One Inch Ahead

by Shunyata Ryuen

Taking refuge in a Chinese monastery, a troubled Ri Houjun finds himself with a chance to help a soul as lost as his own. (complete)

2. 2

-2-

The ground was soft beneath his feet; his sandals sank an inch into it with each step, cool flakes of dirt tickling his toes.  His young companion—who had introduced himself a short time ago as Kourin—followed the grass-littered path with steps so light that there was barely a mark of his passing; despite the numerous other concerns and questions buzzing in his mind, Houjun couldn't help studying Kourin's whispery, half-formed footprints with interest.  He had never seen anyone—male or female—move with such grace,  as if each step were part of some intricate solo ballet; for a moment, he let himself pretend that the birds themselves sang accompaniment to this dance, the wind played percussion upon the trees, and the sun traced Kourin's movements like a heavenly spotlight.  This line of thought—and its inevitable Disney associations—drew his lips slightly upwards, and so it was that he was smiling when his graceful guide pivoted around to look at him.

"It isn't much farther," Kourin told him cheerfully—though Houjun caught the glimmer of anxiety in his eyes before it was swallowed into a grin.  "I hope this isn't too much exercise for you.  From what I hear, monastery life is mostly just sitting around."

He smiled, enjoying the teasing note in his new companion's voice.  "True," he said, "but there is slightly more to it than that.  Besides," he added with a hint of mischief, "you'd be surprised by how many calories we burn with all that incessant chanting…"

Kourin matched his grin, and this time there was no unease lurking in the expression.  "I didn't know monks were allowed to have a sense of humor."

"I'm not technically a monk, anymore."

"Ah, well, that explains it, then." 

They traveled on in silence for a moment, a leafy tide rushing above their heads, the sun just tipping into afternoon, and then Kourin asked briefly, over one shoulder, "So, why aren't you?"

His eyes slid from the path and to the back of his companion's head, where silky black ribbons of hair trembled in the breeze.  "Why aren't I a monk anymore?"

The dark head ducked into a nod. 

So many answers…and yet, really, only one; it slipped from his mind to his lips before he could stop it.  "Because of you." 

Kourin stiffened, the dancer's grace faltering for just a moment—and then he stretched an arm forward and pointed.  "Look; we're here," he announced, and Houjun saw that just a few feet ahead of them, the path opened up into a grassy clearing peopled with three stone markers.  The birdsong seemed more sorrowful here, as if even forest creatures knew that a young man's shattered family lay under the earth; Kourin's slim shoulders went rigid as he set foot in the cemetery, and his feet suddenly seemed in danger of being sucked into the ground. 

Listen to what your body tells you…

Instinct drew Houjun to Kourin's side; compassion and a familiar ache in his chest brought his arm around those rigid shoulders, tugging the young man close.  It was only as he felt the press of a warm body against him that he realized—this is the first time I've held anyone since…Kouran.

Panic shuddered through him, battering all the quiet Zen defenses he'd erected over the last six months.  He'd barely touched anyone at all since the events of that night—a handshake or the accidental brushing of shoulders had been the extent of his human contact—and now, suddenly, his senses were awash with the closeness of this other person: the muted heat of his skin, the satiny texture of his blouse, the dull, vibrating thud of his heartbeat.  None of them unpleasant sensations, and yet his brain couldn't seem to help bellowing that this was not Kouran!  No matter how soft the skin or how familiar the curve of the shoulder, this was not Kouran, and…

And it never would be.

Control, he commanded himself, thankful that Kourin's head was bowed to the graves at their feet and not inspecting his fear- and pain-twisted features.  You must calm down.  You're not here to battle your own demons, you're here to help someone else battle his. 

With tremendous effort, he pushed away the torrent of emotions and, drawing a deep breath through his nostrils to center himself, forced himself to speak.  Before he could open his mouth, however, Kourin slipped gently from his grasp and strode forward to stand before the smallest—and newest—of the graves; after a moment of silence, during which the young man murmured a few sentences in a voice too soft for him to hear, he bent to deposit the purple flowers on the grave, then straightened and drew a deep breath.  It was only as Kourin turned that Houjun caught a glimpse of the name of the grave—and like a missing puzzle piece had been slipped into place, there was suddenly a recognizable picture where before there had been none.

