.
.
When they found his body, it was splayed out at odd angles against an old futon that had grown dusty from disuse, hidden in a dark room behind the large barrels of salt that were left curing in the cellar. His fingernails were broken, presumably from clawing at his assailant's hands as they mercilessly squeezed his neck, and the collar of his kimono was stained with sweat. Shamefully, at the moment of his death, he had also relieved himself; the body loses its muscle control when it dies, and so Kiyotsugu's body was found lying in a puddle of piss and excrement, the foul stench permeating the cellar and soaking into the futon.
Bishamon took in a breath, watching. She only saw this because at some point, Kiyotsugu's spirit had hovered uneasily over his body, no doubt mortified and ashamed by the state of it. Bishamon stood at the corner and watched as Kiyotsugu's family ran into the cellar, hoisting his body upwards. The cleaning woman wailed. Several pairs of hands descended on him, pulling him up, shaking him.
And in the doorway, arms crossed and face pinched, stood Kiyotsugu's brother.
xXx
.
"Nii-san!"
A blink, and Bishamon watched as little Kiyotsugu ran through the tall grass. He had found a cool-looking bug and wanted to show his older brother. "Nii-san! Look!"
Bishamon stepped behind him and peered over little Kiyotsugu's shoulder, then smiled to herself when she saw the jewel-like beetle rolling a ball of dung. Behind her, his brother shook his head.
"Oi." His brother stood aloof with his hands in his pockets. "That's nasty, don't play with that." Bishamon rose, frowning a bit as Kiyotsugu's older brother sauntered toward him. Brown hair and green eyes, he was like the stretched-out mirror version of Kiyotsugu, all long limbs and easy confidence. A familial likeness. They played in the grassy fields near their house and later on the sun-baked boardwalk by the harbor. Across from them, ships turned slowly toward the provincial port, with wide white sails that stretched and sat like floating triangles, the pale canvass glittering as it reflected the light. His father, a salt merchant, went to the dock to examine the cargo of salt coming ashore.
He was a sweet child. Bishamon sifted through his memories, watching as little Kiyotsugu spent his days playing outside, swinging a stick like a katana or collecting pebbles or beetles to keep as pets. At night, she watched as the child splayed on his stomach in the darkened grass, watching with boyish wonder the subtle glow of fireflies as they floated suspended in front of him. Later he went home and burrowed deep into his mother's chest, hugging her tight with little hands.
After his mother died, Kiyotsugu spent his nights crying. He buried his head against his brother's chest, who stood silent and still and didn't cry.
xXx
.
There was little warmth for a merchant's son without a mother.
Bishamon watched. Kiyotsugu's father was a taciturn man who did not appear to grieve for Kiyotsugu's mother. Bishamon frowned and watched as Kiyotsugu's father took up with his mistresses in the town, leaving Kiyotsugu in the care of his brother.
"Quit following me," his brother snapped, as little Kiyotsugu ran, a small dark shape bounding out from the grass. His brother scowled and Kiyotsugu stubbornly kept his walk, and so his brother turned and retaliated with one quick shove, pushing him and running away.
xXx
.
"Ugh, your little brother's following us again," someone said. Bishamon watched as little Kiyotsugu waved desperately at them.
"Nii-san!" A six-year-old Kiyotsugu struggled to climb up the hill, which his older brother and his friends had already crested. The boys were all bigger than him and faster, and little Kiyotsugu struggled to keep up with them.
"Why does he have to play with us?" one of his brother's other friends said, and they watched with growing irritation as Kiyotsugu slipped on a rock. Bishamon winced. They play fought at the top of the hill, shouting loud and swinging wooden swords, aggressive. Kiyotsugu tried to play too, but none of his brother's friends wanted to fight him.
"That's not how you hold a sword," his brother said. Kiyotsugu tried swinging a wooden katana, but pitched forward from the momentum of the swing, unable to keep his balance. His brother's friends rolled their eyes and when they thought Kiyotsugu wasn't looking, laughed at him.
"What is wrong with you? You're embarrassing me," his brother hissed. Kiyotsugu stared shame-faced at the ground while his brother yanked the wooden sword from his hand. "These katas are elementary. How are you going to serve the emperor if you're called?"
"Mother always said only the eldest son is conscripted," Kiyotsugu said. His brother rolled his eyes.
