At last, the conclusion. Sorry it took me a while to get this up—I had a hard time finding a decent way to wrap it up. Thanks for reading.
Gojyo and I kept our silence as we walked. I couldn't guess at his exact thoughts or feelings, but I had my assumptions. All of this had been quite unpleasant for him after all, and I knew he had his share of things to hash out, things that perhaps he'd never come to terms with and now had no choice but to face.
When we were nearly out of town, we reached an intersection of sorts, and Gojyo paused there.
I stopped beside him, giving him a questioning look.
He met my gaze and jerked his head to the left, indicating the south-bound road. "C'mon, man, I wanna show ya somethin'."
"You do?" I felt my eyebrows shoot up. "I should think you'd want to get out of this town as quickly as possible."
"Yeah, but this'll only take a sec."
Suppressing a sigh, I glanced up at the sun. We hadn't parted ways with Sanzo that long ago, and it was possible he was going to give us some time alone anyway, so I agreed reluctantly, "Very well, but we mustn't waste much time, or Sanzo will be angry."
Gojyo nodded. "It'll just take a sec." He began to walk down the southern road, and I followed closely after him, not trusting anyone in this town to give him a break simply because of what had been decided at the so-called trial.
The lane grew narrower as we went along, and it was also decidedly peaceful. Very few people passed us, but they mostly minded their own business, and only a handful stared at Gojyo or whispered. Many of them were elderly, puttering in their gardens or carrying small baskets of goods. The old trees grew close together, shading the road, and thick shrubs hid most of the yards from view, but from what I saw, they were all well-maintained and full of flowers, and the houses themselves were small and quaint. A distinct scent of spring lingered in the air. I kept a wary eye open for danger, wondering why we were taking this detour, and I felt a bit impatient as time passed.
"I would personally like to leave," I explained when a few minutes had gone by.
"Me too."
"What I mean is, I can't understand your reason for delaying our departure, considering what just happened."
"Because I wanna show you something." He stopped so suddenly, I nearly ran into him. "We're here," he told me quietly.
We had reached a small cottage, painted white with a brown roof and trim. It was steeped in plant life, with maple trees clustered on each side of it and a large grove of oaks behind it, giving it a somewhat secluded appearance. A wooden fence encircled it, and the path running to the door was lined with unruly hedges. The yard looked as though it had long-since been neglected, and the windows were dark, and I got the feeling no one had lived here in a long time. Still, the grass was full of wildflowers, and near the front of the house, red roses grew up a wooden lattice. In a way, it was a mirror image of the house he'd grown up in—uncared for and forgotten, slowly being claimed by nature—and yet it felt much quainter and much safer.
"Picturesque," I commented. "I don't understand what we're looking at though, or why we're taking the time to do so."
Gojyo took his time answering. He rested one foot on the fence, leaning against it with his arms folded, and lit a cigarette. He mumbled, "I was born here. I think."
I looked the cottage over in a new light. It was certainly peaceful enough, tucked away in a pretty neighborhood. Not like the house we'd just come from. "Not in a hospital?" I asked without thinking.
Gojyo arched an eyebrow at me. "Really, Hakkai?"
Feeling foolish, I tried to explain, "I only meant…your parents… Your mother at least… Surely she would have wanted…to do what was safest… Not that midwives aren't a safe option… Still… I only meant…" Realizing I wasn't making matters any better, I stopped.
He picked up. "Like I said, I dunno for sure. I don't remember very much about being really little. I think they tried to hide it though. I think they tried to hide me."
In an intolerant town like this one, I couldn't blame them.
Drawing on his cigarette, he stared at the house, and I couldn't read his expression. "This was her house though. My mom. I can kinda remember being here with her. Or maybe I just made it up. But I know this was her house."
For a while, I stared at the cottage and its overgrown garden. It would have been a nicer place to grow up in than what either of us had actually gotten. To think, he'd had the chance at such a peaceful beginning, only to have it ripped away from him.
Much like myself.
Gojyo went on, voice quieter—grim almost, "Sometimes, I've thought about going inside to see if it looks familiar…but I think this is where they… That's why no one lives here now…" He blinked slowly, like he was remembering something. "If I go in there…I don't know what I'll remember. Maybe it'll be an early memory of my mom…or maybe it'll be… I mean." He lowered his eyes and flicked ashes into the grass. "I was there. It's possible I could remember them killing themselves. Right?"
