I Will Protect Your Happiness

An earthquake.

A tsunami.

All this happened on this day. Sangastu jū ichi nichi, kinyōbi. March 11, Friday.

I remember hearing the earthquake sirens in my school. I remember worrying about ōjichan, my grandfather, sitting alone in our apartment as our country, Nihon, was experiencing the worst disaster since World War II. Ōjichan was child then, my age of ten years. Now he was an old man, an old man that could not defend himself. Himura Isamu was in more danger than I was.

Miyagi Prefecture was hit first. I remember the screams, the tears, and the rubble as the earthquake shook my school as we hid. We were safe, it seemed. My classmates and I huddled in fear and cowering, sobbing or whispering for their ōtosan or ōkasan. I was silent, hardly daring to breathe as I looked at Kasanagi-sensei for comfort, for guidance. She didn't give me either. The earthquake seemed to calm, although the agonized screams of those caught in the catastrophe echoed in my ears. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, hoping that the bitter fear and bile creeping up my throat would disappear. Onegai, I pleaded. Onegai. I thought of my parents, the son and daughter-in-law of Himura Isamu that I had not known. They had died from a car accident when I was only a couple months old. Was I about to join them?

Silence suddenly escaped the landscape outside of me. I cautiously opened my eyes, and glanced through the window. Derbies scattered the ground, and I saw bodies, bleeding among the broken buildings. Fires raged I saw, and still people screamed. I attempted to cover my ears again moments later when I heard it: the tsunami. Kasanagi-sensei guided us from the safe room to the door that led to the roof. Again, I saw derbies and bodies of adults that couldn't have made it to the room in time. They were teachers like Kasanagi-sensei, but she looked forward, and didn't glance back at the bloody bodies of her colleagues, some of who were crushed by desks or maimed. I swallowed a sob and moved forward like my classmates.

The tsunami flooded most of the city. I could see that the upper top floors of my school were flooded as well. The fearsome waves did not touch the roof, even if my classmates and I were sprayed by the salty water. I was safe. We were safe. It was a couple of hours before a helicopter came to rescue us from our demise. The younger children were hungry, thirsty, and scared. "Onaka go suite imasu, sensei.""Nodo ga kawaite imasu, sensei."

They were crying for their families. The other older students, Kusanagi-sensei, and I tried our best to calm the children. I was trying to calm myself, and trying not to think of Ōjichan and Akira. When I heard the roar of the helicopters, some of the students cheered. Others wept at their good fortune. I was not one of them. I peered down from the building I was standing, and saw bloated bodies flowing with the water. Derbies, cars, and animals flowed through the water as well, and I held back a sob as I climbed onto the helicopter to safety. Even as the helicopter landed, and when I was informed that my ōjichan was injured, but getting treated for his injuries in the make-shift hospital, I still could not close my eyes without seeing the bodies.

It was now eight hours after the earthquake and tsunami. Many that were injured were laid across from each other. Some only had factures; others had bandaged heads and were monitored by doctors and nurses around the clock. The ishā told me that Ōjichan sustained extensive damage. Multiple ribs were fractured, and he sustained head trauma when a beam had collided with his head during the catastrophe. He didn't know when Ōjichan was going to wake up, but until he did, I could stay with him.

"Shinta…" Ōjichan whispered my name in his sleep. Blindly, he groped for my te, my hand, and I took his gnarled hand in my own soft one. He opened his eyes, and smiled faintly when he saw me face. "Shinta…" His smile widened. Then he flinched in pain. "Atama ga itai desu." I stood to find the doctor at his words, but he shook his head silently. I sat down again.

"This reminds me of Sangatsu tōka, in 1945. I was just a boy, your age, Shin-chan. I remember the heat, the fire, and the smoke. I lost my parents that day." I listened intently. Ōjichan did not talk about World War II very much, or of the parents that he had lost because of the war. Even as he spoke, he talked sparingly, pausing here and there. "The Americans had bombed us many times before, but not this close to the city. My father believed that would never able to bomb the city. They had no yūki, courage, he said." Ōjichan swallowed and stared away from my eyes so that I wouldn't see his tears. "My father never knew his father, and was more of a mystery than a man. His mother would not speak of him. However, she spoke greatly of Himura Kenshin, my grandfather, to me when he and I were boys. He was an expert swordsman and a caring man despite his history in the Bakumatsu and as a hitokiri. Back then, Himura Kenshin was known as Hitokiri Battousai. His son Kenji vowed to make his own legend, and was willing to leave his young wife and son for that. It was rumored that he died during the Russo-Japanese war. I guess she hoped that we would restore the honor to the Himura family name.

