Glossary:
Family members : Okaasan : mother, Otoosan : father, Ojiisan : grandfather, Oniisan : brother
Kodomo : child
Yada ! : oh no/ no way
Shamisen : a sort of three-string banjo
Koto : long and flat harp
Kabuki : traditional japanese theater
Oshōgatsu : japanese festival for new Year's day
Chapter 23 : The little boy who was digging graves
[Beginning of the Ansei era, year 1854 of the Gregorian calendar. Somewhere on the red maple hill.]
Hands were the first to disappear...
"…..."
Smaller hands were throwing new handfuls of dirt in front of them in a disturbing silence.
"Listen..."
...then disappeared white and skinny legs, followed frightfully-too-slowly by most of the trunk, then finally was the turn of the last strand of dark hair to be covered by the indistinct brown mass... And after a while, one could barely distinguish the corpses under the muddy soil.
"Just like otoosan, Nomura got very sick..."
Yashiro's face was shut. At twelve years old, he was now the oldest boy of the Himura. Miyabe was eight, Shinta barely six... Aiko no more than four or five. Behind the hovel under the red maples was widening the tomb, and its ghostly spans of ground twisting between the fallen leaves.
"This was the last time you get to see him."
The awkward silence stretched. He was at loss as how to explain the situation to his youngest brother. Everything had happened at horrendous speed.
"Is he dead...?"
Yashiro winced again. That was not how he wanted to tell him, not so soon after the same happened to their parents. Not after Nomura had worked so hard to protect his family...
"He ... He won't get up again."
"Yes, but..."
The small redhead was staring at him intensely with his purple eyes.
"... Is he dead?"
"…...You're right, he's dead, Shin-chan." He finally whispered. His voice was so weak that the wind partly carried the softly-spoken sentence. Shinta had always been the smartest among his brothers. There was no point in feeding him with fairy tales. As far as his older brother could tell, there was no illusion in the gaze of the six-years-old boy anymore.
Behind them small hurried footsteps were heard.
"Why put oniisan in da hole...? ...Zit 'cos his tummy aches ?" Aiko asked, dirt-covered fingers rubbing her eyes. She had finally joined them despite her ban on leaving the house and was now scrutinizing the gap with incredulous gaze.
"Yeah ... 'guess you can say it like that..."
Above them, the cloudy sky, as gray as their hearts, was helping the rain to cover their tears... and the infectious disease, to spread like a malediction.
"... what about 'kaasan, then? She gonna sleep like him too?"
"Why didn't you stay in the house like we told you, Ai-chan?"
"…But ...how can they com'back from this big hole? We -we must help 'em..." she squeezed her newfound blankie harder "Can I give 'em the ladder at least...? Please...?"
The little girl was hugging above her head the bluish furoshiki that Eirin used to wear, trying to process what had befallen here so quickly. She remembered that her mother had been very sick before falling asleep, then being put in the big hole her brothers had dug. And she hadn't seen her ever since. Same for her father and the elder. The tears on her cheeks, like those of her brothers, were melted by the rain and the mud in a salty scab.
"They will not come back, Aiko. So is Nomura. You have to say farewell to them."
Despite his own grief, Yashiro was far more worried about his only sister. Things were going to be even more difficult to understand for her. Shinta, at his side, was distressingly silent too. The boy had barely spoken a word since his parents had been buried. They had spent the last few days digging a trench, first large enough to place their mother, then their father, then their older brother. Around them, other people were digging other graves, some of them not even having had time to lay down the dead before being in turn swept away by the infection. The cholera epidemic had ravaged the region since the beginning of the cursed solstice, and the hill they were living upon had gradually turned into a cemetery filled with abandoned bodies forever sleeping between emptied houses, the floor paved with excrement and lost children who were mourning their siblings.
"Yada! I wanna see 'kaasan again !"
The little girl coyly hid her face in the tissue, whining anew, starting to run back toward the house.
"Well, for all I know it won't change much around here if she's dead..." muttered Miyabe, swiftly hugging her before she was out of reach. He tried to act tough, and dropped his shovel on the ground to take the little girl in his arms instead. "...Okaasan didn't care about us anyway, she never really liked us ..."
"Stop always saying that!" The redhead emerged from his silence to cast a furious glance at his brother, while pushing another pile of dirt over the tomb. He had been staring at the somber hole so far, mesmerized by the terrifying place that seemed to withhold the ghosts of his parents.
"You stand up for 'kaasan just because you look like her, Shin-chan!" he pointed at him "...'Pa kept repeating behind your back that you're not his real son!"
"Liar!"
Shinta threw himself angrily on his brother, ready to kick the mean words back down his throat, only to be held back roughly by his elder who grabbed him by the collar.
"Calm down you two, you're just making things worse !" growled Yashiro. As he was now the eldest among Himuras, he had the duty to take care of his relatives. Although Seki had tried to teach him and Nomura how to assume this role one day, he was not prepared for the violence of the outbreak that had brutally ravaged their village. Faced with illness, he felt alone, and terribly helpless.
"...Remember what ojiisan used t'say each time people were quarreling in the household : 'Whatever you lose, you'll find it again, but what you throw away you'll never get it back'..."
The three children were looking at him intensely.
"...A family's supposed to stay united no matter what. That means instead of wasting your energy on silly things like arguing, you should try to spend it on something that's actually helpful!" Yashiro took the two youngest by the hand, and motioned for Miyabe to follow. "Now come back inside, the sun's already setting... It's going to be cold soon."
Over the days, the little hovel once approximately kept up had dirtied with the dust caused by the comings and goings of children as well as the excrement of the sick, condemned to lay inside when the illness had weakened their body too much for them to be able to get up. Nomura had first tried to clean up the mud with the help of his brothers, before succumbing in turn to the dysentery.
"We should start dinner... You must be hungry after all this."