"Mother is dead," his brother said. He pushed the wooden sword against his chest.
"You need to practice more so you don't embarrass Father."
xXx
.
He sat in his room at night, practicing his brushstrokes by candlelight. Each fine swoop, the way he wrote his letters was delicate and precise. "That's woman's work," his father told him. Bishamon furrowed her brow, puzzled as Kiyotsugu guiltily hid his scrolls under the drawer.
The other boys wouldn't talk to him. He was bookish and shy and came across as aloof and distant, choosing to spend his time in the library going over old scrolls. Other boys practiced fighting and sparring, jumping with vigorous physical activity, racing each other in the courtyards. Kiyotsugu's brother was a natural athlete, quick-witted and strong. He beat another one of his friends while sparring and whooped to the others about his dominance.
At ten years old, Kiyotsugu knew he was the weakest. His eyesight was poor and his balance uncoordinated. "You need to be strong to do this work," one of the salt farmers told him, and Kiyotsugu watched awestruck as they hefted large bundles of seaweed to be dried outside, weighty, wet blankets slopped heavily on their stands and dripping on the floor.
xXx
.
Years passed. His brother went into the city to serve the emperor while Kiyotsugu stayed behind and furthered his studies. Bishamon watched as Kiyotsugu sat at his desk, a brush in his hand as he paused thoughtfully.
Bishamon slowly circled the desk, watching. Kiyotsugu was about thirteen now, his thick brown hair twisted into a ponytail. While the other sons of nobles roughhoused and fought and boasted of joining the emperor's army, Kiyotsugu would pause and look out the window, watching quietly.
It was a lonely life. Bishamon watched as Kiyotsugu dutifully set down the stacks and stacks of scrolls, refilling the inkwell and concentrating on his brushstrokes.
xXx
.
"Kiyotsugu. This is the new servant girl. She's joined the family to act as an apprentice."
Bishamon looked up. Kiyotsugu was staring at the girl, transfixed, who bowed deeply and spoke with a lilting tone.
"Kiyotsugu-sama. Felicitations."
"It's nice to meet you," stupidly said Kiyotsugu. His brother elbowed him in the ribs.
"Oi, she's cute, huh, Little Brother?" his brother said. Kiyotsugu could only manage an awkward nod.
xXx
.
She was a year older than him; when she smiled, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her lips were the color of strawberries, pillowy and soft. She had joined his father's estate to apprentice with them, following the other women to the harbor to gather the bundles of fresh seaweed harvested by the docks.
Kiyotsugu blushed whenever he came near her. The girl would be busying herself with her work, peeling vegetables or scrubbing the linens in the kitchens, and Kiyotsugu would hover nervously, wondering if he should say something to her.
"Hah?" his brother said, when Kiyotsugu breathlessly told him his feelings for her, having no other friends to confide in. "Little Brother, are you fuckin' stupid?"
Kiyotsugu blinked. "Why do you think it is I'm being stupid?"
"'Cuz she's older than you and she's a servant, Little Brother. That's why I think you're stupid."
Kiyotsugu didn't listen, and even now Bishamon could see how desperately he needed to be near her. He'd follow her to and from the kitchens, and she'd glance back, puzzled by his attention.
"Young master? Is there something I can do for you?"
"No, not at the moment," he'd say, and he'd blush, not looking at her. "Thank you." And he'd scurry away, tucking his hands into his sleeves and quickly moving away from her.
xXx
.
One night, Kiyotsugu got caught in a storm.
"I shall draw you a bath," the servant girl said, and Kiyotsugu watched dumbstruck as she hurried after him, helping him towel himself and pulling off the sopping wet outer layer of his kimono.
"Please do not trouble yourself," Kiyotsugu said, as she fussed over him. "It is the fault of my own negligence."
"It is no trouble, young master. Here," she said, and handed him a towel.
He pushed his wet bangs out of his eyes and flushed, all-too aware of the slightness of her body. When he took the towel their fingers brushed, and he pulled back from her, blushing.
He escaped to his room, having managed to take a bath without embarrassing himself. Shivering, he lit a candle and pulled out his scrolls, trying to calm himself by studying.
"Young master?" The servant girl knelt outside his doorway. "I brought you some tea, if it pleases you."