"We had counted over 100, 000 dead when the Americans stopped the firebombs. Many people were homeless. Goke and koji wandered aimlessly in the streets. I remember, Shinta-chan, as will you remember this day." I hadn't spoken during the time my grandfather spoke. His voice was powerful, rich in animation and sadness as he spoke of what happened now sixty-six years ago. I felt tears prick my eyes, as I stared at Ōjichan. He was an old man, talking about long-dead people and events. It was so sudden I didn't know what to say.

"Nani itten da yo?" I whispered, tears clouding my gaze. "Wakarimasen, Ōjichan. Warkaimasen."

My grandfather was silent as I cried and shook. He wouldn't look at me, and was in his own world again as my tears finally ceased. It was then that he met my gaze, and I was ashamed from my outburst earlier. "I remember seeing him as the fire spread," began Ōjichan's raspy voice. "I remember blindly running, and trying to get to my parents who I had gotten separated from. I coughed on the smoke and cinders, calling for them." I had his attention once more. "I fell, then, and my head was nearly crushed by feet trying to move to safety. I saw bodies, bloated and burned to the crisp. I was tempting to jump in the river with them, to where my parents were. They were, I could feel it. Death surrounded me. Smoke was in my eyes, nostrils, and ears. I heard the screams of the dying as they died. I was about to jump in…when someone saved me."

"Who was it?" I whispered.

"I couldn't tell at first. I only felt a touch on my cheek, like a caress from my mother. That made me realize what I was about to do…and give away. I stepped away from the water, away from the bodies and the dying. I ran away far away from the fire, where I stayed until I stopped running. I don't know where I stopped, I just remember his face." Ōjichan paused for a moment, closing his eyes. I watched transfixed as he murmured a name to low for me to hear. "The man was not from this time. He could have been from early Meiji period. He was wearing a crimson-red kimono, and carried a sword at his side. His eyes were deep blue, and had flaming red hair. His eyes were soothing, and he smiled at me when I noticed a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. I was so surprised I didn't even start when he stroked my cheek again. "'You must not throw your life away,'" Himura Kenshin told me. "'You must live through the bloodstains and ashes of war, Isamu. Be brave. Be strong.'" His voice had a soft timber. "'I will protect your happiness.'" Then he was gone."

"Did…you see him again?" I gasped.

"Iie," Ōjichan replied. "I never saw our ancestor again. But he's in my heart, Shinta Perhaps you will see him tonight." I didn't know what to say at those words. Suddenly, a memory resurfaced. When I was on the top of the roof, I could barely hear the voice that called my name. I didn't see him, as Ōjichan did. I heard his voice in my ears, and suddenly, the screams of the dying disappeared. "Shinta," I heard my name as he called me. "You have my name. My true name. Stay strong, onna no ko, your ōjichan needs you. You must stay strong for him and yourself. You will live with this great tragedy. Nothing is stronger than the will to live. I will protect your happiness." Then he was gone.

"Shinta!" A familiar voice shouted my name from my thoughts. I turned, and saw my friend Shinmori Akira. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of my old friend. He didn't have any injuries that I could see, and he waved to me as he came over, clutching the small hand of a three-year old.

"Daijobou desu ka, Akira-kun?" Ōjichan asked the thirteen year old boy without opening his eyes.

"Daijobou desu, Himura-san." Akira bowed deeply to Ōjichan's motionless form. The three-year old, a girl, hid behind me.

"Who is she?" I asked Akira. She clutched my school uniform tightly, and wouldn't let go.

"Myōjin Yasuko. Her name was in her jacket, and I haven't found her parents since I rescued her from the earthquake. She's been following me around ever since. My parents are over there." Akira gestured toward the doorway when he saw my concerned gaze. I looked, and saw his mother and father helping the doctors and nurses with incoming patients from the disaster.

"Her family name is Myōjin?" Ōjichan questioned, opening his eyes a little. A curious glimmer was in his eye.

"Hai," Akira answered. He looked at me bewildered, but I knew as much information as he did.

"Listen to me carefully, children. Himura Kenshin, Shinta's ancestor, once told Shinmori Aoshi, your ancestor, Akira-kun, that nothing was stronger than the will to live. If you can believe that, you can live through anything. That was how I was able to survive the war and the death of my son and his wife. That is how you will survive this earthquake and tsunami. He told me that, Himura Kenshin. "'Nothing is stronger than the will to live.'" I have a feeling that Myōjin Yasuko, the girl that you rescued, Akira-kun, is the descendant of Myōjin Yahiko, the first student of Himura Kaoru."

"Himura Kenshin's wife?" Akira questioned. Ōjichan nodded.

"What else did Himura Kenshin say to you?" I questioned. Akira was spellbound as well, and even Yasuko-chan looked at Ōjichan curiously.

"'The happiness you lost once in this chaos I will protect this time around.'" He turned to us.

"' Yakusoku imasu.'"