David Shrigley, 2010
Rene Magritte, The Treachery of Images, 1928-29
Yabu sipped some saké. "Say this to him, Mariko-san: suicide's not a barbarian custom. It's
against his Christian God. So how can he suicide?"
Mariko translated. Yabu was watching carefully as Blackthorne replied.
"The Anjin-san apologizes with great humility, but he says, custom or not, God or not, this
shame of the village is too great to bear. He says that . . . that he's in Japan, he's hatamoto and
has the right to live according to our laws." Her hands were trembling. "That's what he said,
Yabu-san. The right to live according to our customs—our law."
"Barbarians have no rights."
She said, "Lord Toranaga made him hatamoto. That gives him the right, neh?"
A breeze touched the shojis, rattling them.
"How could he commit suicide? Eh? Ask him."
Blackthorne took out the short, needle-sharp sword and placed it gently on the tatami, point
facing him.
Igurashi said simply, "It's a bluff! Who ever heard of a barbarian acting like a civilized
person?"
Yabu frowned, his heartbeat slowed by the excitement. "He's a brave man, Igurashi-san. No
doubt about that. And strange. But this?" Yabu wanted to see the act, to witness the barbarian's
measure, to see how he went into death, to experience with him the ecstasy of the going. With
an effort he stopped the rising tide of his own pleasure. "What's your counsel, Omi-san?" he
asked throatily.
"You said to the village, Sire, 'If the Anjin-san did not learn satisfactorily.' I counsel you to
make a slight concession. Say to him that whatever he learns within the five months will be
'satisfactory,' but he must, in return, swear by his God never to reveal this to the village."
"But he's not Christian. How will that oath bind him?"
"I believe he's a type of Christian, Sire. He's against the Black Robes and that's what is
important. I believe swearing by his own God will be binding. And he should also swear, in this
God's name, that he'll apply his mind totally to learning and totally to your service. Because he's
clever he will have learned very much in five months. Thus, your honor is saved, his—if it
exists or not—is also saved. You lose nothing, gain everything. Very important, you gain his
allegiance of his own free will."
"You believe he'll kill himself?"
"Yes."
"Mariko-san?"
"I don't know, Yabu-san. I'm sorry, I cannot advise you. A few hours ago I would have said,
no, he will not commit suicide. Now I don't know. He's . . . since Omi-san came for him
tonight, he's been . . . different."
"Igurashi-san?"
"If you give in to him now and it's bluff he'll use the same trick all the time. He's cunning as a
fox-kami—we've all seen how cunning, neh? You'll have to say 'no' one day, Sire. I counsel
you to say it now—it's a bluff."
Omi leaned forward and shook his head. "Sire, please excuse me, but I must repeat, if you
say no you risk a great loss. If it is a bluff—and it may well be—then as a proud man he will
become hate-filled at his further humiliation and he won't help you to the limit of his being,
which you need. He's asked for something as a hatamoto which he's entitled to, he says he wants
to live according to our customs of his own free will. Isn't that an enormous step forward, Sire?
That's marvelous for you, and for him. I counsel caution. Use him to your advantage."
"I intend to," Yabu said thickly.
Igurashi said, "Yes, he's valuable and yes, I want his knowledge. But he's got to be
controlled—you've said that many times, Omi-san. He's barbarian. That's all he is. Oh, I know
he's hatamoto today and yes, he can wear the two swords from today. But that doesn't make him
samurai. He's not samurai and never will be."
Mariko knew that of all of them she should be able to read the Anjin-san the most clearly.
But she could not. One moment she understood him, the next, he was incomprehensible again.
One moment she liked him, the next she hated him. Why?
Blackthorne's haunted eyes looked into the distance. But now there were beads of sweat on
his forehead. Is that from fear? thought Yabu. Fear that the bluff will be called? Is he bluffing?
"Mariko-san?"
"Yes, Lord?"
"Tell him . . ." Yabu's mouth was suddenly dry, his chest aching. "Tell the Anjin-san the
sentence stays."
"Sire, please excuse me, but I urge you to accept Omi-san's advice."
Yabu did not look at her, only at Blackthorne. The vein in his forehead pulsed. "The Anjin-
san says he's decided. So be it. Let's see if he's barbarian or hatamoto."
Mariko's voice was almost imperceptible. "Anjin-san, Yabu-san says the sentence stays. I'm
sorry."
Blackthorne heard the words but they did not disturb him. He felt stronger and more at peace
than he had ever been, with a greater awareness of life than he had ever had.
While he was waiting he had not been listening to them or watching them. The commitment
had been made. The rest he had left to God. He had been locked in his own head, hearing the
same words over and over, the same that had given him the clue to life here, the words that
surely had been sent from God, through Mariko as medium: 'There is an easy solution—die. To
survive here you must live according to our customs. . . .'
". . . the sentence stays."
So now I must die.
I should be afraid. But I'm not.
Why?
I don't know. I know only that once I truly decided that the sole way to live here as a man is
to do so according to their customs, to risk death, to die—perhaps to die—that suddenly the fear
of death was gone. 'Life and death are the same . . . Leave karma to karma.'
I am not afraid to die.
Beyond the shoji, a gentle rain had begun to fall. He looked down at the knife.
I've had a good life, he thought.
His eyes came back to Yabu. "Wakarimasu," he said clearly and though he knew his lips had
formed the word it was as though someone else had spoken.
No one moved.
He watched his right hand pick up the knife. Then his left also grasped the hilt, the blade
steady and pointing at his heart. Now there was only the sound of his life, building and building,
soaring louder and louder until he could listen no more. His soul cried out for eternal silence.
The cry triggered his reflexes. His hands drove the knife unerringly toward its target.
Omi had been ready to stop him but he was unprepared for the suddenness and ferocity of
Blackthorne's thrust, and as Omi's left hand caught the blade and his right the haft, pain bit into
him and blood spilled from his left hand. He fought the power of the thrust with all his strength.
He was losing. Then Igurashi helped. Together they halted the blow. The knife was taken
away. A thin trickle of blood ran from the skin over Blackthorne's heart where the point of the
knife had entered.
Mariko and Yabu had not moved.
Yabu said, "Say to him, say to him whatever he learns is enough, Mariko-san. Order him—
no, ask him, ask the Anjin-san to swear as Omi-san said. Everything as Omi-san said."
Blackthorne came back from death slowly. He stared at them and the knife from an immense
distance, without understanding. Then the torrent of his life rushed back but he could not grasp
its significance, believing himself dead and not alive.
"Anjin-san? Anjin-san?"
He saw her lips move and heard her words but all his senses were concentrated on the rain
and the breeze.
"Yes?" His own voice was still far off but he smelled the rain and heard the droplets and
tasted the sea salt upon the air.
I'm alive, he told himself in wonder. I'm alive and that's real rain outside and the wind's real
and from the north. There's a real brazier with real coals and if I pick up the cup it will have real
liquid in it and it will have taste. I'm not dead. I'm alive!
The others sat in silence, waiting patiently, gentle with him to honor his bravery. No man in
Japan had ever seen what they had seen. Each was asking silently, what's the Anjin-san going to
do now? Will he be able to stand by himself and walk away or will his spirit leave him? How would I act if I were he?