She didn't have to do that. The kitchen had already been closed and the fire had been put out, so he knew the trouble she went to make it. "Thank you," he said, touched by her kindness. The servant girl smiled and bowed at him.
xXx
.
A year passed. Bishamon crouched in front of the fire as Kiyotsugu attempted to awkwardly talk to her.
"What are you reading?" Kiyotsugu said. He was fourteen now, coming up from behind the girl, who wasn't expecting him.
The girl rose and stuttered. "Y-young master..."
"It's okay," Kiyotsugu said. He looked at the scroll. "This is a scroll of samurai death poetry," Kiyotsugu said, and the girl blanched visibly. "Samurai often write these on the eve of battle. I didn't know you had an interest in this."
"I did not know," the girl said. Bishamon saw the girl's eyes lower. "In truth, young master, I cannot read this scroll. I was only pausing to admire the shapes of the words."
"Do they not teach you in the commoners' school?" Kiyotsugu asked. The girl shook her head.
"Reading is beyond the lessons given to a servant girl."
Kiyotsugu blinked, surprised. The girl fell quiet. Bishamon could see how Kiyotsugu took a breath, see how Kiyotsugu's eyes traced the wispy lines of hair curling above her neck. He came to a decision.
"Do you like poetry?" Kiyotsugu asked. Quickly he stood up and strode over to a bookcase, pulling out a thick yellow scroll. "This is my father's," Kiyotsugu said. He unrolled the scroll, showing her. "Many of these characters are borrowed from Chinese, it is just a matter of rote memorization. I could teach you," he said. Bishamon could see the excitement in his voice, the frisson of hope crackling through his body. "Once you're done with your work and father relieves you."
"Would you?" the girl said. Kiyotsugu's face brightened.
He had no one else to talk to. Bishamon watched as Kiyotsugu bounced from room to room, starved for contact and relishing those scraps of affection. The girl laughed and Kiyotsugu blushed deeply, the tops of his ears turning red whenever she'd smile in his direction. Another year passed, and Bishamon watched the two of them bent over a scroll, Kiyotsugu excitedly reading aloud a text. He saw the brightness in Kiyotsugu's eyes as he taught her, beaming proudly and sitting close to her. The girl laughed and bowed her head, and Bishamon could see how Kiyotsugu's eyes trained on her slender hand brushing back the hair of her nape. It was a quiet gesture, but Kiyotsugu was transfixed. The girl caught his gaze and smiled, puzzled at him, and Kiyotsugu stuttered and looked away from her.
xXx
.
The marriage announcement came out from nowhere.
"My deepest thanks," the girl said, and she bowed deeply toward Kiyotsugu's father, who sniffed at her, unmoved. Beside her, Kiyotsugu's face was tight. The girl rose again and bowed toward him.
"Young master," she said, and she bowed deeper. "Thank you for teaching me."
"Of course," Kiyotsugu said, stupidly.
xXx
.
He caught her outside the servant's quarters, striding out in the middle of the night before she could leave. The night was dark, and as Kiyotsugu knocked on her door, Bishamon could see the shape of the girl's silhouette moving in the backlit window.
"Please don't marry him," he said. The girl's eyes widened.
"Young master?"
"Please, I beg of you, don't marry him," he said, and he clasped her hand. The girl gasped and jerked back, nervously.
"Young master, what is this? You're not acting like yourself."
"I love you," Kiyotsugu said, and Bishamon could see the dawning realization in the girl's eyes, the muted horror at the boy confessing in front of her. "I know that I can be a good husband to you. Please," he said, and his voice cracked with emotion. "I can't imagine life without you."
No words could describe the depths of his longing, this need to simply be near her. Bishamon knew he'd been dreaming of holding her. Of hugging her and sleeping next to her, curling up against her chest and spending the rest of his days beside her.
But the intensity of his feelings shocked her. She took a step backward.
"Young master, I'm sorry. I never thought that way about you."
Bishamon sucked in her breath. She could see the look on Kiyotsugu's face, the pain and loss and quiet devastation. The girl stared at the ground awkwardly as Kiyotsugu's grip tightened on the lantern, his eyes turning bright and glassy as she murmured meek apologies, telling him how grateful she was for teaching her.
