Respect the gods and Buddhas but do not rely on them.

—Miyamoto Musashi, Go Rin no Sho

Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on.

—Luke 12:22

Paulo

When we arrived at the machi-bugyō’s headquarters, the police shoved me into a small cell without even bothering to untie my wrists, locked the door, and went away.

I leaned against the cell wall and tried to think. Everything had happened so fast. The secret police raid, the discovery of Estêvão’s Christian mementos, the threat of arrest. I hadn’t actually thought much about what I was doing—I just knew that the Christian items were there due to my carelessness in not removing them, and I couldn’t let Emiko bear the consequences of my mistakes. Despite my best efforts, the damned inspector had arrested her anyway, I was sure simply to spite me.

I had no idea of what to do next. It depended on what they wanted me to do. If they really thought I was a Christian, they would try to get me to step on a fumi-e, to “renounce” my Christianity. That didn’t worry me too much, I wasn’t really a Christian.

I had a sinking feeling that wasn’t what they were looking to do. The “evidence” they had of my Christianity was so weak—just a Buddhist icon and rosary, without even a cross. These men knew I was the grandson of the Tiger in the Shadows and arrested me anyway. It had to be connected to Estêvão’s death. They were making their move and had arrested me to keep me from discovering their plan. They believed they could act against Grandfather and get away with it. I felt like I was walking into an ambush blind. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get off with a light beating and a warning to leave town this time.

I had barely gotten started on worrying when noises down the hall announced approaching visitors. The door opened to reveal the samurai who had commanded the raid on the Confucius Academy. Four of his constables accompanied him. Without a word, two of them dragged me out of the room to a nearby area well-supplied with implements to encourage prisoners to confess.

The samurai looked at me for a time, then signaled one of the constables holding me. The constable slugged me in the stomach without warning.

“Oooof!”

The force of the blow knocked the wind out of me.

Just as the bruises from the last beating were starting to fade.

I bent double in pain, and as I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath, the Inspector leaned forward and said in my ear, “Now, are you ready to renounce your Christianity?”

After a few moments, I caught my breath and straightened up. “I am registered at the local Buddhist temple as required by law. I am not a Christian.” I said, between gasps.

Certainly not after everything I’ve done.

That turned out not to be the answer the Inspector was looking for. He signaled again.

“Oooof!”

When I could speak again, I asked, “Why are the secret police concerned with Christians? I thought it was the job of the Office of the Inquisitor to hunt Christians.” Another signal.

“Oooof!”

I focused on trying to breathe while the Inspector called, “Bring the fumi-e. We will see if he will step on it.”

I forced myself not to react. I knew he would be watching closely.

Step on a picture of Mary, Mother of God?

I expected this, but I didn’t want to do it. That surprised me. I had not considered myself a Christian for years, yet even the idea of stepping on the icon bothered me.

I told myself I had no choice. If I didn’t tread on the fumi-e, it would throw suspicion on my entire family. They would force my mother to do the same thing, and with her strong will, I didn’t know if she would agree to walk on the fumi-e or give herself over to martyrdom instead.

“Bring it. I will dance on it if that is what it takes to get out of here.” I said.

One of the constables whispered something to the inspector.

“The Workers Association? What is it doing there?” he shouted.

The constable wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Inspector Asano requested it.”

“Asano is an idiot! Get it back here!” he yelled.

The constable hurried off.

Composing himself, the inspector turned back to me. “You can end this right now if you confess. No doubt you realized the foolishness of these foreign beliefs many years ago,” he said gently, almost persuasively. “Just admit to being taught Christianity in your home and tell us your grandfather was aware of your illicit practices. Then, we will let you go. Nothing will happen to you or the rest of your family.”

“…your grandfather was aware…”

To know about Christian practices and not report it was punishable by death. They didn’t really think I was a Christian. They were after Grandfather.

The realization sent a chill up my spine.

I have found the people who killed Estêvão, but I don’t think I am going to get out of here alive.

“The Tiger in the Shadows, ignoring Christian practices?” I laughed. “Are we talking about the same old man? The one that had his two sons, my uncles, executed because they rebelled against the shogun? If he thought his mother was a Christian, he would have turned her over to the authorities without bothering to collect the reward.”

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The inspector’s jaw tightened. ”Put him on the soroban. We will see how much he laughs then,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

No!

My heart pounded, and I struggled to keep my breathing even. The soroban was a board, the top had deep, sharp edged grooves cut into it. The constables dragged me to the board and pushed me down onto it, forcing me to kneel, so I sat on my heels, the sharp edges of the grooves cutting into my knees and feet. They tied my back to a pillar attached to the board so I couldn’t move. It took all my strength to keep from screaming.

Focus on breathing, nothing else exists, just in … out …

They put four stones across my thighs to force my legs deeper into the sharp edges of the grooves.

… in … out …

One constable took a position by the door, the others left. The inspector turned around at the door, looking back at me with a smirk on his face. “I think we’ll get some tea, perhaps have a meal. Let us know when you are ready to confess.”

The years of training in meditation techniques allowed me to distance myself from the pain. Grandfather had even made me practice on the soroban before. Still, the sensations in my legs were excruciating. But, it was the worry about my family that occupied my thoughts with each agonizing moment.

I had attended more than one execution of Christians who refused to deny their faith. Now, my treacherous mind played back vivid memories of the punishments of those believers. However, in my visions, those anonymous believers had been replaced by my mother, Gracia, and the children as the figures tied to the wooden crosses to suffer and die from crucifixion.

Did Sai get there in time to warn them?

