Chapter Five
Goku shook himself awake from the half-daze which hung in the air, and listened to Sanzou questioning the innkeeper. The monk's words to the air had broken the room's peace, which was probably a good thing -- or was it? The silence had been strangely familiar, and he had almost wanted to shut his eyes, look away from Sanzou, and listen to it further, as if there was something hidden at the centre of it like a pearl, like a treasure in the middle of a ball of snow -- and now he had to listen to Sanzou. Because Sanzou was Sanzou.
"I don't understand," the innkeeper said, his voice as distracted as his eyes. Pale grey hair, neither silver nor dark, hung lankly down to his shoulders. One hand played with the edge of his apron.
"What's going on." There was an edge to Sanzou's voice, the genuine temper that was more dangerous than any snapping or shouting or blows from fans, and he was no longer bothering to pretend that the question could go unanswered. "That's what I'm asking."
"I. Oh." The innkeeper let the apron edge slither between his fingers. "Something. I don't know. Some of the other people aren't around any more, have you noticed?" he added softly, as though confiding a secret. "If you pay too much attention to it, you go away to be with it."
"What is it?" Goku interrupted, moving to Sanzou's side.
"It . . ." He shook his head vaguely. "It's washing us all away. The walls keep on changing. Did you pay me? I thought that I had guests." There was a blankness in his eyes, now, as he looked at them. "It comes in when you think. You wade down into it and you drown in it."
Sanzou made an irritated noise deep in his throat, then turned around and stalked towards the door. The sleeves of his robes fluttered in the wind of his passage, the only movement in that room.
"I think I had a daughter," the innkeeper said softly, as Goku followed Sanzou hesitatingly. "A daughter and a son. I had children. They went down to the stream."
Sanzou turned, but the innkeeper was fading like a shape of dust, eyes clear at last, but fixed on something else. "They went down to the stream," he whispered, and was gone.
Silence hung in the room, and nothing moved.
"Sanzou." Goku's voice was raw and harsh in the stillness. "Sanzou, what is it? What's happening here?"
"Morons." Sanzou hauled the door open brusquely, and dust came scattering in from the night outside. "Morons making fools of themselves. Idiots getting trapped in their own despair. Come on. We need to find the stream."
And Goku followed. He would always follow. This was his present. That was all there was. There was no need for hope or despair.
---
The push of wind was heavy enough to hinder Sanzou, tangling his robes around his legs and spraying sand and grit into his face. Thank you very much for making it clear which direction you don't want me to go in, you bastard, he thought dryly as he covered his face with his sleeve. Thank you for being stupid. Anger pushed him onwards -- a curious, dry, dispassionate anger which was not quite like his normal sulphurous temper, the fury which constantly seethed in him at the stupidity of the world. He was used to morons being morons. He knew the taste of that bitterness. He had met enough evil and perversion to be accustomed to what one might call a natural anger and abhorrence of such a thing, one easily answered with a bullet or a blade or a sutra. But this despair which ran like a scar through the village and buried people under its weight when their only crime was stupidity . . . that annoyed him in what he could only term a moral sense.
It might have had something to do with memories of Koumyou Sanzou and an orange aeroplane falling into the endless depth of clear blue sky, something to do with that sudden perception of free flight and possibility. Maybe. He'd think about it later. Next time it rained.
Besides, it had tried to manipulate him. Nothing and nobody got away with that.
Perhaps it was a little risky to assume that the innkeeper's last words had been a direct clue to the riddle, but something in them had rung precise and true, had been a desperate attempt to reach him, a grasp at clarity before the sand and the wind caught the man and took him away to wherever it kept its captives.
"That way!" Goku yelled through the hissing of dust, pulling at Sanzou's free sleeve. He pointed to the left, seemingly at random. "The stream's that way! I can smell water!"
Good. And better that the bakazaru concentrate on something like that, rather than on . . . on anything else that might come to mind.
Abruptly the wind lessened and fell, leaving them alone in the desert night. The sound of water rose to fill the silence, chanting and gurgling in the quick gentle way that could be a voice if you were trying to hear one.
It was too easy. Sanzou brushed sand from his hair as he walked to the edge of the ridge that they were standing on, and looked down.
In the small valley below, it was late afternoon. Sunlight somehow fell fierce and pitiless on the two figures there, while he stood in the same darkness that he had been walking through for the last half hour. The water ran bright and cheerful, sparkling and clean, and stained the dry rock dark in a wide sweep leading to where the girl knelt with her arms about the motionless boy. She barely moved, but her hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the boy's shoulders.
How like her father.
The boy lay there, dark brown hair soddenly plastered back from his face, eyes open and still as pebbles.
The sun shone, the water ran, and the silence in the air was no silence at all but a shriek of pain. It curved like a rainbow to fall into despair, and sang there where nothing moved and nothing heard and nothing answered.
It was a challenge, an answer to Sanzou's own words. He felt the pulse of the thing in the air.
This is what she wants. Are you her judge, to take it away from her? Are you the Master of the Law, to ordain her life, to give her enlightenment? Are you any sort of connection to her, that you should want to interfere? What gives you the right to come between us, when she calls out to me with every breath?
I am kindness. I answer her.
In the night, in the silence, dust sifted like rain.
