Every day, it is the same thing:
Heat the metal. Hammer the metal. Cool, sharpen, polish. Start from the top and do it again.
Not that he really minds, of course. Saibara is a creature of habit, after all.
Five o'clock in the morning.
Time to get up. His own body wakes him against his will. It's too damn early. He lets out a sigh as his body complies with an instinct to stand up. Bones creaking, joints aching, metal coiled springs groaning in protest as he pulls himself out of bed with a cry upon being pulled from dreamland. As the old man begins to gain consciousness, he is reminded once again with solemnity that he is mortal and his body is slowly breaking down.
A heavy weight rests upon his heart, but it has nothing to do with his deteriorating body – he had been dreaming of cherry blossoms, rice cakes, and her warm brown eyes. Saibara can still picture the laugh lines on her face, that wisp of silver hair that always escaped her bun… she had only grown more beautiful with age.
"Hang on for me, Lina. I'll come home to you before we both know it," he mutters with a smile despite the lump in his throat.
Breakfast consists of natto and a cup of matcha. His grandson often complains about the unique odor of the pungent and sticky fermented soybeans, but he is indifferent to them himself. After all, when one has worked in a forge for fifty-five years, one's sense of smell diminishes quite a bit. With a douse of spicy mustard, he pushes the natto into his open mouth, washing them down with the hot tea as they slither down his throat. The old blacksmith has a few orders due today; it will be busy. He prays to the gods that his grandson won't be grouchy and difficult today, but he knows it won't be any use.
They're related by blood, after all.
Six o'clock.
Saibara looks at the soot-stained bathtub and shrugs, opting for a fresh yukata instead. He even changes into clean undergarments; by his standards, he's overdoing it a bit. A bath can wait until tonight – he has far more important things to do this morning.
Five after ten.
The old man lifts his head up from the surface of his table as he hears the door to the smithy open with a loud creak. He hastily wipes away the drool from his face with the edge of his sleeve and smoothes down his beard as he hobbles into the main room, his joints creaking in protest at moving so quickly and so suddenly.
His pair of dark beady eyes focuses on the clock hanging on the wall. "Five minutes late!" He wonders if his grandson can see the sleep in his eyes.
He is given a sheepish bow of the head in response. "I lost track of time this morning…"
Saibara straightens his posture and his back pops back into place; he lets out a silent sigh of relief. "You lose track of time every morning, boy!" His stomach gives an uncomfortable jump as he realizes that if Gray had actually shown up on time this morning, he would have found his grandfather snoring noisily at his tea table.
The apologetic look is wiped from his apprentice's expression. "No, I don't! Besides, I said I was sorry!" he snaps back, pulling on the bill of his cap to conceal his face.
Saibara lets out an exasperated sigh. While he can not claim to be much of a morning person himself, something else has him far more concerned – Gray is dodging blame. He sees much of his son's traits carried on in his grandson, and it worries him. "You didn't apologize at all," his voice is low and threatening; he finds that it is much more effective than yelling most of the time.
Gray looks up at him in surprise as his face blanches. Saibara hides a smirk of satisfaction. "I… didn't?" He bites his lip as he appears to rewind the conversation in his mind. He quickly shakes his head. "No, I'm sure I did! You're getting senile, old man!"
If there's one thing that he can't stand, it is someone who isn't strong enough to make their own apologies. Surely the boy is trying to cover up his own error. On top of that, he has the gall to imply that his age is slowing him down. It is time to remind him who is in charge – he obviously didn't show enough discipline with his son and nothing good ever came of it. Saibara surprises himself when the voice that leaves his lips is not raised in volume. "You will stay after tonight and scrub the floor of this forge until it is sparkling." He turns to his work station and removes his apron from his hook, preparing for the workday.
Gray stares at him incredulously, his lips flapping noiselessly as he struggles to contain his discontentment. "B-But… you don't even clean this dump yourself!"
The old man stares unblinkingly at him, concentrating his fury in his gaze. He keeps his voice quiet as he solemnly ties his apron. The boy has much to learn. "You will stay after tonight…" Saibara removes his hammer from the hook on the wall and gives his half-finished project a hearty whack that sends a tremor down the entire right side of his body. It's impractical to hammer at a work that hasn't been heated yet, but the action has a large impact on the young man. The loud ring echoes through the room like the tolling of a death bell. "… And you will scrub the floor until it is clean enough for me to eat off of."
Not another word is said on the matter.
Ten forty-five.