Yashiro collected a fistful of rice from the storeroom next to their house to heat it in the pot hanging over the hearth at the center of the single room. No one had gone to the fields in the past few days, and supplies were dwindling visibly. Soon, he will have to return there accompanied by his two younger brothers and maybe even his sister, to resume the only thing he'd ever been doing in his life... Dig, plant, irrigate, remove weeds, harvest what can be then preserve food according to the vagaries of weather. He had no idea how he was going to carry out all the work alone with just two small-scale children, but this was their only option. Otherwise, they were sure to run out of supplies for the next season, a threat that was as grievous as the epidemic hitting the region right now. They would need to beg -or worse- to get through this winter anyway.
Aiko, meanwhile, had curled up on the futon and was conscientiously dusting the mud off her settas, like her mother had taught her. Shinta swiftly came to help -as he often would- and in doing so found out, twisting awkwardly under her sole, a kind of greenish and yellow caterpillar which was covered with hairs. The little girl started to giggle, amused by the strange colorful insect that was struggling against her shoe... and soon her infectious smile contaminated her brother too. The two redhead laughed spontaneously, for the first time in several days...
Miyabe on the other hand couldn't share their joy. He was sitting against the wall next to them, knees bent against his chest. When he heard his brother groan in his corner, two worried purple eyes quickly landed on him.
"...you have diarrhea too?"
Shinta, more puny but already gifted with lively intelligence, was grasping the situation quite clearly despite his age. Yashiro and Miyabe had lost weight, and they also went to the loo more often, like their parents and Nomura did before falling deadly ill. So, in addition to being sad, the small redhead had gradually started to be afraid. A deep fear which was settling inside him like an invisible tumor, growing insidiously every day, tightening his throat even in happier times and haunting now most of his nights.
"Yes ..." he replied, frowning.
Shinta simply nodded and then rested his head on his lap. The lump in his throat back again.
On the other side of the room, Yashiro was still watching his younger brother while preparing their meal. They were already familiar with death, having lost some of their siblings and neighbors due to disease and poverty, living with its somber threat hanging over them since birth... but the redhead seemed to experience it even harder than the others. Among the five children, Shinta had the tenderest heart, and each loss was removing more light from his eyes, as if putting a definitive weight on his soul. The once vibrant little boy was growing more and more silent with the passing days.
"Come help me Shin-chan," ordered the elder to draw his attention, "Food never cooks by itself!"
"Hai"
He joined Yashiro to assist him, approximately arranging chopsticks and bowls, applying himself as seriously as he could. Compared the very physical labor of the fields, home chores seemed like effortless games. With their harsh routine the redhead had developed a pleasantly helpful nature and never balked at work.
"You too Miyabe, watch how I start the fire. Here, you can even shake the ashes to air it in the meantime."
"But I'm tired..."
"We all are... Don't stay rooted in the corner; at least come and help me stir the wood!"
Yashiro didn't know what would happen to them, but he did know that the young ones would need to become as resourceful as possible if they were to survive. He had the same symptoms his parents did and he doubted fate would be any nicer with him. So, like his father before him, he involved his brothers to the task as soon as he had the occasion. To teach them everything he knew was all he could do for them.
The frugal dinner took place without any other hitch than the bickering of children without parents to watch over them. Miyabe had thrown food at Shinta, who had retaliated against Yashiro, and the innocent Aiko found herself caught in the fight accidentally. The eldest then helped wash everyone with a bucket of water drew from the well. The children had then removed their clothes outside the house, and this activity had led to a new skirmish session, since Miyabe had the idea to mimic their daiymo by hanging his hakama on a stick and run with the newfound flag around the house. Having no one left to order them to go to bed, what remained of the Himura brotherhood had finally laid down after dark. Once the children's games had stopped and the candle had been blown out, nothing remained but the void left by the absence of their loved ones, and the intimidating silence of the wet twilight falling on the rolling plains.
"Didn't you fall asleep yet?"
While the household was only lit by the faint rays of the Moon, crouched in front of the half-open fusama, Shinta was watching his top spinning again and again. Yashiro, who had not closed his eyes either, came to sit at his side.
"... No."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"..."
The youngest boy had not looked away from his toy, his gaze distant. From where he stood, Yashiro could feel how distressed he was.
"Yare yare... Do you remember the lullaby okaasan used to sing?"
The redhead raised his eyes this time towards his big brother. When he had trouble falling asleep, Eirin would sometimes hum this soothing rhyme for him. He found his mother very beautiful when she was doing that, with her coated tone and soft face.
"...Ta ... Takeda no komoriuta?"
Yashiro took the scrawny boy in his lap.
"Then, Shinta, let's sing it together ..."
[ "...Mori mo iyagaru, Bon kara saki-nya
Yuki mo chiratsuku-shi, Ko mo naku-shi
Bon ga kita-tote, Nani ureshi-karo
Katabira wa nashi, Obi wa nashiKono ko you naku, Mori wo ba ijiru
Mori mo ichi-nichi, Yaseru-yaraHayo-mo yuki-taya, Kono zaisho koete
Mukou ni mieru wa, Oya no uchi..."]
"Woah, I almost feel like I'm back straight in the past... This one knows her way with singing, don't you think?"
Kaoru was listening with only half an ear to the hushed voice of the geisha, who was moving gracefully through the rhythm of shamisen and koto, dancing with small, delicate steps on the polished floor. Despite the fact that she was seated in the sumptuous Minami-za theater, one of the most ancient and popular performance halls in Kyoto, where the showy carved wood of the ceiling was competing with the baroque colors of dyes on the wall, she found it hard to focus on the scene in front of her. A semester had passed since Kenshin had returned from Yokohama in a vegetative state, and it was the last time they had seen the wanderer somewhat alive. The deep coma inside which he was plunged seemed endless, and with the long convalescence his body had considerably weakened, progressively losing weight and muscles, raising fears of further trouble in times ahead. Megumi had therefore insisted that the young kendoka, at his bedside almost every day, gradually began to take some distance. In fact, she wanted to prepare her friend for the future that was slowly but surely taking shape. For the doctor chances that the swordsman recovers cognitive function were now close to zero... So, before the first snow had a chance to burden the Tokaido road, Kaoru and Yahiko had gone to the former capital, responding to the invitation of the Oniwabanshu who were always relentlessly pressing the two to pay them a visit. And as soon as they arrived, Misao had insisted that the young kendoka accompany her to this show mixing Kabuki and traditional arts, arguing that she needed to restore her dull spirit that was only running throughout sweaty dojos. This was one of the rare but welcome moment of relaxation that the heir of Kamiya Kasshin had granted herself in the last months.
