thigh. He looked across the bow to the approaching pier. Gospel came from his throat in a choked whisper. “Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”
“Amen,” Emily said.
In truth, she feared what was behind her more than what was ahead. Whatever dread she felt at the approach of the unknown had been polished and honed so much by anticipation, it had turned into hope long ago.
Japan. A land as unlike her own as any could be and still be of God’s green earth. Religion, language, history, art—Japan and America held nothing in common. She had never even seen a Japanese man or woman, except in those museum daguerreotypes. And the Japanese, Zephaniah had told her, had seen almost no outsiders for nearly three hundred years. They had become incestuously ingrown, he said, feeling with hearts twisted by isolation, hearing with ears deafened by demonic gongs, seeing with eyes clouded by pagan delusions. We and they will look upon the same scene and see entirely different landscapes. Be prepared for this, he said. Guard yourself from disappointment. Abandon all that you have long taken for granted. You will be cleansed, he said, of all vanity.
She felt no fear, only anticipation. Japan. She had dreamed of it for so long. If there was a place where her infernal curse might be lifted from her, it was Japan. Let the past truly be past. That was her most fervent prayer.
The landing dock neared. Emily could see two dozen Japanese there, wharfmen and officials. In another minute, she would see their faces, and they would see hers. When they looked at her, what would they see?
Her blood thundered in her veins.
2
Outsiders
Some say there is no difference among the barbarians, that they are all the same offal-eating abominations. This is false. The Portuguese will trade guns for women. The Dutch demand gold. The English want treaties.
From this, you should know that the Portuguese and the Dutch are easily understood, and the English are the most dangerous. Therefore, study the English carefully and ignore the others.
SUZUME–NO–KUMO
(1641)
O kumichi no kami Genji, Great Lord of Akaoka, regarded himself in the mirror. He saw an anachronism sheathed in layer upon layer of antique clothing, topped with a complex coiffure, partially tied, partially stacked, partially shaved, more burdened with symbolism than the central icons of the simpler peasant religions.
“Lord.” His sword bearer knelt at his side. He bowed, raised Genji’s short sword, the wakizashi, above his own head, and offered it up to him. When Genji had secured this in his sash, the sword bearer went through the same procedure with the second longer sword, the katana, the samurai’s main weapon for a thousand years. There would be no need for one sword on this brief outing, much less two. They were, however, required by his status.
While elaborate, his overall appearance was at the same time extremely conservative, more appropriate for an elderly man than for a youth of twenty-four. This was because the clothing he wore had in fact belonged to an elderly man, his grandfather, the late Lord Kiyori, who had died three weeks earlier at the age of seventy-nine. The black-and-gray outer kimono, without adornment of any kind, radiated a kind of warlike austerity. Over this, the stiffly winged black jacket was likewise plain, lacking even the crest of his house, a stylized sparrow dodging arrows from the four directions.
This last omission did not find favor with Saiki, the chamberlain he had inherited from his grandfather. “Lord, is there a reason for you to be incognito?”
“Incognito?” The suggestion amused Genji. “I am about to go into the street in a formal procession surrounded by a company of samurai, all wearing the sparrow-and-arrows crest. Do you really think anyone will fail to recognize me?”
“Lord, you give your enemies an excuse to pretend they don’t, and thus the
“Amen,” Emily said.
In truth, she feared what was behind her more than what was ahead. Whatever dread she felt at the approach of the unknown had been polished and honed so much by anticipation, it had turned into hope long ago.
Japan. A land as unlike her own as any could be and still be of God’s green earth. Religion, language, history, art—Japan and America held nothing in common. She had never even seen a Japanese man or woman, except in those museum daguerreotypes. And the Japanese, Zephaniah had told her, had seen almost no outsiders for nearly three hundred years. They had become incestuously ingrown, he said, feeling with hearts twisted by isolation, hearing with ears deafened by demonic gongs, seeing with eyes clouded by pagan delusions. We and they will look upon the same scene and see entirely different landscapes. Be prepared for this, he said. Guard yourself from disappointment. Abandon all that you have long taken for granted. You will be cleansed, he said, of all vanity.
She felt no fear, only anticipation. Japan. She had dreamed of it for so long. If there was a place where her infernal curse might be lifted from her, it was Japan. Let the past truly be past. That was her most fervent prayer.
The landing dock neared. Emily could see two dozen Japanese there, wharfmen and officials. In another minute, she would see their faces, and they would see hers. When they looked at her, what would they see?
Her blood thundered in her veins.
2
Outsiders
Some say there is no difference among the barbarians, that they are all the same offal-eating abominations. This is false. The Portuguese will trade guns for women. The Dutch demand gold. The English want treaties.
From this, you should know that the Portuguese and the Dutch are easily understood, and the English are the most dangerous. Therefore, study the English carefully and ignore the others.
SUZUME–NO–KUMO
(1641)
O kumichi no kami Genji, Great Lord of Akaoka, regarded himself in the mirror. He saw an anachronism sheathed in layer upon layer of antique clothing, topped with a complex coiffure, partially tied, partially stacked, partially shaved, more burdened with symbolism than the central icons of the simpler peasant religions.
“Lord.” His sword bearer knelt at his side. He bowed, raised Genji’s short sword, the wakizashi, above his own head, and offered it up to him. When Genji had secured this in his sash, the sword bearer went through the same procedure with the second longer sword, the katana, the samurai’s main weapon for a thousand years. There would be no need for one sword on this brief outing, much less two. They were, however, required by his status.
While elaborate, his overall appearance was at the same time extremely conservative, more appropriate for an elderly man than for a youth of twenty-four. This was because the clothing he wore had in fact belonged to an elderly man, his grandfather, the late Lord Kiyori, who had died three weeks earlier at the age of seventy-nine. The black-and-gray outer kimono, without adornment of any kind, radiated a kind of warlike austerity. Over this, the stiffly winged black jacket was likewise plain, lacking even the crest of his house, a stylized sparrow dodging arrows from the four directions.
This last omission did not find favor with Saiki, the chamberlain he had inherited from his grandfather. “Lord, is there a reason for you to be incognito?”
“Incognito?” The suggestion amused Genji. “I am about to go into the street in a formal procession surrounded by a company of samurai, all wearing the sparrow-and-arrows crest. Do you really think anyone will fail to recognize me?”
“Lord, you give your enemies an excuse to pretend they don’t, and thus the
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