The Smile of the Gods

One spring evening, Padre Organtino was walking alone in the garden of the Southern Barbarian Temple, trailing the hem of his long abito, his cassock, behind him.

In the garden, among pines and cypresses, grew roses, olives, laurels, and other Western plants. The roses, just beginning to bloom, let a faintly sweet fragrance drift through the evening light, which dimmed the trees. It seemed to lend the stillness of the garden a strange charm, something almost impossible to believe belonged to Japan.

Organtino walked sadly along the little red-sand path, idly lost in memory. The great mother church in Rome, the harbor of Lisbon, the sound of the viol, the taste of almonds, the hymn "Lord, mirror of my soul"... Such recollections had, before he knew it, brought the sorrow of homesickness into the heart of this fair-haired monk. To drive that sorrow away, he softly uttered the holy name of Deus. But not only did the sadness fail to vanish, it spread through his breast more heavily than before, like oppressive air.

"This country's scenery is beautiful..."

Organtino reflected.

"This country's scenery is beautiful. Its climate, too, is fairly mild. The natives... well, compared with those little yellow-faced men, perhaps even blackamoors might be preferable, yet these people too are, in general, approachable by temperament. More than that, the number of believers has lately grown to many tens of thousands. Here, in the very center of the capital, stands such a church as this. If that is so, then living here ought not to be unpleasant, even if it is not exactly delightful. And yet at times I sink into the depths of melancholy. There are times when I want to return to the city of Lisbon, to leave this country behind. Is that only homesickness? No. Even if it were not Lisbon, if only I could leave this country, I feel I would gladly go anywhere. China, Siam, India... In other words, homesickness is not the whole of my gloom. I simply feel I must escape this country as soon as possible. And yet... and yet this country's scenery is beautiful. Its climate, too, is fairly mild..."

Organtino sighed. At that moment, his eye happened to catch the pale white cherry blossoms scattered here and there upon the moss beneath the trees. Cherry blossoms! Startled, Organtino stared into the dim grove. There, among four or five palm trees, stood a single weeping cherry, its drooping branches hazed with flowers like something from a dream.

"Lord, protect me!"

For an instant, Organtino was about to make the sign of the cross against evil. In that moment, the drooping cherry blooming in the dusk had truly seemed that uncanny to him. Uncanny... or rather, for some reason, the cherry tree looked to him like Japan itself, something that filled him with unease. But a moment later, realizing there was nothing mysterious about it at all, that it was only a cherry tree, he gave an embarrassed smile and quietly turned his weary steps back along the path he had come.

× × ×

Half an hour later, he was in the sanctuary of the Southern Barbarian Temple, offering prayers to Deus. There was nothing there but a lamp hanging from the domed ceiling. In its light, on the frescoed walls surrounding the sanctuary, Saint Michael was contending with the devils of hell over the corpse of Moses. Yet tonight, whether because of the indistinct light or not, not only the valiant archangel but even the roaring devils looked somehow more graceful than usual. Perhaps that was also due to the fresh roses and broom flowers laid before the altar, which filled the air with their scent. Behind that altar, with his head bowed low, he fervently prayed:

"Namu, most merciful and compassionate Lord Deus Tathagata! Since the day I set sail from Lisbon, I have offered my life up to you. Therefore, no matter what hardships I have encountered, I have advanced without flinching a step, so that the glory of the Cross might shine forth. Of course, this has not been by my strength alone. It has all been through your grace, O Lord of Heaven and Earth. But while living in this Japan, I have gradually begun to understand how difficult my mission truly is. In this country, in its mountains and forests, even in its towns lined with houses, some mysterious power lies hidden. And in the darkness it obstructs my mission. Otherwise I should not, as I have lately, sink into a bottomless melancholy for no reason at all. What that power is, I do not know. But whatever it is, it runs through this whole land like an underground spring. Unless that power is first broken, oh, most merciful and compassionate Lord Deus Tathagata, the Japanese, sunk in false faith, may never behold the splendor of Paradise. For that reason, these past days I have been piling anguish upon anguish. I beg you, grant your servant Organtino courage and patience..."

At that moment, Organtino thought he heard a rooster crow. But he paid it no mind and continued his prayer.

"To fulfill my mission, I must fight the power hidden in this country's mountains and rivers... perhaps even spirits invisible to human eyes. Long ago, you cast the armies of Egypt to the bottom of the Red Sea. The strength of the spirits in this country is surely no less than that of Egypt's armies. I pray that, like the prophets of old, I too in battle against these spirits..."

