Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto.
Author's notes: Thanks for your kind reviews! Re gou is the Mandarin words for what Americans refer to as hot dogs, and ma huang is a Chinese plant containing ephedrine. All other translations should be self-explanatory, and I promise that I will quit beating up on Neji soon.
The Hardest Journey
What was I thinking?
Why did I tell him my name?
Seated cross-legged upon the cold and rocky ground, Tenten glances up at the nearby wagon which still holds the guerilla's ill prisoner. Her chocolate eyes go blank at the very sight of the troublesome contraption- an irregular shape, even blacker than the surrounding darkness- and the girl frowns, losing herself completely to her pessimistic thoughts. Really, what sort of interrogator was she, that she could so completely miss out on any pertinent information? And worse, she had ended up introducing herself to her charge!
Taking a deep breath, Tenten tells herself that she need not worry about her lapse in judgement. A name is merely a title, something to help avoid confusion, and nothing more. It is a thing that easily given and just as simply replaced- she perhaps knows this better than anyone. Names do not define a person and, no matter what some cultures believe, the use of someone's name does not give you any special power over another. Just because the Japanese man now knows what to call his jailer does not mean he is any less of a captive.
Besides, I know his name, too.
The thought contents her momentarily, and Tenten returns to her previous task, squinting down at the fleshy part at the base of her right thumb. One large spot is red and greatly inflamed, sore to the touch. The young woman knows that it is probably a splinter gained from hauling the cart uphill the night before, and she probes the area with the ragged and dirty thumb nail of the other hand, grimacing from the stabbing pressure all the while. After a few pain-filled seconds of exploration, she comes up empty and sighs. Perhaps it is just a still-forming blister.
Disappointed at the lost prospect of relief, Tenten continues her examination, glancing over her calloused hands. The skin of her palms is bright red and raw, the cuticles dry and peeling painfully backward, all ten nails chipped and broken. In some places, earth has been ground into the creases, and the entire sorry condition combines with the poor lighting from a moon just two days past its sickle state to conspire against her. She cannot see the numerous irritating little things past the ugliness of the whole package. These are not the hands of a noble woman.
Not even Lee and Uncle Gai, with their constant kung-fu training, had hands as hideous as these.
That thought hurts, for her mother and her nanny had raised her to be more than this. Tenten knows that she should have been a lady by now, a gentle and delicate creature, pretty and well-mannered and perhaps even awaiting a marriage to some nice and upstanding young man chosen by her family. But here she is, hiding far to the south, living among peasants and scrounging off the land, working her fine hands to the bone in a desperate attempt to survive. Here, she is at worst a mule and at best a nosy nursemaid, and she is certain that her parents wanted her to become either.
Oh gods, how she has fallen!
Trying to shake off her depression, Tenten straightens her stiff legs and then bends them upward in front of her body, leaning forward and laying her dark head upon her knees. She turns it ever so slightly, allowing one chocolate eye some freedom, so that she may still view the cart in front of her. The position is uncomfortable to say the least, bringing to the forefront of her mind every ache and pain in her body, from her throbbing foot to her numb bottom and on to her aching hands, but she should not fall asleep this way, no matter how much she desperately wants to.
Why, she asks herself, did her new friend Hao have to be wake her this morning, before the sun even rose? Sure, the companionable teenager had some news to impart, but with the exception of the promise of wholesome food, Tenten could have done without it all. After two nights of negligible rest- soon to be three- she needs some sleep far more than she needed to hear any of the group's campfire gossip or their commander's lofty appointments. And he could have spared her the knowledge that the sick and uncooperative Japanese soldier- Neji, she reminds herself- was now her concern.
"Mizu."
The croaked plea pulls Tenten from her reverie, and she climbs wearily to her feet, battered canteen clutched in her hand. Over the past few hours, she has become well acquainted with this one foreign word, and knows that her prisoner is once again begging for water. He has already drunk the container's whole contents three times, and shows no sign of slowing down, despite Tenten's repeated insistence that he allow the liquid to sit before ingesting more. Not for the first time that night, she thinks it is a good thing they have a barrel full of water stored in the wagon, for she cannot afford to leave him and get more.
Climbing carefully onto the back of the rickety old cart, hanging on at the point farthest away from the captive and nearest to the water drum, Tenten looks down on him. Neji is sleeping again, despite the fact that he had tried so hard to stay awake after their introductions, and had surprisingly managed to do so for about three hours. His eerie, pupil-less pearl eyes are closed and his pale, handsome face is contorted by some sort of hideous dream. Occassionally, he murmurs things, calling out Chichiue and other words for which Tenten has no translation.