It took me a moment to realize he was asking me a question I was so caught up in my own dismay. "Memories typically begin around the age of two or three," I murmured. "I suppose you might."
"Too bad." He kicked the fence. "I wonder if the house it just the way they left it."
"I doubt it, Gojyo."
"Yeah…" He rubbed the back of his neck. I was concerned that he was being so open with me just now. It wasn't unheard of for him to confide in me when something really bothered him, but even so, all that meant was he was quite troubled now.
"Let's leave," I suggested. "Sanzo may or may not take his time in the market—none of us want to be here much longer though, and he'll be irritated if we don't meet him on time."
Not that Sanzo would leave us in this particular place. If anything, he might think something happened to us.
Gojyo didn't seem to hear me. He took another drag on his cigarette and stared at the house, almost as if he expected the door to open and for his mother to appear. Abruptly, he said, "Sometimes I wonder if maybe it's true. Maybe they did kill themselves because they were ashamed of having me."
It was easy for him to think that, I supposed. If they truly hadn't gone to the hospital for his birth, and they'd hid here in this love nest, and then committed suicide shortly after he began to walk and speak, it seemed possible. After all, hiding a three-year-old would not have been easy, and they would have come to the realization that everyone would put the pieces together as soon as they learned of his existence.
What a cold thing to do though, to leave him to the people they knew would detest him just to spare themselves some shame.
Never-the-less, he was obviously still distraught by this entire episode, and I didn't dare voice any of those thoughts. Instead, I answered softly, "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
I reflected a moment, trying to find something to tell him. My parents really hadn't wanted me—they'd abandoned us outright, and that action had been clear enough, especially since I could remember the day they'd separated vividly. I could easily recall being taken to the orphanage, if I chose to. There was no way of knowing what his parents had been thinking though. No matter who he asked, it was all speculation at this point. Eventually I muttered, "I don't know. I suppose I just don't want to believe that's possible."
"It is though. It's totally possible they felt exactly the same way everyone else in this town does." His voice took on a hard edge. "It's possible they got a couple years into it and just didn't want to do it anymore."
I looked sharply at him, but I made sure to keep an even tone. "You don't know that, Gojyo. You don't have to accept that as reality, and in my opinion, there's no reason to do so. You're only torturing yourself if you start believing that's what happened here."
He scoffed.
I gripped his arm firmly. "This has been a trying experience, and I think the best thing to do now is leave."
"Who even knows," he said bleakly. "Even if they'd lived, who knows if it would have gone any better for me? For all I know, they wouldn't have treated me any better than Jien's mom did."
"Gojyo," I insisted, pulling him with me. "Let's leave."
He refused to move. "Maybe nobody would have given a fuck, no matter what happened to them."
I sighed. "I give a fuck," I hissed.
He glanced at me, expression dark, almost as if he didn't remember who I was or that I was there at all.
"I give many, many fucks. And I don't know what either of them would have done or why they chose the end they did, but I do know if they hadn't I wouldn't have met you at all, and that means I would be dead right now."
"Yeah, well isn't that kinda what you wanted?"
"It isn't what I want now. You know that. You know I'm glad to be alive, and you know I'm grateful for your part in that. It's understandable for you to be upset right now, but you need to keep the circumstances in perspective."
He didn't answer. Instead, he stared past me, back the way we'd come, frowning more than ever and chewing on his cigarette, eyes dark as wine.
I turned to look also.
Maddi-san stood not far from us, looking as austere as ever, chin in the air, watching us without emotion.
I stiffened at the sight of her, fully expecting more trouble, even after she said she'd dropped her charges. I refused to trust her or anyone else in this town.
Gojyo stood up straight again, taking a half step backward and throwing his cigarette down.
She moved forward, taking time in her approach, and I heard the rustle of her stiff skirts as she walked. As she drew nearer, I noticed she held a piece of paper in her hand.
When she'd gotten closer, I spoke up, struggling to be polite, "Konnichiwa, obasan… I'm startled to see you here."
Gojyo stayed perfectly still next to me, not speaking.