CHOU  KOURIN

July 5, 1988 – Mar. 10, 2000

Beloved sister

Kourin gave a thin, slightly bitter smile.  "I suppose this explains a lot, ne?"  Shaking his head, the youth drew a sad gaze back to the grave; his voice was barely a whisper.  "We were so close.  Even when we…lost Tousan and Kaasan, I knew it would be all right, because Kourin was with me.  I thought…I thought we would be together forever."  Wiping a quick hand under his eyes, he gave a short laugh.  "I-I don't know why I'm telling you this, or even how I can.  I've kept it a secret for so long…"

A shiver ran the length of Houjun's spine; his mouth was dry when next he spoke.  "The only way to conquer pain," he said, tasting every word like bitter medicine, "is to experience it.  To not run away from it.  To…to feel it and become it." 

Master Jiu had said this a thousand times, and at each repetition, Houjun had nodded, thinking, Yes.  That makes perfect sense.  And the next time he'd stubbed his toe or felt his folded legs stiffening beneath him, he'd forced himself to feel the pain completely—to let it wash over him, to really live in it—and just as Master Jiu had promised, the pain had abated within seconds.  But to use it like this?  To exhume the anguish of his past when new sprouts of grass were just beginning to grow on its grave?

"I'm afraid to feel it."

For a moment, he was unsure whether the childlike whisper came from himself or Kourin; even before he realized it was not himself who had spoken, though, he decided that it didn't matter—whoever had voiced it, they both felt it. 

"I know," he murmured.  He meant to say more, but before he could squeeze the words out, Kourin's eyes went suddenly wide, and his left arm lifted to offer a clearer view of a delicate silver wristwatch.

"Ah!  I'm late!  I'm sorry, but I have to go.  But, ah, maybe we could talk later?  You live in that hut on the hill, don't you?  I'll stop by sometime, okay?  For now, though, I really have to—"

Houjun nodded, though a part of him ached with disappointment.  "I understand," he assured the youth, and then Kourin was waving and turning and—with only an instant's hesitation—racing back down the path towards the village.

He stood there in the cemetery for a long time, feeling numb and strangely empty, his gaze fixed on the tiny grave's inscription as if he might glean some wisdom from its lettering.  Then he returned to the path and traced its length himself, all the while breathing in air that smelled suddenly of blood.

~*~

Master Jiu was in the garden when he arrived at the monastery, the older man's robes dusty and mud-splotched, his fingers buried in the earth.  When he glanced up, a glimmer of sweat on his brow, Houjun found himself oddly surprised to realize that the Master did, indeed, sweat on a hot summer's day; a part of him had always known, of course, that Jiu was merely a man like himself, but somehow he'd thought the Master above such mundane activities as sweating.

Jiu raised an eyebrow at him, and he realized he'd been standing motionless for several moment, staring and not speaking.  Belatedly, he bowed.  "Master, I'd like to speak with you."

With a hint of a smile, Jiu returned to his gardening.  "Then speak."

"I…"  He cast a nervous glance at the dozen or so monks hard at work in the garden, then pushed past his anxiety and put breath to the words.  "I want to tell you…what happened to me before I came here."

Jiu said nothing to this, his weathered hands plucking weeds gently from the soil, so Houjun plunged onward.

"I realized today that I never…that I've been hiding from what happened, not allowing myself to grieve or feel the pain of it, and so I wanted to—"

"No."

He stopped short, the breath faltering in his lungs.  "…what, Master?"

Jiu got his legs beneath him, brushed some dirt from his robes, and then rose to face him.  "No," he said again, just as firmly.  "You may not tell me."

"But…but I need to—"

"This," said Jiu in a stern whisper, "is not grieving.  This is not feeling your pain or living in it, it is trying to squeeze it into words.  It is trying to hand it to me so I might do the work of it for you.  It is just another form of hiding."

Frustration bubbled in his chest; he was startled to find tears prickling his eyelids.  "But I don't know what else to do—how else to get over my pain."

Jiu lifted a finger.  "That is your first mistake.  If your goal is only to be beyond the pain, you will never be in the moment of your grief, and so you will never feel it fully enough to move beyond it.  But if you strive, only, to live in it—to become it, so no more conflict exists between yourself and the pain…"  He gave a small, gentle smile and grasped the younger man's shoulders.  "That is the only way you can put it behind you.  How can you look back upon a road until you've walked to the end of it?"

