Reflections on “Deep River” by Shūsaku Endō, an Adult Child of Divorce
Cover photo © 1990 by Abbas, Magnum Photos Inc., design by Hermann Strohbach. Reprinted courtesy of New Directions Publishing Corp.
Endō, S. (1994). Deep River (V. C. Gessel, Trans.). New Directions. 216 pages
[Editor’s Note: Some of the background research on Shūsaku Endō was done on Japanese language websites. The author utilized the built in Google translate feature to translate the material from Japanese to English. If you believe any information in this article to be incorrect due to translation error, please let us know and we will work to correct it.]
All ACODs have some story as it relates to the separation of their parents as a family unit, even if that story is that they never knew their parents as a unit. One author who did remember his parents together for a time is the late Shūsaku Endō (遠藤 周作, Endō Shūsaku), author of Deep River (深い河, Fukai kawa). Shūsaku was born on March 27, 1923 in Sugamo, Tokyo [1] as the second born son of Tsunehisa Endō, a banker—he worked with the Third National Bank (later Yasuda Bank) and Seiryu Bank [2]—and Ikuka Endō (née Takei) [3], a violinist [4], who was two years older than her husband. [5] Tsunehisa and Ikuka had met when he was studying German law at the University of Tokyo and she was studying violin at Tokyo Music School. [6] In 1926, Tsunehisa Endō moved his young family, Shūsaku being age three, to what is now called Dalian, a major port city on Northeast China’s Liaodong peninsula in the Manchuria region, at that time controlled by Japan after the Treaty of Portsmouth, for work. [7]
During the Endō family’s time in Manchuria, Shūsaku encountered a young Chinese boy who would help at his parents house. In 1932, Shūsaku age nine, Tsunehisa and Ikuka began having marital conflict. [8] Around this same time, a pet dog named Kuro came into Shūsaku’s world. Seven years after moving to Manchuria, Shūsaku now age ten, Tsunehisa and Ikuka got a divorce, [9] which left a deep wound in Shūsaku—as is evidenced in his novel Deep River.
After the divorce of Endō’s parents in 1933, Shūsaku moved back to Japan with his mother. The broken family moved to the port-city Kobe, where his mother would become a Roman Catholic. [10] It was soon after this, in 1935, that, at age eleven or twelve, young Shūsaku would take the baptismal name Paul at the Catholic Shukugawa Church in Nishinomiya City where he was baptized by Father Tatsunosuke Nagata. [11] Shūsaku would go on to become one of Japan’s most prolific Catholic writers and “was preoccupied with the contrast between Japanese and Western experience and perspectives.” [12] Throughout his life, and in the literature he wrote, Endō “continued to seek ‘the mother’” [13]—fellow ACODs may recognize a yearning for a Mary-like figure, the Holy Mother of the Christ child, in his novel Deep River. As Dennis & Middleton write, “Catholicism always appeared to have a hand at Endō’s elbow, as it were, yet toward the end of his life it was a gentle touch rather than a firm push.” [14]
In 1991, at age sixty-eight, Endō began writing the novel Deep River, which “can be said to be the culmination of Endo's literary works.” [15] He was “known for his exploration of Christianity and cultural alienation within the context of Japanese society” and “his writings often reflect on the challenges faced by Christians in Japan and the nuances of East-West cultural interactions.” [16] These themes also appear in Deep River, which was published in 1993 in Japan, with Van C. Gessel’s English translation appearing in 1994; it is one of his most acclaimed novels. The story follows multiple characters on a pilgrimage to India, with the main characters going for their own special reasons, which the author goes into great length to develop for the reader's understanding.
Though the novel is not about the impact of divorce on children, there is a scene in the novel that speaks to the wounded experience with which ACODs suffer. In his novel Deep River, a few events from Endō’s childhood in Dalian, referred to earlier, make a paralleled appearance with the character Numada, the name having symbolic meaning related to a swamp or marsh [17]—many of the characters' names in the novel have water symbolism, which is an important symbol throughout scripture (e.g. the Spirit hovering over the deep in Genesis, Noah and the flood, as a reminder of our longing for God in Psalm 42, and baptism in the New Testament). The scene is from the chapter titled “The Case of Numada.” It reads:
In the autumn of Numada’s third year in primary school, the relationship between his parents soured and there was talk of divorce. This was completely unexpected, unimaginable to Numada. He had never even considered the possibility that he and his father and mother might end up living apart from each other.
At night when his father came home drunk, he would argue for long hours with his wife in the living-room. From time to time he could hear his father’s shouts and his mother’s weeping voice, and he would pull the covers up over his head to block them out, sometimes even stuffing his fingers in his ears so he could get to sleep.
He hated coming home from school. At home he would have to look at his once cheerful mother, who now sat by herself in the dark, chilly room and stared out of the window lost in thought. Even though it was not a great distance from school to his home, Numada would take his time along the road, walking slowly, stopping to stare at the remains of autumn cicadas dangling from the tangled threads of spiders’ webs, or delaying his return home by even one more minute by scribbling graffiti on a red brick fence with chalk. At a crossroads he would hear a Chinese vendor selling roasted chestnuts, and carriage mules waiting for customers along the roadside flicked their tails and ears to chase away swarming flies. While Numada’s attention was caught up in these activities, Blackie [his pet dog] would come to a halt and scratch his head with his leg and sniff around the wall while he waited for his master.