She too remained silent until she'd reached us, and then she looked between us with an air of uncertainty. At last she said to him, "I have something for you. I thought you might…be interested in seeing it."
Gojyo shifted nervously. "What is it?"
` Maddi-san hesitated, glancing down at the paper she'd brought with her as if she was having second thoughts, and it looked as if she was even shaking a little. "It is possible…you won't want it… It's not exactly a pleasant gift. It's…" She sighed and took his hand in hers, pressing the paper against his palm. "It's her note. I kept it."
My heart clenched, and I turned to stare at him.
Gojyo didn't seem to understand at first, and he stared blankly at her.
"That's morbid of you," I told her, with barely concealed outrage. "Why on earth would he want that?"
"Well, Hakkai-san—"
"If you had to give him something of hers, was it out of the question to bring something a touch more appropriate? A piece of her jewelry, perhaps? A photograph even?"
Maddi-san's face paled. "Yes. I see why you might think that. I…I simply thought he might be interested to see what she said… Her last words."
Next to me, Gojyo gave a start as he realized what the paper in his hands was, and he stared down at it, eyes widening.
"It was an unexpected idea; I can see why you might see it as insensitive. I thought you'd be leaving town quickly. I didn't know if I had time to find something more…" She lowered her eyes suddenly. "I'm sorry."
I glared at her. "Don't you think you've caused him enough pain today?"
"I'm sorry," she repeated, refusing to look up at me. "Still…I maintain that the words written there may prove to be more valuable than you expect." It seemed she had nothing else to say, for she turned away quickly and hurried back up the street.
We watched her go. Of all the thoughtless things to do, bringing him the suicide note his mother had written twenty years ago. Why would she have even kept such a morbid article?
I faced Gojyo, afraid of what he might do now. He had already been exhibiting signs of emotional turmoil, and now if he read his mother's last words, I feared he could have an absolute breakdown.
He continued to stare at the letter in his hands. I was glad to see it was folded up still. It looked worn, the edges tattered. A woman's signature was printed on it in blue ink.
He had it now. I didn't know if I should attempt to talk him out of reading it or not.
As it turned out, I didn't have to. Gojyo shoved the note into my hands abruptly. "You read it, man. I can't."
"Perhaps no one should read it."
He lit a new cigarette and stared at the cottage again, face drawn in a wince. "Read it for me, Hakkai."
Slowly, I unfolded the note, studying it a while. It was blotched with dusky reddish-brown stains of blood, and the paper was turning yellow with age. Some of the words were fading, others were blotted out entirely, but if nothing else, it was brief. "Shall I…read it out loud?"
He shook his head. "Just read it to yourself."
Not at all pleased with the task, I read through the suicide note. It seemed she hadn't had very much to say, but it was addressed to Maddi-san. She talked briefly about her regrets, about her fears, and expressed a longing to live, and then went on to say that her lover had talked her into it. She went on some about not being able to bear the thought of life without him, and that she wanted to be with him in eternity, if she could. She expressed such contrition over leaving her loved ones—specifically her son—behind, my heart was moved, and my eyes even begun to sting. The last words written were, "please have mercy on our precious little boy and treat him as your own, and tell him I'm watching him from heaven."
A long moment passed, and I wasn't sure what to say. I could see now why Maddi-san had thought Gojyo might be interested in reading his mother's final words.
I turned to him, but he was still staring off into space.
"Gojyo, she—"
"I don't wanna know."
I hesitated, startled. "Yes, but I don't think it's what you're expecting."
"I don't wanna know what it says. I decided."
"Gojyo," I insisted gently, "it answers the questions you were asking me not ten minutes ago."
He wouldn't look at me.
"It's very tender. She explains—"
"No, man, no," he interrupted, somewhat frantically. "I can't. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."
"Maybe it does though."
"No. No…"
I stood back a while, studying him, perusing the note again. She had loved him. Why should he go the rest of his life wondering if she had when he could learn that for himself this very moment? Why on earth was he being so stubborn? "Gojyo," I tried one more time. "Maddi-san was right. Your mother—"
He faced me, fiercely. "Stop it! I told you I don't want to know what it says!"
"Then why did you force me to read it?" I demanded.
"Because," he snapped. His furious expression furled with confusion. He scraped at his hair. "Because…I wanted you to know what it says. I don't know. You know now. I don't need to."