The moon hung like a silver coin the night Kiyotsugu returned to his room. Dully he pulled off the outer robe of his kimono and knelt at the foot of the pallet, eyes unfocused and not saying anything. Bishamon watched as he curled up into himself, hugging a pillow. A single tear leaked down the side of his face, and Kiyotsugu crumbled. Compassion filled her eyes as he brokenly started to cry.
xXx
.
Kiyotsugu's brother walked with a confident swagger, his voice booming loudly and commanding. Unlike Kiyotsugu, who was awkward and shy and had the appearance of a wilted flower, his brother was all masculine strength and energy and unbridled charisma, oozing sexuality and becoming something of a womanizer.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" his brother said, as Kiyotsugu moved mutely from room to room, eyes bright and glassy and fighting valiantly to keep his emotions in check. Kiyotsugu looked up at him miserably and his brother started laughing. "What? You really thought that girl would really want to marry you?"
Kiyotsugu lowered his eyes and shuffled away from him, his heart bruised and aching as his brother gleefully laughed at him.
Later, his brother showed up at Kiyotsugu's room, leaning on the doorway and poking his head through the rice paper door.
"Ne," his brother said, and Kiyotsugu's puffy red eyes dragged upward. "Come with me. I got you something."
"What is it?" Kiyotsugu said. His brother made a motion to follow him.
They ended up at the red light district. His brother chatted up the purveyor as Kiyotsugu's eyes darted around nervously, seeing the women leering down from the wooden balconies hanging just above them.
"I got ya two hours," his brother said. Kiyotsugu blinked.
"W-what?"
"Two hours," his brother repeated. He clapped Kiyotsugu on the back. "I told 'em it'd be your first, so that they would take care of you."
"I...what...Nii-san...?"
"What's the matter?" his brother said. Kiyotsugu's face was pale.
"I can't do this," Kiyotsugu said.
"What do you mean you can't do this?" his brother said, but Kiyotsugu quickly turned away from him. "Little Brother, there's nothing wrong with paying for it. Hey-" and he grabbed Kiyotsugu by the shoulder, yanking his arm to face him.
"That bitch isn't worth it," his brother said. Kiyotsugu slapped off his hand.
His brother blinked. "O-oi-"
"Nii-san, I am nothing like you."
"Oh what? So you're too good to pay to get laid?" His brother stared at him, flabbergasted. "Little Brother, what the fuck? It cost a lot and I bought two hours for you!"
Kiyotsugu kept walking away from him. His brother shook his head. "This is why Father doesn't respect you," his brother said.
xXx
.
His brother was to inherit the family business. It was a point of pride for him. "Best fuckin' salt merchants in the entire province," his brother boasted. Kiyotsugu smiled shyly as his brother puffed out his chest, bragging.
"Nii-san. Father wants us to meet with the salt catchers on the pier."
"What for?" his brother said. He sat with his friends laughing over cups of sake. Producers of salt were a lower class than them, and nobles depended on salt merchants like Kiyotsugu's father to act as middlemen. "We take the cut of course," his brother explained to him.
But now his brother didn't pay attention to his studies. The summer before, he had bathed in glory in the imperial army, and came back with a hunger for wine and women. "Live your life as if you only have a day to live it," his brother said, and Kiyotsugu watched as he filled his cup with sake again.
"And what will you do, Little Brother, after I inherit the family business?"
"I suppose I'll become a scholar," Kiyotsugu said. He was nineteen now, and had thrown himself head-first into his studies. Neither his father nor his brother paid much attention to him, so he spent his time alone studying, an introvert's way of assuaging the loneliness of his station. Already he was well-versed in many languages, able to read in Dutch and Chinese and studying philosophy and higher mathematics. His brother shook his head at him.
"And how is babbling in fuckin' Dutch and Chinese gonna get you a woman?"
"I don't need a woman," Kiyosugu said quietly, and Bishamon knew it was because the memory of the servant girl still hurt him.
He went to a provincial school for those in the merchant class, pouring through historical works and scrolls on Confucianism. "The hell do you need this for?" his brother asked, as Kiyotsugu diligently practiced his brushwork.
Kiyotsugu didn't look up. "It is part of my education." And he drew an elegant loop, a graceful character on the parchment.
xXx
.
