Notes and review responses are at the bottom.
Chapter 3 – Kyūshi
"Temporary stop; pause"
In spite of the proximity of the village, he needed most of the day to get there. Every few feet, exhaustion compelled him to stop, unable to continue. He was indeed grateful to have the small cache of food. A few bites at a time, and he could keep it down. Gradually, it gave up its life force into his depleted body. By mid-afternoon, he found himself hesitating at the village's outskirts.
Now what?
An ancient man worked in his garden at the very edge of town. Villagers moved along the single lane through the houses, greeting each other, ducking through doorways. A man pulling a small cart trotted purposefully past the stranger, not even glancing up at him. Children raced recklessly through the small throng, heedless of their mothers' reprimands; smaller ones sat playing with toys in grassy patches as sisters and aunts hovered nearby and passed the time in idle gossip. Who to approach? He surveyed the possibilities. How to start?
"Looking for someone?"
He was so used to being overlooked that it took a moment to register.
The old one is talking to me.
"Please forgive my intrusion. I was told to come to this village."
"Oh, yes? By whom? Why?"
This is … awkward.
"I did not ask his name. We met yesterday on the road, and he … helped me."
The man left his hoeing and traversed the length of his garden to lean on the fence nearer the visitor. Kenshin fished the pendant out of his gi and held it out. The man peered at it as it dangled from the boy's fingers, and then exclaimed, "Ah, yes, Yoshi! So you met up with my friend, did you? Well, come on around to the front of the house. Let me knock off most of this mud and I'll meet you at the door."
Chikushō, this boy is in bad shape! No wonder Yoshi sent him to me.
Having finally convinced Kenshin that his clothes really did need washing, and that the yukata really was a spare, and that the laundry was already scheduled to be done today, Gozaemon mused on what he'd seen as the filthy rags had come off. Scars. Not too many, or too deep, but, by their shapes and locations, clearly from the razor-sharp hasaki of a katana.
He certainly didn't get those skinning up trees or laboring in a field.
Ribs, elbows, knees: much too near the surface. Skin cracked and flaky from privation and exposure. Movements slow; slight tremor in weak limbs.
Looks like we got to this one just in time.
Lowered gaze, bowed head.
From humility? Not exactly: something else, I think.
Oh, yes, and a curious pair of objects: a child's well-worn wooden top, and a woman's tanto, the latter hidden quickly under a nearby tatami. Not quite quickly enough.
The sky still glowed faintly, but the boy was already asleep, having nearly collapsed into his miso soup and rice. Gozaemon lit his pipe and inhaled deeply of the first delicious lungful. As the sweet vapor wreathed his head, he leaned back against the wall, savoring the soft, light evening breeze that caressed his wizened cheeks.
He is quiet, almost mute. I think this one carries much pain.
He pondered his observations: eyes that glowed eerily with a banked intensity and contrasted disturbingly with the low, flat voice and the reserved, almost slave-like demeanor. He had a feeling he was merely a pause on a path of pain.
The past week had brought changes.
Such a fast recovery – the boy's healthy, no doubt about that!
His muscles had fleshed out, his skin had regained its tone and color, and his endurance, as evidenced in his work around the place, was incredible.
Whatever he used to do, the kid's an athlete!
Although the boy didn't welcome questions, Gozaemon had managed to drag out of him a meager history: early orphaning; hints of an eccentric rearing.
He's had a dark life, that he has. Well, at least he's a good listener; it's nice to have someone to talk at!
They spent their days working companionably in the garden and tending the small flock of scraggly chickens. Gozaemon was not put off by Kenshin's silence. The old man missed an audience, and he chattered happily about his children, now grown and moved away, that's the way of young people nowadays, you know, they don't appreciate stable roots; village gossip, although he didn't like to pass on tales only you wouldn't believe what the elders have been up to; and reminisced tenderly about his now long-departed wife, how ever had she put up with him all that time. Seemingly absorbed in his tales, his old eyes were yet sharp enough to take in the boy's pain-filled face and the catch in his breathing when this last subject came up.
Ah … too bad for one so young.
As the days passed, Kenshin took over many of the routine chores. He had a way with the stew pot, and a penchant for laundry. Gozaemon gladly released these tasks to the boy, happy more for how they seemed to soothe the youngster than for his own relief of them. The small tense face relaxed, absorbed in balancing seasonings or in working soft white suds and clear cool water through coarse country fabric. Real peace softened the features; once a flickering smile disturbed its constant solemnity when the boy gazed in obvious satisfaction at the full line of clean clothes snapping in the breeze.
There had been a curious event only a few days after his arrival.
Once the haze of starvation had lifted a bit, the boy became aware of his ragged appearance. He began to comb his hair every day, and to tie it neatly into a high ponytail. Although too young to have much of a beard, his cheeks were nevertheless fuzzier than real tidiness allowed. Gozaemon had been pondering how to offer his own razor without offense, when one morning he noticed Kenshin peering at himself in the well water's surface. The boy's hand went to his face, and he seemed to see himself for the first time. Gozaemon had already marked the boy's penchant for order and cleanliness, so was not surprised to recognize the outer evidence of the inner epiphany: "I need to shave!"