She might seem a bit flighty and immature, but she was also quite skilled. She got away from the police and over those walls. She must have reached my family.

If they had even a short warning, the family would know what to do. When I was a boy, we practiced monthly. Every member of the family had a job. Each of us had something to hide or destroy. Given even a slight bit of warning, there would be nothing identifiably Christian left in the house. It would work. They still practiced, didn’t they? They must have kept practicing.

My thoughts kept spinning in self-defeating circles of worry and panic, defeating my attempts to meditate.

There is nothing I can do. I am trapped here in the machi-bugyō’s headquarters, powerless to prevent their arrest. There is nothing, nothing I can do…

A whisper rose in the back of my mind. It spoke in Estêvão’s voice. “You will put faith in a young kunoichi, but not in God?”

Could I put my faith in God? My mother’s family had put their faith in God, and everyone but her had been killed. Tens of thousands of Christians had put their faith in God, but it had not saved them. What use was their faith?

Estêvão’s voice came to me again, “It gained them salvation and the Kingdom of God.”

If man fails, there is always God. They will have salvation.

I tried to thrust aside the insidious images of my family tortured and racked my brain for the long-forgotten phrases and forms from my youth. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, but the words wouldn’t come. The phrases eluded me. Finally, I gave a simple, heartfelt prayer—only in my mind, but I was sure the Lord would understand why I couldn’t speak out loud.

“Help them, Heavenly Father. Please, help them. Amen.”

That was the best I could manage through the pain. I opened my eyes, wondering if there were any chance my prayer would be heard, and if God heard it, if there were any chance he would answer it.

I waited for what seemed a long time but was probably no longer than it took to take a few breaths. There was a ruckus down the hallway, and voices raised in argument. “He was carrying a commission from the secret police, signed by his grandfather! Who brought the Tiger in the Shadows out of retirement? Does someone in the bakufu suspect us? We need to find out what he and his grandfather know.”

Footsteps approached the door. The lock was opened, and the door slid aside. A samurai accompanied by two bodyguards peered into the room from out in the hall. He was wearing some of the finest clothing I had ever seen—his kimono decorated with the family crest of the Tokugawa, the shogun’s own clan. He leaned over and whispered something to one of the bodyguards. The bodyguard bowed and walked back in the direction of the entrance. The well-dressed samurai looked familiar—it came to me. Tokugawa Goro, the machi-bugyō of the South! He had made a donation to the shrine of Hachiman during the matsuri I attended with my family.

Policemen came in, unstrapped the weights from my legs, hauled me off the soroban, and yanked me to my feet. One of them cut the bonds around my wrists. I leaned against the wall, unable to support myself because of the pain and weakness in my legs. I rubbed my wrists, my arms tingling as feeling slowly returned to my hands and fingers. After a time, I was able to stand without leaning against the wall. The policemen led me outside the cell where the machi-bugyō awaited me.

He cleared his throat. “Maeda-san, there appears to have been some mixup here. I am Tokugawa Goro, machi-bugyō of the South. I can’t get a clear explanation of why you were arrested, but there is no reason why you should stay locked up here. If you will just answer a few questions, I am sure everything can be smoothed over.” The voice was the same as I had heard speaking in the hallway, asking about my secret police commission.

So, the machi-bugyō is involved. Grandfather told Akiyo-sensei the rice merchants would not dare cross the Tiger in the Shadows. I will bet the machi-bugyō would, though. And he clearly has something to hide.

A white-hot rage flowed into me. “How do you plan to smooth over murder and conspiracy?” On a hunch, I added, “I know you killed my brother when he found out about your arrangement with the rice merchants.”

The machi-bugyō’s face froze. He struggled to keep his voice even. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Come, let us move to another room where we can discuss things like civilized men. I will have some saké brought for us.”

I continued on, ignoring his words. “My grandfather is probably communicating with his contacts in the bakufu right now, telling them all about your criminal behavior. And how you murdered my brother.”

He started to speak again, “This is all a terrible—”

I shouted at him, “I cannot live under the same sky as my brother’s murderer!”

His patience finally reached its limit. “Take this dog and throw him back in the cell,” he shouted at the policemen. “Maybe some time in the dark will make him reconsider his actions.”

Two constables grabbed my arms and marched me back to my original cell. They thrust me inside and I stumbled into the wall, tripping and falling to my knees as the door slid shut and the padlock clicked closed.

There was a small window in the door. I stood and looked outside. A constable was standing guard outside my cell.

My overstressed legs finally gave out and I collapsed on the filthy floor. In the dim light from the lantern in the hall, I examined them. My knees and shins had been cut up by the sharp edges of the soroban, but the cuts weren’t deep and had almost stopped bleeding. Everything else seemed fine, although my muscles were terribly weak and threatened to cramp up at the slightest exertion. I sat facing the door with my back leaning against the wall.

I gave a short prayer of thanks for my release from the torture device. I didn’t know it was an answer to prayer, but I didn’t know it wasn’t. It would be nice to think God was helping me since I couldn’t do much myself.

I pondered the machi-bugyō’s words to me. I wondered if he would have really let me go, or if my temper and big mouth had condemned me to death. Grandfather had always said the combination of the two would be the death of me someday. I would hate to think the old man was right. Again.

I stared out the window in the door and thought about what was happening.

Since the machi-bugyō was so worried about Grandfather, does that mean the secret police didn’t find anything at the house? Or does it just mean their men haven’t returned yet and no one knows what they found?

My speculations were pointless, but I couldn’t keep myself from wondering.