Shipwrecks Read online

  Isaku took a sip of the vegetable porridge Kura had served him, then took his leave. The wine made him feel unsteady on his feet. Tears started to flow down his cheeks as he made his way home. He understood how his father must have felt when he left his family behind. His parting words were ‘Don’t let the children starve,’ but Teru had died. When his father had left, entrusting the well-being of the family to someone as untried as Isaku, he must have been well aware that a death among them was a very real possibility. His mother always tried to give the children as much food as she could; she scooped the solids from the vegetable porridge into the children’s bowls, while she herself only drank the liquid. She knew how his father felt and was doing her best to keep the children alive.

  He felt himself teetering in the wind off the sea, immersed in the sound of the waves.

  He had only a vague memory of the last time O-fune-sama had visited their shores, but when he recalled that strangely festive atmosphere he thought that it must be a treasure indeed to make the villagers go wild with joy.

  He walked along the path toward the faint outline of his house against the light of the night sky.

  5

  The reds and yellows mantling the far-off ridges began to fade as the temperature dropped with each passing day. One morning, when the sea was calm, Isaku stepped down to the earthen floor to be told by his mother, ‘Take Isokichi out with you from now on.’

  Isaku stared at his younger brother, who sat beside the fireplace facing him. In effect, she wanted him to teach Isokichi how to work an oar and catch fish. Though the boy had started to help carry bundles of dried branches home from the mountains behind their house, Isaku thought it would be a tough task to teach little Isokichi how to become a fisherman.

  ‘Isokichi, why are you still sitting on your backside?’ yelled his mother, slapping his little brother fiercely across the face. Isokichi got to his feet and scampered to the dirt floor, still holding his hand against his cheek. Isaku picked up the oar that stood in the corner of the room, swung it onto his shoulder, and left the house. His mother and Isokichi followed him, fishing-tackle in hand. With the last hint of dawn still in the sky, there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, holding promise of a clear autumn day.

  As he walked to the shore he thought that it was about time Isokichi started going out on the water. Isaku had first been taken out by his father the spring of the year he turned seven, and Isokichi would reach the same age by the New Year. With their father away, no doubt his mother wanted Isokichi to get accustomed to working out on the sea as soon as possible so he could start helping Isaku. Having spent all his time fishing alone since his father had left, Isaku thought his brother would be little more than a millstone round his neck, yet he looked forward to being out on the water with him. He was proud to think that now he was teaching someone the ropes.

  At the shore they slid the boat toward the water. Isokichi braced his legs as he pushed. Isaku attached the oar and worked the boat away from the water’s edge. Their mother stood watching them for a short while before hurrying back to their house.

  Isokichi sat cross-legged in the bottom of the boat, a sparkle in his eyes and a relaxed look on his face. For him, being able to go out on the water to learn how to fish was a joy beyond words.

  ‘Come over here,’ said Isaku. Making his brother grasp the oar, he put his own hand on top and moved the oar in the water.

  ‘You work the oar with your arm, not your hand,’ said Isaku. He adjusted Isokichi’s feet and slapped him in the small of his back to get him into the right position. When they drew nearer to the foaming water around the rocks, Isaku took the oar from his brother’s hand and manoeuvred the boat himself.

  ‘If you don’t know how to turn the prow to change direction, you’ll end up on the rocks. Keep your eyes on the way I work the oar.’ Isokichi nodded intently.

  Isaku stopped the boat and dropped anchor before fixing some bait to a hook and line, which he then dropped over the side. There was nothing but small fry to be caught, but they would be dried and stored to eat during winter. Whenever he felt a bite on the line, he would reel in the fish at just the right moment and seemed hardly ever to fail. Isokichi ran his hands over the little fish flapping around in the bottom of the boat.

  Isaku plied the boat from one area of rocks to another, letting Isokichi take over the oar along the way, rowing with his hand placed on top.