Saibara pours some more water on the rectangular stone block and inspects the edge of the hoe once again. He moves rhythmically as the scraping sound of the metal blade on the whetstone rings through his ears, his daily soundtrack. Rarely does a day go by when he doesn't use the block to give an old tool new life. He has been sharpening for quite some time, but the hoe Claire brought in yesterday is in terrible shape. The old man frowns; he will have a word with her about using her tools properly.
The smooth, silky sound of the metal running along the stone signals that his job is done. Saibara tests the sharpness of the hoe and gives a grunt in satisfaction to no one in particular. He props the tool against the wall and the sudden quietness from his workstation attracts his grandson's attention.
Gray's eyes flick to the farm equipment and his brows furrow in what almost looks like worry. Saibara looks at him curiously.
He tugs on his cap nervously, his gaze moving to the window. "Hey, Gramps… how is your supply doing? Want me to fetch some more ore at the mine?"
The blacksmith shakes his head. His stock of ingots is more than ample, and he has an inkling the boy is just eager to get out of work. A frown crosses Saibara's face; Gray has a long way to go if he thinks he is ever going to be more than an apprentice someday. "I want you to practice on that work you were drawing yesterday."
He lets out a defeated sigh and takes out the misshapen piece of metal without further audible complaint. Learning techniques is important, but they can only do so much. "So, when can I actually make something real? Y'know… something that people can actually use?"
Saibara can see the longing and frustration in his eyes. He sees much of his son in Gray, back when he was still diligent and was willing to put dedication into his life. Expressing this aloud feels like an insult, so Saibara keeps his mouth shut.
A frown crosses his lips. Where had he and Lina gone wrong? His son had been so full of life and motivation. He had a gift for engineering and mechanics and had chosen to live in the city to pursue his career. Saibara's heart had broken a little at his decision, but Lina had reminded him that their son was his own person and had to make decisions for himself. When Saibara's son brought his wife and young Grayson to visit, it had always been a happy occasion. The fresh air was good for all of them, and Saibara would even close the forge on days when he knew they were going to visit. The little boy would play in the vacant lot next door, loudly rapping a stick against a particularly large rock, claiming that he was training to become a blacksmith ("Jus' like Granpa!" he would lisp through the gap between his missing front teeth). Gray's father would laugh and tell him that he could be whatever he wanted…
The old man snaps back to reality as he hears Gray hammering at the glowing piece of metal on the anvil. His technique is improving. Saibara wonders if he should comment on this, but he decides to remain silent.
Eleven fifty-five.
"H-Hello…" He hardly hears the soft voice. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Saibara… a-and you too, Gray…"
He doesn't have to look up to know who the voice belongs to. No one in town has a thick city accent like the young woman does. She weaves a long blonde strand of hair through her fingers and looks over at the forge with wide blue eyes. Saibara notices right away that his grandson has turned a bright shade of red and is hammering at his work harder than ever. The old man seriously doubts that this action is an attempt to impress Claire, as Gray shoots his grandfather a desperate look between blows with the hammer.
"Your hoe was in very rough shape, young lady." He grabs the tool and shows her where he had repaired the blade. "It took me quite a while to fix it. Are you hitting rocks with it?"
The farmer's ears turn pink as she lowers her voice. "I couldn't tell if they were clods of dirt or rocks at first, but…" Claire looks over at the young man hammering and blushes deeply, "they ended up being rocks," she admits sheepishly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes immediately move back to Gray, and Saibara gets the feeling that the repaired hoe is not the main reason for her visit.
Frustration bubbles up within the old blacksmith. He will be damned if his shop becomes a place for girls to come and flirt with his apprentice. "I understand that things are hard with you just starting out, but you need to treat your tools with respect." His words sound harsh, but there is care behind them. "After all, you can only work as well as your tools do. Take better care of your things. Do you understand, young lady?"
She snaps to attention and her eyes widen at the mild scolding. Her face turns pink as she accepts the hoe and bows to him in gratitude, her blonde hair flying in her face. "Y-yes, sir. I-I'm sorry. Thank you so much." She mumbles this all in succession as she stumbles out the door, her once pristine sheets of gold now a disheveled bird's nest. The door closes abruptly as she begins to head back to her farm.
The old man peeks out the window and sees the young woman looking into the shop one last time, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. A sourness hits the pit of his stomach. "Ah… Do you think I was too hard on her?"
Gray looks at his grandfather in mild surprise that his opinion is being asked. "Not at all." He hammers at his work in a more relaxed manner and Saibara realizes it is because the girl is gone. "Th-thank you, by the way."