"... Kaoru, can you pay attention to what I say for a minute?" continued the young ninja, noisily shaking her long braids "I can't believe even Aoshi-sama is more attentive than you!"
"Sorry, Misao!"
She quickly got out of her thoughts. An angry Makimachi was more troublesome yet than a happy one.
"You should really try to enjoy the show... Are you still thinking about him?"
"How could I not ...?"
"Listen, I understand how you can feel..." Geez I cannot imagine my reaction if the same'd happened to my Aoshi-sama ... "But if you keep on just working and never having fun, all you will gain are wrinkles and calluses! And I'm not sure even Kenshin's into that kind of woman !"
Kaoru chuckled lightly... then blushed widely.
"Well it's not like he's ever shared his tastes in this regard with us anyway..." Although I heard Tomoe was insanely graceful and feminine... pretty much everything I'm not. "...Besides, if I want to be able to maintain him at hospital and pay for his care, the dojo must be operating at full capacity ! And then, I ... I'd like everything to be perfect when he wakes up. I don't want him to worry about money, you know?"
"Kaoru ..." she felt sad for her friend. Unlike all the doctors who had examined him, Kaoru still firmly believed that he would one day come out of his coma, and this single thought kept her standing. Too bad if she had to spend her whole life waiting for him, too bad if she had to work twice as hard to pay for his care and get into debt... She's visiting him almost every day, and when not she's teaching kenjutsu... she'll run out of steam in the long term. "Maybe you should try to spend some time for yourself, don't you think ? He won't see the difference if you take a break once in a while."
"Yeah..."
"Here, I know !" The young ninja snapped her fingers, startling the surrounding spectators "... Didn't you write me about a childhood friend who's returned to Tokyo recently?"
"… Kaname?"
"Yes, that's it, Kaname! You said he proposed you to visit the temples with him for oshôgatsu or something...?"
"Hmm..." Kaoru was thoughtful. Her father's former pupil had actually returned from Europe at the start of the season, and he had politely expressed his desire to reconnect with her. "…I appreciate the offer, but I fear he's just worried about me being alone at the dojo. It wouldn't be the first time I hear something like that, and I don't need anyone else worrying about me right now."
"Either way it doesn't hurt to give it a try... I believe you should just enjoy yourself, this is a chance to change your mind for once!"
She might be right... Plus I still haven't answered him, it would be rude from me to decline so late.
"I guess we could use these moments to share the good memories we have with dad..."
"... Then it's settled, that plan seems perfect to me !" she waved her fan with great fanfare, again to the chagrin of their increasingly outraged grandstand neighbors "Your new mission, Kaoru Kamiya, is to have fun and get out of those rusty dojos !"
"Ahaha, all right general Makimachi... For sure there aren't two like you around, I bet Aoshi will never get bored!"
"Fuwaaah if only... I've lost count of the number of times I've tried to bring a smile out of him..." Misao sighed loudly before suddenly throwing the colorful fan in the crowd ahead "Nevermind, as of yet let me sheer you up ! I'll show you how things work here in Kyoto !"
Never had he climbed the familiar mountain path so slowly...
The huge forest was quiet since birds and small mammals had retreated to warmer places, the sun was already high in the sky, and he still wasn't home. As he was ascending the rocky slope, Hiko had in mind this little boy whose only ambition had always been to help others. Ironically, he hadn't been able to help himself.
My baka deshi was a strong-willed kid, always eager to progress and move forward. He was defending life more than any other...
All the more cruel was the grim outcome of his history.
He must have suffered so much to reach this point …
Since he had departed from Tokyo, the picture of his nearly-dead body laying in a crimson pool kept haunting him. Oh, how he blamed himself for arriving so late on the hill that night …
I should never have dropped my vigilance.
The master couldn't help but feeling partly responsible for what happened... because deep inside, Hiko had always suspected that such tragedy could've occurred. With years, he had come to the conclusion that too-pure souls just weren't made for this Earth. Maybe Kenshin Himura was meant to be consumed by madness over time despite all his efforts, and it was as simple as that. He was bound to claim his own life at one time or another. And at the end of the travel, if he had not found his place in this life, he would eventually find it in the one Beyond... someplace where he would not be crippled by so many regrets.
Obviously, I have failed to teach him the will to live.
As he was of a pragmatic and individualistic temper, Seijuro had difficulty understanding the very principle of seppuku. This is why he had constantly tried to teach his disciple the value of human life throughout his training. A corpse cannot come to the rescue of anybody or even make up for his mistakes, whereas a living being can. End of the story. Yet, if his disciple had relentlessly applied this dogma regarding all those he had encountered during his existence as a wanderer, he had never been able to value of his own life.
I can't believe I was ready to execute him… talk about a joke !
After witnessing the dramatic incident, Hiko had realized that he probably couldn't have fulfilled his last duty. As soon as he had decided to take the small redhead under his wings, he was in a way linked to his fate whether he liked it or not. And his own reaction to his disciple's prolonged coma was the greatest proof of his attachment, for he found himself increasingly hoping for his recovery, to the point that it was nearly obsessing him... Seems like even the powerful thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi finally had an Achilles' heel.
Tche. It's precisely to spare myself this kind of stupid feelings that I'd chosen not to bond with anyone!
Desperate to get rid of the sullen mood that had been harassing him for the past few months, the master had walked down to the nearest village for basic errands, which were fairly beginning to lack. As if to reflect his mood, it had rained a lot in recent days. Torrents of water without interruption, like the mountain only saw few times in a decade. His modest interior had been repeatedly flooded and this had weakened the thatched roof, transforming for the occasion the slightest microscopic hole up there in a real running tap. Then after a week of this hell, the sky had finally decided to stop spitting its hatred, and Hiko had forced himself to go out for something other than emergency repairs. As he finally reached his hut, arms full of essential groceries, the master took a moment to assess the damage bad weather had caused, suspiciously scanning the outskirts.
