CHAPTER 9

Rebecca pushed her way through the crowd. She was on crutches. She had been roused from sleep, and Jack was surprised by how much smaller her head looked when she was without hairspray.

"Jack," she said, her smile lighting up the whole building. "Thank God you're okay. You've been out for almost four days. Only I think part of that's Gabriel's fault though, he had tranquilizers and things... are you feeling alright?"

Jack paused, trying to figure out the honest response to the question. "I am feeling much better. Thank you."

The fangirls began to giggle excitedly. It reminded Jack of the sound monkeys make right before they attack.

Noticing the confused look on his face, Rebecca began to explain the situation. "These are some other fangirls. A few of them came along when we were leaving the Metro, and then they started inviting their friends. It's been like a big party here all week."

"Some party," said one yellow-hued almost humanoid creature. "If only Rebecca had something to listen to besides Disco!"

Rebecca snapped back: "It's that or Donald's Mongolian throat singing music."

Jack smiled slightly. "I actually enjoy Mongolian throat singing."

Everyone fell silent. The only noise was that of the two girls running to put in the CD. The eerie sound of throat singing accented by synthesizers seeped into the room.

Jack glanced over the crowd, toward Rebecca's front window. It had been replaced in the time since he had last seen it, when he had jumped through it to escape the francophone bounty hunters. It was dark outside, and very few cars were passing by.

"What hour is this?" he asked.

"It's just after four AM," one girl answered quickly.

"We should cook breakfast," quod another. "Samurai Jack: what do you want for breakfast?"

For the first time Jack realized that he was starving. He tried to think of any food in particular that appealed to him. He had not thought for very long when one of the fangirls screamed out:

"Sushi! We can make him sushi!"

Jack smiled; that actually did sound very appealing. The girls noticed his smile and all melted in unison. Making him happy was like opium to them.

"Does anybody know how to make sushi?" Rebecca asked in a rare exhibition of common sense.

"I do!" chimed one fangirl who wore a T-shirt emblazoned with Jack's image. "It always comes out all screwed up, though. But I can try."

"I know a place we can buy sushi," another girl offered. "It's 24 hour. They stop delivering at midnight, so we'd have to go out and get it."

The girls began to bounce and scream, undulating like waves during a storm. Jack feared he would be crushed by a tsunami.

"Come on, Samurai Jack! Let's go get sushi!"

Rebecca again had to calm them down. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! I've got an idea. How about five of you go out and get sushi for everybody. Then, while you're out, Jack here can have some time to himself. I imagine he'd like to wash off that five day old blood. While he's in the shower, the rest of us can try to find some clothes for him. Does that sound good?"

The fangirls murmured in agreement. Jack sighed in relief at the prospect of being away from them for a short while.

Rebecca turned to him. "The bathroom is right over there." She tried to point but with both of her hands bandaged and splinted all she could do was gesture vaguely. "I assume you know how the faucets work?"

Jack nodded his head and slunk off into the bathroom. It was only due to his speed when he shut and locked the door that the fangirls did not follow him in.

Alone at last, Jack stripped off the bandages stuck to his body, getting a look for the first time at the ugly holes the bullets had left in him. Still, he appeared to be healing nicely, and from the looks of things somebody- probably Gabriel- had stitched up a few of them. When Jack removed his fundoshi it was so saturated with dried blood that it made a hollow clunking noise as he tossed it to the ground.

Accustomed to cold showers and convinced that they were healthier, Jack spent twelve minutes under the freezing jets. He did not get to shower often, and he washed away three weeks worth of grime with a wet hand-towel. He did not like to use soap.

As the Samurai stepped out he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and noticed that his face was covered in half-healed bruises. He hated to think how he must have looked a few days prior. He self-consciously began to wonder if the fangirls had noticed. Then another thought crossed his mind: Rebecca. He had promised some sort of conjugal relations to her. An indescribable panic took hold of him.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Jack?" Rebecca called. "Are you finished?"

"I am," he answered slowly.

"We've got some clothes for you. If you'll just crack open the door I'll pass them in."

At first he wondered if it was just a trick so that she would be able to see him nude, but then he realized Rebecca had no reason for it; she had gotten a promise of sex out of him.

He cracked the door as asked, and Rebecca passed in a 10-foot long strip of white fabric: a new fundoshi. He closed the door and spent the next several minutes draping the garment. He looked in the mirror once more and realized that his hairstick had been broken back at the Metro. He would have to search for a new one along with a new gi.

The Samurai at last opened the door and to his surprise found Rebecca and the others standing before him, holding a fresh white gi, an obi, and a small black hairstick. They giggled excitedly seeing the expression on his face.

"Remember the second-hand store I was coming out of when we met? It's so stupid, but like two seconds before that I had seen this white kimono thing over with the used costumes. I guess I was so startled when I saw you on the sidewalk and you asked for a tailor that I didn't think of it. Anyway, here you go."

Jack took the garment and immediately put it on. It smelled exactly like a second-hand store but he didn't care. Once he tied on the obi he looked elegant and dashing as ever.