  From that day on, he spent his days with Isokichi out on the water. Isokichi did little more than work the oar and watch his older brother fish, but even this seemed to exhaust him. Almost immediately after dinner he would start to nod off and then lie down on his straw mattress.

  The leaves on the trees started to dry, and whirls of fallen leaves rose from the woods behind them and rained down on the village. The sea, too, began to show the first signs of winter, blustery nor’westers became commonplace, and the chill on the water intensified.

  One day when the sea was calm, after they had been on the water two hours, a ship big enough to carry about four hundred bales appeared from behind the cape to the west, followed by another of about half that size; both disappeared off to the east. At this time of year freshly harvested rice was transported by ship, and the piles of cargo they could see on board were undoubtedly straw bales of rice.

  The next day, on the instructions of the village chief, a makeshift hut was erected on the beach in preparation for salt-making.

  Calm weather continued, but three days later a strong wind started to blow, and spray from the waves smashing onto the shore rained on the houses close to the water. The boats were pulled up away from the water’s edge and tied to stakes driven into the ground.

  That night the first fires were lit under the salt cauldrons. On his way back from the outhouse Isaku stood and looked at the beach. The flames were being fanned by the wind, and he could see people moving. With no stars or moon in the sky, all that could be seen through the pitch-darkness was the dim white of the waves breaking near the fires. From time to time he could feel a mist on his face.

  His mother joined the other women taking the salt from the cauldrons up to the village chief’s house and carrying each household’s contribution of firewood down to the beach. Isaku would take Isokichi out fishing on calm days, and into the woods to collect dry branches for firewood on days when the sea was rough.

  One windy day a calamity befell the village.

  In the evening Kichizo had gone down to the beach to work on the cauldrons; when he returned the next morning, he discovered that his wife had disappeared. He searched for her throughout the village, down by the shore, and in the woods behind the houses, but she was not to be found. From the panicked look on his face his neighbours could tell that something had happened and they told the village chief. When he was questioned by the chief, it became clear that he had been wickedly cruel to his wife the previous night.

  Kichizo had never been able to rid himself completely of the suspicion that his wife had had a child by another man during her time away in servitude, and at times he still saw fit to torment her. This occasion was another example of his uncontrollable rage. It seemed that, after beating his wife, he had hacked off pieces of her hair, tied her up, then gone so far as to shave off her pubic hair.

  The village chief listened to the man’s confession and concluded that Kichizo’s wife must have been so terrified that she had run away during the night. He ordered several men to hurry to the next village.

  They headed for the pass, but when they stopped to look around the graveyard they found Kichizo’s wife hanging by the neck from a tree not far from the crematory. They cut her body down, wrapped it in straw matting, and carried it back to Kichizo’s house. Kichizo clung to his wife’s body and wept.

  Isaku and his mother went to pay their respects at the wake. The body had been bound tightly in a sitting position with rough twine, back against a funeral post. The three dark bruises he could see on her pallid face attested to the severe beating s
he had suffered. Her hair was hacked roughly and in places cropped almost down to the skin. Kichizo was kneeling in a corner of the room, head hanging forward. Normally the bodies of those who had taken their own lives were merely thrown into the sea, but because her suicide had resulted from her fear of Kichizo’s violence the village chief granted special permission for her to be laid to rest in the cemetery.

  The following day the body was placed in a coffin and carried to the cemetery, where it was cremated. Because it was said that the spirits of those who had killed themselves to settle a score were doomed to roam within the confines of the village, the village chief ordered that Kichizo should fast in his house for five days as penance, to allow his wife’s spirit to leave for the place beyond the seas. But the night his wife was cremated, Kichizo slipped out of his house and hurled himself off a cliff near the cape. His head was caved in; one eyeball sat on top of his lips, and his brains spilled on the rocks. The villagers took his body out to sea and threw it into the water.

