Full Moon: Epilogue
Music Suggestion: Claire de Lune by Claude Debussy
I run a hand through my short blond hair with a disconsolate sigh. The barber had been thorough, I can say that much.
Dismissing such thoughts, I pull on a dark, long sleeved shirt and view my new image in the mirror critically. Is this enough?
Can I finally be at peace?
I shake my head, feeling the weightlessness, and think, Really, all this, and my most disguiseful feature is my expression alone. Yes; it's different. Still serious, still a little wary, but...perhaps, this was what I was meant to be like, before the Hunter exam, even.
I cast a glance with a smile over at the futon, where the pile of books I fell asleep reading have tilted like the Tower of Pisa and finally toppled during the night. When all is said and done, I am a scholar, an Aeropagetica devotee, and not a warrior, nor a maker of peace, nor an executor of justice. In the end, I prefer the feel of paper to that of cold steel; I prefer conversation and debate rather than hot combat.
For all this, I realize I won't be able to hide from all my enemies. The Spiders are no longer an issue, nor the extinct Mafia, but I've been notorious and flamboyant enough in my reign as "Tenno" that no matter where I hide, they will still root me out eventually.
I finger the black glove on my right hand thoughtfully, which hides the stigma of cruel days underneath. On a whim, I materialize my new weapon briefly and then let it go. The reverse-blade katana, a mirrored replica of that other one, comes into vague existence before disappearing again. Although I've made a mortal vow never to kill again, I've made my defense secure, this time. When they come, I will be prepared. To defend myself...and save those who are close to me from danger.
And there is one skill which I have maintained, one I stole from its rightful owner, almost a year ago, left to me like a parting gift.
Almost a year. Has it really been that long? I sigh and lean over the bathroom sink, allowing myself a couple of minutes in the past. I've learned, after all, that the most sure way of destroying your life is either to let the emotions of the past carry you away, or refuse to let them hurt you at all.
But, God, is it ever painful this way.
As I turn to walk out, something on the floor next to the futon catches my eye, and I pause to touch it thoughtfully, then allow myself a smile. Some memories are also good.
I think back, to the last time I saw Setsuko, that child, about a month ago. She's grown up a bit, finding her true calling in...what else? Teaching music. And little by little, she is forgiving me.
I remember seeing her, when I visited her at her mother's home in Hokkaido, pausing before knocking as I heard the notes float like the wispy clouds above through the open window. It was early March, still cold, although in the early spring, the sun shines its warmest beams and teases eager, naive buds from the trees and tender blades of new grass from the ground.
Her mother met me at the door and smilingly led me into the living room. This whole house, laid out in a Japanese style though it is Western built, has the golden glow of soft light on tatami mats. No modern starkness of two-toned walls or hardwood floors; this, this is a place where one can curl up just about anywhere with a book, without having to worry about being judged by the disapproving interior decoration.
Setsuko's smile is as vivacious as ever, but a little more time-sweetened. She has matured through natural means: heartaches, the death of a loved one, various disappointments, which common people, I think, find tragic, but they don't realize how good it is to grow in those ways, rather than to have evil thrown on them like a blanket smothering a fire, or worse, to never experience suffering at all.
She gave me that smile as she looked up from the tiny upright piano.
"Why, Kurapika, I wasn't expecting you, oh, dear me, look, I haven't dressed up at all..."
As I watched her flusteredly fuss with her hair and smooth the wrinkles in her robin-egg colored skirt, I thought, How beautiful that is, someone worrying about such every day things as "Do I look good enough to receive a visitor?"
I hesitated for a minute before replying. How do normal people talk? I've long forgotten.
"You look fine," I came up with at last. "I'm sorry I didn't give you any warning."
"Ah, well, I'll get some tea right away!"
"No, don't bother yourself on my account."
"I insist!" And then she was rushing off into the kitchen, leaving me in the room with the piano.
I eyed it somewhat apprehensively, as one would look on an old friend with whom one parted on bad terms. Then, deciding, I sat down on the bench and began to play a slow C major scale with my right hand.
She emerged with the tea, saying, "Oh! I didn't know you played."
I smiled at her. "I don't, really. A friend started to teach me a long time ago, before she died."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What was her name?"
What was her name. Not, how did she die. Focusing on the life of the departed, not the death. What pure logic, logic of purity.
"Senritsu."
"It's a beautiful name."
"It is." Hesitation. Senritsu, is this okay? To move on, to mix memories of you with another person? "Setsuko, may I ask you something?"
"Of course!"
I scooted over on the bench. "Do you know 'Claire de Lune'?"
"Yes," she answered, and sat down. She thought for a minute, and then began playing. I let little tears form in my eyes like pearls as I leaned back on the bench, letting memories sweep over me.
Remembering hands on hands, sweet laughter, gentle words. Danger and safety; anger and love. It is amazing how every experience becomes dear when you witness it with the one you feel closest to.
The piece ended, and I sat back up, opening my eyes. "Thank you," I said. "That was beautiful."
"Oh, not really," she said, laughing her musical laugh, beginning to touch the back of her head and then stopping as she remembered it wasn't a very lady-like thing to do.
"No, really," I said. My gaze caught hers, and she looked at me for a minute, ponderingly.
"What?" I asked at last.
She blushed, realizing she'd been staring, and then said, "I just never noticed how blue your eyes were. Or green...I can't really tell..."
Yes, my eyes have returned from their long, black journey, and, to tell the truth, it's been months since they even turned red.
You see, the Kuruta eyes are a beautiful thing to behold when they turn scarlet, but it is the worst sign possible. Better that they remain their original color. It means we are content. The Kurutas learned long ago that beauty is never an acceptable substitute for happiness.
"I'm glad you've overcome," she added quietly. "Your soul is beautiful, you know? The beauty that comes from hardships and darkness. But in the end, you should be happy. There's no reason to continue in darkness."
As she smiled at me, and I returned her smile, I thought, You took the words right out of my mouth. As always.
Well, that was a month ago, and since then we've been exchanging letters. There is time, after all; I want her to forgive me and accept me first, and then, if it's really right, perhaps something more will come of our friendship. But I will not force it. Because if that comes, it will be forever this time. And forever is a long, long time to hold on to a promise, and thus a good reason to think long and hard about it.
I look up as a laughing, black haired teenager comes banging open my door, his white-haired accomplice in crime following over his shoulders, then complaining when he hits his head on the door mantle from jumping too high.
"Mito-san says breakfast is ready!" Gon says, smiling widely.
Breakfast...that is a very good idea, my body tells me, already quivering a little from my cursed low blood sugar. What a normal problem to have. Right now, it is welcome for that very reason, even though it still annoys me.
I smile back at Gon and take a deep breath of the fresh air floating in from Whale Island before following them into the kitchen where, if he has managed to wake up already, Leorio is likely to be.
This is a good place to heal for now...and then continue on.
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
Fine