-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Chapter Five: Katana Abduction
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Shino-san.
Sometimes, recently, I dream of Shino-san.
I never dream of her in the brothel. That night remains locked away, somewhere safe, someplace where it can't even be tarnished by my dreams.
I liked her better, anyway, dressed as a merchant's wife. Without all that paint on her face. Without the smell of a dozen other men on her. Not locked away. I liked it when she was free to stop and sell eel with me. Free to tell me that I was very bad at my part-time job. I liked it when she was free to criticize me, not in a way that felt degrading or insulting, but in a way that lacked artifice or spite.
What drew us together, I don't know. And, I don't know if we will ever be together again. Shino-san must be free to live her life. Shino-san must be free to make her own choices. If I were to return to her, would she feel beholden to me for helping her escape? Would she resent the fact that I paid money to be with her?
After this journey, I could return to Shino-san. I could, but I mustn't. Expecting her to be mine invalidates what I wanted so desperately for Shino-san. I wanted her to be able to live her own life, make her own choices. I will not turn the sincerity of my time with Shino-san into a falsehood, a calculated ruse to possess her.
In the end, it must be Shino-san who chooses to come to me when her journey is done.
Until then, I meet her in my dreams. We stand on the bridge together, in the rain, and watch the rushing water of the canal. We share her umbrella.
"The smell of rain, I can never remember it when the sun is shining."
I don't even notice the scent until she speaks of it. But, there it is, pervasive and comforting. The smell of droplets on leaves, of moisture suspended in air. It's heavy like a fistful of earth, yet lighter than the musky perfumes of the flowers it cleanses. Shino-san's presence brings an awareness of things I tend to take for granted about the world.
In the distance, lightning brightens small sections of the sky as it moves from cloud to cloud. I feel Shino-san move closer to me, until her shoulder presses against my upper arm. I can just barely smell her hair, and it smells of badly cooked eel. Somehow, this is more alluring than all than any fragrant blossom in Japan.
"You're scared of lightning?"
"No. Well, perhaps, a little. When it's so close." She keeps her gaze on the clouds, but smiles softly and naturally. "It's beautiful, don't you think? Strange that something so majestic should be so destructive."
"Hm." She's right. Nature seems to enjoy such paradoxes. The things which capture our imagination tend to be the things that do us in. Fire. Rushing rivers. Wild animals. Perhaps even an illusive Sunflower Samurai.
Shino-san looks over at me. "Do you think it laments being lightning? Or does it revel in being the rain's violent companion?"
I don't really know how to answer. I feel momentarily stupid and speechless. It's disconcerting, since I like to believe I have answers for most of the questions people could ask. Even in my dreams, Shino-san likes to challenge me to think as if I were not the center of my own world.
"Lightning knows of nothing but being lightning," I finally say.
Shino-san laughs a little, so quietly that I barely even hear it. "You don't have to take all of the questions seriously, Jin."
I glance at her. I have an inkling that I should feel insulted, but I don't. I look down at our feet. Hers are smaller, of course, and her tabi are whiter than mine. Her feet are close together, with her heels touching. Mine are spread apart enough to give me enough speed and balance to move instantly into an attack should it be necessary.
I think of unserious questions, and of the game Fuu was playing before. Perhaps Shino-san would like it. Frankly, I'm just curious to find out her answer.
"If you were trapped on an island," I say evenly, "And you could bring only one object, any object, with you…"
Shino-san cuts me off. She doesn't even have to think about it. "Your katana. I'd want your katana."
It's such a strange answer. What good would my katana do her on a deserted island? Surely, if she were to take a blade, a tanto would be more useful.
I look down at my katana. A drop of rain finds its way to the tsuba and slides over the lightning pattern in the metal.
When I look up, Shino-san is gone.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
There's dirt in my mouth. There are few things more revolting in the world than waking up to a mouthful of gritty dirt. I'd almost rather wake up to Mugen's sword leveled at my jugular..
I manage to get my eyes open. Splotches of light interweaved with blobs of darkness dapple my field of vision. It takes a few moments to realize that I am lying on my back, looking up at the sky through the branches of trees. I try to glance around without moving my head too much. Sound pulses in and out. Birds. Wind. Footsteps. I look for large swatches of specific colors. Pink will be Fuu. Red will be Mugen.
