerked tight against Pet.i.tjean's index finger. The pain was so intense he wondered whether his finger had been severed.

"BRAVO!!" Sakichi yelled out. The two tangled kites moved apart at that instant.

The black kite was wobbling. The kite bearing the scarlet crucifix pulled away from it.

The spectators at the crossroads cried out in one voice, "The black kite has lost!!"

But that wasn't the case. It was the kite with the scarlet crucifix that plummeted to the ground. It was Pet.i.tjean's kite....

Pet.i.tjean offered some words of encouragement to a downcast Sakichi, but he himself was satisfied with the outcome. He cared nothing about victory. His purpose had been to get a kite with a crucifix floating in the skies over Nagasaki. If any of them had seen it, it must have given them a great deal of courage. That was sufficient.

However, someone told Father Furet about the day's events, and that evening Pet.i.tjean was roundly censured. "Have you completely forgotten that Christianity is banned in this country? And still, like some foolish child, you go fly a kite with a cross on it. Tomorrow, no doubt, It Seizaemon will come here in a rage. There are limits to what we are allowed to do, for heaven's sake ... ! You'll never stop chasing your delusions, will you? There is absolutely no possibility, no matter where you search in this land, that there are any descendants of the first Christians. I've told you this time and again. If there were, they would have contacted us in some form by now."

Pet.i.tjean hung his head and listened to this violent rebuke from his superior.

"Evidently someone as pigheaded as you has to be shown instead of just told things. Tomorrow you're coming with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Where, indeed! There's a place I absolutely must show my pigheaded friend. It may turn into a two-day journey, so make the proper preparations. For tonight, go straight to bed."

Father Furet said nothing further about where they were going or what he wanted to show his fellow priest. Pet.i.tjean overheard the father instructing Okane to prepare a day's worth of food to take with them.

Early the next morning, after finishing their Ma.s.ses, Father Furet had Mosaku prepare horses for them. "All right. Get your things together and get on your horse."

The priest helped Pet.i.tjean, who looked as though his nose had been tweaked by a forest sprite, onto his horse, then mounted his own horse and said to their guide, "To Mogi."

Mogi was a fishing village on the other side of the hills behind Nagasaki. It had a tranquil bay similar to Nagasaki's, though not nearly as large.

They arrived in Mogi near midday and from there took a boat.

"You'll see what this is about when we get there." Father Furet, smirking, said nothing further. That evening, the boat proceeded along the Shimabara peninsula. At twilight the ocean had a rosy tint, and the j.a.panese fishing boats had set their nets. In the distance, the islands of Amakusa rose like shadows.

Eventually they sighted a white castle at the lip of the land. It was Shimabara Castle.1 At the boat landing below the castle a number of spectators, who seemed to have gotten word of their imminent arrival, had gathered to look at the strange Nambanjin.

"Lord Okugawa!" When Father Furet disembarked, he raised one hand and called out to an official who looked as annoyed as It Seizaemon generally did. "Do you remember me? We met here once before." He bowed his head politely. "Today I've come with a friend to hike up to Unzen."

The official named Okugawa broke into a smile when he saw the bottle of wine that Father Furet held out to him as a gift. Suddenly he became very solicitous. "So you're climbing Unzen, are you? That will be exhausting! Have you made arrangements for lodgings?"

They stayed the night in Shimabara, but the two priests couldn't get to sleep until very late because the curious spectators had a.s.sembled close to their inn, and Okugawa showed up with a colleague to pay his respects.

Even after they crawled into bed, they could hear the sound of water flowing somewhere in the distance.