Houjun closed his eyes, the scent of tilled soil reminding him of long, happy days with his fingers creased with mud, the sun beating down on him, his entire being wrapped into the essence of the work.  He remembered such contentment in those days, such simple, perfect pride…

And he remembered, very dimly, guilt.

It had been only a moment's torment, as he lay down to sleep one night; he'd nearly forgotten it by morning, and in fact had not thought of it at all until now.  And yet…  He'd felt guilty—a vicious, hateful, violent torrent of guilt—because he was alive and happy, and Kouran and Hikou—who deserved so dearly to be those two things—were not.

No matter what happens in my life—no matter what happiness or contentment I feel—there'll always be a shadow over it, won't there?  I'll never be able to be truly happy, because…

His teeth clenched, and the truth trembled through him like a shiver.

Because I feel like I don't deserve it.

"Houjun."

He opened his eyes.  Master Jiu still stood exactly where he had a moment earlier, yet something about his manner seemed different—softer. 

"Yes, Master?"

"Did you find what you were looking for in the city?"

Kourin's sad, dark eyes fluttered into his mind, and guilt came to him then for a different reason.

"I…I did," he managed.  "There is a…young man.  He recently lost his family, and he…he's having difficulty…"

"Facing his pain?"

Houjun lowered his eyes.  "Yes."

"And through him, you were able to see your own…difficulties?"

"Yes, Master.  I…I should have stayed in the city and…spoken to him more, but instead I…all I could think of was coming here to—"

"Now you think differently," Jiu said simply.  "And do not forget—two drowning men are of very little use to one another.  Until you remove your own burdens, how are you to help him with his?"      

~*~

Kourin visited him early the next day.  He was startled to find the young man waiting at his door—he'd half expected the youth to avoid him after their exchange in the cemetery—but even more startling was the change that had come over him.  His long black hair had been unevenly shorn so it hung a few inches above his shoulders, framing a face noticeably devoid of make-up.  In place of his usual flowing skirts was a neatly-tailored pair of khaki pants, matched with a loose, collared white button-down and beige undershirt.  The aura of femininity about him was still palpable, and yet there was also an unmistakable maleness to him, as well—and though the dark eyes flicked from side to side as if terrified someone might see him, a hint of a smile drew at his lips, and the shoulders were more deeply relaxed than Houjun had ever seen them.

As he drew breath to welcome the young man to his home, Kourin extended a hand.  After only a moment's hesitation, the former monk accepted it into his own, his larger fingers fitting neatly over Kourin's smaller ones.

"I'm Ryuuen," his guest said firmly, his eyes glittering like smooth dark stones in the light.  "Chou Ryuuen."

The hand he held trembled slightly at the pronouncement, and with a sudden, genuine smile, Houjun clasped his other hand over their joined fingers.  "Please," he said gently.  "Come in."

They sat down to tea at his low table, sipping the subtle, earthy blend in silence while morning rose beyond the walls of the hut. 

"I have some questions to ask you," Ryuuen said at last. 

Houjun bowed his head in acquiescence…and then stopped, the last words Master Jiu had said to him yesterday flaring into his mind.

If you remember nothing else of our conversation today, remember this:  peace will never come to you until you stop looking for it.  You must live every moment, feeling your emotions and savoring what your senses tell you—only then will your peace be real.  False peace is what we hide behind when we would rather not feel—we tell ourselves that we are following Buddha, that we are becoming one with the flow of the world around us, but in truth, we are hiding.  We are using the illusion of peace to prevent ourselves from suffering…but suffering can only be conquered by experiencing it.  Don't hide from it, Houjun. 

Don't hide from it.

Houjun raised his head. 

"This…"  His voice was very soft, barely above a murmur.  "This isn't me."

Ryuuen frowned, his head tilting a bit to the side in confusion.  "Isn't…  What do you mean?"

The older man shook his head.  "I've been wearing a costume," he continued quietly.  "A mask.  You've taken yours off, and it's only…it's only right if I take off mine as well."

