Disclaimer: Idon't own rurouni kenshin manga/anime. Just a few secondary
original characters here are mine
( )popping memory
Seiza
The old man entered the little traditional room. He was tall, his grey, short hair combed back, except for a few rebel strands that fell in fangs on his chiseled face. In spite of his advanced years, his shoulders were still broad and his posture proud, impressive. He sat, very right in front of the little table, on his knees, traditional way. It was the end of april, and the sun was generously entering the room through the open shoji. The guest room he went to have some privacy was upstairs, above the terrace, and he could see the garden.How she loved it! His intense amber eyes glittered as the enticing smell of the white lilies reached his nose. Her favorite flower. Her perfume. He looked at the sakura-trees, not yet blossoming, but covered in flower-buds. She wouldn't see them this year. He only realized now. Disturbingly, some joyful yells raised in the garden, as the kids were obviously going out to play.
A rasp on the shoji distracted him. He raised a brow as Suzume, their first- born Tsutomu's wife, entered with a tray. There was a green-tea cup and a tea-pot on it. She smiled to him. He couldn't help to grin, because even now that she was 40 years-old, she still had the same smile as when she was a little feisty brat. He gave an approving glance at her glowing chesnut hair, and her big, shiny brown eyes. She had always been Tokio's favorite.
"Excuse-me, otosama, I just thought you might want some tea."
He nodded. She added:
"We sent the kids in the garden. If it bothers you, we can."
"No. She liked to hear them play there."
The woman's eyes shined with tears, and she cast her glance down, ashamed of her lack of restraint in front of him.
" I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should be stronger." She turned to leave the room.
"Your tears just honor her memory, Suzume-san."
She whirled, eyes widened in surprise. He had said that in an emotionless tone, but it was the first time he told explicitly something nice to her. She smiled again and left him alone, as she knew he wished it.
He focused on the garden again, as the pack of kids was babbling. Tsuyoshi and his wife, Yukari, were sitting near, under a sakura. Her arm was resting around his shoulder in a comforting way. The old man could imagine her calm, sensible voice, the clever light of her aquamarine eyes.She was the spitting image of her weasel mother, but her temper was totally her father's. Tsuyoshi was the most affected as he was the closest to his mother, but with this woman by his side he would be all right. His youngest son Tatsuo and Akiko, holding their newborn son, Goro, came to sit next to the couple. God had he be mad at the brat, 7 years ago, when he had decided to marry this young lady from Kyoto, and to take her name, as she was an only child. They didn't talk to each other for several months, and they were as stubborn as each other, so it could have lasted all their lives. Of course Tokio had taken the matter in hands, first with diplomacy ("Hajime, it's not even our REAL name") then as usual with definitive measures. She had locked them in a dojo with two shinai, with order to get out only when they would have fixed the matter. He smirked at the memory. He gave the brat a good spank, yet the boy showed enough strength, and stood enough his ground, for Saitoh to finally respect his decision. He had always worried about Tatsuo, who unlike his brothers didn't like to fight, and had decided to become a university teacher. He had met Akiko during his last year at Kyoto University, were he was studying history. He had taken this liking from Tokio, and they always had passionate discussions about that.
Tsutomu and Suzume arrived in the garden too carrying some food, followed by Eiji and Ayame. Their foster son and their first-born had always been closer than twins, in spite of their age difference, choosing the same career in the police forces, and marrying sisters. Tokio had been so enthusiastic about it. She had paid a particular attention to her sons' taste in women, and had been luckily delighted with all her daughters in law. "Ayame is responsible and serious, Suzume is funny and has a good heart, Yukari sensible and smart, and Akiko strong-willed and sweet," she used to judge them. Thanks heavens, otherwise his house would have looked like Kyoto during the Bakumatsu. "If my sons want to get married to a birdwit or a weakling, it will be over my dead body" she endlessly repeated, as soon as Eiji, older in age, turned 15. Saitoh used to think that the poor, unfitting girl would be dead first. He shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken, and as pain began to sting in his stomach, swallowed a sip of tea.