Satisfied that he is no condition to be a danger to herself, Tenten pries the heavy lid from the rusting drum and lowers her canteen into the cool water. An air bubble escapes from the top, making a funny noise as it pops, followed by two smaller ones, and the container becomes weighted in her hands. She lifts it out carefully, and licks the faintly metallic tasting water from her hand before sealing the barrel. Tenten lifts her leg to step awkwardly into the wagon, then remembers Hao's warning about the prisoner and thinks better of it, jumping to the safety of the ground.
He's dangerous, even tied up.
Walking around to stand by the cart's side, Tenten climbs up onto her tiptoes and reaches over so that her hand hangs nearly above the slumbering man's face. The girl shakes the canteen so that the liquid inside sloshes loudly and the container knocks the young man in the shoulder. She is dismayed to still feel the burning heat of his skin through his tan uniform. If Neji is truly recovering from his illness, benefiting from her ministrations, the teenaged guerilla cannot tell. She raises her voice and asks, "Hey, are you thirsty? You called for water."
Those depthless eyes crack open in response, blinding white and brighter even than the moon above, and Tenten can see they are hot with fever. Although the pallid young man is looking straight at her, it is obvious that he does not actually see her form. He blinks a few times, clearly disoriented, and before focusing upon the container dangling in front of him, latching onto it with his bound hands and causing Tenten to spill a little bit of the precious water upon his shirt. The rest makes it more or less into his wide open mouth, though she thinks he gets the credit for that.
After Neji drains the canteen, Tenten jerks the vessel from his grasp, feeling rather inadequate. She has never before nursed a person, never been responsible for the welfare of another, and the anxious young woman is not at all sure that she is doing the right thing. What if, she worries with a frightened shiver, the water is merely draining into his lungs and drowning him with an infinite slowness? Such a thing must be possible, but then, why would he crave the liquid so? Staring down at him, watching as he curls back up and drifts off, she is dismayed not to come up with an answer.
It would be better for us all, yourself included, if you just slipped away quietly.
The verhement thought bubbles up from somewhere deep inside her, and Tenten is startled into considering it; there is no hope of this occurring, however. Ill, their captive will not be able to make an escape, at least not one that could be plausibly explained. Also, so long as the girl dutifully continues to help him convalesce, he probably will not be dying any time soon. Of course, Tenten could help him along with a quick slash to the throat, but to kill a helpless man just seems wrong, even if he is the enemy, and she knows that doing so would get her in trouble with her comrades.
They are at an impasse.
Aided by the tired but tenacious Tenten, Neji's condition steadily improves throughout the long night. By the time the dawn breaks, the young man is fully awake and finally coherent, though nowhere near healed of his injuries. He sits up in the cart, letting the nasty blanket fall away now that his fever is gone, and watches the sun rise from the direction of his homeland. Finally, it reaches a high point and drives the shadows from this deep and secluded mountain valley, changing the color of the barren, rocky canyon walls from darkest grey to a warm ochre.
Birds begin calling nearby, their tiny chirps echoing throughout the length of the canyon, and the teenaged soldier looks up to see a number of small swallows flitting to and fro. The summer is high and as a consequence the creatures are nesting, carrying rough twigs and beaks' full of spitty mud toward the highest crags, where they deposit the mess and shape it into a strange sort of clinging abode. Neji likes the little birds, for they have them back in Japan, and he is dismayed to remember that the Chinese barbarians eat their nests.
Around him, the guerrilla camp begins to stir, forty odd men groaning and waking at roughly the same time. As he watches, they stand and stretch, and a few glance disgustedly in his direction before stumbling off to pee. Despite the incredible volume of water Neji downed last night, little has made it into his bladder, thus saving him the same trouble and serving as further evidence of just how sick he had been. Even now, he still feels a lingering thirst, but that annoyance has now been eclipsed by the one in his rumbling gut. Hyuga Neji is starving.
"Ni e le ma?" Are you hungry?
Neji turns his head to see his unlikely guard- Zhu Tenten, he thinks that what how the girl had introduced herself last night- come walking over from the center of the bivouac. Clutched carefully in her small hands are two wooden bowls filled with something pale and steaming, and the sight of them leaves Neji feeling weak. Never mind all the disgusting things the Chinese could possibly be having for breakfast, the young sergeant is now willingly to try anything. He nods his ebony head in a feeble affirmative, replying 'yes' in her own language. "Shi de."
