June 24th

June 24th is the day when the water punishment of Mokichi and Ichizo reaches its end, a date that crystallizes the novel's central crisis of faith. The two Japanese Christians, bound to stakes at the water's edge since June 22nd, have endured two full days of immersion as the tide rises and falls. By June 24th, the drizzle continues all day, and the shore, enveloped by rain, stretches out wearily like a sunken desert. No "gentile" spectators come from the neighbourhood. When the tide recedes, only the solitary stakes remain in the distance, and it becomes impossible to distinguish between the stakes and the men: Mokichi and Ichizo adhere to the stakes in such a way that they become part of them. The only indication that they are still alive is the dark moaning of a voice which sounds like that of Mokichi. The moaning sometimes ceases; Mokichi has not even the strength to encourage himself with a hymn like that of the previous day. Yet after an hour of silence the voice is again brought to the ears of the people by the wind. Hearing this sound, like that of an animal, the peasants tremble and weep. In the afternoon the tide gradually comes in again; the black, cold colour of the sea deepens; the stakes seem to sink into the water. The white foaming waves, swirling past the stakes, break on the sand, a white bird skimming over the surface of the sea flies far, far away. And with this all is over. They are martyred, but what a martyrdom! Rodrigues had long read about martyrdom in the lives of the saints—how the souls of the martyrs had gone home to Heaven, how they had been filled with glory in Paradise, how the angels had blown trumpets. This was the splendid martyrdom he had often seen in his dreams. But the martyrdom of the Japanese Christians he now describes is no such glorious thing. What a miserable and painful business it is! The rain falls unceasingly on the sea. And the sea which killed them surges on uncannily—in silence. In the evening the officials again arrive on horseback. At their command, the guards gather damp pieces of wood and, removing the bodies of Mokichi and Ichizo from the stakes, begin to burn them. This they do to prevent the Christians from bringing home the remains for veneration. When the bodies are reduced to ashes, they throw them into the sea. The flame they had kindled flares red and black in the breeze; the smoke flows over the sandy beach while the people, without the slightest movement, vacantly watch its undulations. When all is over, heads hanging like cows, they shuffle back to their homes. Today, while writing his letter, Rodrigues sometimes goes out of his hut to look down at the sea, the grave of these two Japanese peasants who believed his word. The sea only stretches out endlessly, melancholy and dark, while below the grey clouds there is not the shadow of an island. He knows what his readers will say: "Their death was not meaningless. It was a stone which in time will be the foundation of the Church; and the Lord never gives us a trial which we cannot overcome. Mokichi and Ichizo are with the Lord. Like the numerous Japanese martyrs who have gone before, they now enjoy everlasting happiness." He also is convinced of all this. And yet, why does this feeling of grief remain in his heart? Why does the song of the exhausted Mokichi, bound to the stake, gnaw constantly at his heart: "We're on our way, we're on our way to the temple of Paradise, to the temple of Paradise… to the great Temple…" He has heard from the people of Tomogi that many Christians when dragged off to the place of execution sang this hymn—a melody filled with dark sadness. Life in this world is too painful for these Japanese peasants. Only by relying on "the temple of Paradise" have they been able to go on living. Such is the sadness which fills this song. He does not quite understand what he wants to say. Only that today, when for the glory of God Mokichi and Ichizo moaned, suffered and died, he cannot bear the monotonous sound of the dark sea gnawing at the shore. Behind the depressing silence of this sea, the silence of God—the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent. This may well be his last report. The morning after, he gets word that the guards are getting ready to comb the mountains. Before this search can get under way, he and Garrpe restore the hut to its original condition and do away with every trace of their hiding there. They leave the hut, and after long discussion decide to part company. Rodrigues boards a separate little ship and leaves Tomogi, heading in the direction of Hirado. In the pitch darkness he cannot even see Garrpe; they do not even have time to say goodbye. Left all alone, he trembles from head to foot—it seems that his body is outside the control of his will. Were he to say that this moment was not filled with dread he would be telling a lie. No matter how strong one's faith, physical fear can overwhelm one completely. When he was with Garrpe they could at least share their fear as one shares bread, breaking it in two; but now he is all alone in the black sea of the night and must take upon himself the cold and the darkness and everything else. He wonders if all the Japanese missionaries have felt such terror. And then somehow or other the mouse-like face of Kichijiro, filled with terror, rises up in his imagination. Yes, that cowardly wretch who had trampled on the fumie at Nagasaki and fled. Were he an ordinary Christian, not a priest, would he have fled in the same way? What keeps him going now might be his self-respect and his priestly sense of duty. He calls out to the young man at the oars, asking him for water, but the young man makes no answer. He begins to understand that ever since that martyrdom the people of Tomogi regard him as a foreigner who had brought disaster to them all—a terrible burden to them. Probably this young man would like to be relieved of the task of rowing him across the waters. To dampen his parched tongue he begins to suck his fingers, wet with sea water, and he thinks of Christ nailed to the Cross and the taste of vinegar in his mouth.