A chubby girl who didn't look as if she could be a day over thirteen presented him the hairstick.

"It used to be mine," she said proudly.

Jack thanked her and twisted his damp hair into a chonmage, then forced the stick through it. Except for the bruises he was starting to look like his old self again.

"He needs his sword," cried a young Uktuf girl.

Alba, the girl who had diligently taken charge of the precious katana for the past few days returned the sword to its owner.

It was then that the missing five fangirls returned with enough sushi to feed the entire Heian dynasty. Everybody sat on the floor and gorged themselves on kani, unagi and cucumber rolls till the room was aglow with rose-hued sunlight.

After the fifteenth repeat even Jack grew weary of the Mongolian throat singing. The disc had been replaced and now the sound of a heavy bass and thin, reedy violins eclipsed by men singing in falsetto infected the room.

Jack stood by the window, the white morning light reflecting off of his robes and giving him the appearance of a divine apparition. The fangirls gushed over him, in more ways than one. They were practically leaving slug trails on the carpet. The Samurai frowned. He would have left if he could, but he was still not in prime condition, and he had learned his lesson about trying to fight while still recovering from major injuries. In addition, he was told that Gabriel would be stopping by later in the day, and Jack felt obliged to thank the man for all of his help.

Donald ran through the livingroom, trying not to disturb the colony of fangirls as he made his way to the door. He smiled briefly at Jack. Jack turned away, ashamed. The man seemed to have no idea what his wife had been up to.

Several hours passed. The fangirls remained, the Disco continued to play. Jack began to contemplate the art deco-style sculptures of himself. After a long while, some of the fangirls worked up the nerve to actually talk to him. They began to chat about the world before Aku, Shinto Buddhism, and Jack's favorite ice cream.

At precisely 3:45 PM a very tall, muscular woman dressed in a grey cape and a matching turban entered the apartment. It took Jack a long time to recognize that it was Gabriel.

"Hey," the drag-queen doctor said softly, shutting the door behind himself. "I can't stay long, I'm on my way to work. I've got a matinee. I guess the Samurai is feeling better."

Jack was confused. He thought he had learned the difference between masculine and feminine garb in Aku's cities, but apparently there was some form of etiquette to it that he still did not comprehend.

Gabriel noticed his confusion. "I know, I know, I'm dressed like a girl. It's for work. I have a performance in forty minutes."

The Samurai was enlightened. Now it made sense: Gabriel must be a Kabuki actor, playing the female roles. It even explained the grotesque makeup. His mind settled and he happily succumbed to the brief medical examination.

Gabriel, in a desperate effort to sound as if he knew what he was doing, told Jack to get lots of rest, drink plenty of liquids (as if he planned to take his drinks in gaseous form), apply antiseptic ointment to his wounds and avoid stress. The writers in Hollywood always seemed to get away with it, and Gabriel met with equal success. He also gave the Samurai a tube of topical cream to help prevent the injuries from scarring. Cosmetic surgery was, afterall, his forte.

Three more days passed before the Samurai felt he was in reasonable shape again. In that time, the fangirls had grown increasingly bolder. By early afternoon he had spent most of the past five hours fending off insulting and indiscrete questions about his sex life. To make matters worse, it brought to his mind once more the promise he had made to Rebecca. He would have to fulfil it before he left; honor dictated it.

Rebecca had, surprisingly, not mentioned it since the Metro. Of course it was understandable: they had not had much time alone. The fangirls swarmed about him constantly, like hornets whose nest had been disturbed. It seemed nothing short of Baygon would get rid of them.

Finally seized with a plan, Jack began showing off his sword. Once all the fangirls were interested he excused himself, leaving the weapon behind for the girls to distract themselves. The Samurai crossed over to the kitchen, where Rebecca stood at the counter snacking on deli meat and browsing a lingerie catalogue. Under the pretext of being thirsty, Jack went over to the sink so that he was standing right next to her. His hands trembled slightly as he filled the glass, trying to figure out how to go about beginning the conversation. Rebecca looked up at him and smiled. Jack's stomach unclenched.

"Rebecca..." he said quietly so as not to be heard by the others, "There is a matter I have been meaning to discuss with you."

He had hoped she would speak, but she just stared at him expectantly. Suddenly Jack realized his cup was overflowing. He shut off the faucet.

"I wish to discuss what I said at the train station."

"You mean the Metro?" Rebecca asked plainly.

"Yes," Jack said impatiently. "The Metro." He paused again. "I believe I made a promise to you... I was curious as to when... or how..."

Rebecca started to laugh. "Don't worry about it. Just tell me when you want to do it."

"But the others are always here..."

"Don't worry, I know how to get rid of them. It's all figured out. Just tell me when."

Jack took a deep breath. "Let it be tonight. I feel I should leave this place soon and begin my quest once more."

"Tonight it is, then."

Jack sighed, then took a sip of the water he had poured. He got an idea.

"Have you any sake?"

Rebecca seemed surprised at the question. "I don't, but I can get some."

"Please do. I am going to need it."