There was something wrong with the balance books, and Kiyotsugu overheard his father speaking sharply to one of his subordinates. His mouth made angry shapes, eyes wide and nostrils flared, and his voice was so loud it was audible even through the outer walls.
The subordinate bowed and stuttered apologies. His father glared. Grabbing the book, he marched over to Kiyotsugu and shoved it toward him.
"You're studying mathematics," his father said. He glared at him. "Review this."
Bishamon and Kiyotsugu both watched as Kiyotsugu's father stomped angrily out the room.
That evening, Kiyotsugu went over the ledgers. Working by candlelight, he diligently poured over the numbers, looking for discrepancies in their intake and spending. "Something's not right," Kiyotsugu said. "The numbers aren't adding up." He scratched a few numbers onto parchment paper.
"What?" his father grabbed the book from him. His brow furrowed.
There was murder in his brother's eyes when their father called for him. Kiyotsugu shifted uneasily as his brother denied stealing from him. "So I fuckin' added wrong! I'm too busy to worry about bookkeeping!"
"I don't know which is worse," their father said. "To have a trustworthy fool or an untrustworthy liar."
xXx
.
There were rumors about his brother's gambling debts. Kiyotsugu saw his father bowing to officials from the shogunate, unable to make out the rushed apologies and personal assurances.
"Nii-san," Kiyotsugu said. His brother, who was crossing the hall, stopped to look at him.
"What is it?"
"You're stealing from Father and gambling again."
His brother bristled. "It's just a bit of fun," his brother said. Kiyotsugu hesitated.
"But Nii-san-"
"Just ignore the books, I'll square it away in the morning," his brother said.
xXx
.
There was a meeting with the seaweed harvesters by the pier, where his Father was set to examine their wares. At the riverbank, Kiyotsugu could see how the salt farmers harvested seaweed that skimmed up from the water, drying them in large batches and scraping up the crystalline powder.
"Where is your brother?" his father said. Kiyotsugu spread his hands.
"I do not know, Father."
His father grunted, irritated. A salt collector waved toward them.
"Goddammit, Kiyotsugu. You fuckin' ratted me out to Father again, didn't you?"
His brother was drunk. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, his brother leaned against a pillar and glared at him angrily.
"I did nothing of the sort," Kiyotsugu said, bristling. "Father wanted the both of us to tour the salt quarries. That you neglected to show is not my fault."
His brother had been acting more erratic lately. True, he was always one to carouse and goof off and generally make light of the things expected of him, but lately that good-natured carelessness had started to border on outright negligence. "What happened to you?" Kiyotsugu said. His brother glared, then reached for a bottle.
"No, Nii-san, don't drink that." Kiyotsugu grabbed the bottle out of his hand. "Older Brother, you're not acting like yourself. You've been staying out all night gambling. This isn't like you. What's happening?"
His brother scoffed at him. "What's it to you?" he asked. Kiyotsugu spread his hands, exasperated.
"I'm your brother, I care about you."
"Tch."
"You never used to drink like that," Kiyotsugu said. His brother's eyes narrowed.
"You promise you won't tell Father?"
"I can't promise that," Kiyotsugu said. His brother glared. "Alright! I won't say anything to Father."
His brother stared at him, as if deciding if he should believe him. Bishamon watched as the vein in his brother's temple throbbed, his jaw clenching and unclenching. And then,
"I fucked up," his brother said. "I'm fucking in a lot of debt."
"What?" Kiyotsugu said. His brother made an irritated noise.
"I just told you, I'm in a lot of fucking debt."
"How much debt?" Kiyotsugu asked. His brother rolled his eyes and didn't answer. "Nii-san?"
There was a shadow over his brother's eyes. "A lot."
Neither of them said anything.
"Little Brother," his brother said. "I'm asking you this because Father trusts you. Just let me take out a loan from Father's books. Once I pay everything off I'll replace it."
"You want me to alter the books? I can't do that," Kiyotsugu said. His brother scoffed, exasperated.
"Little Brother. I've never asked anything of you. But I'm asking you now to do this."
"And what happens if I don't?" Kiyotsugu said. His brother didn't look at him.
"They threatened to break my legs."
Kiyotsugu sucked in a breath. His brother lowered his eyes.
xXx
.