Before he knew it, the words of prayer had vanished from his lips. This time a piercing crowing suddenly sounded near the altar. Organtino looked around suspiciously. There, directly behind him, stood a rooster with its white tail trailing down, chest thrust out upon the altar, crowing once more as if dawn had broken in the middle of the night.

Organtino leapt up and at once spread out both sleeves of his cassock, trying in confusion to chase the bird away. But after taking only two or three steps, he cried out, "Lord!" in broken accents and stood rooted to the spot in stupefaction. The dim sanctuary was filled, who knew from where or when they had come, with countless roosters. Some flew through the air, some darted to and fro, until as far as his eyes could see everything had become a sea of combs.

"Lord, protect me!"

Again he tried to make the sign of the cross. But strangely enough, his hand would not move freely, as though it had been clamped in a vise. Meanwhile, throughout the sanctuary, a red glow like the light of a wood fire began to pour in from nowhere. Gasping, Organtino saw that as the light spread, figures in human form began dimly to emerge all around him.

The figures swiftly grew clear. They were an unfamiliar group of men and women, all simple and rustic in appearance. Each wore strings of beads around the neck, and all laughed and reveled merrily. As their forms sharpened, the countless roosters crowding the sanctuary crowed still louder than before. At the same time, the sanctuary walls, the walls painted with Saint Michael, were swallowed away into the night like mist. In their place...

Japan's Bacchanalia drifted before the stunned Organtino like a mirage. In the red flicker of bonfires he saw Japanese men and women in ancient dress seated in a circle, passing cups of wine to one another. In the center was a woman, a woman of a magnificent build such as he had never yet seen in Japan, dancing wildly atop an overturned tub. Behind the tub towered a sturdy man, also powerfully built, solemnly holding upright a freshly uprooted sakaki branch from which hung jewels and mirrors. Around them hundreds of roosters rubbed tail feathers and combs together, crowing continuously in evident delight. And beyond them... now more than ever Organtino could scarcely believe his eyes... beyond them, in the night mist, loomed a single massive rock like the door of a cave.

The woman upon the tub danced on and on without stopping. The vine wound through her hair fluttered in the air. The jewels hanging at her neck rang out again and again like hail. The bamboo spray in her hand slashed the air in every direction. And her exposed breasts! In the red light of the bonfire, those two breasts shining into view seemed to Organtino to be desire itself. Calling upon Deus in his mind, he tried with all his might to turn his face away. But still, by what mysterious spell he could not tell, even moving his body was no easy thing.

Then suddenly silence fell over the phantom men and women. The woman on the tub too seemed at last to come to her senses and stopped her frenzied dance. Even the roosters, which had been crowing competitively, stretched out their necks and all at once became still. In that silence, the voice of an eternally beautiful woman came solemnly from somewhere.

"If I remain hidden here, the world should be wrapped in darkness. And yet the gods seem to be laughing and making merry."

When that voice faded into the night sky, the woman standing upon the tub glanced lightly over the assembly and answered with unexpected gentleness:

"That is because there is now a new god, one who has even surpassed you, and they rejoice together on that account."

That new god might have meant Deus. For a brief moment, Organtino took heart from the thought and watched the strange change in this apparition with renewed interest.

The silence remained unbroken for some time. But then, just as the flock of roosters let out a united crow, the huge slab like the door of a cave, which had held back the night mist beyond, slowly began to open to right and left. And from that cleft there surged forth, in unspeakable streams, a flood of radiant mist-light.

Organtino tried to cry out. But his tongue would not move. He tried to flee. But his feet too would not move. He felt only a violent dizziness brought on by the vast brilliance. And within that light he heard the rejoicing voices of multitudes of men and women rising heavenward in swelling waves.

"Great Sun Lord! Great Sun Lord! Great Sun Lord!"

"There is no new god. There is no new god."

"Whoever defies you shall perish."

"Behold, the darkness vanishes away."

"As far as the eye can see, they are your mountains, your forests, your rivers, your towns, your seas."

"There is no new god. Everyone, all of them, are your servants."

"Great Sun Lord! Great Sun Lord! Great Sun Lord!"

As those cries surged upward, Organtino, drenched in cold sweat, let out one anguished cry and at last collapsed there....

It was near the third watch that same night when Organtino finally recovered consciousness from the depths of his faint. The voices of the gods still seemed to ring in his ears. But when he looked about him, the sanctuary was silent, devoid of any human sound, and the lamp hanging from the dome cast its dim light upon the murals exactly as before. Groaning, Organtino slowly moved away from behind the altar. What meaning the vision had, he could not comprehend. But at least one thing was certain: whatever had shown him that vision, it was not Deus.