Ryuuen arched an eyebrow.  "You're not about to rip off that robe, are you?  Because I know I was wearing a dress the first time you met me, but…"

Houjun couldn't help a smile at that.  "No," he said, still smiling, "I was…speaking metaphorically."

"Look," said Ryuuen seriously, "I don't claim to understand anything about this.  I don't know how you…how you knew when we met that day in the marketplace, or why you would say you stopped being a monk because of me, or…well, anything, really.  But I do know that…that there's something the same about us.  The moment our eyes met, I…I felt like I knew you, and even though we didn't exactly talk about it, I know that…well, that you've lost someone, too."  He shook his head.  "Before, when we were talking…I wasn't being me, I was being…I was playing a part.  And I think you were, too.  I was the delicate young maiden who's lost her family but is surprisingly buoyant, and you were the wise former monk, imparting wisdom and trying to comfort the delicate young maiden.  But it wasn't real, was it?"

Houjun closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the wisps of hot air rising from his tea cup, hearing the creak of wind against the walls of the house and the soft rhythm of Ryuuen's breath.  "No," he murmured.  "It wasn't real."

Warm fingers enfolded his hand; he opened his eyes to find Ryuuen smiling at him, a slightly crooked smile that seemed somehow boyish.  "Then let's be real, okay?  None of this makes any sense, but it seems like we met for a reason.  Maybe it was so we could help each other."

Houjun smiled.  "Maybe it was."  A tremor of guilt tingled at the edge of his mind, and with Ryuuen's comforting touch lending him strength, he attempted to put it into words.  "But I feel like…I don't deserve to be helped."

Ryuuen's gaze fell to the tabletop, lingering there for a moment before he spoke.  "Believe me," he said quietly, "I understand.  Kourin died…because of me.  If I hadn't…"  He trailed off, shaking his head.  "When she died, I wished so dearly that it had been me, because she didn't deserve to die when she'd done nothing wrong.  And so I…I thought that if I…that if I gave up my life so some small part of her might keep on living, that…that maybe that would make up for it somehow."

Houjun found himself studying the table as well.  "I killed my best friend," he whispered.  "And…and the only woman I ever…"  Tears caught the words in his throat, and before he knew it, he was pressing his face into his hands and sobbing.

He hadn't cried since that day, since he'd sat huddled on the floor with blood on his hands and clothes, waiting for the ambulance that was already too late.  During the long, silent drive to the hospital and the following hours in the waiting room, staring at the minute hand and waiting for the coroner's verdict, he'd felt invisible and numb.  Nothing had seemed real, and so there had been nothing to grieve over—nothing to feel but a dreamy hope that he might wake soon, because today he was to propose to Kouran, and Hikou would be his best man and they would dance and eat cake and be happy.  Today, his life would become perfect and complete…

It was Kouran's birthday.  Twenty.  It didn't seem so long ago that he'd watched her puffing out her cheeks to blow out seven candles, then eight, then nine, then later sixteen, seventeen…  He'd been there for every one of her birthdays since the seventh, and every year his love for her had deepened and matured until finally, on her eighteenth, she had admitted she felt the same way.  He remembered her shy fingers clasping around his own, leading him out onto the back porch and into the orchard.  Moonlight shimmered in her hair, bathing her pale skin in silver, and for a moment, he was afraid to touch her because she was too beautiful to be real.  Then she smiled, and he knew that this was still Kouran—still the girl he'd grown up with and laughed and joked with—and suddenly his lips fell into hers as if a physical force had pulled them together, and the very air around them went still.

Two years later, he still felt as if the world froze when he kissed her, and he knew with utter certainty that there was no other woman in the world—or any world—that he would rather spend the rest of his life with. 

He planned the event with expert care, cooking her favorite foods and decorating the table with her favorite flowers; the ring, he kept tucked safely in his pocket, ready to present her with it as they began their dessert.  A friend of his had made the cake—he wouldn't risk baking it himself—and it was three layers of rich, moist devil's food cake with dark chocolate frosting.  Spelled out across the top layer in delicate chips of white chocolate was, "Will you marry me, Kouran?"

It was perfect.  Soft violin music in the background, candlelight bathing the room in a cozy glow, a sweet dessert wine chilling for the celebratory drink after she said "yes…"  It would be the perfect evening to preface the perfect life together, and though he knew it was unwise to get his hopes up, he felt certain that nothing short of nuclear war could spoil it.