"You have it backwards."
"I can't deal with it, Hakkai! I don't want to!"
It wasn't often I saw him this upset or perplexed, and I knew I had to back off. "Very well then, I'll hold onto it."
His eyes widened with a strange element of fear. "What? No. Just throw it away."
"Gojyo, I don't see how that can possibly make sense to you. Later, you might change your mind and want to read it, and if you do, I'll have it."
"If I change my mind, I can ask you what it said, because you read it."
"Yes, but—"
Expression darkening back to a glare, he snarled, "Dude, why do you have to be so goddamn nosey?"
Never mind that he was the one who'd made me read it in the first place, even though I'd been the one to counsel against reading it at all. What good did the information I'd learned do if he never heard it for himself?
"I don't know exactly," I answered calmly, deciding I needed to placate him as quickly as possible. "I suppose it's my nature. Also, I want what's best for you."
He continued to glare, but he suddenly snatched the letter from me.
I thought for sure he had seen sense and would read it, and at the very least it would give him some consolation after all this chaos.
Instead, he held the paper up in one hand, making sure to keep the text turned away from his line of sight, and put his lighter to it. I watched in disbelief as the paper caught fire. The flames licked up the letter, blackening it, eating away his mother's last words, and then Gojyo threw it down on the road and stomped out what little remained.
"Well," I murmured, "you destroyed your options, in any case."
He turned to me again. "They're dead, Hakkai. This note doesn't change that—it doesn't change anything. I don't need them anyway. Not when I have you."
His emotions were raging a bit erratic, and I wasn't sure I followed his thought process at all, but I certainly couldn't hold any of that against him, given the circumstances. Carefully, I replied, "I'm sure I'm a poor substitute for a parent."
"Why? You're a good substitute for just about everything else."
That was something I couldn't exactly deny. Aside from Goku and Sanzo, I'd substituted for his lack of genuine friends for the last three years, and I'd substituted for Jien as well. I even suspected that having such a close, personal relationship with me substituted for the fact that he didn't have a significant other—he likely didn't feel like he needed one when he could bed a different woman every night and then come home to me, knowing I'd feed him and do his laundry, and listen to him if he felt like talking.
I had no idea whether or not that was healthy for him—for either of us really—but at the moment there wasn't any changing it, and from what I'd seen, he had a good reason for harboring those sentiments.
Most importantly though, this wasn't the time to analyze our relationship and determine whether or not it was functional. He was obviously very upset.
"Can we leave now, please?" I asked. "I think I've had enough of this awful place, and I know you have."
Not waiting for his reply, I grabbed his arm and began to lead him back up the street so we could keep heading west.
We left town and went some distance out onto the road, until the town had grown small in the distance behind us, and then Jeep transformed, and I got into the driver's side, and Gojyo into the passenger's seat, where Sanzo normally sat.
"He'll make you move when he comes back," I murmured half-heartedly.
"It's my turn," he answered in an equally listless tone.
"I was unaware the two of you were taking turns."
"We should be. No one should have to sit next to the monkey all the time."
I smiled wanly, and rubbed my eyes. The forest around us was peaceful now, and the light had brightened to a pleasant, buttery yellow, birds sang in the trees, and a refreshing breeze whispered over the grass and branches. All things considered, I was quite exhausted. I'd slept so little, and I'd endured such worry, I wished I could take some time to rest before driving all day. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.
"Want me to drive a while?" Gojyo offered.
"I think I can manage. Driving helps me get my mind off things."
He sighed. "Sorry, man."
"For what?" The sun felt good, soaking into my clothes and skin, and the air smelled fresh. We'd escaped yet another disaster, and I honestly couldn't think of a single thing for him to apologize for.
"I freaked out on you a little."
"There's no need to be sorry for that. You're upset."
"Yeah. But I put you through all that bullshit."
"Come now. It really wasn't so bad for me, in comparison."
"You were pretty tense there for a while."
"With good reason."
He continued to speak in a far-off, hollow tone. "You guys are right though. I shoulda said something…so I'm sorry I didn't. Maybe we coulda avoided it all."
I nodded but said, "None of this was your fault. Your apology is as absurd as my apologizing for getting us lost and bringing us here in the first place."