"To fight the spirits of this country..."

As he walked, Organtino found himself murmuring softly to himself.

"To fight the spirits of this country may be even more difficult than I thought. Whether I shall win, or instead lose..."

Just then, something sent this whisper into his ear:

"Lose."

Organtino peered uneasily toward the direction of the voice. But there was nothing there except the same dim roses and broom flowers as before; no human figure was to be seen.

× × ×

The next evening too, Organtino was walking in the garden of the Southern Barbarian Temple. But there was now a somewhat cheerful light in his blue eyes. That was because during the course of that day, three or four Japanese samurai had joined the ranks of the faithful.

The olives and laurels in the garden stood silently in the deepening dusk. Only the flutter of wings in the air, as the temple pigeons returned to the eaves, disturbed that silence. The scent of roses, the dampness of the sand, everything was peaceful like the twilight of ancient days, when winged angels, "seeing that the daughters of men were fair," descended to seek wives.

"It seems that before the glory of the Cross, even the foul spirits of Japan can hardly hope to claim victory after all. But the vision I saw last night? No, that was no more than an illusion. Did not the Devil show such visions even to the holy Father Antonio? The proof is that today several believers appeared at once. Before long, throughout this country too, churches of the Lord will surely be built everywhere."

Thinking this, Organtino walked along the little red-sand path. Then someone lightly tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He turned at once. But behind him there was only the evening light drifting faintly over the young leaves of the plane trees that lined the path.

"Lord, protect me!"

After murmuring this, he slowly turned his head back again. And at his side, having crept up there without his noticing, was an old man with beads wound around his neck, just as in the vision of the night before, his figure faint and mist-like as he quietly kept pace beside him.

"Who are you?"

Caught off guard, Organtino stopped where he was.

"I am... it does not matter who. One of the spirits of this country."

Smiling, the old man answered in a friendly tone.

"Come, let us walk together. I have come out so that I may speak with you for a while."

Organtino made the sign of the cross. But the old man showed not the slightest fear of that gesture.

"I am not a devil. Look at these jewels and this sword. If they had been scorched in the flames of hell, they would not be so pure. Come now, stop muttering spells."

Having no choice, Organtino folded his arms in displeasure and began walking along with the old man.

"You have come here to spread the faith of the Lord..."

The old man began to speak quietly.

"That may not be a bad thing in itself. But even Deus, once he comes to this country, will surely lose in the end."

"Deus is the almighty Lord, so for Deus to..."

Organtino began to say this, then suddenly, as if recollecting himself, shifted into the polite tone he always used with the believers of this country.

"There can be nothing that overcomes Deus."

"And yet in truth there is. Listen. Deus was not the only one who came over the sea to this country. Confucius, Mencius, Chuang-tzu... many sages came here from China. And in those days this country had only just been born. The sages of China brought not only the Way but silks from Wu, jewels from Qin, and all manner of things besides. Indeed, more precious than such treasures, they even brought marvelous writing. But was China thereby able to conquer us? Look, for example, at writing. Instead of conquering us, writing was conquered for our sake. Among the natives I once knew there was a poet called Kakinomoto no Hitomaro. His poem of Tanabata remains in this country even now. Read it, and you will not find the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl there. The lovers sung in it are, to the very end, Hikoboshi and Tanabatatsume. What sounded at their pillows was the pure rush of Heaven's River, like the streams of this country itself, not the roar of the Milky Way like China's Yellow River or Yangtze. But it is writing, rather than poetry, that I must speak of. To record that poem, Hitomaro used Chinese characters. Yet they were used not for meaning but for sound. Even after the character for boat had entered this land, fune was always still fune. Otherwise our language itself might have become Chinese. That, of course, was due less to Hitomaro than to the power of us gods of this country, who guarded Hitomaro's heart. Nor was it only writing. The Chinese sages also transmitted the art of calligraphy to this land. Kukai, Dofu, Sari, Yukinari... I would often go unseen to where they were. The models they copied were all Chinese hands. Yet from the tips of their brushes a new beauty gradually came into being. Before long their writing ceased to be Wang Xizhi or Chu Suiliang and became Japanese writing. But it was not only in writing that we prevailed. Our breath, like a sea wind, softened even the teachings of the old Confucian scholars. Ask the people of this land. They all believe that Mencius's book, because it too easily offends our anger, will overturn any ship that carries it. The god Shinatobe has not once actually played such a prank. Yet even in such beliefs you ought to be able to sense, however dimly, the power of us who dwell in this country. Do you not think so?"