"What a mess ..."
The soil around his hut was upside down. Embankments and hollows had formed in incongruous places, and thanks to his view impaired by his many purchases, his foot stumbled against a mound of dirt from which was emerging an abnormally obtuse and solid angle.
"Aouch! What on earth is this...?"
Seijuro swore aloud - benefits of living alone - before plunging his hands into the recently loose ground. In a few angry movements, he dug up a little wooden box, whose aspect was strangely familiar to the old master...
Why...
Unless he was mistaken, this crate was the one inside which he had gathered Shinta's belongings more than ten years ago before burying it, unable to bring himself to burn what did not belong to him. Cursing his unlikely bad luck, he opened it reluctantly, driven by an uncharacteristic melancholy.
...Of all the possible moments, why do I have to get my hands on it now ?!
Inside laid patched clothes, makeshift sandals, an alternative hilt for a small-sized shinai, various herbs and roots that his curious disciple had once collected, thinking they could be of any use to heal somebody someday, that had completely dried out ...
"Kodomo…"
With the touch and smell of these ancient knick-knacks, Hiko could almost see the little redhead running in front of his secluded house again. He could hear his high-perched voice filled with youthful determination, the cries of a fiercely-battling child that were resounding endlessly all around the waterfall. In his hands, a damaged spinning top, the only vestige of the existence of Kenshin's biological parents, which the little boy was keeping like a treasure under his futon. He would sometimes play with it secretly at night, when he mistakenly believed that his omniscient master could not see him.
If I had treated him differently … maybe he wouldn't have left.
Back at his teenage years, Hiko hadn't been able to hold him back. He had not figured the right arguments which would resonate in the too-kind spirit of a flouted child who was intimately dreaming of justice. Perhaps because - by his own fault - he had become too independent and had not grown sufficiently attached to him, since he had raised him solely as a disciple... For Seijuro had always been careful to maintain a wary distance with his pupil, knowing he would one day receive the heavy burden of eliminating his master to complete his training and thereby achieve the most powerful technique of his school.
How can I treat him like a son, knowing his last act should have been to kill me? It would've been even more heartless for the boy if he was considering me as a member of his family ...
His own master had done it for him and Hiko had learned the lesson the hard way by taking his life. This is why he had never shown affection to his disciple – well, it's not like himself had received much during his existence either - but had on the contrary repeatedly provoked him, pushing the child with a too-gentle nature to gain confidence. It was crucial to toughen him up, to ensure that his successor would be robust enough to take on the difficult task that weighs on the shoulders of the wielder of one of the deadliest blade among Edo era. He had therefore tried to raise Shinta as best he could during the unforgiving period that was Bakumatsu by teaching him the Way of the sword... And with his strict education this one had logically become an exceptional assassin, capable of executing his target with implacable precision while keeping a clear head. Yet, in the long run, carrying so many deaths ended up crushing the man. It was one of the reasons why the followers of Hiten Mitsurugi had always lived as recluses, and for Hiko, his pupil had been wrong to choose to mingle among common people... To understand what it felt like to love and be loved, it had cost Kenshin Himura the life of his wife... nearly twice.
For all I know, he might've been too damaged already when we met for me to teach him such dangerous skills...
At the bottom of the old wooden case, hidden beneath clothes and outdated trinkets, was a small, awkwardly shaped mug of clay. It bore traces of tiny fingers, which could only belong to a child of eight or nine years-old -no more, and was adorned with an inky kanji now almost erased. A kanji with his name on it. And this clumsy writing, so characteristic of that of his disciple...
I had forgotten this...
The little redhead had once wanted to mold a cup for Hiko then tried to write his master's name upon it in order to offer him his self-crafted creation, proud to show his mentor that he was able to make pottery as he did... and in return, at that time Seijuro had just severely scolded the boy for using his modelling equipment, pretending the object to be a ridiculous and useless « daddy gift », before getting rid of it -at least, officially-. The irony of this discovery struck him into the very heart.
This child... was probably just looking for a father.
The scrawny piece of pottery was a fragment of broken childhood.
"This kid..."
Hiko closed his eyelids before the colorless liquid escaped from them. Faced with this vision, he let the emotion embrace him for a rare moment. From behind, one could barely see him tremble.
"I've never even hugged him..."
The thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi sharply closed the door of the small house where he had spent most of his time as a hermit. Something inside him was hoping for a second chance.
Between the shadow of huge red maples, plays the child with merciless fate. He sings, laughs and babbles, ignoring the knell of his very last moments of innocence.
The greeting of the Oniwabanshu had been warm and the two inhabitants of Tokyo had eaten their fill, enjoying the generous cooking of Aoiya Inn. Both were now resting in the room allocated to them upstairs, far from the exaggeratedly-cheery-but-inquisitive-nonetheless Okina, the austere Aoshi and his chatterbox of a girlfriend. Kaoru was leaning against the window, her gaze enjoying the sight of the still busy street outside, while her disciple was already curled up on his futon.
Kaoru's changed lately... Yahiko who was observing his master closely since Yokohama's tragedy, had come with awe to the conclusion that she had become stronger than when he'd met her. She hadn't completely collapsed after the terrible accident that had happened to Kenshin, and had on the contrary progressively taken back full control of her dojo, recently even showing twice as much enthusiasm to raise the school from the ashes. Maybe I can discuss this issue with her now...
So far, Yahiko had been careful not to bring up any painful subject, by fear of seriously undermining her.
"... Say, about what Saito told us..." It had taken months for him to learn the whole truth about the events from Hangar #41, but the truth had finally reached his ears. "... People who've died of complications from their injuries after fighting Kenshin ...He wasn't aware of that, so it ain't like he'd wanted to kill them, no ? I mean, he hasn't truly broken his vow?"
"Yeah... I guess, Yahiko." They're dead all the same.
"And the men he's killed in the hangar... he was completely out of his mind, drugged and all, so it's pretty much the same?"
"Probably so."
This was also partly a lie. He had brutally murdered them, the will to kill very clear in his gaze. She had witnessed it with her own eyes.
Not all people who lose their minds become murderers.