‘I don’t want to go home.’ Numada could talk only to Blackie. The pain from home engorging his heart that he could not discuss with his teachers or schoolmates he conveyed only to Blackie.
‘I hate it! I hate it when night comes. I’m sick of hearing Dad and Mother argue.’
Blackie stared at Numada’s face, and feebly wagged his tale [sic] in bewilderment.
Can’t be helped. That’s what life’s all about, Blackie would answer. When Numada himself grew older and thought back on those days, he was certain that Blakie had spoken to him.
‘Dad says he’s going to live away from Mother. What am I going to do?’
Can’t be helped.
‘If I live with Dad, that would hurt Mother, and if I live with Mother, that would be a bad thing to do to Dad.’
Can’t be helped. That’s what life’s all about.
Blackie had been the one who understood his sorrow in those days, the only living thing who would listen to his complaints: his companion.
Autumn came to an end, winter passed, and a late spring finally came to Dalian in May. It was decided that his mother would return to Japan and take Numada with her. White buds the size of young girls’ earrings dangled between the leaves of the acacia trees that lined the streets. Next to the pavement a carriage waited to take mother and son to Dalian harbour. His father withdrew in silence to an inner room and did not come out to see them off. Only Blackie loitered in front of the mule that swished at horseflies with its tail.
When the carriage lurched forward, Numada turned round and watched as Blackie chased after them. His eyes grew moist even though he struggled not to cry, and he turned his face away so that his mother wouldn’t notice. Even after they turned a corner, Blackie continued in pursuit. He seemed almost to know that this was the last time he would see Numada. Eventually Blackie tired and came to a stop, growing smaller in the distance while he watched with resignation in his eyes as Numada left him. Numada as an adult had still not forgotten those eyes of Blackie’s. It was thanks to Li [a young Chinese houseservant who befriended Numada in an earlier part of the chapter and helped him take in Blackie as a pet, but was later dismissed from service by his parents due to alleged theft] and to this dog that he had first come to know the meaning of separation. [18]
In the above scene, Endō paints, with a fine brush, a scene of deep sorrow, a scene of familial pain and hurt spanning the breadth of a season in Numada’s youth. It is likely Endō’s memory–it is a scene that may have been Endō’s very own childhood. ACODs from all stripes can resonate with different parts of his story, particularly the last line, “he had first come to know the meaning of separation.”
Another character in Deep River whose parents echo that of Shūsaku’s is the minor character Enami, the guide of the Japanese tour group. In one scene, after an emotionally touching explanation of the Hindu goddess Chāmundā to the Japanese tourists—he describes how she feeds the people of India with shriveled breasts even though she is suffering and attacked by cobras and snakes, Endō writes:
“As though embarrassed by his own display of emotion, Enami roughly wiped his sweat-soaked face with a large, dirty handkerchief. He had explained this suffering goddess to his tourists with the claim that he was explaining India to them, but in his own mind he was recalling his own mother, who had raised him through many trials of her own after she was abandoned by her husband.” [19]
Enami then goes on to draw a comparison and contrast between Chāmundā and the Blessed Virgin. A Catholic reading this might recall one Marian title: Our Lady of Sorrows. As Pope Benedict XVI said in his homily on September 15, 2008, “as we celebrate the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, we contemplate Mary sharing her Son’s compassion for sinners.” [20] Enami’s thought is brought up only to further show how much Endō carried this memory of the separation of his parents with him into his adult life, even into his dying days.
At the close of his life, Shūsaku Endō would spend the last three and half years in and out of hospitals combatting different ailments; [21] again Endō’s real life parallels the character Numada, who is also an author, in Deep River, and who spent multiple years in the hospital in the novel. In 1995, Endō suffered an aneurysm. [22] Mark W. Dennis and Darren J. N. Middleton summarized the final years of Endō’s journey this way:
“Beleagured by poor health throughout his life, Endō reentered the hospital in April 1995, one year after Gessel’s translation, but was released long enough to see two screenings of Kumai Kei’s adaptation of Deep River. Endō reportedly wept at seeing the film, observing that some scenes were better realized than in the novel. In September, Endō suffered a cerebral hemorrhage; this stroke left him unable to speak. Just two months later, he received the highest honor Japan bestows on its citizens, the Bunka Kusho (Order of Culture). In June 1996, he began hemodialysis…” [23]
Shūsaku Endō, an Adult Child of Divorce, passed away on September 29th, 1996 at age seventy-three from respiratory failure caused by pneumonia. [24] A funeral mass was held at St. Ignatius Church in Kōjimachi on October 2nd. It was presided over by Father Inoue Yoji and had over four thousand people in attendance. He was survived by his wife, Junko, and their son, Ryūnosuke. [25] “Copies of both Silence and Deep River were placed in the casket.” [26] He was laid to rest at Catholic Fuchu Cemetery next to his mother and brother. [27]
I would like to close this reflection on the author Shūsaku Endō with the following two quotes by the character Ōtsu, who was modeled on Endō and Fr. Inoue Yoji—one of Endō’s dearest friends dating back to their time together studying at the University of Lyon in 1950. [28] In the first, he speaks of the longing we all share: the longing to be seen, known and loved. Endō, through Ōtsu, says:
“Love, I think, is the core of this world we live in, and through our long history that is all that [God] has imparted to us. The thing we are most lacking in our modern world is love; love is the thing no one believes in any more; love is what everyone mockingly laughs at—and that is why someone like me wants to follow [God] with dumb sincerity.” [29]
And the second speaks of the transformative healing from God in our lives:
“After everything that happened to me, I began to think that God, like a magician, can turn any situation to the best advantage. Even our weaknesses and our sins. Yes, that’s how it is. A magician puts a wretched sparrow in a box, closes the lid, and then with a wave of his hands opens the lid again. The sparrow in the box has been changed into a pure-white dove and comes flying out.” [30]
Meditative Reflection: Patient Trust by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ
Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.