Talking about taste in women, he thought, as Myojin entered the garden with his second wife ("Hajime, he's only 30. He has been so unhappy. If I don't find him a nice girl, he is going to make a bad choice again. Stop grumping, it's not like I ask you to be part of it!"). He never understood why Tokio liked this smart-mouth brat, even if he had to admit the boy had guts. Well, "the boy" was nearly 50 now. He stiffened as followed a red- head man, his hair gathered in a low ponytail. Tatsuo stood to shake his hand, then hugged the woman who arrived with him, while his youngest grandchildren screamed in welcome to their kids. Himura Kenji looked so much like his father. It was quite ironic that he was such a good friend of Tatsuo's. He sighed, and glancing at Himura Hanae, told himself that he had been the lucky one. All in all, he preferred to have grandchildren in common with Weasel and Icicle than with Rooster Head and Fox.
His gaze trailed to a group on the other side of the garden, and he blinked. A young girl was bent over the lilies. Tokio...he thought, half standing. An abyssal feeling of loss fell upon him as he realized his mistake. Yuri. Tsutomu's daughter was seventeen, and looked so much like his wife at the same age. He had a soft spot for her too (-scandalized Suzume- "Otosama! This boy was just carrying her books, escorting her back from school, why did you scare him like this? -Tokio's muffled laugh-). Around her were Eiji's two daughters, and the Hatachi-gumi, according to Myojin's expression: Sagara Sozo, the younger offspring of the couple from hell, Shinomori Akira and Tsutomu's first born, Fujita Soushi. Soushi had his leg cast, Shinomori a bandage around his head and the roosters' brat was more or less looking like a mummy. They had been back from China one week before. The war was raging there, and they had joined the army as volunteers. He had been proud enough of his grandson to actually tell him. So much of his students had forgotten about the notion of duty, he had been relieved to see that it wouldn't happen soon in his family. The three boys were in the same unit. Wounded during an act of bravery, they had been released of their obligations. Myojin's son Shinya, who had a career in the military, was still there. Yesterday, as he stayed with him after the others had left, Soushi had told him he would go back there as soon as he was healed. Our blood, Tokio, he had thought, filled with pride again.
And Soushi had added, not looking at him: "And I swear to you I'll be back alive, even if she's not here to wait for me anymore." ("Soushi, I was not expecting you to take another decision. I know you'll be worthy of our family, and also of the great samurai you were named after. I spent half of my life waiting for your grandfather, and he always came back to me. I'm going to wait for you now, and you'll be back to all of us alive")
He closed his eyes. Time came to confront reality. Time to think about what happened, decided Saitoh, ignoring his growing pain. He had never escaped, he was not going to begin now, he scolded himself. Time to think about Tokio. Her ebony hair had become white as snow, her features had lost their sweetness to turn beautifully aristocratic over the years, but age didn't fade her sparkling silver eyes, her everlasting bemused smile, her sharp mind or her poise. She had enough presence for everybody to stare at her when she was walking in the streets, not in lust or envy like in her young years, but in respect and admiration.
Her heart was weak, though. On this night two days ago, after they came back from a party at Kamiya Dojo, she had lain in his arms on their futon, like she had done for more than fifty years. Yet, she had suddenly gazed straight in his eyes, and he had understood. They had kissed, the most delicate kiss they had ever shared. She had smiled to him one last time, all their life was in that unforgettable smile, and closed her lids. He had stayed like this all night, holding her, thinking about nothing, dry-eyed, just gazing at her face. Empty.
When morning came, he had found the strength to let go of her. He had stood up, very straight, and went downstairs as he heard their family preparing breakfast. Everybody had turned to him, surprised at first that she was not with him. They understood from the emptiness in his eyes, Yukari had told him later. Suzume had burst into tears, a darkened Tsutomu holding her on his chest. Yukari had taken the hand of Tsuyoshi, who was staring at his father, dumbfounded, trying to find anything in the eyes of the old man that denied the fact. Tatsuo was cradling Akiko and the baby in his arms, but he was trembling too. Eiji had tightened his fists, tears running down his face, and Ayame was sobbing quietly, an arm around his waist. "I have to take care of the funeral, " Saitoh had said simply. Tsutomu had reacted first: "I'm going with you." He had nodded to his son. Yukari had glanced at her husband in worry, and her calm voice had raised: "We have to tell the kids. Can someone go to Kamiya Dojo?" "I'm going," had said Ayame, drying her tears. "It's good that they spent the night there." They had all regained control from that moment on, fighting their grief, knowing she would have wanted them to, and the same thought had echoed in his mind. Our blood, Tokio, our family.
