Transformation

-“Francis? Francis!”

Bacon dredged up the oldest memory from the thirty-one years he had lived. It was not a particularly special memory.

-“Mother, that, that thing—why does the moon follow the carriage?”

-“It isn’t following us. The moon is very, very far away, so it only looks as if it isn’t moving.”

-“Then are the sun and the stars far away too?”

-“Of course! Much farther away than the moon.”

-“How far away?”

-“Hm?”

-“Uh, how far away are they?”

It was a time everyone had experienced.

Because everything was unfamiliar, everything made one curious. One asked questions about everything, pestering the people around them.

That was how everyone lived when they were children. And as they grew up, they learned one important fact.

The truth was, adults found such questions from children annoying.

And they wished the children would grow up and stop asking them.

And so the questions stopped.

A person’s world closed.

And within that world, a person lived. One might call it his common sense, or one might call it his worldview.

In any case, that was how it was.

Francis Bacon, too, had long since stopped asking such questions. The days when he had asked “why?” of everything now seemed no more than an immature past.

And yet…

-“If you know your sins, will you repent? How is it that you do not recognize the Lord’s kin and commit wickedness?”

-“D-dev…il…”

-“I cannot understand why you call me a devil. I have never harmed you, nor will I ever harm you.”

Why?

Why did he come back to life?

Was that man an angel? Or was he a devil?

-“Even now… you are the Lord’s sons… Heaven has not fled from within your hearts.”

Why?

Why was he trying to save those who had tried to kill him?

Had he gone mad from pain? Or, if not, could it be…?

And finally.

-“I-I, it wasn’t, I wasn’t… Please! It wasn’t me! I didn’t know… anything…!”

-“Do not be afraid. The mercy of the Lord is like sunlight: infinitely precious, yet given without price.”

Why?

Why had he saved me?

I was someone responsible for his “death,” for his suffering. Because I had brought those “servants” with me, he had faced a crisis of death.

And he had willingly thrown himself forward to save me.

Why?

-“...Do not seek a reason for a person saving another person.”

Do not seek a reason.

Because it is only natural.

Because people are precious.

…It felt as if he had been struck on the head with a hammer.

A resolute answer.

It was a resolute declaration, as if to cut off all those questions here.

Because that person had descended to this place for mankind, because he did all things for mankind, he had done so.

That was the reason.

One could not ask “why?” again to that. Why had an angel descended for mankind? Why did an angel act for mankind? Behind such questions would lie the Lord’s infinite will.

He knew that. He knew it very well.

…And yet, even knowing it.

“Fascinating. Truly fascinating.”

“Pardon? What is?”

“That person is not human, is he not? Is he not an angel?”

At the same time, too many questions rose in his head.

While coming by ship, he had heard that there was another tourist besides himself. The voyage had been dull, so Bacon had met the other tourist and spent about two months using him as a conversation partner.

So when he went to spy on the angel, he had gone with him, and even now he had come to his cabin and was chatting with him.

“In any case, that person is an angel, so why, when explaining his own actions, did he say not to seek a reason for ‘a person saving another person’? Interesting, isn’t it? Don’t you think?”

“…”

“I think this is it. That person was setting an example. Because he made himself the example for all people, if one is human, one ought to follow his actions!

That must be why he said not to seek a reason for ‘a person saving another person.’ That’s what it is! What do you think? Well?”

“…”

“…”

“…It sounds plausible.”

“Doesn’t it? I think so too. But from here another question arises.”

Smiling broadly, Bacon poured out all manner of talk to Shakespeare.

Why?

Why had the one who was to become the model for mankind come to this frontier land full of barbarians? And even those barbarians were not so numerous.

What if an angel had descended instead into the middle of a great and important city like London, Paris, Rome, or Seville, a city with many believers?

Then everyone might have believed in him and followed him, so why had he done that?

“Because foolish humans might harm him and imprison him? That may be so.

Or is it a revelation telling us to evangelize this land? That may also be so. I still have not found an answer to this part.”

Why. Why. Why.

“There is so much else I am curious about! Why does that person use no other power besides rising again from death? Did you see his blood vessels and muscles reconnect? During that time, how did his heart beat, and how did his muscles and nerves find their proper places? And what does it mean that the father of man and the father of monkeys were the same?”

Why. Why. Why. Why. Why.

It felt as if he had returned to the immature days of being five years old. No, perhaps he had not been immature then; perhaps that had been a time of purity and wisdom.

After all, people were all confined by their own experiences and words and came to think wrongly. Had that person not also said not to worship idols by being confined within the finite words of scripture?

