Free Silence by Shusaku Endo

just what Mokichi reported to me. They were split into two factions: one faction insisted that the two of us should move off to a different location, the other said that the village ought to shelter us, come what may. There were even some who said that Garrpe and myself were responsible for the evil that had befallen the village. In the midst of all this Mokichi, Ichizo and Omatsu displayed an unwavering faith. No matter what happened they would protect the priests—such was their stand.
    This confusion gave the authorities the chance they were looking for. On June 8th they adopted a new approach. This time it was not a ferocious-looking samurai on horseback who came but an old samurai with smiling face, accompanied by four or five followers. He advised the people to weigh the matter carefully, thinking of the pros and cons of the whole thing. He indicated that whoever would honestly reveal the names of the adherents of this Christian sect would obtain a reduction in taxation in the coming years. For these destitute farmers the thought of a tax reduction must have been alluring indeed; yet they overcame the temptation.
    ‘If you take such a firm stand, I suppose there is nothing for me but to believe you,’ said the old man as he laughingly looked back at his followers. ‘And yet I must ask my Superiors which is right—your statement or that of our informer. So we need a hostage. From your number please select three men and send them to Nagasaki tomorrow. Since I am quite confident that you are doing nothing wrong, there is nothing to worry about.’
    In his voice there was not the slightest hint of intimidation, but everyone knew that it was a trap. And so the men of Tomogi spent that night debating fiercely as to who should be sent to the magistrate’s headquarters at Nagasaki. The men selected might never return. Small wonder that even the Tossama and the others who held office flinched. Gathering together in a dark farm house the peasants scrutinized one another keenly. Each seemed to be asking himself secretly how he could escape this terrible role.
    The name of Kichijirō was mentioned. Probably the reasons for this were, firstly, that he was in a sense a stranger—not a native of Tomogi; and secondly many harbored the deep feeling that the whole catastrophe had occurred just because of him. Poor weakling! When he saw what was happening he fell into the most terrible confusion and began to cry. Finally he broke into abusive language against everyone around. But the others argued that they would have to abandon their wives and children. ‘You don’t belong to this village,’ they said. ‘The officials won’t cross-examine you so severely. Please go in our place.’ With clasped hands they entreated him, until finally from sheer weakness he could no longer refuse. So it was decided that he should go.
    ‘Let me go too.’ It was Ichizo who suddenly spoke up. Everyone gasped in amazement. Could this be the silent, stubborn Ichizo they knew so well?
    And then it was Mokichi’s turn. He would join the other two, he said.
    9th. From morning a light, drizzling rain had kept falling. The trees in front of our hut could scarcely be seen, wrapped as they were in the grey mist. The three climbed up to the wood. Mokichi seemed a little excited. Ichizo, his eyes narrowed as always, was sullen and silent. Behind the other two was Kichijirō looking like a whipped dog, pitifully glaring at me with eyes that seemed filled with resentment.
    ‘Father, if we are ordered to trample on the fumie.   … ’ Mokichi, head hanging, mumbled the words as though he was talking to himself. it’s not only a matter that concerns us. If we don’t trample, everyone in the village will be cross-examined. What are we to do?’
    At this, such a feeling of pity welled up within my breast that without thinking I gave an answer that I know you would never give. I thrust from my mind the memory of how Father Gabriel, during the persecution at