Ceremoniously the Japanese bowed, Sir William and the others raised their hats.
Ritually they conducted the Japanese to the large audience hall, trying to restrain their amusement at their outlandish costumes: small black lacquered hats set square on their shaven pates and tied elaborately under their chins, the vast shouldered overgarments, multicolored ceremonial silk kimonos, voluminous pantaloons, thong sandals and shoe socks split between the toes--tabi--fans in their belts and the inevitable two swords. "Those hats aren't big enough to piss in," the Russian said.
Sir William sat in the center of one line of chairs with the Ministers, Phillip Tyrer on one end to balance the delegation. The Bakufu took the opposite row, interpreters on cushions in between. After lengthy discussion they agreed on five guards each. These men stood behind their masters and eyed each other suspiciously.
Following strict protocol the adversaries introduced themselves. Toranaga Yoshi was last: "Tomo Watanabe, junior official, second class," he said, pretending a humbleness he did not feel, and took the lowest position at the end of the row, his clothes less elaborate than those of the others who, with all guards, had been commanded on pain of punishment to treat him as the least important official here.
He settled himself, feeling strange. How ugly these enemies are, he was thinking, how ridiculous and laughable with their tall hats, outlandish boots and ugly, heavy black clothes --no wonder they stink!
Sir William said carefully and simply: "An Englishman has been murdered by Satsuma samurai..."
By five o'clock European tempers were frayed, the Japanese still polite, smiling, outwardly imperturbable. In a dozen different ways their spokesman claimed that... so sorry but they had no jurisdiction over the Satsuma, or knowledge of the murderers or any way to find them, but yes, it was a regrettable affair but no, they did not know how to obtain reparations but yes, under some circumstances reparations might be sought but no, the Shogun was not available but yes, the Shogun would be pleased to grant an audience when he returned, but no, not in the foreseeable future but yes, we will immediately petition for an exact day, but no, it could not be this month because his present whereabouts are not known for certain, but yes, it would be as soon as possible but no, the next meeting and all meetings should not take place in Yedo, but yes in Kanagawa but so sorry, not this month, perhaps next, but no so sorry we do not have authority...
Every point had to be translated from English to Dutch to Japanese--as usual to be discussed at length by them--then pedantically resubmitted into Dutch into English with an inevitable homily, and ever polite requests for explanations on the most trivial point.
Yoshi found the whole proceeding vastly interesting, never having been near gai-jin en masse or attended a meeting where unequals, astonishingly, discussed policy and did not listen and obey.
Three of the other four were genuine though unimportant Bakufu officials. All had used false names, a normal custom when dealing with aliens. The imposter, who secretly spoke English, sat beside Yoshi. His name was Misamoto. Yoshi had ordered him to remember everything, to tell him discreetly of anything important not translated accurately, otherwise to keep his mouth shut. He was a felon under sentence of death.
When Yoshi had sent for him the day before yesterday, Misamoto had at once prostrated himself, shaking with fear.
"Get up and sit over there." Yoshi pointed with his fan to the edge of the tatami platform on which he sat.
Misamoto obeyed instantly. He was a small man with slitted eyes and long, grizzled hair and beard, the sweat running down his face, his clothes coarse and almost rags, hands callused and his skin the color of dark honey.
"You will tell me the truth: your interrogators report that you speak English?"' "Yes, Lord."
"You were born in Anjiro in Izu and have been to the land called America?"' "Yes, Lord."
"How long were you there?"' "Almost four years, Lord."
"Where in America?"' "San Francisco, Lord."
"What is San'frensiska?"' "A big city, Lord."
"Just there?"' "Yes, Lord."
Yoshi studied him, needing information quickly. He could see that the man was desperate to please but at the same time frightened to death, of him and of the guards who had hustled him in and shoved his head to the ground.
So he decided to try a different approach.
He dismissed the guards and got up and leaned on the windowsill, looking at the city. "Tell me, quickly, in your own words what happened to you."
"I was a fisherman in the village of Anjiro in Izu, Lord, where I was born thirty-three years ago, Lord." Misamoto began at once--obviously the tale told a hundred times before. "Nine years ago I was fishing with six others in my boat, a few ri offshore, but we were caught in a sudden storm that quickly became a great one and we were blown before it for thirty days or more, eastwards, out into the great sea, hundreds of ri, perhaps a thousand, Sire.
During this time, three of my companions were washed overboard. Then the sea became calm but our sails had been ripped to pieces and there was no food and no water. The three of us fished but caught nothing, there was no water to drink... One of us went mad and jumped into the sea and began to swim to an island he thought he saw and drowned quickly. We saw no land or ship, just water.
Many days later the other man, my friend Ishii, died and I was alone. Then one day I thought I had died because I saw this strange ship that went along without sails and seemed to be on fire, but it was just a paddle steamer, American, going from Hong Kong to San Francisco. They rescued me, gave me food and treated me as one of them --I was petrified, Lord, but they shared their food and drink and clothed me..."
"This American ship took you to this San place? What happened then?"' Misamoto told how he had been put with a brother of the Captain of this ship, a ship's chandler, to learn the language and do odd jobs until the authorities decided what to do with him.
He lived with this family for about three years, working in their shop and in the port. One day, he was taken before an important official called Natow who questioned him closely, then told him he was to be sent with the warship Missouri to Shimoda to be an interpreter for Consul Townsend Harris who was already in Japan negotiating a Treaty.
By this time he wore Western clothes and had learn some Western ways.
"I accepted happily, Sire, certain I could be helpful here, specially helpful to the Bakufu. On the ninth day of the eighth month of the year 1857 by their counting, five years ago, sire, we hove to off Shimoda in Izu, my home village not far north, Sire. The moment I was ashore I obtained permission to leave for a day and set off at once, Lord, to report to the nearest guard house to find the nearest Bakufu official believing I would be welcome because of the knowledge I had got... But the barrier guards would not ..." Misamoto's face twisted with anguish.
"But they wouldn't listen to me, Sire, or understand ... they bound me and dragged me to Yedo... that was about five years ago, Lord, and ever since I've been treated like a criminal, confined like one though not in prison and I keep explaining and explaining I'm not a spy but a loyal man of Izu and what had happened to me..."
To Yoshi's disgust, tears began streaming down the man's face. He cut the whimpering short.
"Stop it! Do you or do you not know it is forbidden, by Law, to leave Nippon without permission?"' "Yes, Lord but I th--"' "And do you know under the same law, if broken, whatever the reason, whoever he or she is, the lawbreaker is forbidden to return on pain of death?"' "Oh yes, Sire, yes yes I did but, but I did not think it would include me, Sire, I thought I'd be welcomed and valuable and I'd been blown out to sea. It was the storm th--"' "A law is a law. This law is a good law. It prevents contamination. You consider you have been treated unfairly?"' "Oh no, Lord," Misamoto said hastily, wiping his tears away, with even greater fear, bowing his head to the tatami, "Please excuse me, I beg your forgiveness, please ex--"' "Just answer the questions. How fluent is your English?"' "I... I understand and speak some American English, Sire."