His brother was on his knees, sobbing and begging his father to reconsider, pleading with him not to disown him. Kiyotsugu watched, heart in his throat, as their father stood impassively in front of them, before tossing a leather satchel of coins at his brother. "For your debt," their father said. The satchel landed on its side, spilling over.
His brother raised his eyes. His father didn't look at him. A shadow covered his eyes as he stepped around and turned away from him.
"Father," his brother sniffed pathetically. He picked up the satchel and clutched it to his chest. "Father...thank you, Father."
"Take this and be gone," his father said. His eyes met Kiyotsugu's.
"As of now, he is no longer your brother."
xXx
.
It was a few days before the commemorative ceremony, but Kiyotsugu was feeling restless. Bishamon watched as he paced around in his room, hugging his arms before sitting heavily on the futon.
There was the sound of pebbles hitting the window.
Kiyotsugu looked up. Bishamon followed him as he walked toward the window and saw his brother standing in the courtyard.
"Nii-san," Kiyotsugu said, walking toward him. His brother looked grimly at him.
"Little Brother," his brother said. Kiyotsugu folded his hands into his sleeves.
"What do you want?"
"I came for an apology."
Kiyotsugu sucked in his breath. His brother stood, dark and terrible and silhouetted by moonlight. Kiyotsugu shook his head.
"Nii-san. I heard them myself. They threatened to kill you."
"You could have cooked the books," his brother said. "That was all I asked of you. You could have covered for me."
"Father would've known," Kiyotsugu said. His brother took a breath, then shook his head.
"I heard Father is bequeathing you the rest of my inheritance," his brother said. He laughed, bitterly. "I heard your stupid ass would be taking over the business."
Kiyotsugu lowered his eyes, then nodded mutely. His brother let out a barking laugh.
"Oh, fuck me," his brother said. He walked in a half circle in the courtyard, agitated. "Oh, fuck. Fuck! Fuck me."
"I'm sorry," Kiyotsugu began, but his brother strode angrily towards him.
He pointed in Kiyotsugu's face. "You stole everything away from me."
"You're drunk," Kiyotsugu said. He took a step backward. "I can't speak to you when you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk, Little Brother. I haven't had a drop in weeks."
"Then why are you acting like this?" Kiyotsugu said. His brother reared up.
"Because you took everything away from me!"
"Nii-san-"
"You fucking lying little brat! You set Father against me!"
"I didn't!" Kiyotsugu cried, and his brother decked him. One hard punch against the face, making Kiyotsugu stagger back. "Nii-san-"
His brother screamed. He lurched forward, lunging towards him.
A crack. One harsh strike, and Kiyotsugu staggered. He threw himself into Kiyotsugu's body and the whole weight of him crashed into Kiyotsugu, making him lose his balance. He slammed into a pillar, wheezing. His brother launched into him again, throwing him backwards and tackling him.
"Traitor!" his brother said. He viciously grabbed onto Kiyotsugu's neck. "Fucking liar!"
"Please-" Kiyotsugu's hands flew desperately toward his neck. "Nii-san-"
"How could you do this to me?!"
Kiyotsugu struggled. Bishamon stared horrified as brother savagely straddled him, Kiyotsugu clawing at his hands and kicking out his legs, body flailing like a fish flapping out of water. Above him, his brother was sobbing. Kiyotsugu let out a desperate garbled wheeze, thrashing beneath him, and his brother gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes and strangling Kiyotsugu harder.
Above them, rain clouds moved and covered the moon, casting everything below it in shadow. Bishamon wrung her hands and paced, eyes locked on Kiyotsugu as he struggled, nails digging and breaking below the quick. He left bloody scratch marks on his brother's wrists and knuckles, but his brother beared down harder.
"Die!" his brother said, as Kiyotsugu continued to struggle. "Kiyotsugu!"
Tears rolled down the sides of Kiyotsugu's face, before he lost consciousness and his eyes rolled backwards. The muscles in his body, which were taut and straining, finally went slack. His hands dropped limply onto the dirt-packed ground.
xXx
.
The whole of Kiyotsugu's memories flashed through her mind in an instant.
"Master." The Elder's voice was sharp. "Master, Master!"
"Eh?" Bishamon looked up. A tear slipped down the side of her face, the nail glinting brightly from the fresh wound in her ear.