He opened his eyes, the conversations coming from the garden getting farther and farther, the pain of his stomach stinging more and more. He finished his now cold tea, put the cup on the table.
He glanced outside again, blinking as the sunlight got to bright. So many memories...
War, blood, fight.Okita, Kondo, Battosai."I'm going to deny everything you became" "Aku-Soku-Zan is the only truth we have in common"..Duty, honor..
Memories fading, as a melodious voice was filling in his head, repeating words he had heard before, linked to moments of his life he would never forget: "Should I apologize for.my lack of delicacy?" "It is indeed my first try at manslaughter. Do you think I can get good at it?" "Saitoh- san, is THAT a proposal?" "I promise I'll never be a weakness. As your wife, I want to be your ally." "I think that finally, I'm going to like being married" "It's here, for yet a few months" "We can't leave the security of the country to these moron, can't we?" "Miburo, I have to warn you. You become too sentimental as you get older"
And these memories faded to, the voice now chanting endlessly three little words, three little words she only told him once..
Her voice, her face.There she was. Just in front of him, with her long ebony mane, her silver eyes, her daring smile."It didn't take you too long" she smiled as he reached for her.
Tsutomu called him. "Father? Would you like to join us?" He opened the shoji and froze. Saitoh Hajime was still sitting straight, eyes closed. Like a statue. Tsutomu felt lost again as he got close to him, not now, now that fast..She died only two days ago, they were not ready for another loss. He gasped as he saw the peaceful expression on his father's face, instead of his always severe or ironic one. He sighed, a bittersweet feeling chasing away the grief. "It didn't take you too long to come back to her this time, Father."
1916- Taisho period.
END
( )popping memory
Seiza
The old man entered the little traditional room. He was tall, his grey, short hair combed back, except for a few rebel strands that fell in fangs on his chiseled face. In spite of his advanced years, his shoulders were still broad and his posture proud, impressive. He sat, very right in front of the little table, on his knees, traditional way. It was the end of april, and the sun was generously entering the room through the open shoji. The guest room he went to have some privacy was upstairs, above the terrace, and he could see the garden.How she loved it! His intense amber eyes glittered as the enticing smell of the white lilies reached his nose. Her favorite flower. Her perfume. He looked at the sakura-trees, not yet blossoming, but covered in flower-buds. She wouldn't see them this year. He only realized now. Disturbingly, some joyful yells raised in the garden, as the kids were obviously going out to play.
A rasp on the shoji distracted him. He raised a brow as Suzume, their first- born Tsutomu's wife, entered with a tray. There was a green-tea cup and a tea-pot on it. She smiled to him. He couldn't help to grin, because even now that she was 40 years-old, she still had the same smile as when she was a little feisty brat. He gave an approving glance at her glowing chesnut hair, and her big, shiny brown eyes. She had always been Tokio's favorite.
"Excuse-me, otosama, I just thought you might want some tea."
He nodded. She added:
"We sent the kids in the garden. If it bothers you, we can."
"No. She liked to hear them play there."
The woman's eyes shined with tears, and she cast her glance down, ashamed of her lack of restraint in front of him.
" I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should be stronger." She turned to leave the room.
"Your tears just honor her memory, Suzume-san."
She whirled, eyes widened in surprise. He had said that in an emotionless tone, but it was the first time he told explicitly something nice to her. She smiled again and left him alone, as she knew he wished it.