They are standing some distance away. Fuu gestures wildly. She keeps pointing off in the distance. Mugen yawns, and shrugs. Then he points in the same direction. I can't make out what they are saying.
My vision takes on a bluish tint. My skin feels wrong. This can't possibly be my skin. Hot and impossibly cold, both at the same time. Is this sickness? Is this the grief which afflicts so many? If so, why are there so many samurai, so many as to make the status almost worthless, and so few doctors? Surely, the ability to cause the cessation of such symptoms is even more important than I previously realized. And the medical knowledge possessed by foreigners… The absurdity of rejecting it merely based on their country of origin becomes instantly clear to me.
"Quit bitching and just go." I finally catch a snippet of their conversation. It's Mugen, and he sounds more nefarious than usual.
Fuu looks at him for a long moment. "It just doesn't seem right. Jin's so sick, and…"
"You've got to be kidding me. Have we been traveling with the same asshole?" Mugen sticks his thumb out at me without even looking my direction. "That fucker ain't gonna die until I make him dead. Got it? Now, get going. And try not to get killed on the way. You still owe me twelve mon from last week."
"Mugen! You owe me twelve mon. It was my money that you gambled with."
"Yeah, but I made the bet, so the winnings were mine."
I can't believe they're arguing over money in the middle of the forest while I'm sweating enough to irrigate a rice field. How did I get into this? I certainly should have picked a different restaurant to run into that day.
I feel like something is wrong with the way I am dressed. Maybe it's just the discomfort of being laid out on my back. And why does my left hand feel so sore?
I try to keep visual track of Fuu and Mugen. I don't get it. Is Fuu really leaving? I suppose I can't blame her. It's probably the best decision to make, at the moment. She has someplace she wants to be. Besides, what if I'm contagious? What if I have something dangerous? Yes. It is absolutely sensible for her to leave. I'm actually glad Mugen is making her go. It's for her own good.
And, for mine. I don't like people to see me when I am less than at my best.
Still, it's a bit worrisome. Fuu might get herself into trouble. She's far too trusting, just like she was with that painter. I'm just trying to protect Fuu from her own naiveté.
Of course, that mangy dog-man doesn't even care. It has nothing to do with him if Fuu gets herself hurt. Sometimes, I really have to wonder what goes on in his head. I mean, is it honestly possible for a person to live as he does? In abject stupidity, and continual moral bankruptcy? It seems impossible that a man should be able to live so long on just luck and instinct. His mere longevity is proof that he is guarded by something unnatural and possibly infernal. All the more reason for me to kill him.
Fuu leaves. I see her wander into the forest and disappear from view. She didn't even tell me goodbye. That's fine. No fuss. I didn't have anything in particular to say to her, anyway.
Mugen leans against the tree for a long while, watching me. He knows I'm awake. And he knows that I know that he knows that I'm awake. He's waiting for Fuu to be out of earshot. I just know it.
Great. I'm ill, and I'm stuck with that Ryukyuu reject. If we fight, I'll be at a severe disadvantage, and I'll need to…
Oh. No.
My katana. Where is my katana?
"Looking for these?" Mugen holds up the objects in question. One wakizashi, and one katana. My priceless daisho.
That wretch. This is inconceivable. What sort of foul parasite would steal a sick man's weapons?
"Aw, c'mon. Make an angry face for me. Make a really angry face, and I'll throw you the wakizashi." Mugen proceeds to scratch his head with the end of my wakizashi's sheath. Just what I've always wanted, Mugen's scalp flakes adoring my weaponry. "Nope. That's the same ugly fucking face you always have."
"Return my weapons."
"Nah, I don't think I will. Maybe I'll come up with some sort of two-sword method. Heh. That might make me even deadlier." Mugen smacks his lips a bit as he draws the katana out of the sheath. "You keep it nice and sharp, too. I bet I could rob a lot of people by just showin' them this blade. They'd be scared shitless, huh?"
I've got to sit up. I can do it. I've had worse. If I can make it to my feet, maybe I can gather enough strength for one good lunge. But, when I try to push myself up with my hand, pain shoots through my fingers, across my palm, and into my wrist. That's…odd. So, instead, I try my other hand. It seems to work slightly better, and I eventually manage to work myself into a sitting position. Granted, I'm leaning against my hand, but at least I am relatively less horizontal than I was a minute ago.