Tenten comes to a stop before him and passes up one serving of food, and Neji takes a precise hold of the roughened ware and glances at it apprehensively. Now that sustenance is so close- in his very hands- he is beginning to wonder once again if he should partake of it. What if the guerillas have poisoned it? Or worse, what if there is some sort of truth-inducing hallucinogenic mixed in, and they are planning on another round of interrogation later? Glancing down at the brunette, he asks in broken Mandarin what it is they are serving.
The girl frowns upwards at him for a moment- undoubtedly worried that he will not consume their toxic foodstuffs- then rolls her brown eyes and takes a cavalier swig of her own breakfast. Her weary face lights up then, features reorganizing themselves into something that is almost a smile. Neji wonders if the chow could really taste that good. "Re gou," she mutters then, impolitely replying around a blisteringly warm mouthful. The soldier hears the frustration in her tone, but is very dismayed not to recognize any of the words.
I'm trying to speak their language, the least they could do is attempt to help me out.
On second though, no, these people would butcher Japanese horribly.
The wholesome aroma of the food in his hands wafts upward to his nose, and Neji sniffs appreciatively. His stomach gives another loud gurgle in response, and the youth makes up his mind then; he is going to eat, content in the knowledge that even if this breakfast is swimming with poison, at least he will soon be out of his misery. And as for a truth-serum, the sergeant is pretty sure that he would not be able to tell them anything important relating to the war, having deserted his post months ago. Let it be laced with something, anything, as long as it tastes good going down.
Neji goes to lift the bowl to his mouth, only to find that his restraints will not allow him to reach any higher than his clavicle. He verbally damns the course fetters and lowers the wooden dish, and it is the quiet curse that which catches Tenten's attention. "I can't reach," he murmurs in his own language, not knowing the proper words in hers, and the young man begins miming the action again. After the second attempt, the girl understands the problem, and quickly drains the dregs of her own bowl before reaching up to take his in hand.
Neji had hoped Tenten would loosen his tight, filthy bindings, and allow him the dignity of feeding himself. He had also been wishing that she would conveniently forget to retie them, and perhaps he could make an escape later, under the cover of darkness. That is not to be though, as Tenten climbs onto the side of the cart and tips the bowl over his face, feeding him as though he is one of the same birds he observed earlier. He is disgusted to find that the food is some sort of millet porridge, and he is even more revolted when he continues to slurp the mess down, as though it is some sort of gourmet delicacy.
How he has fallen!
Tenten frowns as she finds herself standing in the back of the long victuals line. In front of her are a good twenty guerillas, all waiting for breakfast and some hoping to be lucky enough to get away with seconds. Leaning to the side, the young woman peers past the men, to where Old Mei is ladling slop into one bowl after another with the speed of a tortoise. Tenten nearly kicks the ground in frustration, and begins wondering how badly it would be taken if she skipped the line altogether; she only wants to return the bowls, after all, and the prisoner could even now be escaping.
At least I didn't untie him, so he'll have to roll away if he goes.
What a shame he didn't understand the joke about dog meat.
After what seems like an eternity of waiting, Tenten finally makes it to the front of the queue, and wordlessly holds out both bowls toward the old woman. An ugly man standing behind the teenager jabs her rudely in the shoulder, causing her to stumble forward. She manages to keep from tripping over the hot cauldron, but drops one of the precious servers. Regaining her balance, she twists to meet his angry gaze and the guerilla mutters something about her already having eaten two full servings. "You don't do anything special, so you certainly don't need to eat that much."
Tenten is hard put to restrain herself. Her empty hand flexes and moves instinctively toward her shirt, just in case. "I wasn't getting seconds, you-"
Old Mei steps up then, putting one wizened hand on Tenten's shoulder, and glaring out of sunken dark eyes toward the vexing man. Her elderly husband has been the commander of the guerillas for years- having been a soldier for a warlord in his youth- and she has long since been responsible for feeding forty people, which has taught her how to handle sticky situations. The experience of so long a life is also a plus. "She was just returning the bowls, and if I am not mistaken, you've already had a helping yourself. Move along, Chang."
The man tosses his bowl to the ground and slinks off, and the relieved Tenten turns gratefully to the older woman, bowing and murmuring her thanks. Mei waves the gratitude off and takes the remaining dish from her hands, begins to stoop in order to collect the fallen pair; Tenten beats her to them, bending with the agility of youth and scooping the wares up. As the teenager hands them back, the crone leans in close and squints up at Tenten's haggard face, her thin lips pursed in what the girl thinks must be a sign of disapproval. "You've got bags under your eyes. Have you been sleeping?"