He focused on the garden again, as the pack of kids was babbling. Tsuyoshi and his wife, Yukari, were sitting near, under a sakura. Her arm was resting around his shoulder in a comforting way. The old man could imagine her calm, sensible voice, the clever light of her aquamarine eyes.She was the spitting image of her weasel mother, but her temper was totally her father's. Tsuyoshi was the most affected as he was the closest to his mother, but with this woman by his side he would be all right. His youngest son Tatsuo and Akiko, holding their newborn son, Goro, came to sit next to the couple. God had he be mad at the brat, 7 years ago, when he had decided to marry this young lady from Kyoto, and to take her name, as she was an only child. They didn't talk to each other for several months, and they were as stubborn as each other, so it could have lasted all their lives. Of course Tokio had taken the matter in hands, first with diplomacy ("Hajime, it's not even our REAL name") then as usual with definitive measures. She had locked them in a dojo with two shinai, with order to get out only when they would have fixed the matter. He smirked at the memory. He gave the brat a good spank, yet the boy showed enough strength, and stood enough his ground, for Saitoh to finally respect his decision. He had always worried about Tatsuo, who unlike his brothers didn't like to fight, and had decided to become a university teacher. He had met Akiko during his last year at Kyoto University, were he was studying history. He had taken this liking from Tokio, and they always had passionate discussions about that.
Tsutomu and Suzume arrived in the garden too carrying some food, followed by Eiji and Ayame. Their foster son and their first-born had always been closer than twins, in spite of their age difference, choosing the same career in the police forces, and marrying sisters. Tokio had been so enthusiastic about it. She had paid a particular attention to her sons' taste in women, and had been luckily delighted with all her daughters in law. "Ayame is responsible and serious, Suzume is funny and has a good heart, Yukari sensible and smart, and Akiko strong-willed and sweet," she used to judge them. Thanks heavens, otherwise his house would have looked like Kyoto during the Bakumatsu. "If my sons want to get married to a birdwit or a weakling, it will be over my dead body" she endlessly repeated, as soon as Eiji, older in age, turned 15. Saitoh used to think that the poor, unfitting girl would be dead first. He shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken, and as pain began to sting in his stomach, swallowed a sip of tea.
Talking about taste in women, he thought, as Myojin entered the garden with his second wife ("Hajime, he's only 30. He has been so unhappy. If I don't find him a nice girl, he is going to make a bad choice again. Stop grumping, it's not like I ask you to be part of it!"). He never understood why Tokio liked this smart-mouth brat, even if he had to admit the boy had guts. Well, "the boy" was nearly 50 now. He stiffened as followed a red- head man, his hair gathered in a low ponytail. Tatsuo stood to shake his hand, then hugged the woman who arrived with him, while his youngest grandchildren screamed in welcome to their kids. Himura Kenji looked so much like his father. It was quite ironic that he was such a good friend of Tatsuo's. He sighed, and glancing at Himura Hanae, told himself that he had been the lucky one. All in all, he preferred to have grandchildren in common with Weasel and Icicle than with Rooster Head and Fox.
His gaze trailed to a group on the other side of the garden, and he blinked. A young girl was bent over the lilies. Tokio...he thought, half standing. An abyssal feeling of loss fell upon him as he realized his mistake. Yuri. Tsutomu's daughter was seventeen, and looked so much like his wife at the same age. He had a soft spot for her too (-scandalized Suzume- "Otosama! This boy was just carrying her books, escorting her back from school, why did you scare him like this? -Tokio's muffled laugh-). Around her were Eiji's two daughters, and the Hatachi-gumi, according to Myojin's expression: Sagara Sozo, the younger offspring of the couple from hell, Shinomori Akira and Tsutomu's first born, Fujita Soushi. Soushi had his leg cast, Shinomori a bandage around his head and the roosters' brat was more or less looking like a mummy. They had been back from China one week before. The war was raging there, and they had joined the army as volunteers. He had been proud enough of his grandson to actually tell him. So much of his students had forgotten about the notion of duty, he had been relieved to see that it wouldn't happen soon in his family. The three boys were in the same unit. Wounded during an act of bravery, they had been released of their obligations. Myojin's son Shinya, who had a career in the military, was still there. Yesterday, as he stayed with him after the others had left, Soushi had told him he would go back there as soon as he was healed. Our blood, Tokio, he had thought, filled with pride again.