  The death of Kichizo’s wife left the people of the village stunned. Many chose to blame Kichizo and his vicious jealousy for having caused the tragedy; at the same time they gave credence to the rumour that Kichizo’s wife had had a child by another man.

  The sea became angry, and again the fires were lit under the salt cauldrons.

  In early December Isaku’s turn came to work through the night on the beach, tending the fires. The wind wasn’t so strong, but there was a great swell on the sea, immersing Isaku in the sound of the crashing waves as he added wood to the fires. In the clear light of the moon he could faintly see spray being hurled into the air where the low tide had exposed parts of the reef.

  Isaku sat in the hut, warming himself by the fire as he watched the sea. All he could make out in the moonlight was the rising and falling of the waves and, despite all the stories, he couldn’t imagine O-fune-sama ever actually coming.

  On calm days he worked hard fishing, with Isokichi putting his all into the oar, never crying when he was slapped in the face for getting his foot-positioning wrong or moving his back incorrectly. A mixture of blood and pus oozed from where the skin on his fingers and toes had split.

  Their mother was asleep with their little sister in her arms, while Isaku and Isokichi lay down side by side. He reached out furtively and took hold of Isokichi’s rough little hand as his brother snored away beside him. Isokichi was a very sound sleeper, and he usually had to be roughly shaken or even kicked awake by his mother at daybreak.

  That year the snow arrived later than usual, but when the first snowfall did come it fell with a vengeance, continuing for three days solid. The trees around the village were covered in snow, and icicles hung from the eaves of the houses.

  One night at the end of December, Isaku had a dream. He could hear a voice far off in the darkness, out on the water. All of a sudden the voice was up close, and he was enveloped in the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. The waves bore down upon him, and he felt himself stagger. Then he heard a shrill voice calling his name right by his ear. It was his mother. She was hitting him about the head and kicking his shoulders.

  He raised himself on his arms. His mother slapped him across the face, screaming, her eyes open wide, as her face loomed out of the pale light from the last embers of the fire.

  ‘O-fune-sama,’ she screamed.

  He leaped out of bed. He could hear people’s voices outside. He had no idea what to do.

  ‘Get some wood on the fire!’ said his mother to Isokichi, who was standing there drowsy-eyed.

  ‘Grab an axe or something and get down to the beach,’ she shouted, and she stepped onto the earthen floor, putting on her straw raincoat and sedge hat. Isaku did the same, and picked up his rusty gaff.

  He burned with excitement. His heart raced at the thought that the long-awaited O-fune-sama had actually arrived. If it was a ship fully loaded with cargo, they would be able to procure not just grain but rice. He remembered the sweet taste of the tiny amount of white sugar his mother had given him when he was ill as a baby.

  Isaku ran out the door after his mother, who had swung a mattock onto her shoulder. The sky bristled with stars, casting a pale light over the path through the snow. His body was shaking uncontrollably, and his knees felt as if they were going to give way under him.

  Villagers were running down the path as Isaku stepped onto the beach. He could see people gathered round the cauldron fires. A mass of wood was being fed under the cauldrons, and sparks shot into the air as the fire blazed. Some people were holding up flaming torches, illuminating the scene just enough for Isaku to make out the village chief’s face.

  ‘Where’s O-fune-sama?’ asked his mother.

  ‘Right out in front here. She’s listing to one side. Definitely ripped her belly open on the rocks,’ replied one of the men, his voice shaking.

  Isaku looked out to sea. The dull white crests of the waves surged in, and cold spray rained down on them each time the breakers smashed on the shore. As his eyes became gradually accustomed to the dark, he could make out by the light of the stars what looked quite a large ship. The ship was leaning over to one side, veiled in spray from the waves.

  The inside of his mouth felt dry. Struggling to make headway in the rough seas, no doubt they had mistaken the fires on the beach for the lights of houses and had turned the helm in towards the shore, only to smash onto the reef. This was Isaku’s first sight ever of O-fune-sama. The thought came into his mind that maybe Kura’s role in the O-fune-sama ritual had paid off after all.