"He won't ... he won't reverse to being an assassin because of this, won't he?" the spiky-haired boy quickly went on. Obviously he had been brooding about this. A lot.
Kaoru turned her gaze back to the street, afraid that her doubts would reflect into her eyes. She was notorious for being a bad liar and right now her disciple needed reassurance.
"I ..." I don't know. "...I don't think so. He's been far too involved with us to just get back to his former life now." Especially with Jinchuu being over...
Yahiko nodded thoughtfully. They had no way to know about this without Kenshin coming out of the coma anyway, but it was good to hear that she was at least optimistic on the subject. There was another delicate question, and not his place to ask, but he burned to have the answer to it.
"Will this incident..." he stopped, hesitation obvious in his voice "...will it change things between you two?"
"No." She quickly ruffled his hair, which earned her a annoyed wince in return. Yahiko wasn't the one for cuddling. "Of course not, bakka."
And here was another lie. Yes, she still loved him, but she didn't know what she would do should he ever wake up. It's not like she could ignore what had happened. One thing was certain though ...
"... You know I'm hard-headed, I'm not gonna give up on him that easily." Not after all we've been through.
Had she known everything that would ensue at the time she had met him... things could have taken a different turn. She would perhaps have politely let him out of her home after a while. But it was too late now, and heiress of the school that protects life had deeply fallen in love with the wanderer.
"Can I put the lantern out now, Yahiko?"
He still wasn't under his sheets.
"Say, busu…"
"Mmmh?" She raised an eyebrow, her magically-popping bokken not far from reach.
"I'm no longer a kid, you know..."
"I know. Stop calling me names then." He's got further stuff on his mind yet?
"… But there's something about Kenshin I still can't figure out..." He was nervously twisting the sleeves of his kimono and avoiding her gaze, which was highly suspicious. Usually Yahiko looked her straight in the eyes. "His... his attempt at suicide..." Even after months, the words were still painful "Kenshin once told me 'If fighting could provide us with the truth, nobody would make any mistakes in their lives. The truth you must learn from yourself, from how you live your life '... Does that mean death was his answer? "
"Come on…"
This thought must've been bothering him for a while…
Kaoru came closer to her disciple and gently took him by the shoulders, ensuring his attention on what she was about to say.
After all, Kenshin was his idol ...
"Listen to me. To be perfectly honest with you, I don't understand what's going on in his mind or the way he thinks either. Most of all, we cannot change what happened..." When Kenshin's decided to close himself to others, nothing and nobody can reach his world... Not even me, nor his master. She took the time to weigh her words. "...So you have to get this out of your head. What's important is that his attempt has failed it's all that matters now. Our job is to focus on the future -not the past- and make sure this never happens again."
If sometimes the relationship between a kendo master and her single orphan disciple can be described as complicated, at that very moment Yahiko found comfort in Kaoru. A comfort that only she was able to provide him.
"I taught you that in life, if you want to progress, you have to always move forward. Always." she added, before lifting her disciple's chin and staring into his eyes. "Besides, Kenshin is strong. I'm sure he will wake up eventually. So keep following his example and become strong in turn, Yahiko."
She ended her sentence by a tender smile that touched him a lot deeper than he would ever admit in front of her. Yahiko knew his master's words were only meant to console him, but for now, that was enough. He sank into his futon and squinted hard. These tears, he didn't want them to flow.
After all, he was the proud first disciple of the Kamiya Kasshin school.
Whereas his daily work was over since long hours now, the former Shinsengumi was still sitting on the windowsill of his office, watching his cigarette slowly burn. The twilight had unified the sky and the police station at this hour was deserted.
After all Himura hasn't woken up...
Little by little the fleeting orange sparks were falling outside then dying down, one after the other.
In the end, even the last ashes of the Bakumatsu are flying off...
"The dogs die ; the wolves survive" the officer concluded placidly.
He threw the half-consumed cigarette out of the window, almost with disgust. The fragile stick broke loose under the effect of the breeze and disappeared in the chilly night.
[Beginning of the Ansei era, year 1854 of the Gregorian calendar, on the red maples hill]
Miyabe, skinnier, died before Yashiro. Then the big brother had lasted a few more days before eventually disappearing in turn. The house, once inhabited by children's cries, had become desperately empty.
This morning Shinta had finally decided to drag the last two bodies into the ditch behind the house. Yet, each time the little boy had to put someone in that ghastly grave, something inside him would become strangely colder. He had to enlarge the pit with the same pickaxe they had used altogether not so long ago to bury the others, and it took the infant several days to dig a hole wide enough to receive two more corpses. All along Aiko had looked at him still without daring to help. This time, she hadn't asked a single question.
There wasn't any more rice in the storeroom next to the house since days, and the little boy did not know if his parents were hiding any somewhere else. He had tried to search the whole area with his sister, but all they had found were odd charms belonging to their mother, or curious memories of their maternal grandparents secretly kept by Eirin, in a small iron box that did not look like anything they had seen around here before. This had distracted them for a while at the start ; they had laughed, playing with the curious family stuff which their parents had always forbidden them to touch. Then, when Aiko started to cry because she was hungry, Shinta told himself that he had to do as his big brother Yashiro had done, and like Nomura before him. Find food for his family, because he was now the only boy.
He had returned to the fields, following the path his fa
ther had carefully taught him, only to find sprouts barely coming out of the mud ... They did not resemble those he was usually asked to harvest. Was it because the season was not the same? Or did he end up in a wrong place? He decided to snatch a few of them anyway, tried to eat it after putting them in the water, but they had made both of them sick to the stomach, so he had stopped picking sprouts. Their parents also had tummy ache before they became very skinny and started saying and seeing nonsense, then being put in the grave. He certainly didn't want the same thing happening to Aiko.