Tenten heaves a resigned sigh and shakes her head, strands of her mahogany hair falling loose from their chignons. She has not had time to rewind the braids this morning, and their sloppiness further adds to her drawn look. The dismayed young woman knows that if a half-blind sexagenarian can notice that a person looks bad, then that individual must look absolutely terrible. No sense trying to deny it, so she does not. "No, madam. I haven't really slept in three days, and as long as I'm responsible for the prisoner, I don't think I will be getting any rest."
Mei turns around and glares daggers at her husband. The old man is sitting in the shadows of a hastily erected tent- the only such structure in the camp- picking at his food with a set of metal chopsticks. He ignores the angry matron until she begins jabbering at him in flurry of Cantonese so fast that Tenten cannot follow it. The commander does not say anything, does not bother responding to his wife, but he finally glances with the bares interest toward Tenten. Observing her, he gives a small nod that sends his wife into silence. "Has the Japanese soldier told you anything?"
Tenten drops her eyes respectfully and thinks back to the night before, when the delirious young man had spoken many things in his own language. Really, all she had managed to understand was his name. She bows to the shrewd old man, lower even than she had to Mei, and whispers a polite negative and an apology for failing in her duty. She does not mean the words, of course, for she had not wanted the atrocious job in the first place, and she has no aptitude for torture, but she knows instinctively that if she upsets their leader she will be abandoned.
Mei steps forward, returning the elderly commander's attention to herself. The old woman begins speaking again, still at the same furious pace she used earlier, and gestures broadly toward the men and then back to Tenten. The young woman is surprised to realize that she is still being spoken for; it is a nice change, having someone try to take care of her. Her thoughts are interrupted when Mei turns back toward her and gives a smile that shows the stumps of her rotted teeth. "Don't worry, honey. He'll send someone over after breakfast, and they'll watch him until you wake up. Have a good sleep."
"Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."
Tenten groans aloud and rolls over onto her belly, pulling the moldy, stinking blanket over her mussed head. She draps one hand up to cover an ear, trying to block out the strange words rattling around in her mind. Something about them, however, haunts her; they replay over and over and over again in the most annoying fashion, reminding her of the chanting of monks or song lyrics that are too catchy to be forgotten. Against her will, she begins to focus upon them, wondering where she has heard them previously.
"Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."
The words sound nothing like Mandarin, the comforting language of her childhood. Nor are they an example of the many toned, conservative Cantonese that is so commonly spoken in this lush southern country. Furthermore, they are not recognizable as any of the many strange dialects occassionaly used by the anomalous ethnic peoples scattered across the landscape. Certainly, the words can have no intelligible meaning, so why should they sound so very familiar to her ears? Why should they bother her so?
"Hyuga Neji…"
Hyuga Neji? Now where has she heard that before? Tenten rolls over once more, this time settling upon her left side and feeling a tiny rock dig painfully into the soft flesh of her hip. The young woman curls up and focuses on that ache, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and hoping to erase the annoying words from her brain; the attempt works for a time, but then the jab becomes too painful to bear. She shifts once more, turning onto her back and throwing off the heavy blanket before blinking the resulting tears from her chocolate eyes.
The moon above is almost a quarter full, and at the sight of it something clicks inside her mind. Hyuga Neji is the soldier with the pearl eyes! Tenten is startled to realize that she had been dreaming of him, though she immediately rationalizes that such a thing would be quite natural, given that the captive is such an important part of her life at the moment. But still, she worries, what if she had called out his name in her sleep, and someone managed to overheard her? How embarrassing that would be, to have people thinking she was hot for their prisoner.
Tenten covers her warm face with her hands, certain that she must be blushing, and tries to turn her racing thoughts away from the guerilla's amazing white-eyed detainee. Determined to go back to sleep, the girl forces herself to breath slowly and- simply because it is less painful than thinking about her past, and she feels she owes him that much- settles for thinking about her friend Hao and wondering where he is. Has his little provision buying party reached Kaili yet? Are they even now on their way back, toting delicious white rice and the pain relieving ma huang?
A strange sound reaches Tenten's ears; a clack like that of one wooden object striking upon another. What follows can only be described as a grunt of pain, and immediately after there follows a bark of laughter. The noises come again, this time slightly different, as though a softer object has been hit. The teenager has almost persuaded herself to sit up and look when she hears something else, something equally disturbing. The words that have driven Tenten from her slumber, which she thought she had dreamed, abruptly become very real.
