If You Need Her
By Scribe of Figaro
MIROKU'S JOURNEY: PART II
And you . . .
You're the last thing on my mind."
-Barenaked Ladies
The sun drew the shadow of the man far across the field. Slowly he traced the rosary beads around his hand, the only clothed part of his body.
I was in the dark place, under the Earth. I couldn't breathe, and when my hands were tearing at the dirt around me I felt the beads. So I pulled them loose and then. . . then my hand began to suck everything, and then all the dirt above me was gone. I started to feel scared so I wrapped the beads around my hand again and the vacuum stopped.
Where am I?
He glanced around the field, at the road behind him, and at the lights of the houses in the distance.
I'm outside a village.
He furrowed his brows.
Who am I?
He wasn't Sango; that was certain. Sango was another person, someone he knew.
"Sango," he whispered again, the word rolling sweetly even off his dry lips.
Sango was a girl, and a very special girl.
I love Sango.
He nodded in satisfaction. He was getting somewhere. Sango was the woman he fell in love with. Sango must have been his wife.
"I have to save Sango," he whispered, echoing the voice in his head.
Now he was lost again. He knew why he had to save her – he loved her. But save her from what? Where was Sango?
He looked around the ground for clues. In the hole he was trapped in before he could see scattered items – some food that was clearly rotten, a picture and a bundle of cloth. He retrieved the cloth and picture and then crawled back up, sitting next to his shakujou.
The picture was of a Buddhist priest, a houshi, with the same staff that was beside him. The clothes were the same too.
That must be a picture of me. But in that picture I have nothing on my hand, while I know I have this gauntlet and rosary and black circle on my hand.
He studied his hand again, noting the protective covers that hung from the gauntlet. Realizing these were meant to cover the black hole on his hand, he adjusted them to cover his palm completely.
He set aside the picture and then brought the green bundle of cloth into his lap. As he unfolded it he realized it was an apron. It smelled very lightly of perfumes, of rain, of flowers. The scent made him happy for some reason, and he smiled though he didn't know why.
As he unfolded the apron completely a lock of hair fell from within its folds.
He studied this hair now, straight and soft and black, bound with a white ribbon.
"Sango."
He began to understand now. The smell was Sango. These belonged to her, and they were placed where he was buried.
I am dead.
No, that made no sense. He was clearly alive.
They thought I was dead.
Yes, that was it. Sango, his wife, thought he was dead, so she buried him.
But I'm alive.
Yes, it was a mistake. She thought she was dead, and she gave him these offerings, but he was actually alive. He was probably hurt, somehow, but he wasn't killed. So she buried him, and left him offerings, and now she was probably in that village.
He glanced at the picture beside him.
Sango is not a good artist. Or perhaps she is just very young?
He studied the picture some more, realization suddenly striking him.
This was drawn by a child!
Sango and I have a child!
He was beaming now. Him, a father. Him, Sango, and a child. He had a family.
"My family," he whispered, tears forming in his eyes.
He stood, wrapping the apron around him. Clearly Sango was not a large woman, because the apron would not fit him when tied correctly. He turned it sideways and wrapped it around his waist.
The fundoshi and inner kimono he wore were torn to pieces and smelled very bad besides, so he left them there. The black osode and purple kesa looked in far better shape, so he wrapped those around himself. He could find no sandals, but he probably didn't need any. Picking up the shakujou in one hand and the lock of hair and picture in the other, he walked quickly toward the village.
Sango was waiting for him, after all.
Author's Note:
Wow. A lot more reviews than I expected. If I keep getting feedback at this rate I might be updating a lot more often. Given that I have a couple very short chapters coming up, that might not be a bad idea.
Next chapter: Miroku finds a benefactor.
- Scribe
Chapter posted 3 March 2003