Thus the little boy was trying as hard as he could to rack his brain for solutions. When could soybeans be eaten? When should the daikons be pulled out? Seki had taught all of this to his boys, but the too young child did not remember all of it. He was exhausted because he too had diarrhea, had lost weight like all of them, just less rapidly than his brothers. Since Shinta did not know what else to do, he had taken his sister by the hand and came down from their hamlet, where for the past few days they hardly saw adults anymore. Their mom had once advised them to seek help from their neighbors, who used to lend their family a hand from time to time, saying they could be trusted. But they too had disappeared, and at the bottom of the hill far after the maple trees, people were different from those in his village. There were also corpses in the streets, there were other children alone like them, but for some strange reason the inhabitants would not treat them in the same way. He could hear whispers behind their backs, and instead of addressing them, they gladly changed course when crossing paths with them.
"... Look, it's the yokai's breed who's livin' with the Himuras!"
At best, Shinta got cold looks, at worst they would insult him or spat at his side.
"Yeah that or their mother banged a foreigner…"
"...I heard she was a psycho!"
He didn't understand what the grownups were talking about.
"No wonder their parents've croaked of cholera ; they were bloody sinners!"
No matter who he was asking, no one seemed ready to help them. Even if he could not figure out their reactions, what he was sure of was that they weren't wishing them any good. Aiko had cried a lot when she had heard them. He and Aiko had been playing together since birth, and they both had a gentle and jovial character. She, too, had long red hair, but the hazel eyes of her other brothers. Shinta adored his little sister, and if the adults downstairs made her cry, then he would cope without their help. He could not risk going too far either ; their parents had kept repeating them that lonely children were taken away by slavers, and that promised a fate worse than death... So he ended up going back to their hovel, dragging his nearly asleep sister behind him. Since the people downhill did not like them, he would still prefer to stay here in the house he knew so well.
The next day he had gone to look for food in the close forest, and as he had found no mushrooms, he had returned instead with acorns picked on the way. He smashed them with the help of Aiko, to whom he had tied his mother's apron for the occasion. The dull clothe was way too large on her tiny body but she was so proud to wear it... Once crushed the plants had become an earthy mash, which he had served in the bowls as his parents did. If placed inside the worn wooden utensils, in their eyes, it looked like a real dish, the result on the other hand had nothing to do with it. It was bitter and frankly difficult to chew... Barely edible, in fact. Shinta did remember that food was cooked in hot water, which could explain the difference in taste, but he didn't know how to start the fire. He had tried until he had sore hands, but no matter how hard he rubbed the sticks just like his brothers had shown him, nothing helped. So even if it tasted bad, they were so hungry that they ate the mashed acorns regardless.
When evening fell, they were playing with what he had picked up in the woods. Aiko thought the different shapes of stones and branches he had scooped up were funny, so they had gathered them in the living room to build a sort of hut. Shinta had hung above it the former clothes of his brothers, once folded in the worn oshiire, to turn them into colorful curtains. The cabin was just a heap of wood, but in their minds they imagined it like that of the Shogun. It was their secret castle. As the little girl felt reassured inside, they would rather sleep there instead of their futon... No one was there to ask them to sleep properly anyway.
"Oyasumi, Aiko-chan" "...'yasumi Shinta!"
"Yah!"
Taking advantage of the morning's loneliness, Kaoru was waving her shinai in the inner courtyard of the Aoiya, lifting dew on the leaves of dwarf pines and potted bonsai planted around the terrace. Too much was weighing on her mind, and practicing her katas often proved to the best way to clear it. She wasn't gifted for brooding.
It's useless to keep looking for excuses. I'm not to be pitied !
It's true, she had benefited from a lot of support over the last months : Misao was sending her mountains of letters to distract her from her daily life, Tae was regularly offering her surplus of food from the Akabeko, Yahiko was struggling with odd jobs to make ends meet, and she had even retrieved some old friends... Indeed, with time, she slept better. She ate better. She had less and less trouble collecting money for medical care. She was constantly surrounded by her new family, and her dojo was not lacking life ... But so far, the absence of her beloved had left a painful gaping hole that no one else could fill.
I miss hearing his thoughtful voice, seeing him peacefully making laundry or cooking while still giving me those kind sideways glances... he was always discreet, but his presence was looking over everyone in the house.
Although she would not show it in broad daylight, when night came, sadness would catch up with her. Some things just cannot be brushed aside that easily. However, she knew that the wanderer, had he been in condition to express himself, would have wanted her to get her existence back on track and try to find joy by herself. The swordsman deeply wished for her happiness, systematically putting it before his own, even if he had not always chosen the best way to achieve it – moving to Kyoto while leaving her behind, tracking her like a prey when she goes out alone late and prematurely euthanizing their dog Lychee, included-. She had been sure of this since he had confessed his feelings before the battle against Enishi... it was certainly not the most explicit declaration of love she had heard, but the word 'Tadaima' in the mouth of Kenshin Himura resounded of a very particular significance.
... But... can I still believe in his words? What value do they really have now?
Since the beginning of the child traffickers' affair, a lot had happened, resulting in as many unknowns concerning their shared future...
...Starting with the hangar #41 where they had learned those terrible facts about the wanderer's childhood. And the massacre that had taken place there was questioning the very values taught by Kamiya Kasshin.
Can I support a man who violates the principles of my school, even unintentionally ...? Is it possible to forgive anything on the behalf of good intentions?
Kaoru believed in her father's ideals nearly as strongly as she loved Kenshin. As it was, both were very dear to her heart. She had never forgotten either the sayings of the swordsman when he had entered her dojo for the first time …
[A sword is a weapon. Kenjutsu is the art of killing. Whatever pretty words you use, this is its true nature. The school that protects life is therefore only a sweet lie, wielded by someone who never had to wear blood on her hands... but this one much prefers Kaoru-dono's teachings to reality, that he does.]
Kenshin was far from being naive or innocent in this regard. So somewhere inside him, he must've suspected that he'd already possibly killed someone with his sakabato... I wonder how far can denial go?
And then, his suicide had taken all of them aback. He had left brutally, without a word, throwing away everything he had fought for. Himura had always been the strong one, guiding all those he met, capable of reviving even the smallest of light in the darkest of soul at a moment when no one other than him was able to distinguish it. He profoundly believed in humanity and in the sacred value of life. His last act was thus unfathomable.
That means his pain was insurmountable even for a man like him ... Or was it an admission of guilt?