The doorbell rang.  Trembling but smiling, he smoothed his powder blue dress shirt and rose to answer it, afraid he would give away the surprise immediately…but upon opening the door, he found Hikou standing out in the corridor, his hands twisting together as if in great nervousness. 

Houjun frowned.  "Hikou?  What are you—"

"I need to talk to you."  His voice was breathy, as if he'd just run up several flights of steps.  "Now."

The older man glanced over his shoulder at all his careful preparations, then turned back to his friend and sighed.  "Come in.  But Kouran will be here any—"

"I know," Hikou said, and Houjun couldn't help noting the apprehension in his voice.  His frown deepening, he ushered his friend to the couch and bade him sit; he was just about to offer the other man a drink when Hikou leaped to his feet and jabbed a finger at him.

"It wasn't right," he announced.  His face was flushed with anger.  "You knew I liked her.  You had to know it.  Everybody knew it.  I-I think even she knew it.  But you went ahead anyway, Houjun, and…and every day since then, you've been rubbing my face in it."

Bewildered, Houjun climbed to his feet.  "What are you talking about?  Rubbing your face in what?"

"You and Kouran!" he exploded.  "I met her first, you know.  I loved her first, but you…you didn't care about that, did you?  You just…you just wanted you to be happy, and now you're gonna propose to her and she's gonna say yes without ever knowing that I've loved her since we were five years old!"

Houjun felt cold.  It was all he could do not to topple back onto the couch.  "But," he managed in a small voice.  "But you said you'd be my best man."

The words sounded so silly once they left his mouth.  Hikou had just confessed to having been in love with Kouran for almost his entire life, and that was all he could think to say?  "I'm sorry," he said immediately.  "I didn't mean it like—"

But Hikou didn't let him finish.  "No," he growled.  "No, it's fine.  I tell you something like this, and of course your only thoughts are about how it affects you."

"Hikou, I didn't mean it like that; I didn't think—"

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, God," Houjun heard himself whisper.  "Kouran."  He turned fearful eyes to Hikou, wishing there were some magic word he could speak to fix this.  "Hikou, please.  Let's not let her see us fighting.  It would…it would just upset her…"

"And it might spoil the mood?" Hikou said sourly.  "No.  No, I'm done pretending.  I can't do it anymore.  I won't."  He drew himself up to his full height, and in his eyes was a dark determination that sent a chill down his best friend's spine.  "I'm going to tell her, Houjun.  When she comes in, before you propose…I'm going to tell her that I love her, and then she can decide which of us she would rather be with."

Feeling as if the world itself were crumbling around him, Houjun succumbed to his weakened legs and sat down hard on the couch.  The doorbell rang again before he could find breath to speak, and through the door came Kouran's sweet, melodic voice:  "Hello?  Houjun?"

Before Houjun could move, Hikou turned and strode to the door, and a moment later had tugged it open to reveal the object of their joined affection.  Peering weakly over the back of the couch, Houjun saw a twinge of confusion touch her delicate features, and then she smiled and greeted Hikou with the sweet smile she always reserved for her oldest friend.

Her oldest friend…

No, he commanded himself.  No, don't even think that.  She might have known him longer, but it's me she loves.  It's always been me.

The door closed behind Kouran, and she took in the romantic surroundings—and Hikou's presence—with the slight lift of an eyebrow.  "I hope I'm not…interrupting anything," she said with a smile.

"Actually," Hikou said, and Houjun was startled by how gentle his voice had become, "there's something I need to talk to you about, Kouran."

She frowned slightly, her eyes seeking out Houjun's, but the latter was too numb to do anything but stare back at her.  Her frown deepening, Kouran took a short step towards the couch. 

"Houjun, are you all right?"

"NO!" Hikou burst out, startling both of them.  "No, don't go to him!  Do I mean nothing to either of you?  God, I run halfway across town so I can put my heart on the line, here, and all Houjun can think about is whether I'll still be his best man or not, and all you can think about is him!"

Kouran's face paled.  "Best…best man?"  Her eyes turned back to Houjun, and with a cold, sinking feeling, he realized that it was not joy he saw reflected in her eyes.  "Houjun, you weren't…you weren't going to…propose to me, were you?"

