By Scribe of Figaro
SANGO'S SORROW: PART VII
"Didn't know how much I love you.
Is this the final destination?
Somebody tell me what to do.
Didn't know how much I love you."
- Decay, "Didn't Know"
Sango stepped back from the widening hole in the earth of the meadow just outside the town, leaning on the small shovel Inuyasha had brought her. It was bought, borrowed, or stolen from someone in the village. She didn't ask.
It was warm out, a sunny morning that would no doubt give in to afternoon before they had left this place. It should have been dark. It should have been raining.
It always rained during funerals.
But the weather mocked her sorrow, her emptiness, and shone on in spite of their loss.
After a moment's hesitation, Sango unclasped the tunic of her taiji-ya outfit. From a hidden pocket she produced a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from around her loosened collar.
She had been digging for about two hours now. Inuyasha had tried to help, but she wouldn't allow him. He and Miroku had buried her entire village, had ensured the souls of dozens of her friends and family a safe passage to the other world.
She would bury Miroku.
She turned to Inuyasha, and without a word each took one end of the bundle beside the open grave, the man wrapped tight in a purple kesa, and lowered it gently to the bottom of his final resting place.
Inuyasha made a move to help her as she began to shovel the dirt in. She made eye contact, nodded slowly, and Inuyasha began to scoop the dirt with his own claws in a vaguely dog-like manner. The image was enough for Sango to smile wryly.
As Sango plunged the shakujou into the freshly-made mound, Kagome and Shippou approached them. Each of them held something behind their backs. After searching Sango's face for approval, they approached Miroku's grave to make their offerings.
Kagome kneeled down beside the mound with a tin lunchbox. It was quite large, probably one of the meals she had planned to share with all of them. Sango recognized gohan, sashimi, and norimaki. Kagome placed the opened lunchbox at the foot of the mound and placed a pair of chopsticks across one corner.
"I think . . . these were your favorites," Kagome said quietly.
Shippou was beside her now, and placed a picture next to Kagome's food. Sango had seen him drawing earlier, and she could tell this was one of his better pictures. It showed Miroku with his hand uncursed, smiling and happy under the light of a warm sun. Miroku in heaven.
"That's beautiful," Sango said. "You're a great artist, Shippou."
Shippou shook his head. "No, I'm not. I drew this six times before I got this much. I keep trying and trying, but nothing's ever good enough. . ." He started to cry as Kagome picked him up and hugged him.
"I miss you, Miroku!" he shouted, clutching at Kagome's shirt.
"We all miss you, Miroku-sama," Kagome said.
Even Inuyasha seemed sad. He stood far behind them, arms crossed, eyes sharp and alert, but Sango realized his silence and knew he was mourning his friend in his own quiet way.
"Sango-chan," Kagome said, standing. "Do you want us to leave you alone for a while?"
Sango shook her head. "Why? We were just friends, that's all." She hesitated. "It's not like we were together, or . . ." She wrung her hands, frustrated for her lack of words.
"I understand," Kagome said quietly. "We'll be waiting just over that hill," she said, gesturing to the rise not far past the village."
Sango met her eyes briefly. Arigatou.
She waited as Inuyasha, Kagome, and Shippou made their way across the village. Perhaps they would ask for a reward from the town; perhaps not.
Sango unfastened her ponytail and combed it briefly with her fingers, then took a small knife from her bag and cut a short length off. She bound this tightly with a small piece of the white ribbon she normally tied her hair with, then wrapped it in her green apron. She set this bundle at the foot of Miroku's grave.
"Houshi-sama," she said, "it's been your sport to grope me for so long, I thought it might be nice to leave you with this, since you're so familiar with the feel of my apron." She smiled, feeling tears at the corners of her eyes, but held them back. "I'm going to miss you a lot, Houshi-sama. I'm not sure what I'm going to do next. That is, I know I need to rescue Kohaku, and defeat Naraku. But after that. . ." She bit her lip. "I mean, it wasn't like I was relying on you. They were just fantasies I guess. But I had wanted so much to live with you, to bear your children, and be your wife."
She stood, brushing the dust from her knees.
"I won't ever forget you, Miroku."
She walked away with a sense of empiness, of the failure to complete something.
We'll return with a monk to bless the grave. To make sure he goes to heaven.
Author's note: This is about as far from a contemporary Japanese funeral as one can be, but I'm operating on the assumption that the scenes in the anime where Inuyasha and Miroku bury people without cremation or any specific ritual are commonplace at that time. I'm operating off Takahashi's tendency to describe sengoku jidai Japan in only the most vague terms.
Chapter completed 20 July 2003