A few more hours passed, and it grew dark outside. Donald returned home from work, and upon seeing him Jack's nerves turned to gelatin. Noticing his unease, his unusual pallor and the fact that he seemed to be sweating, the fangirls began prodding him for information in the hope that they'd be able to help. Jack gave exceptionally vague answers. His conscience was already shredding away at him and he didn't need to make it worse by telling lies.

At last Rebecca returned from the grocery, looking awkward with the bag in one hand and her crutch in the other. The curious fangirls began asking what she had bought.

"Eggs, milk; the usual. I got some rice wine," she added, winking at Jack. His heart began to pound.

"Do we get any?" asked one extra-terrestrial fangirl.

"No," Rebecca answered, "But I do have something else for you." She turned herself to face her bedroom. "Donald?" she called, "Can you come out here?"

Donald emerged. Rebecca pointed over to the front door.

"Could you stand over there?" she asked.

Somewhat confused, Donald did as she requested. Rebecca scurried off into the bedroom, returning a moment later carrying something. It was Jack's old fundoshi.

"Okay, girls," Rebecca said, raising the bloodied fabric over her head. "You remember that our Samurai was wearing this when we brought him over here." The fangirls oohed. "Whoever can grab it can have it. Heads up, Donald!"

She tossed the wadded up fundoshi at her husband, who caught it, baffled.

"Now run, Donald!"

Suddenly Donald realized that the herd of fangirls were descending upon him. Fearing for his life, he threw open the door and began to run as fast as he could down the hall. God, Rebecca was weird.

Samurai Jack and Rebecca DuMont watched as the girls all filtered out the door, screaming and running in hot pursuit of the holy relic. Once the last girl was gone, Rebecca closed off and locked the apartment.

"Donald can run pretty fast," she said, "They'll be chasing him for a while."

Jack tried to smile, but he couldn't do it. Rebecca placed herself on the couch next to him.

"Shall we go into the bedroom?" she asked.

"The sake," Jack said quickly. He hardly ever drank alcohol: it dulled the wits, which was normally not a desirable effect. Affectionless coerced adulterous sex was the big exception.

"Oh, right. Of course. I'm afraid I don't know how to heat it up..."

"Do not bother," Jack croaked.

Rebecca went into the kitchen, her crutch tapping along the linoleum. Several bones in her ankle had been shattered by the bullet that had hit her, and it would be a long time before she recovered the ability to walk unassisted. She returned to the sofa along with the bottle of cheap rice wine.

"I know it's usually served in those little cups, which I don't have. I have champagne glasses, mugs, normal cups..."

"Whatever you prefer," said Jack. He was ready to chug down the bottle.

Rebecca rose once more and hobbled over to the kitchen, returning shortly with two champagne flutes.

"Shall we drink it here, or in the bedroom?"

Jack's heart began to sink. Neither option provided any significant advantage. "Whatever you prefer," he said.

"Let's go into the bedroom," Rebecca said with a seductive grin. "You don't mind carrying the bottle, do you?"

Wordlessly, Jack took the bottle from the coffee-table and followed her into the master bedroom. As he approached the bed he was reminded of all the Samurai before him who had likewise approached a tatami mat in preparation for committing seppuku. He felt like he should stop and write a waka. At least it would buy him more time.

Rebecca sat down on the bed and smiled up at him. She was very pretty. Stonefaced, Jack seated himself next to her. He tried not to gag at the stench of her hairspray.

Rebecca leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. She could feel him cringe. Suddenly she realized the problem and pulled away.

"You really don't want to do this, do you?"

The Samurai's heart rate suddenly dropped back to a normal pace. He didn't want to seem rude or embarrass the girl, and he tried to search for the proper words to answer.

Rebecca could read it all on his face. She began to laugh. Jack was dumbstruck. When she seemed to have gained control of herself once more she spoke to him.

"You remember at the Metro that you promised you would do whatever I wanted?"

Jack began to tense. "Yes. That is what I said."

Rebecca smiled at him, a look of compassion and grace. She kissed him on the cheek.

"I want you to go out and use all that surplus chai or whatever you have to defeat Aku. I never want to buy another product with his face on it again."

Jack exhaled deeply. He felt like he had just been thrown from a 1000 foot cliff only to land on a ledge five feet down; prepared for the fatal moment, only to find it never comes. He began to laugh uncontrollably, a low-pitched cackle. Rebecca joined him with her own passive giggle. They sat there for several long moments.

"Thank you," was all he could say, meaning it as sincerely as ever.

"Almost everything is Aku brand, and it's really annoying. Even that damn rice wine is Aku brand. You must put a stop to this. Go out, kill him, or escape to the past and uncreate him or whatever else it takes. That's what I want."

Jack looked at Rebecca, smiling. He hadn't been this happy in days. He threw his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. It seemed like the right thing to do.

He rose from the bed as Rebecca smiled a two googolplex smile. "I thank you for your hospitality, and your kindness to me," he said. "I have enjoyed my stay with you immensely, but I fear that the time has come for me to leave."

Rebecca took up her crutch. "I'll show you to the door."

END.