Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [438]
“Who, me? I haven’t said a thing. I’m not stopping you. Here, here’s your drink!”
“Thanks, Sonk. Well, Pilot, first they put us in a house to the west of the city—”
“Down near the fields it was.”
“Damnit, then you tell the story, Johann!”
“All right. Christ, Pilot, it was terrible. No grub or liquor and those God-cursed paper houses’re like living in a field—a man can’t take a piss or pick his nose, nothing without someone watching, eh? Yes, and the slightest noise’d bring the neighbors down on us, and samurai’d be at the stoop and who wants those bastards around, eh? They’d be shaking their God-cursed swords at us, shouting and hollering, telling us to keep quiet. Well, one night someone knocked over a candle and the monkeys were all pissed off to hell with us! Jesus God, you should’ve heard them! They came swarming out of the woodwork with buckets of water, God-cursed mad, hissing and bowing and cursing…. It was only one poxy wall that got burned down…. Hundreds of ’em swarmed over the house like cockroaches. Bastards! You’ve—”
“Get on with it!”
“You want to tell it?”
“Go on, Johann, don’t pay any attention to him. He’s only a shit-filled cook.”
“What!”
“Oh, shut up! For God’s sake!” Van Nekk hurriedly took up the tale once more. “The next day, Pilot, they marched us out of there and put us into another house in the wharf area. That was just as bad. Then some weeks later, Johann stumbled onto this place. He was the only one of us allowed out, because of the ship, at that time. They’d collect him daily and bring him back at sunset. He was out fishing—we’re only a few hundred yards upstream from the sea…. Best you tell it, Johann.”
Blackthorne felt an itch on his bare leg and he rubbed it without thinking. The irritation got worse. Then he saw the mottled lump of a flea bite as Vinck continued proudly, “It’s like Baccus said, Pilot. I asked Sato-sama if we could move and he said, yes, why not. They’d usually let me fish from one of their little skiffs to pass the time. It was my nose that led me here, Pilot. The old nose led me: blood!”
Blackthorne said, “A slaughterhouse! A slaughterhouse and tanning! That’s …” He stopped and blanched.
“What’s up? What is it?”
“This is an eta village? Jesus Christ, these people’re eta?”
“What’s wrong with eters?” van Nekk asked. “Of course they’re eters.”
Blackthorne waved at the mosquitoes that infested the air, his skin crawling. “Damn bugs. They’re—they’re rotten, aren’t they? There’s a tannery here, isn’t there?”
“Yes. A few streets up, why?”
“Nothing. I didn’t recognize the smell, that’s all.”
“What about eters?”
“I … I didn’t realize, stupid of me. If I’d seen one of the men I’d’ve known from their short hairstyle. With the women you’d never know. Sorry. Go on with the story, Vinck.”
“Well, then they said—”
Jan Roper interrupted, “Wait a minute, Vinck! What’s wrong, Pilot? What about eters?”
“It’s just that Japanese think of them as different. They’re the executioners, and work the hides and handle corpses.” He felt their eyes, Jan Roper’s particularly. “Eta work hides,” he said, trying to keep his voice careless, “and kill all the old horses and oxen and handle dead bodies.”
“But what’s wrong with that, Pilot? You’ve buried a dozen yourself, put ’em in shrouds, washed ’em—we all have, eh? We butcher our own meat, always have. Ginsel here’s been hangman…. What’s wrong with all that?”
“Nothing,” Blackthorne said, knowing it to be true yet feeling befouled even so.
Vinck snorted. “Eters’re the best heathen we’ve seen here. More like us than the other bastards. We’re God-cursed lucky to be here, Pilot, fresh meat’s no problem, or tallow—they give us no trouble.”
“That’s right. If you’ve lived with eters, Pilot …”
“Jesus Christ, the Pilot’s had to live with the other bastards all the time! He doesn’t know any better. How about fetching Big-Arse Mary, Sonk?”
“Or Twicklebum?”
“Shit, not her, not that old whore. The Pilot’ll want a special. Let’s ask mama-san….”
“I bet he’s starving for real grub! Hey, Sonk, cut him a slice of meat.”
“Have some more grog