Mugen grins at my struggles. "Well, I'll consider your daisho as payment for dragging you back to the camp. 'Cause I sure as hell didn't do it for my health." Hm. That explains the dirt in my mouth, I guess.
"But, I might lend it back to you for our fight if you decide not to die out here."
"Unacceptable."
"Tough shit." I hate that look on his face. That look like he finally has me just where he wants me. The smug look of a man who is truly reveling in the fact that he has the upper hand. "Well, see you later, asshole."
Mugen pivots on his heel, and heads into the forest.
He's entirely unscrupulous. I don't care how ill I am, theft of my swords is completely and utterly unacceptable. It will be rectified now. I glance around and find the longest and sturdiest stick I can. Surely there's something left that we haven't yet thrown on the fire. Yes. This branch will do. I tear off the extra twigs and try swinging my makeshift bokken. Hm. Unbalanced, but it will have to do.
I finally make it to my feet, but I have to lean against a nearby tree for a moment. In my lightheadedness, my vision has gone momentarily black. However, I'm not worried about this as much as I am Mugen getting too far ahead of me.
No. I can still hear him, crashing around in the forest. The man has the stealth of a brain-damaged elephant.
Unfortunately, when I start walking, I don't do much better. How is it that I'm stepping on every single loose stick and errant root? The sudden unwieldiness of my body vexes me greatly. At least the sun is still up, or else I might actually run into a tree.
(Or walk in circles again, which would just be all the more infuriating.)
Sweat coats my face, and every other fathomable part of my body. All except for the back of my neck, which feels as if it has been packed in ice. I'd like nothing better than to submerge myself in that river again, even if it meant having a half-dozen fish take up refuge in my gi.
I'm just not moving fast enough. I can't even hear Mugen anymore. Did he start running? Did he notice that I am following him? Fleeing is for cowards. When I find him…
"Are you actually following me?" I look up. Mugen is sitting in a tree about thirty paces ahead of where I am standing. "Geez, I've never seen you move so slow. You're lurching around like a pregnant woman."
"Return my…" Am I actually panting? "…swords."
"Make me."
Mugen leaps out of the tree, and ends up in a crouched position, his back to me. I know that this is my chance to lunge at him, so I throw all of my weight into my steps. He springs ahead effortlessly, running once more into the forest. So close. I almost…umph…tree. Tree!
I take just a moment to rub my forehead and shake it off. At least no one was nearby to see me run into that tree. How humiliating.
As jarring as that was, at least the momentary pain can serve as a focus. I attempt to forget the aches of the rest of my body in favor of the sharp throbbing on my left temple.
I've got to push forward, keep going. I must retrieve my katana and wakizashi, no matter the momentary cost to my comfort. What is a samurai, ronin or otherwise, without his swords? He is lost. He is unnecessary. The soul of bushido is locked within the blade. I can no more go through my life without my katana than I can go without food or air. For, without my sword, who am I?
Nonetheless, I have to give up on trying to run. I keep walking forward, even though I can tell I am definitely breathing heavier now. I don't know how far or how long I've been chasing Mugen, but it seems like a very lengthy forever.
Images and words swirl in my mind. Perhaps this is a punishment constructed specifically for me. Maybe I'm already dead, and I'm just going through a test, or some sort of purification process. Well, at least, if I am dead, Mugen seems to be dead too, since he's here in this forest with me. Perhaps we already killed each other. That's a deep consolation to my possible demise.
Punishment. Hn. Sensei's punishments for minor things usually included intense manual labor of some type. Yukimaru-kun was the worst, really. He was always forgetting to put the equipment away when it was his turn. Sensei must have made him clean the dojo a hundred times for that particular infraction. I usually helped him, though, when Mariya-sensei wasn't looking. Not because I felt it was my duty, but because Yukimaru-kun was the only other student who didn't completely shun my presence. And he sparred with me when no one else except sensei would, even though he hardly ever won.
Cleaning the dojo with Yukimaru-kun wasn't terrible, though. He was much better with history than with kenjutsu, and he knew a lot of interesting things about old battles and wars. He'd tell me about them while we cleaned. Afterwards, when we were sweaty and covered in grime, Orin-san would sometimes bring us daifuku and weak gyokuro tea. All in all, those sorts of punishments weren't so horrible.