No matter how much she tossed and turned it around in her head, she would probably never get the answer to this question.
…and even if I did know that, what difference will it make ?
Born with a luminous nature, it was not in the habits of Kaoru Kamiya to brood over something for too long. She decided to stop trying to solve this complex equation -whose solution was only held by Kenshin anyway- as long as he was in the coma, rather to focus on his recovery instead. For, Megumi's latest warning was ringing in her head...
[The fact that Ken-san didn't wake up in the first few weeks is a sign that the brain damage is serious. I must warn you that the more time passes, the more the chances for him to come out of the coma are lessening... And there's also the possibility of what we call the resignation syndrome. Even in the absence of disease, when the spirit has given up, the body lets itself die ... This is what happens to the elderly when they're left alone.]
This last part sounded like another hidden threat.
Except that Kenshin isn't old but in his heart ...
By dint of rehashing all this, Kaoru was about to explode with frustration. It seemed to her that she was the only one who still believed the swordsman would someday wake up.
"RAAAAAH! Screw it ! To hell with their prognosis !"
I don't care what they say ...
He was not dead that night on the hill, and that meant his time had not yet come. Thus she still had a chance at happiness.
As long as there is life, there is hope ...
She gave a large stroke in the air in front of her with her shinai.
As long as there is life, there is hope ...
Another stroke.
"... As long as there is life, there is hope !"
...And in the depths of her blue eyes where tears and anger were mixing, her desire to enjoy life at its fullest, against all odds. Kaoru Kamiya still wanted to believe in the hope her soul craved for.
From a window afar, the wise elder of the Oniwabanshu was discreetly spying on the young kendoka. He might be old and unsuitable for fight, yet in this Inn and furthermore inside the walls of former Edo, nothing could escape the canny gaze of Kashiwazaki Nenji - better known as Okina - ... After all, he was the one who had taught to the talented Aoshi the secrets of their ninjutsu. And his long experience of humankind led him to foreshadow a possibly different outcome.
I wonder how long a promising young woman like her can hold to such a pious pledge ...?
[Beginning of the Ansei era, year 1854 of the Gregorian calendar, on the red maples hill]
It had been several moons - at least a full cycle - that Shinta was left alone with Aiko. With each passing day, the memories of his brothers and parents were growing more and more blurry, and he had a harder time remembering what their faces precisely looked like. His body had become lighter, and the stomach ache was now returning every day. The games they usually played seemed less and less fun, and he found it difficult to keep smiling yet at his sister. Aiko had begun complaining about her tummy too. She said she was tired, and bit by bit her face had gotten pale and hollow. Likewise, had come the deep angst knocking back at Shinta's soul...
This morning, she had refused all the games he had proposed. She had not gotten up from bed ever since their last attempt at a meal. So despite his promise he had walked down the hill alone, looking for something edible that resembled the food they ate before, anything. He was very hungry too, and what he picked up in the nearby forest was not enough. Even the water he drew from the well in front of the house, for as long as he could remember, tasted odd. Shinta wandered until the sun was high and his feet cracked with a disturbing sound, before spotting uprooted shoots on the side of a radish field, nearby the rocky road. He hesitated for a few seconds, then recalled his father once told him that picking up fruits already fallen at the ground was permitted. Sure of himself, he grabbed the pink pods and tucked them up his sleeves, eager to bring them back to his sister. Alas, the child missed the severe glare of the land's owner, hunched over his precious harvest further in the hill, who did not hear it that way. Posted at the other end of the row, he had seen the redhead picking up his precious nest egg. In this time of famine when feeding one's own family was a struggle, stealing was a crime. There were many abandoned children in the countryside, and if he let any of them collect his hard-won crops, then it would be his own offspring that starvation would strike. His reaction was visceral.
He ran at the boy, fork tightly grabbed in his left hand.
" Whaddya think ya're doin'! Yar another thief !?"
"No, it's not tha-"
"Scum!"
The furious peasant chose the most effective way of getting rid of such nuisance, delivering his anger at the huddled boy with his tool until he was sure to wipe any wish for the little burglar to come back, then dragged him out by his torn clothes, far up the mountain's path. The beige radishes fell from Shinta's sleeves and rolled to the ground, most of them crushed in the conflict. The small redhead had curled up in a defensive reflex in an attempt to lessen the impacts, and at some point even tried to fight back. He would have done anything to feed his sister. After all, these blows were not that different from the ones his father used to throw at them... but they strangely did hurt him much more. He was calling him a thief. These blows tasted like humiliation.
" Dontcha dare do it again! If I see ya hangin' around here, I'll finish ya off!"
When he came back with empty arms, a swollen face, and clenched fists, he did his best not to cry. Men never show their tears, his father had told him. Shinta wasn't aware of it, but his irises that night were amber and raw like the setting sun. When he arrived, his little sister looked so sick that he instantly forgot the pain from his wounds upon seeing her. She hadn't moved from the futon where he had left her before going out to look for food.
"Aniki ..." Their mother's blue furoshiki dropped from tiny hands. Ever since her death it had become the girl's blankie. "They hurt you, people below?"
Despite the illness she would worry about her brother first. Aiko, too, loved him more than anyone she knew. He was always so nice to her.
"Iya ... It's nothing."
He wiped his blood-cracked lips and knelt beside his little sister. It felt like he had aged centuries these last days.
"Don't worry about it, Ai-chan... I'm sorry I took so much time, have you been bored alone today?"
"No..." she weakly shook her head "...Dad's always late, so I made a pearl pendant with 'kaasan. Look ..."
With a small smile, she handed him three round stones, part of what they had previously collected together in the forest, along with funny-shaped sticks and acorns. They were poorly tied by long grasses.
"... 'kaasan? A pendant? But ..."
Worry was devouring him. It had been several moons since they was no rice left in the stack and Aiko hardly moved out of the house anymore, even more moons that he could count since their relatives had died, and they too had started telling nonsense stories near the end. So far, the disease had proven stronger than anything or anyone. Aiko had grown so thin that her arms were no thicker than the sticks they had stacked in the center of the room, a shanty they had called their castle.
"... Are you in pain somewhere, Ai-chan?"