"Hyuga Neji, Gunso, Hohei Dai-Jusan Shidan, Dai-Nippon Teikoku Rokugun."
"Is that all you can say? We've had a rumor that you all are planning some sort of grand offensive off to the east. Why don't you tell us about that?"
Tenten bolts upright and glances toward the old wagon out of habit. The prisoner is not there, and she leaps to her feet, panicking. Her chocolate orbs pierce the gloomy darkness and alight upon a figure perhaps ten feet away, standing with feet spaced widely apart and jauntily swinging a great wooden club. Tenten moves closer, eyes strained to their limit, and is shocked to recognize the man from earlier that afternoon, when she stood in the chow line. This was who they had sent to take her place and guard the captive? Chang the barbarian?
The commander purposefully chose him.
The realization is a brutal one, knocking the breath from her lungs. Rage takes hold then, the same all-consuming anger that had taken over days ago and caused her to bash the head of their detainee. Tenten curls her hands into fists and strides forward, covering the small distance between herself and the new interrogator; as she gets closer, the young woman can see Neji, tied in a sitting position to the trunk of a scraggly tree. His head is lolled forward onto his chest, and she cannot see his face. For a moment, Tenten believes him dead.
"Bastard," Tenten hisses, not even really sure why she cares. All she knows is that this young man was her responsibility, that he had been unwell, and now people were taking cruel advantage of that. "You don't kick a dog when he's down."
Chang whirls around, surprised to find Tenten standing so close behind him, but he plays off his discomfiture at her sudden appearance, hefting the club over his shoulder and smiling in a false, overly friendly way. "I thought you were sleeping, little girl. Come to help? I warn you, it's dirty work. He doesn't really want to talk."
Without granting the patronizing man the courtesy of a reply, Tenten goes to step past him. Chang slaps one hand heavily onto her thin shoulder, squeezing the thin bones underneath mercilessly, and the girl shrugs violently from his grasp. When he snarls at the rebuff and latches onto the back of her shirt, she whirls around and punches him in the nose as hard as she is able, thrusting upward in the way her Uncle Gai had taught her so many years ago. The man gives a loud yelp and lets go of her, blood gushing from his wounded proboscis. "You bitch!"
Ignoring the curses of the injured guerilla, Tenten turns on her heel and walks over to the unconscious Neji, kneeling down before him. She is pleasantly surprised to find that he is still breathing, but the hitched way in which he does so indicates his poor body had taken yet more damage. Tenten has never felt more guilty than she does now, glancing at the prisoner's bowed ebony head. Her right hand fumbles inside her shirt for her knife, and she severs the ropes binding him to the tree with single quick slash, letting them fall to the ground. "Hyuga Neji, are you okay?"
The young soldier drops forward into her arms without a sound, his silky head coming to rest against the gentle swell of her breast, and an anxious Tenten is hard pressed not to shake him. Glancing down, the young woman notes that Chang had untied the ropes binding his wrists to his ankles, making it possible for Neji to walk. Although she will have to remedy that later, Tenten is momentarily glad; the lack of restraints will make the task of moving him easier. She shifts her grip, hands moving beneath his arms, and pulls the dazed captive to his feet. "Can you hear me?"
The dark head lifts, and white eyes crack open, gazing up at her face blurrily. Tenten is once again struck with the feeling that he is looking through her. Then comes the quiet response, in the accursed Japanese that she so desperately wishes she could comprehend: "Domo arigatou gozaimashita, Hinata-sama."
Standing behind her, Chang must have overheard the reply, and perhaps even understood some of it, for he moves into her line of vision and looks Tenten straight in her face- she wonders just what it is he sees there- before laughing. His response, when it comes, is high-pitched and nasally-sounding, undoubtedly due to his newly broken nose. His words are difficult to recognize, but Tenten does. She soon wishes that she had not. "That's too funny. Here you are, caring for him and practically committing treason, and he doesn't even know who you are."
"Shut up," Tenten hisses to the obnoxious guerilla. The young woman turns her back on the man apprehensively and, draping one of the prisoner's arms over her shoulder, begins half-carrying the stumbling soldier back toward the cart which suddenly seems rather distant. One ear is tuned to the muttered and entirely nonsensical ramblings of the detainee, but the rest of Tenten's mind is focused on a new problem, one that terrifies her. Has she indeed, by way interrupting what was undoubtedly a blessed interrogation, performed an act of rebellion against her people?
Her heart, previously believed dead, says no.
To be continued…