Tea. Yes. Any sort of liquid would be welcome right about now. But, I can't stop to look for water. Not yet. I think I might be getting closer. Just a few moments ago, I heard Mugen's voice. Though, I suppose it is relatively possible that I might be hallucinating.
I try to push my hair out of my face, and come away with a hand moist with sweat. Ugh. Wait. My hand… Right by my thumb. It's swollen. There's dried blood. I…
Tree! Tree!
Hm. I didn't run into that one. That's good. I think this forest has it in for me. I think I should…
Wait. There's a…
I come to a full stop and just stare. It's a clearing. Well, not just a clearing. There's a small house. More like a large shack, really. And it can't be completely deserted, because the garden in front is relatively well tended. The rest of the place looks like it could use some repairs, though. Whole strips of wood are falling away from the sides, and the doorway seems to be jutting out of it's frame. As for the engawa, it seems as if someone could kill themselves just…
The engawa.
Right there, in front of the engawa, leaning against the steps, are my blades.
Mugen is here. Where? Is this a trap? Doesn't matter. I'm going to get my swords. I glance around, and then rush forward with as much strength as I can still muster. I'm expecting, at every second, for Mugen to jump out. But, he doesn't.
I grab my swords.
Victory.
Victory.
Now I'll just… I think I'll just… Just for a moment I'll rest… Not for long. Just for a moment. This is good. This is very blissful. I…
There's a rustling behind me. I try to pry my eyes open and tilt my head to the side. If it's Mugen…
But, it's Fuu.
"Wow," she says, "I can't believe Mugen's plan actually worked."
Mugen's head pops out of the doorway. "Took you long enough to get up here." Then he shoves an empty bowl at Fuu. "More."
"Get your own! Are you broken or something?"
I was tricked. They tricked me to get me up here.
And we're probably trespassing.
But, for once, I really don't care.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
In Our Next Chapter: The owner of the house returns. Stay tuned for the rather mundane conclusion of An Amalgam of Lost Tales! See you then!
Author Notes:
I went back and edited the previous chapters after re-reading them, and after also receiving some wonderful suggestions from reviewers. The last chapter, in particular, got some of the dialog re-written to be more in line with the tone of the story.
I haven't been providing a glossary for terms like I usually do on my stories, so I guess I'll put as much as I can here. I really only try to use Japanese terms when the English equivalent isn't exact or proves unwieldy.
Daifuku: Sweet bean paste in a bun.
Gyokuro: A rather "good" roasted tea. Probably not what the dojo residents typically drank with meals. Orin-san probably saved this for guests, so Jin and Yukimaru getting even a weak version was probably a bit of a treat.
Tsuba: This is the guard at the base of the hilt which keeps one's fingers from accidentally slipping down onto the blade. Jin's has a lightning design carved or painted onto his.
Mou: Someone commented on Fuu's use of this word in the first chapter. This is sort of a "soft curse", which means something like "darn" or "geez". I used it because it's particularly Fuu-ish, and in the sub version, she says it quite a bit. (Especially in episode 11, when she's complaining about being kidnapped all the time.)
Back to Edo: Jin's declaration is that he was going to go back to Edo. Edo being the seat of the shogunate, unless Jin had a plan in mind to find someone from the Takeda clan who was high enough up in the government, wasn't corrupt, and was willing to listen to him about what happened at the Mujuu Shinken Dojo (all unlikely), then he probably was pretty much going there to just get executed for his crimes.
Imagawa Ryoshun: One of the first men to write about bushido in a codified form.
Hakama: Yes, they really are designed to help hide the leg movements of samurai.
Mon: A unit of money.
Tabi: Socks
Engawa: Porch-like edifice
Jin's hand: Was bitten by Momo-san in Chapter 1. The wound probably got infected or something. Probably when he was holding onto Mugen to keep Mugen and Fuu from falling into the river.
Thanks again to all reviewers! I'm glad you like this story so far, even if it lacks a big sweeping romantic or humorous aspect.
Special thanks to reviewers for chapter 4: Lady Kagewaki, en route, Ariel the Tempest, Elementary Magpie (Hope those changes are to your liking. I thought they were good suggestions, except for the one about Jin being self-aware enough to realize what he realized. Since that's one of the two major points of the story, I left it in.) koalared, Jonah, Darkness-ninja, and Phi-dono.