He already knew she was. He just didn't know what to do or say.
"There…" Her kimono was partially disheveled, her hands clasped to her stomach. "Poop don't stop leaking..."
"Listen, I ... I'll try to get food tomorrow, I promise... And maybe, maybe I can find the miko?"
The priest was the one who commonly helped with health care in the village ; his parents had brought him in when they got sick and he had advised them various roots. But he had no money to pay for it, and he had no idea where he was ... He hadn't been seen on red maple hill soon after the outbreak began. Shinta was unaware that his body was one of those resting in the mass graves near their house.
"...Miko? I'm going in hole too?!" Aiko asked suddenly, frightened. She had linked his coming with the terrifying pit they had dug at the back of their garden, from which no one ever came back."You think I'll go in too?"
The little boy set his mauve gaze on the terracotta bowl meant for food, in which he had replanted seeds that had been stored for next spring, in the hope that they too would soon sprout. This is what his father used to do in the fields so he thought it could work. But after several days of watering, nothing more had grown than a scanty shoot of wild white iris. As with Aiko they had found the flower pretty, they had kept it and placed it in the center of the house, on the hearth formerly intended for the fire...
No, he didn't want to put his sister in the hole too.
"You're not going there, Aiko. I won't let you"
"I can't go I'm scared in the dark ..." the little girl went on, big tears running down her cheeks now, trying very hard to convince him. "... Say, it's dark inside ...?"
"I -I don't know …"
Every time Shinta saw the girl cry it triggered an indescribable ache in him, far more painful than anything that could happen to him. He could bear to be insulted by people downhill, he could bear not eating for several days, to be beaten to blood if it could help... But he couldn't stand to see his sister sad.
'How did okaasan comfort her?'
...then he remembered something that used to bring a smile to her face whenever she was whimpering. The little boy took out from his sleeve the precious spinning top his father gave him.
"Here, you can keep it." He smiled at her with big purple eyes. "Now it's yours, Ai-chan."
The little girl's face finally lit up. She took the object as if it were a treasure, and began to observe it from every angle. She had this horrible stomach ache, and her hands were shaking, but she wanted to hold at all costs this unique toy whose colors were fascinating her. That night, Aiko fell asleep with the bauble lined of faded blue, red and green lines tightly kept in her hands.
... But she never woke up.
"Aiko?"
When dawn came, Shinta had tried to call her ...
"Aiko, talk to me !"
... to shake her awake, to wave the wooden top in front of her eyes, but the eyelids that were still fluttering last evening now remained perfectly closed...
"AIKO ! PLEASE !"
...and no matter what he said, his little sister would no longer answer him.
Her body was bathing in its stools. Like his parents'. Like those of his brothers.
"Hhhh…..."
Alone in the hovel which a month ago was yet occupied by his whole family, dark circles under swollen eyes haunting a too-hollow face that he was wiping with muddy hands, Shinta pushed back this picture inside his heart in a place forever-locked.
The crimson-haired girl was stiff and cold, her complexion the color of rainy days. Beside her, the nascent flower in its pot that he had preciously tucked. This time no tears came. He had cried so much over the past weeks when losing one member of his family after another, why couldn't he cry for the one he loved the most? ...Shinta laid down against the still body, and stayed there until falling asleep, two lifelike redheads forming a same indistinguishable shape. The little boy's mind had stopped trying to process what was happening. He was exhausted and empty. The terrifying icy feeling that had been spreading in his heart for some time froze until it nestled there for good. There was no lesson to learn, no beautiful truth behind this horror, only that life is a fragile thing that doesn't bear any compromise. No one ever goes up the walls of a grave. And no one, not even Aiko, would come back in his life.
Shinta remained for an indefinite time leaning against the corpse, in the windy silence of the isolated hovel. Sun and moon followed one another, until one day flies gathered in swarming dark masses on her skin, and worms underneath began to digest her flesh. The terrible smell was growing more and more persistent. In the end, she didn't even look like Aiko anymore.
"Aiko ... I'm sorry ..."
That was the last time he would ever mention her name. The little boy, profoundly shocked, would bury the memory of his sister forever. Now truly alone, he began to tremble, from a long sordid spasm that was starting from the back of his neck to the bottom of his spine. He could only think of one thing.
... He would have to put her in the hole with the others, too.
Once dead, they are nothing more than corpses.
So he dragged the remains in the tomb at the back of the house. When the old pickax broke, he continued to dig with his fingers. She was so tiny, there was no need to enlarge the cavity as much. Unlike what had been granted to all the people they had buried inside, he said no words. His mind was blank, and his throat was dry, deprived of food for several days. There was no need for goodbye or ceremony since he was the only witness of the scene. Only a few inhabitants of the small cluster of houses gathered there had survived the epidemic, fiercely struck by the bacteria who had spread by the sink. From that day on, he would never see a single member of his siblings again. Everything he had experienced until this day, all those he had known, had now vanished under the dull and infertile ground...
...Shinta covered the grave with soil, placed the nascent iris above it, took away his wooden toy... And descended for the last time the red maples hill where the Himura family had lived. It wasn't until a few weeks later, as he was wandering in a state of aphasic stupor among the streets of a village below, that the slave traders found him.
Above the little boy, surrounded by the grazing shadow of death, were falling the last leaves of a sinister autumn.
„La lumière toujours est tout près de s'éteindre... Mais le printemps renaît, qui n'en a pas fini."
Paul Eluard
Next chapter : Breath of life
A/N : Okaaay, that's all for the Himura's past ! Shinta deserves a rest, and so do I... Time for Kenshin to get the story back ! This chapter was difficult to create because I've tried to simplify the writing to fit the point of view and souvenirs of a young child. I also recommend you the lullaby I've used inside « Takeda no komoriuta », it's a really charming old soothing melody (plus it's short). Also, an incredibly beautiful and touching Japanese film : « Nobody knows » by Kore-Eda, based on a true story, which gives an idea of how children of a family can cope when they're left alone by themselves. See you soon, and remember, the more you're sharing with me, the more eager I am to write you back ! Love you all and once again, wherever you are, stay safe ! ;)