"You're not sorry you got us lost?"
"I suppose I'm sorry it yielded such a disastrous result, but for all I know we would have found ourselves in this situation regardless, so it isn't really anyone's fault. It's all chance, Gojyo."
He waited a long moment before saying quietly, "I never wanted to come back here… I never thought I'd have to. I've been so many places between here and meeting you, I couldn't even remember where it was exactly."
"I don't blame you," I told him softly. "It isn't a pleasant place by any means."
He snorted. "What about you? Would you ever wanna go back where you came from?"
I opened my eyes, staring thoughtfully at the sky. "To the orphanage, you mean? Well, I hadn't thought of it, but no, I wouldn't particularly care to visit that place again. For one thing, I wasn't exactly a kind person when I lived there. I suspect I'd have a lot of atoning to do."
"It's hard to imagine you being that big of an asshole."
I smiled to myself. "Is it really? I'm sure it still shines through from time to time."
Gojyo shrugged. "Not too much."
"Well," I laughed, "I suppose that's the difference between being around people you despise and being around people you don't despise."
Instead of laughing with me as he normally might, he asked quietly, and with shades of insecurity, "That stuff you said… The things you told them about me… You were just trying to change their minds, right?"
"Why?" I teased, trying to lighten his mood. "You disagree with what I said?"
"I dunno, man. I think I'm the asshole."
I smiled again. "I didn't have to change their minds, Gojyo—I could have killed everyone in that room, and you know that. I refrained because you didn't want me to do that. You wanted to offer those undeserving people mercy, and I admire that. Furthermore, I'm not the one who changed their minds; you did. When they saw how sincerely you wanted to avoid violence, they realized how wrong they were. Maddi-san even regretted a choice she made twenty years ago, and it wasn't over what I said, it's because what I said is true." I let the smile drop, and said earnestly, "You're special, Goj."
His face flushed with mild embarrassment. "Me? Nah. Dude, I'm just…"
"Just you, I know, but the point is, not everyone would be willing to show compassion the way you did back there. After the ways they humiliated and tormented and neglected you over the years, and the way they all turned their backs on you, it took a special kind of mercy to talk us into letting them off so easily, especially when you know all three of us would have been happy to shut them up. I almost resent that you didn't let me kill them."
He looked away, mood still grim.
"I don't of course. I need that. I know what I'm prone to, and I know how I get carried away with my own dark emotions. It's good to have a reminder that such unrestrained passion isn't always the way to handle something."
Kanan had been that way as well, I reflected. She had shown me the value of showing people a gentler side of myself. I'd never forget how she cupped my face between her hands and said, "You and I both know how unfair and bleak life can seem, but we'd be juvenile to assume we're the only ones being made to endure such trials. Everyone has their hardships, and it's for that very reason, and because we have seen such tribulations, that we must always bear in mind compassion." I'd never forget the way love had brightened her eyes and pinkened her cheeks as she finished, "People need that, Gonou. It's the only thing that can save them."
When she died, I had thought she must be wrong, and that hatred and cruelty must truly be the only way to survive. I had despaired that no one would ever be able to show me that again or to validate the lesson she'd taught me.
But Gojyo picked me up out of the rain, and he'd shown me that it didn't even require all the intelligence and education Kanan had possessed to deduce such a thing, it only required an open and understanding heart, and a willingness to prioritize other people's solace above your own misery.
As much as I'd seen myself tending toward that same, tired, old blackness today, I realized now that I could never go back to being Cho Gonou. I could never commit such atrocities again. Not because I'd chosen a new name and a new way of life, but because I had someone in my life who could show me the way, as long as he was alive, and if I had any say in it, that would be decades still.
In a few minutes, I said, "No matter what they say, no matter how they've all lied to you, you are unique, Goj, and you are valuable. I don't know anyone else like you."
"You're good too, 'Kai," he told me with unusual gentleness. "Maybe not to everybody. But…you're cool to me."
I smiled, thinking there likely wasn't anyone else alive I could be so generous and warm to. Even our companions could try my patience in comparatively short order. "I hope you're all right. I know it couldn't have been easy for you, going back into that house."
He heaved a sigh, like he'd hoped I wouldn't mention that. "I'm cool. I'll forget it in a while."