And Soushi had added, not looking at him: "And I swear to you I'll be back alive, even if she's not here to wait for me anymore." ("Soushi, I was not expecting you to take another decision. I know you'll be worthy of our family, and also of the great samurai you were named after. I spent half of my life waiting for your grandfather, and he always came back to me. I'm going to wait for you now, and you'll be back to all of us alive")
He closed his eyes. Time came to confront reality. Time to think about what happened, decided Saitoh, ignoring his growing pain. He had never escaped, he was not going to begin now, he scolded himself. Time to think about Tokio. Her ebony hair had become white as snow, her features had lost their sweetness to turn beautifully aristocratic over the years, but age didn't fade her sparkling silver eyes, her everlasting bemused smile, her sharp mind or her poise. She had enough presence for everybody to stare at her when she was walking in the streets, not in lust or envy like in her young years, but in respect and admiration.
Her heart was weak, though. On this night two days ago, after they came back from a party at Kamiya Dojo, she had lain in his arms on their futon, like she had done for more than fifty years. Yet, she had suddenly gazed straight in his eyes, and he had understood. They had kissed, the most delicate kiss they had ever shared. She had smiled to him one last time, all their life was in that unforgettable smile, and closed her lids. He had stayed like this all night, holding her, thinking about nothing, dry-eyed, just gazing at her face. Empty.
When morning came, he had found the strength to let go of her. He had stood up, very straight, and went downstairs as he heard their family preparing breakfast. Everybody had turned to him, surprised at first that she was not with him. They understood from the emptiness in his eyes, Yukari had told him later. Suzume had burst into tears, a darkened Tsutomu holding her on his chest. Yukari had taken the hand of Tsuyoshi, who was staring at his father, dumbfounded, trying to find anything in the eyes of the old man that denied the fact. Tatsuo was cradling Akiko and the baby in his arms, but he was trembling too. Eiji had tightened his fists, tears running down his face, and Ayame was sobbing quietly, an arm around his waist. "I have to take care of the funeral, " Saitoh had said simply. Tsutomu had reacted first: "I'm going with you." He had nodded to his son. Yukari had glanced at her husband in worry, and her calm voice had raised: "We have to tell the kids. Can someone go to Kamiya Dojo?" "I'm going," had said Ayame, drying her tears. "It's good that they spent the night there." They had all regained control from that moment on, fighting their grief, knowing she would have wanted them to, and the same thought had echoed in his mind. Our blood, Tokio, our family.
He opened his eyes, the conversations coming from the garden getting farther and farther, the pain of his stomach stinging more and more. He finished his now cold tea, put the cup on the table.
He glanced outside again, blinking as the sunlight got to bright. So many memories...
War, blood, fight.Okita, Kondo, Battosai."I'm going to deny everything you became" "Aku-Soku-Zan is the only truth we have in common"..Duty, honor..
Memories fading, as a melodious voice was filling in his head, repeating words he had heard before, linked to moments of his life he would never forget: "Should I apologize for.my lack of delicacy?" "It is indeed my first try at manslaughter. Do you think I can get good at it?" "Saitoh- san, is THAT a proposal?" "I promise I'll never be a weakness. As your wife, I want to be your ally." "I think that finally, I'm going to like being married" "It's here, for yet a few months" "We can't leave the security of the country to these moron, can't we?" "Miburo, I have to warn you. You become too sentimental as you get older"
And these memories faded to, the voice now chanting endlessly three little words, three little words she only told him once..
Her voice, her face.There she was. Just in front of him, with her long ebony mane, her silver eyes, her daring smile."It didn't take you too long" she smiled as he reached for her.
Tsutomu called him. "Father? Would you like to join us?" He opened the shoji and froze. Saitoh Hajime was still sitting straight, eyes closed. Like a statue. Tsutomu felt lost again as he got close to him, not now, now that fast..She died only two days ago, they were not ready for another loss. He gasped as he saw the peaceful expression on his father's face, instead of his always severe or ironic one. He sighed, a bittersweet feeling chasing away the grief. "It didn't take you too long to come back to her this time, Father."
1916- Taisho period.
END