He looked away, the soothing strains of violin music from the stereo sounding suddenly ominous.  "I…" he began, but he could find nothing more to say.  Finally, he looked up at her and swallowed hard.  "Don't you…want to get married?"

Kouran closed her eyes, such sadness touching her features that Houjun felt heartsick at the sight of it.  "Yes," she said softly, "I do.  Someday.  But not now.  Houjun, I'm only twenty years old!  I'm not even out of college yet.  I'm not ready to get married, not to you or anyone.  I'm…I'm sorry."

As Houjun watched, stunned and sick and dazed, Hikou walked over to Kouran's side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, his lips twisting into a smug, satisfied smile…and something in Houjun snapped.

"Don't touch her!" he cried, leaping to his feet with anger searing in his chest.  "Don't you touch her!"

Kouran glanced between the two men in confusion, her eyes widening at the unexpected outburst.  "Houjun," she said tremulously.  "What're you—"

"He's in love with you!" he shouted.  "Hikou's in love with you, and he came here to tell you so you'll leave me and be with him!"

Hikou's face burned scarlet, and with a cry of rage, he sprinted across the room and tackled Houjun to the floor; before the older man could react, his best friend had drawn back a fist and slammed it into his face.  Houjun's vision wavered at the sudden burst of pain, but he was just angry enough to shove Hikou away from him, hearing the shattering of ceramic plates and the clatter of silverware as his friend's body thudded into the coffee table but not caring.  Kouran had said no.  Kouran had said no, and no matter what her excuse had been, no matter how understandable and logical it was, somehow he knew that it was Hikou's fault. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he had twisted to sit on Hikou's chest and was punching him again and again and again, so furious that he barely noticed Kouran's hands clutching his shoulders, Kouran's voice pleading for him to stop…  And then he saw that Hikou's reaching fingers had caught the knife he'd intended to cut the cake with, and before he could blink, it was soaring towards him, candlelight glinting gold on the blade—

He went deathly still at the sight of it, his muscles going suddenly limp, and with the sudden lack of resistance, Kouran's attempts to push him off of Hikou finally succeeded, her small hands shoving him out of the way…

Somehow he knew what was about to happen even as he fell, but no amount of willpower would fend off gravity's hold on him.  He toppled onto his side on the floor, and by the time he'd twisted back to look at his friends, the knife was buried to the hilt in Kouran's chest, and hot tendrils of scarlet were leaking out onto her blouse.

"Oh my God," he whispered.  "Oh…oh God.  Oh please.  No.  No…"

The next few minutes were a blur—Hikou sobbing, screaming…his own hands lowering Kouran gently to the floor…scrambling to the phone to call 911 although he knew she wasn't breathing, that she was already dead—but through it all, only one thought circled in his brain:

It should've been me.

He was hanging up the phone with trembling, blood-stained fingers when Hikou spoke.

"I-I-I'm so sorry," he said, and his words were barely audible through the tears.  "H-Houjun, I…I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry!  Kouran…"

"Shut up!" Houjun heard himself shriek.  "Just shut up!  Everything was perfect until you…" 

It should've been me.  It should've been me, but…

But Hikou is the one who killed her.

Hikou killed her.

Hikou.  Killed her.

He calmed suddenly and leveled a stare on his sobbing, bruised best friend.  He barely felt human.  "You killed her," he said quietly; Hikou jerked at the words as if he'd been struck.  "You killed Kouran.  You killed her."  His lips bent into a terrible smile.  "But you got what you wanted, didn't you?  Now she'll never marry me."

Hikou wailed at the words, his features twisting in agony, and then he stretched forward as if to touch Kouran's face—but instead grabbed the hilt of the knife, ripped it free, and plunged it into his own chest.

~*~

NOTES:

1.  I swear, this story will be finished!!  There's only one more chapter before the end, and so even with my hectic schedule, I can't imagine myself not managing to write it and get it posted.  *crossed fingers*

2.  Ryuuen does, indeed, live in China, despite the fact that he uses Japanese expressions from time to time and doesn't have a terribly Chinese-sounding name.  Perhaps his family moved there from Japan?  Who knows. 

3.  Happy holidays. ^_~