Shōgun полностью

Omi pointed at himself then at Blackthorne. "I want to be your friend."

"Ah! Thank you. Honored."

Omi smiled again and bowed, equal to equal, and walked away.

"Friends with him?" Blackthorne muttered. "Has he forgotten? I haven't."

"Ah, Anjin-san," Fujiko said, hurrying up to him. "Would you like to eat? Yabu-sama is going to send for you soon."

"Yes, thank you. Many breakings?" he asked, pointing at the house.

"Excuse me, so sorry, but you should say, 'Was there much breakage?'"

"Was there much breakage?"

"No real damage, Anjin-san."

"Good. No hurtings?"

"Excuse me, so sorry, you should say, 'No one was hurt?'"

"Thank you. No one was hurt?"

"No, Anjin-san. No one was hurt."

Suddenly Blackthorne was sick of being continually corrected, so he terminated the conversation with an order. "I'm hunger. Food!"

"Yes, immediately. So sorry, but you should say, 'I'm hungry.' A person has hunger, but is hungry." She waited until he had said it correctly, then went away.

He sat on the veranda and watched Ueki-ya, the old gardener, tidying up the damage and the scattered leaves. He could see women and children repairing the village, and boats going to sea through the chop. Other villagers trudged off to the fields, the wind abating now. I wonder what taxes they have to pay, he asked himself. I'd hate to be a peasant here. Not only here-anywhere.

At first light he had been distressed by the apparent devastation of the village. "That storm'd hardly touch an English house," he had said to Mariko. "Oh, it was a gale all right, but not a bad one. Why don't you build out of stone or bricks?"

"Because of the earthquakes, Anjin-san. Any stone building would, of course, split and collapse and probably hurt or kill the inhabitants. With our style of building there's little damage. You'll see how quickly everything's put back together."

"Yes, but you've fire hazards. And what happens when the Great Winds come? The tai-funs?"

"It is very bad then."

She had explained about the tai-funs and their seasons-from June until September, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. And about the other natural catastrophes.

A few days ago there had been another tremor. It was slight. A kettle had fallen off the brazier and overturned it. Fortunately the coals had been smothered. One house in the village had caught fire but the fire did not spread. Blackthorne had never seen such efficient fire fighting. Apart from that, no one in the village had paid much attention. They had merely laughed and gone on with their lives.

"Why do people laugh?"

"We consider it very shameful and impolite to show strong feelings, particularly fear, so we hide them with a laugh or a smile. Of course we're all afraid, though we must never show it.

Some of you show it, Blackthorne thought.

Nebara Jozen had shown it. He had died badly, weeping with fear, begging for mercy, the killing slow and cruel. He had been allowed to run, then bayoneted carefully amidst laughter, then forced to run again, and hamstrung. Then he had been allowed to crawl away, then gutted slowly while he screamed, his blood dribbling with the phlegm, then left to die.

Next Naga had turned his attention to the other samurai. At once three of Jozen's men knelt and bared their bellies and put their short knives in front of them to commit ritual seppuku. Three of their comrades stood behind them as their seconds, long swords out and raised, two-handed, all of them now unmolested by Naga and his men. As the samurai who knelt reached out for their knives, they stretched their necks and the three swords flashed down and decapitated them with the single blow. Teeth chattered in the fallen heads, then were still. Flies swarmed.

Then two samurai knelt, the last man standing ready as second. The first of those kneeling was decapitated in the manner of his comrades as he reached for the knife. The other said, "No. I, Hirasaki Kenko, I know how to die-how a samurai should die."

Kenko was a lithe young man, perfumed and almost pretty, pale-skinned, his hair well oiled and very neat. He picked up his knife reverently and partially wrapped the blade with his sash to improve his grip.

"I protest Nebara Jozen-san's death and those of his men," he said firmly, bowing to Naga. He took a last look at the sky and gave his second a last reassuring smile. "Sayonara, Tadeo." Then he slid the knife deep into the left side of his stomach. He ripped it full across with both hands and took it out and plunged it deep again, just above his groin, and jerked it up in silence. His lacerated bowels spilled into his lap and as his hideously contorted, agonized face pitched forward, his second brought the sword down in a single slashing arc.

Naga personally picked up this head by the hair knot and wiped off the dirt and closed the eyes. Then he told his men to see that the head was washed, wrapped, and sent to Ishido with full honors, with a complete report on Hirasaki Kenko's bravery.