Tears and Rain
Chapter 4 -- Home again, home again: Storm brewing on the horizon
By Gabi
The morning sun was warm on their backs as they approached yet another town. They'd been travelling together for more than a week now, and Kuri had gotten quite used to it. Despite the fact that they still had no money, they'd managed to eke out a comfortable enough existence. Apparently people in this part of the prefecture were more hospitable than the ones in the part they'd recently left.
They passed the time easily too. Kuri filled up any silent spaces with her random prattle. Soujiro punctuated these verbal dissertations on the state of the world with occasional comments, sometimes agreeing with her, sometimes disagreeing. She had confirmed opinions on just about everything under the sun, even the things she knew very little about, and it interested him to find that many of her confirmed opinions directly contradicted things he'd seen himself. Whenever this happened he'd very sweetly explain to her the reality of the world using his soft spoken voice. He wasn't altogether sure if she actually filed the information he provided away, or if she was just feigning interest politely, as he had a habit of doing when he was deep in thought. Whatever the case, she never seemed to seriously regard the information, because she never really changed any of her real opinions. It was a both frustrating and endearing trait.
In any case, Soujiro's full attention had not been directed at the girl for upwards of two days now. Something buried far deeper in his psyche occupied almost the totality of his thoughts. The village they approached was the same one he'd left so many years ago, under the cover of a violent storm and at the side of an even more violent man. He was home.
When he had first left Kyoto, he had been unsure of his destination. He was a ronin now, and as such, he really didn't need a direction. He just wandered. Yet, only a few days after setting out it had occurred to him that if he wanted to rebuild his life from the bottom, there was no better place to begin than at the beginning, and the rice warehouse in this village had been the start of all things.
Kuri was once again excited over the prospect of a new town. She happily noted that this one looked very pleasant. Soujiro paid her little attention, but she didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she sensed that he was occupied by his own demons, or perhaps she was so oblivious in her excitement that she truly was unaware that he wasn't listening to her. Still new to the complexities of human emotions and relationships, he wasn't quite sure, but she was her usual genial and enthusiastic self.
At the edge of the town he gently caught her sleeve, cutting off her prattle in mid-stride. She immediately hushed and regarded him seriously as he spoke. His expression didn't waver. Despite the queer feeling that had come over him as soon as he drew near the familiarity of the village, he still sported his ever present smile.
"Kuri-san, I have some important things to do today in town."
She nodded, ducking her head slightly as she did.
"And I need to do them alone."
She looked curious, but she didn't press him.
"I ought to be done by dusk. I'll meet you back here at this tree then," he gestured to the large cherry tree behind him. It was just beginning to blossom.
He worried that she would demand to go with him or know his business, but she simply smiled pleasantly and agreed, "Hai, Soujiro-kun. I'll meet you here at dusk," she squeezed her eyes shut mimicking his own expression, "Just be sure to be here on time, or I'll eat all your dinner."
He was relieved, and relaxed to a degree, "Hai, Kuri-san. I'll be there." he repressed the urge to thank her so as not to arouse her suspicions further than they might be already.
She bounced on her feet and turned on her heel. She ran off towards the business district of the village, stopping to look back and wave only once. He waved back almost absently, already preoccupied again.
Once she was out of sight, he began his own journey into town. His steps were slow and sure. He was in no hurry to visit the house where he'd spent so many torturous days and nights as a child. Being broken, as he was, he could no longer objectively view his past. His emotions were mixed, but none of the ones he felt were pleasant. He even felt a little sick, in the pit of his stomach.
Before he was ready, he found himself at the yard in front of the rice warehouse. He had no idea who owned the distributing center now. That rainy night in spring had killed off all his known relatives. He reflected that since no one could stake a legitimate claim to the company, it had probably reverted back to the state. Whatever the case, the yard seemed blessedly deserted. He did not want to have to explain himself to any irate new owners who might spy him "trespassing."
He took a deep breath, and strode deliberately into the yard. The smooth sand of the yard shifted a little under the weight of his sandals. Near the edge of the warehouse he found a little hollow in the dirt and sat down.
It didn't take long before the flood of memories came washing back over him, and he found himself reliving his childhood. He was beaten by his older half-brothers on every possible occasion. Once, at age six, after failing to scrub the steps clean enough for his grandmother, they had nearly beaten him to death. He remembered being black and blue and bleeding, scared senseless in the storage room, cowering in a pile of burlap sacks terrified that they'd come back and do it again. He had felt that they had broken something inside of him, and lay as still as death, wishing he were dead, or invisible, or anything so long as they wouldn't hurt him again. Miraculously, he did not die that night from internal bleeding, and they had left him alone for the better part of a week. But then it had started again, and it did not stop again after that, no matter how severe the beatings he got were.