Perhaps that was why the me of those childhood days—without experience, barely knowing words, and still without any prejudice—had been so full of questions and so wise.

Perhaps children were the beings farthest removed from idols.

Yes. One without prejudice was the being farthest removed from idols. From idols. Idols, idols…

“…Idols, is it.”

It felt as though he had caught hold of some thread of thought.

Inspiration wriggled and grew inside his head. Bacon felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward without his realizing it, laughter seeping out.

How long had it been since he had felt this way?

In any case, Shakespeare, who had been listening to Bacon’s story, seemed to ponder something for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh and shook his head.

“Ha ha… I do not know. It seems I have no talent as a philosopher or theologian.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I am a poet, a playwright, and an actor. My curiosities and worries lie elsewhere.”

“Let me hear them.”

“Er… Councilman?”

“Speak comfortably.”

“Then, Mr. Bacon, what was the angel’s flesh like?”

“Uh… what?”

In an instant, Shakespeare’s pen danced and both his eyes blazed.

“How was the angel’s flesh different from that of us humans? Did a pulse beat in his body? Was it warm?”

“No, I was too flustered to remember clearly, but… aside from his skin being very clean, I don’t think there was any other difference.”

“Is that so? How remarkable! An angel clothed in flesh, an angel like a human!”

At Bacon’s words, Shakespeare grinned and moved his pen.

“What were his eyes like? To me, they seemed like stars.”

“They were clear and distinct. He seemed to have no hesitation or unease.”

“His voice… even thinking about it again, it is mysterious.”

“Did his voice sound to you in many languages as well?”

“Yes.”

“Ha… good heavens. Good heavens!”

“Human speech was shattered to pieces after the Tower of Babel, but his language still…”

Scratch. Ssssk. Scratch.

Shakespeare heaved his shoulders in excitement like a bull in a ring. Each time the quill danced across the paper, new lines of verse and dialogue flew in. No matter how much he scooped out, inspiration did not run dry.

“Were his words not beautiful?

‘There are more things between this heaven and earth than have been imagined in your philosophy.’ I cannot forget those words. How could they fit so perfectly with the line I was trying to write!”

The reason was obvious. Because it was the line he was trying to write.

Because the title of the play he was writing was Hamlet.

It was an immortal masterpiece that even Nemo could not fail to know.

But to Shakespeare, who did not know the circumstances, it was as though inspiration had flown down from the heavens and lodged itself in his breast.

The image of the angel, trying to save the assassins, saving Bacon, and speaking in every language, would not leave his mind.

And so Shakespeare, chattering with Bacon as he wrote line after line without pause… suddenly stopped writing and looked down at the contents.

‘…But can this be performed as it is?’

Could he receive investment with this work, gather actors, secure a stage, and carry it all the way to performance?

With a theme like this…?

Surely he would not be treated as a heretic and burned at the stake?

“Hmmm…”

Belatedly, Shakespeare groaned between the overflowing inspiration and the wall of reality. The work of writing hymns here that a man named Hewett had proposed, and other matters, also weighed on his mind.

On a journey he had taken for a brief change of mood, he seemed to have found a turning point in his life. He had gained so much here that he almost wanted to leave behind even the foundation he had built in London.

Should he… stay here longer?

Shakespeare groaned and poured out his worries.

Bacon, too, sighed and agonized.

The two geniuses worried within an unquenchable flame of inspiration and passed yet another night awake.

Speaking of the experience that had changed their lives from the roots.

***

The Chesapeake, the Pamlico, and all sorts of other peoples had similar ways of life.

They cultivated gardens, hunted, gathered nuts and fruits from trees, and lived within their villages.

They sometimes waged brutal wars against other tribes, and in the meantime some peoples would be wiped out or form empires, but their ways of life were generally similar.

The way of life their fathers and mothers had lived was not different from that of their sons and daughters. Even if one went back hundreds of years, there was a way of life that had not been greatly different.

That firm, seemingly unchanging world.

-“Have you heard about the new High Chief?”

A small ripple approaching that world.

-“They say that High Chief does not show himself, except to Manteo of the Croatoan and a few others.”

-“They say he uses those who came from across the sea as his hands and feet.”

-“Despite being so wealthy, has he not never once appeared at a gathering?”

-“It seems he has neither warriors nor retainers.”

Strange rumors.

And then.

A strange future that came upon them.

Anxiety among the tribes near Chesapeake Bay heightened, saying the Powhatan might attack.

Among them, it was said that the Oitotan had suddenly taken their entire tribe and submitted to the mysterious High Chief.