And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.
Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.
(The above reflection was found on the Ignatian Spirituality website here.)
Shūsaku Endō, pray for ACODs. Mother Theresa of Calcutta, you who had an impact on Shūsaku Endō’s imagination, pray for ACODs.
Reflection Questions:
What memory/story stands out from your ACOD past? Take some time to tell your story modeled on Endō’s story of Numada in Deep River.
When did you first come to know the meaning of separation?
How did the story of Numada speak to you? Did it mean more to you knowing that it paralleled the life of the author?
Given that Endō’s parents divorced when he was 10 and he died at age 73, what are your thoughts on Endō carrying the wound of family separation for 63 years? In what ways do you think it impacted him?
Bonus Video: Shūsaku Endō: "Do You Know Yourself?"
Bonus Questions from video:
In what ways did Endō’s discussion speak to you as an ACOD?
What do you think of his three categories of self and how it relates to your identity?
Endnotes:
遠藤周作年譜 (Chronology of Shusaku Endo). 長崎市ウェブサイト (Nagasaki City website). (n.d.). https://www.city.nagasaki.lg.jp/site/endou/6678.html. Google translate was used to read this article.
遠藤周作学会 (Shusaku Endo Society). (n.d.). 遠藤周作・年譜. (Shusaku Endo - Chronology) https://endo-shusaku.com/nenpu.html. Google translate was used to read this article.
Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc. (n.d.). Endō Shūsaku. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Endo-Shusaku
Nagasaki City & Penney, M. (n.d.). Shūsaku Endō. https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/history/shusaku-endo
エポペ. (Epope.) (n.d.-b). 特集・遠藤周作没後10周年記念. (Special feature: Commemorating the 10th anniversary of Shusaku Endo's death.) http://www.epopee.co.jp/tokushuu.html. Google translate was used to read this article.
Dennis, M.W. & Middleton, D.J.N. (2020). Introduction: a novel we have loved. In Dennis, M. W., & Middleton, D. J. N. (Eds.), Navigating Deep River : new perspectives on Shusaku Endo’s final novel. (p.19) State University of New York Press.
Hirota, D. (2020). Japanese Sensibility, and Transcendence in Deep River. In Dennis, M. W., & Middleton, D. J. N. (Eds.), Navigating Deep River : new perspectives on Shusaku Endo’s final novel. (p. 267) State University of New York Press.
Endō, S. (1994). Deep river ( V. C. Gessel, Trans.). (pp. 72-74)New Directions.
Endō p.140
Gessel, V.C. (2020). Deep River as Endō’s Book of Job: Gathering a community of sufferers at the water’s edge. In Dennis, M. W., & Middleton, D. J. N. (Eds.), Navigating Deep River : new perspectives on Shusaku Endo’s final novel. (p 184) State University of New York Press.
Dennis & Middleton, Introduction, pp 5-6
Pace, E. (1996, September 30). Shusaku Endo is dead at 73; Japanese Catholic novelist. https://www.nytimes.com/1996/09/30/arts/shusaku-endo-is-dead-at-73-japanese-catholic-novelist.html
Dennis & Middleton, Introduction, pp 4
Tosolini, T. (2016). Japan. In Tosolini, T. (Ed.), God Between the Lines. (p 113) Asian Study Centre: Xaverian Missionaries - Japan. https://centro-documentazione.saveriani.org/images/archivio/csa/series/18-God%20Between%20the%20Lines.pdf
Gessel, Deep River as Endō’s Book of Job, 193 (footnote 14)
Endō, p.119
Endō, p.63
Healing happens when we journey together.
If Sam’s telling of Shūsaku Endō’s ACOD story resonated with you, consider joining one of our sponsor organizations' upcoming Catholic Story Group for ACODs where you can better understand your story in a loving and supportive environment. You do not have to carry the darkness alone.
Or join us at an upcoming Life-Giving Wounds event.
Together, we can walk into the light.