"I'm sorry I couldn't spare you from that."
"Yeah, well it ain't really your job, 'Kai," he said with some defiance.
"No. It's my privilege though, being your friend. Those sorry people in that town passed up a once in a lifetime opportunity, as far as I'm concerned."
"C'mon man," he scoffed. "You're embarrassing the hell out of me today."
"It's true though, isn't it? Even Maddi-san realized she'd made a mistake in the end."
I thought I heard him laugh, and that was a good sign. "Dude, can you imagine what a stiff I'd be if she'd raised me? I'd have a bigger stick up my ass than Sanzo has."
"Ah, I very much doubt she would have been able to make you behave, seeing how no one else has ever managed it. It's more likely you would have driven the poor woman mad."
This time, the laugh was louder, and more genuine. "Am I that bad?"
"You're incorrigible. You must know that."
"Yeah, yeah, I don't know how you deal with it." He lit a cigarette, snappily, and lounged back in the seat, boots propped up on the dash, even though I must have told him a million times how I hated that. I'd allow it today though. I felt sure I'd allow him to get away with a number of inexcusable acts over the next few days.
I faced him again, watching as he stared around at the forest, beginning to look more relaxed, getting back to his easygoing self, and I felt impressed with his resilience as usual. I couldn't have done it, I didn't think. I couldn't have been dragged back to the place where I watched Kanan die and listen to half a dozen people explain how it was my fault she'd been killed in the first place. I shuddered to think about it, certain I would have gone mad on the spot.
As to the note, perhaps it was good he hadn't read it. In any case, he could always ask me what it said later, and I knew I would always remember. Have mercy on my precious little boy, and treat him as your own. I would never forget that his mother had loved him, that she hadn't really wanted to leave him. Perhaps she'd merely been a weak-spirited woman to allow her lover to convince her to join him in death. Never-the-less, she hadn't left this life out of a sense of shame. She hadn't hated the child she'd brought into this world. I could always tell him that later, if he wanted to know some day.
Maddi-san must have let her grief get the best of her to let her sister's dying wish go unfulfilled. She should have taken him in—she must have known that all along—she should have raised him as if he were her son. Today at least she'd seen the error of her ways. I might always resent her, but I also pitied her. Like Dokugakuji, what she'd lost had become mine.
I'll do it… I doubt you really can look down from heaven, but…if for some reason you can, I'll have mercy on your son. I'll treat him as if he's my flesh and blood.
"Gojyo," I said.
He looked at me, nonchalantly, eyes bright again now with sunlight and security, drumming on his armrest lightheartedly. "Nya?"
I smiled to myself. He's strong at least. If you can see him from wherever you are, you must be proud.
"I love you."
His eyes widened slightly, and I knew I'd caught him off guard. It wasn't every day we told each other that. He got drunk occasionally and babbled about how much he loved me, but I'd always been much more conservative in my affection. I couldn't remember the last time I'd said it—it was possible I'd never said it to his face—but this morning, after the events he'd just endured, and the dreary memories attached to said events, I thought he deserved to hear someone say it, regardless of the fact that the actions I'd taken ever since we arrived in this town should have been as good as shouting it in his face.
He stared at me a while.
"You know that. Right?"
His expression flickered as he overcame the shock, and then it was replaced by calm flippancy. He shrugged and went back to scanning the woods with half-hearted interest and drumming on the armrest. "Yeah, man. Duh. I love you too."
I touched his shoulder. "If ever you do want to know what she wrote in that letter…you can always ask me."
"Nah, I don't need to know. It's like you said—stuff went the way it went, and everything's okay the way it is now. Whether or not they wanted me, I've got you and the guys, and that's good enough." He appeared to think a moment, and then he suddenly turned and put his arms around my neck. "I'd way rather have what I've got right now than a really awesome childhood."
When I thought about my unfeeling parents, I thought I felt much the same, but he was getting back to being himself, so I teased him instead, wanting to draw him out of the remnants of his melancholy attitude. "You're being uncharacteristically sentimental."
He uttered a low laugh against my shoulder. "Yeah, huh?"
"That's all right," I pounded his back. "I won't tell anyone."
If you can see him though, at least you know you don't have to worry. At least you know he's strong, and he's with me.