Some of them gathered at Chesapeake Bay out of anxiety, some with the thought of briefly consuming food there, and some simply out of curiosity.

Thus thousands of people gathered, but they could scatter at any time.

Because there, they encountered a way of life far too unfamiliar.

They stayed and lived on a narrow piece of land, used beasts for farming instead of eating them, and dug the earth with strange implements as they sowed seeds.

There was not a single thing they could understand, and to be honest, it was full of things that made them uncomfortable, but they endured that small discomfort for the time being and clung to this land.

Because they were hungry. Because they were anxious.

And one more reason was added to that place.

“T-that person is, that is, you may regard him as a very powerful spirit.”

“…A spirit?”

“Yes. Therefore, that person does not die. He is far stronger and wiser than we are.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“He is the executor of a greater will. Uh, Manteo? Please interpret.”

“That person is… the servant of the Creator. We must follow the Creator, so we must also follow his words.”

…Faith.

It was not that they all converted at once. Nor were there many who could properly grasp the situation before their eyes.

Some did not understand. There were many who asked why he had not punished those who killed him and instead tried to save them again, and whether he himself was not a god.

Originally, there was no one who could have answered such talk.

The Europeans could not speak Algonquian, and though Manteo had been baptized, he was not especially devout.

And then.

“The Creator left word that we must love one another!”

“The Creator sends angels to drive back demons and protect mankind, and that angel is none other than Him!”

A new person had appeared who could speak Algonquin and also knew Christianity well.

He spoke with passion. He told them of the great Creator, greater than any spirit, who had made and shaped everything in the world, humans included.

And he explained the story of how that Creator sent His own son to die. Though everyone found it difficult to understand, not one of them turned their attention away or ignored him.

“Thomas? Preaching again?”

“Ah… Sir Raleigh. Well, if I do not do it, who will?”

“…”

“…”

“…You are diligent.”

The one explaining was Thomas Harriot, an atheist.

And those listening were the Algonquins, who worshipped spirits and ancestors.

Among themselves, they would whisper all sorts of absurd things, or exchange questions that would make an ordinary Christian gasp.

Was God a man or a woman? Was He a being with the spirits of man and woman all mixed together? That angel seemed to be a man, so did that mean God was a woman?

All manner of outlandish talk passed back and forth, and all manner of sharp questions were asked.

And Harriot, who was neither a friar nor a priest, did not simply let those questions pass. As he answered, one by one, the hundreds of questions thrown at him by hundreds of people, they joined Harriot’s “sermons” if only because they wanted to talk with him.

And so a large crack appeared in the familiar world of the Algonquins.

That was the beginning.

Those who had grumbled that they would leave when spring came next year, that they could not continue this strange life any longer, began cutting up seed potatoes and planting seeds of their own accord.

When they asked, in halting, broken English, how to till the fields, the European farmers taught them with broken Algonquin and gestures of hands and feet.

Tribes that had been half enemies no longer fought. John White’s work was greatly reduced.

With one great stride.

Thus, they moved toward a new world.

Early farmers are poorer than hunter-gatherers. They starve more and flounder in harsher labor. That is because the products gained from undeveloped agriculture are far inferior to those gained from hunting and gathering.

That is why many peoples turn back right before the threshold of the so-called “agricultural revolution.” It is not simply because they are ignorant. It is because the price of grueling labor is nothing more than meager food and a vertical social structure.

Into the hands of such people were placed crops improved over hundreds to thousands of years. They were the products created by the countless blood and sweat of the peoples of Eurasia and Africa.

They were given without price, by the mercy of the “Great Chief” and “powerful spirit.”

Their fate changed.

They took in their hands tools their fathers and mothers had never seen, and accomplished things their grandfathers and grandmothers could never have imagined.

They cut down forests, transplanted trees, tilled fields, and engraved their traces upon the land and nature.

Something that had been crouching for hundreds of years began to move once more.

Manteo and a few sensitive others felt the resonance in their hearts, from the earth, the sky, and the sea. But many tilted their heads, not knowing what it was.

It was the wind of change.

It was the sensation of fate stirring.

The fate in which their sons and daughters, their grandsons and granddaughters, would flee westward covered in blood was disappearing.

The fate of being horribly slaughtered by white men, and the fate of leaving their homeland while treading a road painted in blood, were also being twisted and distorted.

Of course, no one in Chesapeake Bay knew any of that.

They merely heard the sound of prayer each night.

And vivid stories passed from mouth to mouth about the great spirit who rose again from death.

Even after Nemo came, it did not seem as though all that much had changed.

But in truth, everything had changed.