The old man lets out a snort. It wasn't as if he had encouraged Claire out of the shop because he was concerned with Gray's feelings. That would simply be ridiculous. "Don't think you're getting out of cleaning the shop tonight, boy." A smile spreads across his face nonetheless.
Three thirty.
"The welding was bad. I reinforced it and you shouldn't have to worry about it falling apart again. These factories use cheap metal and don't get it hot enough to weld their products properly."
Elli gives him a kind smile. "I keep telling Trent to stop buying cheap equipment from the city. I'm sure that if we just ordered straight from you, we wouldn't have any problems at all."
He knows that she is not just saying those things to be kind. The corners of her mouth are turned up sincerely, and Saibara is reminded once again how much Elli resembles her grandmother. They have that same heart-shaped face, the same warm brown eyes. He is given memories of walking along the beach and up on the mountain trail with a kind companion who never judges and always has a gentle word of encouragement. There is a soft beauty and patience to her that almost reminds him of… no... Such thoughts are not only unfaithful, but untrue. Despite the guilt churning in his stomach, the old man's face feels warm, but he is standing nowhere near the furnace. Out of the corner of his vision, he sees his grandson staring back and forth between him and his customer curiously.
Saibara begins to wish he hadn't asked Gray to stay after today. Despite the fact that he is on the opposite side of the room, his presence is stifling.
"Grandma's been asking about you. It's been a while since you came to visit. I told her that I'd invite you over for dinner tonight." Elli absentmindedly turns the metal pole in her hands. "Shall I tell her that you'll be there?"
His mouth is suddenly very dry and he attempts to clear his throat fruitlessly. "Ah… I appreciate the offer, but… I have plans this evening. Please send Ellen my regards," he chokes down his emotion as he sees her face fall. He knows Elli is too polite to fight him over this.
"Of course… I'll let her know you said hello. Please know that the offer still stands if your plans change. I will set an extra plate at the table tonight." A hopeful smile crosses her lips as she bows politely, pulling the door closed behind her.
He knows there really shouldn't be any debate over it, but he can't help himself.
Four o'clock.
As Saibara puts away his tools, he looks at his grandson curiously, wondering why he is filling a bucket with hot water and soap. Gray's wet mop slaps noisily on the floor and Saibara realizes he has forgotten about the chore he had given him as punishment for his tardiness. If he is honest with himself, he would really prefer to be alone. Hiding his embarrassment with a curt grunt, he heads into his private quarters on the other side of the shop.
There is still time to make it over to Ellen's…
He hates that it makes his stomach begin to twist into giddy knots. While her granddaughter is a good cook, the food isn't what has him so eager to go.
He thinks of Ellen's gentle laugh and the playful way she shortens his name. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he can see the way her warm eyes twinkle and the corners of her mouth curl upward as they laugh about old times together. Raising her grandson has left her with a youthful outlook, and he can't help but feel refreshed around her.
Those soft brown eyes, that gentle aura…
Has Ellen always been so lovely?
Saibara nearly trips over his own feet as he shakes his head, reaching into his cupboard for his cure.
It's just that she reminds me of Lina...
Blasphemy.
No, not blasphemy – a lie. The two couldn't be more different.
He doesn't choke on the sharpness of the sake despite the fact that it hasn't been properly warmed.
There's nothing wrong with finding a friend's company pleasant…
But it's more than pleasant… When I'm with Ellen, I feel…
Saibara shakily pours himself another tumbler. He knows drinking on an empty stomach brings nothing but trouble, but his appetite is gone.
"I feel nothing," he says aloud at a volume that surprises himself.
He freezes as he snaps back to reality, wondering if Gray could hear him through the door. Indeed, this is getting out of hand. Saibara has traveled this same road many a night, and it never led to anything good if he didn't force himself to stop. He quietly puts away the alcohol and retrieves a set of chopsticks and some natto in his small refrigerator and slumps forward in his seat, staring down at his food.
"Lina, forgive your foolish husband," he whispers.
0o0o0o0
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Those familiar with my work will know that I have a soft spot for Saibara. I remember talking to him in Mineral Town while he is grocery shopping and he mentions how clueless and alone he felt after his wife passed away and in that moment I fell for him. He's just a clumsy, bumbling, lonely guy who has a hard time expressing himself. There are a couple events in Mineral Town and an ending in Back to Nature for Girl that hint at him having feelings for Ellen.
My plans are to write a series of these short stories about the non-marriage candidates of Mineral Town, each following a day in the life of that character. Those reading my story The Shy Newcomer will get to see new insights and additional back story to the characters I've been writing.
I sincerely hoped you enjoyed!