  Isaku felt an urge to yell at the top of his lungs, but the village chief and the others stood silently as they looked out to sea. With the arrival of O-fune-sama their prayers had at last been answered, and it seemed strange to Isaku that no one was jumping for joy. Bewildered, he cast furtive glances at the faces of those around him.

  ‘What about the crest on the sails?’ he heard someone ask in a penetrating voice.

  ‘That’s what we don’t know. The wind’s so strong they’ve shortened sail. And it’s dark. Can’t see a thing,’ said an irritated voice from near the cauldrons.

  Isaku now understood why they were all so quiet, and felt ashamed of himself for not realising earlier. The crest on the sails would tell them whether the ship belonged to a clan or was a merchant vessel. What they were longing for was a merchant ship, with its promise of bounty for the village. But if it was a clan ship, plundering cargo would be out of the question. If they stepped an inch out of line, they would all be severely punished.

  ‘Kura’s not here yet?’ asked the village chief; he was being buffeted by the wind.

  ‘She should be here soon,’ replied the man standing at his side. The chief had asked her to come to the beach again, as the pregnant woman, and no doubt he would have her pray that the ship out there was a merchant vessel.

  ‘Here she is!’ said a voice from the crowd as Kura stepped onto the beach and walked toward the village chief with Takichi, who was holding a flaming torch. Her belly was large and her movements were laboured.

  Kura bowed to the village chief, took the sacred straw festoon from him, and held it reverently in front of her before walking over to the water’s edge and casting it into the sea. The sound of the sutras rose from the crowd, and Isaku joined them in prayer.

  The cold intensified, and the men took turns feeding wood to the fires under the cauldrons. On the village chief’s instructions, more wood was brought down and another fire was lit, round which the villagers stood warming themselves.

  The wind died down slightly as the first signs of dawn appeared. The night sky took on a bluish tinge, and the stars began to fade. The villagers fixed their eyes on the sea. Fountains of spray shot into the air around each side of the reef, and there, on one such cluster of rocks, for all to see was a ship stuck hard and fast. She swayed ever so slightly each time she was pounded by the waves.

  ‘She holds two hundred bales.’

  ‘More like three hundr
ed,’ the men whispered. The sails had been lowered, and the crest could not be seen.

  ‘She’s got a full load.’

  There was no doubt the deck was packed with what appeared to be cargo. Normally, if the crew sensed they might be in danger of sinking, they would cut the cargo free and jettison it to stabilise the ship, but most likely they had spotted the lights on the shore and turned towards land.

  The sky became lighter, and the outline of the ship was clearly visible. The canvas of the shortened sails flapped in the wind.

  ‘I can see the crest,’ said someone in a low voice.

  ‘It’s not the daimyo’s crest. It’s a merchant ship!’ cried one of the men.

  For a moment there was silence, then suddenly the villagers broke into cheers. The crests of clan ships were large and were found in the middle of the sails, but the ship listing before them out on the water had only a small crest at the very top of the sail.

  Isaku was shouting ecstatically with the rest of them.

  The early-morning shore resounded with something halfway between cheering and wailing. There were people literally jumping for joy, while others ran around kicking up snow.

  Isaku heard the sound of crying behind him; several women standing in a huddle were sobbing, no doubt overcome by the pain and sadness in their lives, lives never free from the fear of starvation. Tears welled up in Isaku’s eyes, too. If his father had not sold himself into bondage, perhaps his sister would not have died.

  ‘Be quiet!’ snapped the tall elder standing beside the village chief. ‘Out on O-fune-sama, there are people out there.’

  Silence reigned and the villagers stood motionless, their eyes on the ship, the upper part of which protruded from the shimmering sea. There were people on board all right, sitting at the base of the main mast, palms pressed together in prayer as they looked toward shore.