---
Goku shook himself awake from the half-daze which hung in the air, and listened to Sanzou questioning the innkeeper. The monk's words to the air had broken the room's peace, which was probably a good thing -- or was it? The silence had been strangely familiar, and he had almost wanted to shut his eyes, look away from Sanzou, and listen to it further, as if there was something hidden at the centre of it like a pearl, like a treasure in the middle of a ball of snow -- and now he had to listen to Sanzou. Because Sanzou was Sanzou.
"I don't understand," the innkeeper said, his voice as distracted as his eyes. Pale grey hair, neither silver nor dark, hung lankly down to his shoulders. One hand played with the edge of his apron.
"What's going on." There was an edge to Sanzou's voice, the genuine temper that was more dangerous than any snapping or shouting or blows from fans, and he was no longer bothering to pretend that the question could go unanswered. "That's what I'm asking."
"I. Oh." The innkeeper let the apron edge slither between his fingers. "Something. I don't know. Some of the other people aren't around any more, have you noticed?" he added softly, as though confiding a secret. "If you pay too much attention to it, you go away to be with it."
"What is it?" Goku interrupted, moving to Sanzou's side.
"It . . ." He shook his head vaguely. "It's washing us all away. The walls keep on changing. Did you pay me? I thought that I had guests." There was a blankness in his eyes, now, as he looked at them. "It comes in when you think. You wade down into it and you drown in it."
Sanzou made an irritated noise deep in his throat, then turned around and stalked towards the door. The sleeves of his robes fluttered in the wind of his passage, the only movement in that room.
"I think I had a daughter," the innkeeper said softly, as Goku followed Sanzou hesitatingly. "A daughter and a son. I had children. They went down to the stream."
Sanzou turned, but the innkeeper was fading like a shape of dust, eyes clear at last, but fixed on something else. "They went down to the stream," he whispered, and was gone.
Silence hung in the room, and nothing moved.
"Sanzou." Goku's voice was raw and harsh in the stillness. "Sanzou, what is it? What's happening here?"
"Morons." Sanzou hauled the door open brusquely, and dust came scattering in from the night outside. "Morons making fools of themselves. Idiots getting trapped in their own despair. Come on. We need to find the stream."
And Goku followed. He would always follow. This was his present. That was all there was. There was no need for hope or despair.
---
The push of wind was heavy enough to hinder Sanzou, tangling his robes around his legs and spraying sand and grit into his face. Thank you very much for making it clear which direction you don't want me to go in, you bastard, he thought dryly as he covered his face with his sleeve. Thank you for being stupid. Anger pushed him onwards -- a curious, dry, dispassionate anger which was not quite like his normal sulphurous temper, the fury which constantly seethed in him at the stupidity of the world. He was used to morons being morons. He knew the taste of that bitterness. He had met enough evil and perversion to be accustomed to what one might call a natural anger and abhorrence of such a thing, one easily answered with a bullet or a blade or a sutra. But this despair which ran like a scar through the village and buried people under its weight when their only crime was stupidity . . . that annoyed him in what he could only term a moral sense.
It might have had something to do with memories of Koumyou Sanzou and an orange aeroplane falling into the endless depth of clear blue sky, something to do with that sudden perception of free flight and possibility. Maybe. He'd think about it later. Next time it rained.
Besides, it had tried to manipulate him. Nothing and nobody got away with that.
Perhaps it was a little risky to assume that the innkeeper's last words had been a direct clue to the riddle, but something in them had rung precise and true, had been a desperate attempt to reach him, a grasp at clarity before the sand and the wind caught the man and took him away to wherever it kept its captives.
"That way!" Goku yelled through the hissing of dust, pulling at Sanzou's free sleeve. He pointed to the left, seemingly at random. "The stream's that way! I can smell water!"
Good. And better that the bakazaru concentrate on something like that, rather than on . . . on anything else that might come to mind.
Abruptly the wind lessened and fell, leaving them alone in the desert night. The sound of water rose to fill the silence, chanting and gurgling in the quick gentle way that could be a voice if you were trying to hear one.
It was too easy. Sanzou brushed sand from his hair as he walked to the edge of the ridge that they were standing on, and looked down.
In the small valley below, it was late afternoon. Sunlight somehow fell fierce and pitiless on the two figures there, while he stood in the same darkness that he had been walking through for the last half hour. The water ran bright and cheerful, sparkling and clean, and stained the dry rock dark in a wide sweep leading to where the girl knelt with her arms about the motionless boy. She barely moved, but her hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the boy's shoulders.
How like her father.
The boy lay there, dark brown hair soddenly plastered back from his face, eyes open and still as pebbles.
The sun shone, the water ran, and the silence in the air was no silence at all but a shriek of pain. It curved like a rainbow to fall into despair, and sang there where nothing moved and nothing heard and nothing answered.
It was a challenge, an answer to Sanzou's own words. He felt the pulse of the thing in the air.
This is what she wants. Are you her judge, to take it away from her? Are you the Master of the Law, to ordain her life, to give her enlightenment? Are you any sort of connection to her, that you should want to interfere? What gives you the right to come between us, when she calls out to me with every breath?
I am kindness. I answer her.
In the night, in the silence, dust sifted like rain.
---
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