Organtino stared blankly back at the old man's face. Being unfamiliar with the history of this country, he could not properly follow more than half of the old man's eloquence.

"After the Chinese sages came Prince Siddhartha of India..."

As he continued speaking, the old man plucked a rose blooming by the path and happily smelled its fragrance. Yet though the rose had been plucked, the blossom still remained whole on the branch. Only the flower in the old man's hand, though identical in color and form, seemed somehow hazy, like mist.

"The Buddha's fate was much the same. But to explain such things one by one would perhaps only weary you further. The one thing I would ask you to note is the doctrine of honji suijaku. That doctrine led the natives of this country to think that the Great Sun Lord and Dainichi Nyorai were one and the same. Was that the victory of the Great Sun Lord? Or the victory of Dainichi Nyorai? Suppose there are many in this country today who know nothing of the Great Sun Lord but do know Dainichi Nyorai. Even so, in the figure of Dainichi Nyorai that appears in their dreams, is it not the Great Sun Lord, rather than the face of an Indian Buddha, that can be glimpsed? I walk even beneath the flowers of the sala trees beside Shinran and Nichiren. The Buddha they adored with joy and longing is no dark-skinned one ringed with light. He is kin rather to Prince Shotoku, filled with gentle majesty. But as promised, let us not go on at tedious length about such matters. What I mean to tell you, simply, is this: no one who comes to this country, not even Deus, can prevail here."

"Now wait a moment. You may say that, but..."

Organtino broke in.

"Why, only today two or three samurai embraced the faith all at once."

"Anyone would convert to it. If all you mean is conversion in name alone, then most of the natives of this country have already converted to the teachings of Siddhartha. But our power is not the power to destroy. It is the power to remake."

The old man tossed a rose. The instant it left his hand, it vanished into the evening light.

"So, the power to remake? But surely that is not something that belongs only to you. In every country, for example, even the demons in that land they called the gods of Greece..."

"Great Pan is dead. Or perhaps Pan too may someday rise again. But as you see, we are still alive."

Organtino cast a sidelong glance at the old man's face, intrigued.

"You know Pan?"

"Why, I read about him in one of those foreign books, brought back from the West by the sons of a daimyo from those parts. But that aside, even if this power to remake is not ours alone, you must still be on your guard. No, rather, precisely because it is not ours alone, I would tell you to be careful. We are old gods, you see. Like those gods of Greece, we are gods who saw the dawn of the world."

"But Deus is bound to win."

Stubbornly, Organtino declared the same thing once more. But the old man, as if he had not heard him, went on speaking slowly.

"Just four or five days ago, I met a Greek sailor who had landed on the western shore of this country. He was no god, only an ordinary man. Sitting with him on a rock in the moonlight, I heard many stories: of a one-eyed god who seized him, of a goddess who turned men into swine, of beautiful-voiced mermaids.... Do you know that man's name? From the moment he met me, he became one of this country's natives. Now, they say, he calls himself Yuriwaka. So you too must be careful. It cannot be said that Deus will certainly win. No matter how far Christianity spreads, it cannot be said that it will certainly win."

The old man's voice grew lower and lower.

"It may even be that Deus himself will be changed into a native of this land. China changed. India changed. The West too must change. We are in the trees. We are in the shallow streams. We are in the wind that passes over the roses. We are in the evening light lingering on the temple walls. We are everywhere, and always. Be careful. Be careful...."

Just as his voice finally died away, the old man's figure also disappeared into the gathering dusk, vanishing like a shadow. At the same moment, from the temple tower, the bells of the Ave Maria began to ring above the frowning Organtino.

x x x

Padre Organtino of Nanban Temple, or rather, not Organtino alone: the high-nosed red-haired foreigners, drawing the hems of their habits with easy grace, went back out of a pair of folding screens, from among imaginary laurels and roses bathed in twilight light. Back into an old screen from three centuries ago, painted with a scene of a Southern Barbarian ship entering the harbor.

Farewell, Padre Organtino. Now, together with your companions, you are walking along the shore of Japan, gazing at the great Southern Barbarian ship with its flag raised in a haze of gold dust. Whether Deus will win, or the Great Sun Deity will win, even now may still not be something that can easily be decided. But in time, it is our work that must decide the question. From that shore of the past, watch us quietly. Even if you have sunk into the sleep of oblivion, together with the captain leading his dog and the black child shading him with a parasol on that same screen, the sound of the guns of our black ships, newly appearing on the horizon, will surely come one day to shatter your antiquated dreams. Until then, farewell, Padre Organtino. Farewell, organ padre of Nanban Temple.

(December 1921)