He remembered hauling heavy sacks of rice until he passed out from exhaustion, afraid to stop lest he provoke another beating. Then he remembered waking up in the yard at night under an infinite and beautiful sky, his arms and back covered with new welts they had given him as he lay there. He remembered learning to sleep on his stomach so he wouldn't irritate the open sores on his back. Then he remembered nights when he had to sleep on his welts, because they covered his whole body. He cried often, but never when they were around. He had learned never to let them see. Whenever they saw they just beat him more. He learned to smile for them, and although his smile occasionally provoked their violence, they lost interest quickly. To them he was like a thing dead. Even to himself he seemed like a thing dead, but he still harbored hope. One day he'd leave the rice yard forever. One day he'd be able to sleep without worrying whether one of his older brothers would storm into the cellar one night and beat him just for the hell of it, or because a woman had jilted him. It had happened before. It would happen again and again and again, and it would continue to happen until he left. He would leave someday.
He found himself crying silently in the shade of the warehouse. He had never wanted to hurt them. No matter how many times they beat him, he never wanted to hurt them. If he had wanted to hurt them back, then he would have been no better than they were. He had never wanted to hurt, only to leave. Only to be free of them. Free.
He leaned forward and drew his knees to his chest. He held his head in his hands and his tears wet his cheeks and the cold sand under him. He had killed them all in a few moments of terrified rebellion. He had done things too terrible for a child to do, so he had locked the little boy in himself behind a soundproof screen. The boy had watched him kill and kill and kill, always smiling, never mindful of the fears, sorrow, and happiness that he shunted away and locked in an airtight box. The boy had seen everything, and now he wept openly, as he had wept behind the screen so many times before.
After fleeing from one broken home, he had made himself slave to another master, one that was kinder to the killer, but worse to the little crying boy. But then it hadn't really mattered. The boy had been locked behind the screen, and his torment could not be heard. During his fight with Himura, the screen had finally cracked, allowing the killer to finally hear the boy's voice again. Now they both existed inside of him, the killer and the boy, and together, they made him the ronin. No one had been there to stop what had happened to him, but now with the soul of the boy and the skills of the killer, perhaps he could stop it from happening to others.
The moment the screen cracked during the battle with Himura, the boy had begun to assert himself, after having been gagged for so long. Now it was the boy who enjoyed the rabbit girl's company. It had been the killer that had freed her, but the killer was not capable of enjoying anything. The boy could love and hate and cry. At that moment when he had thrown himself against the floor, Yumi had called him broken. She had been incorrect. He was not broken. He was finally free.
*
The moon was high when he finally made his way back to the cherry tree. He chided himself for making her wait even as he did. He found her asleep at the base of the tree, arms tight around a sack of food and their small pouch of money. He smiled at her fondly, and then gently shook her awake.
It seemed to him that she must have only been half-asleep, because she only paused for a moment to yawn before launching into her account of the day. He convinced her to keep her voice low at least until they had put a little distance between themselves and the town, however, as soon as she gauged they were a safe distance away, she launched back into her tale full force.
She explained that she had spent most of the day working, at a local restaurant. She'd done dishes for hours, but she was proud of what she had to show for it. She had a sack of food for their dinner and breakfast, and had earned enough to buy food at market stands for several days. He praised her in his soft and gentle voice and she warmed to his smile. She didn't ask about his day and he didn't offer to tell her. Maybe he would. Maybe he would someday, but not tonight. Her smile was too bright tonight. Her step was too light.
They stopped for the night in an old abandoned barn that they had passed in the morning. The straw inside it was warm and dry, and Kuri made herself comfortable immediately, but not before making sure that Soujiro got some rice and vegetables inside of him. He accepted them without protest, and she found it was easy to go to sleep in the sun warmed hay because she could sense that he was happy and relaxed.
He sat up watching her sleep and thinking about the decisions he'd made that day for a long while. The moonlight was silver and ethereal. He could see a few cherry blossom petals nested in Kuri's hair, holdovers from her stay underneath the tree. Cherry blossoms and the past. Soon maybe he could put his past behind him, but he had one other stop he had to make before starting his journey in earnest again. Kyoto. They would go to Kyoto next to pay their respects to a fallen empire that was never meant to be.
This decision made, he too found it easy to settle into the warm bed of straw. The night was quiet, and although there was a slight chill in the air, it wasn't unpleasant. Once again, he found himself drifting off to the steady rhythm of her breathing. Just as sleep was about to wash over him he heard a sound that chilled his blood.
It was the click of metal upon metal as someone unsheathed a katana.
*
Ooooo! Cliffhanger ^.^ -- Just so you know, sentence fragments are there on purpose ^^;;;