Before he could offer it, however, Kenshin turned abruptly and made for his corner of the cottage, reemerging momentarily with the woman's tanto. Bending over the well, he removed the blade from its saya.
Suddenly, the youth stiffened, wide eyes fixed on the naked steel in his hand. His ghastly expression bristled the hairs at the nape of Gozaemon's neck.
What's happening here?
Long moments passed; neither man moved. A cloud covered the sun; the breeze freshened; Gozaemon shivered. Even at this distance, he could see Kenshin's body trembling slightly, every muscle tense, sudden sweat standing out on his brow.
Then the neighbor's damned dog ran through the yard, yapping at nothing again, and the spell was broken.
How bizarre.
For the rest of the day, the boy had been even more withdrawn. It was the next afternoon before the pall had lifted and Kenshin's mood had lightened from this sepulchral muteness to its customary sobriety.
This one is in deep, n'desu ne?
He felt stronger every day now, his mind clearer, his body increasingly free of pain. Although it had taken effort to allow sleep to come with someone else in the room, he'd learned to rest at night.
No night terrors to trigger questions.
A few of the villagers had noticed the young man working in Gozaemon's garden, and he had suggested the boy's services to them, knowing the little sums of cash would be welcome. It had worked, though few words were exchanged in any of these transactions. The villagers regarded him curiously, but he was used to that. He avoided their eyes; they remained calm.
Market days were surprisingly hectic: the village's location pulled both buyers and sellers from the widely-scattered farms in the surrounding area, and the little center square bustled and buzzed with earnest dickering, glad long-time-no-see's, delighted, scandalous gossip, and generally high spirits. Threading his way through the throng tested his skills, but he never sloshed the tofu's water nor dropped the sack of salted fish.
"Oi! Watch where you're going!" A stumbling gang of rowdy youths, oozing the smell of too much sake, accosted the small shopper.
Turning, Kenshin let his gaze rest on his accuser, who flinched visibly, but wasn't sober enough to back off.
"You're that stranger, aren't you? Are you still leeching off us? Why don't you just leave?"
Tensing for an altercation—Chikushō, again no weapon!—Kenshin readied his stance. This was not lost on anyone. Two other youths moved in: "Seta! Drop it! Let's go. Remember what we heard." They hustled their friend away, and the moment passed.
Now it began: once again, whispers hissed as he passed. Again, eyes averted anxiously at his approach, surreptitiously turned to follow his retreating figure. "Revolutionary soldier." "Ishin shishi." And even, once, as from the depths of a nightmare: "Assassin!"
It is time I left.
"Please pardon my intrusion, Gozaemon-sama. May I speak with you for a moment?"
"Kenshin-bozu. Come, sit beside me in this beautiful sunset."
"Arigato gozaimashita."
A small comfortable silence.
This man, at least, does not fear me.
"You have something to tell me?"
"Hai."
"I'm listening."
"Gozaemon-sama, you have been more generous and kind than this unworthy one deserves."
"My boy, please don't start that again. Your help around here has abundantly repaid any little trouble I might have taken on your behalf, and I have enjoyed your company."
"You have said so."
Again, silence.
Like pulling teeth with this boy!
Gozaemon shifted his position to look Kenshin full in the face. "I'm still listening, son."
"It is time for me to leave."
This was not entirely unexpected. Gozaemon had heard about the incident in the town, and he was not grown so old that his ears missed the hushed whispers; his eyes, the apprehensive glances.
"Are you sure?"
"Hai. This peaceful place finds me intrusive."
"I, for one, will miss you."
"Domo arigato. And I, you."
"I understand. When?"
"At first light."
"I can give you nothing but my blessings."
"Arigatou gozaimashita, Gozaemon-san. That is more than enough for this traveler. Domo arigatou."
Dusk deepened. Stars began to twinkle above.
Gozaemon rose, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.
"Follow me, boy."
He went to a small chest in the back room of the house. Lifting its lid released a heavy, musty aroma. In the dim light, Kenshin could see this was the old man's memory box. It held folded clothing, women's combs, a few worn and faded toys: the detritus of a full, but shortening, life.
"I don't know why I hang on to these things; they'll just be tossed when I go. Where is that … Ah, here it is!"
Triumphantly, he held aloft a folded garment of the most astonishing color.
"This belonged to my grandson, but when my son moved his family to the City, it got left behind. When I look at it, I can still see the day he fell out of the tree behind the chicken coop. Yes, that great huge one! He's lucky he didn't break his neck: youth is wonderfully resilient, I suppose.
"Anyway, it should just about fit you, and that blue rag of yours isn't going to last much longer."
Gozaemon straightened and stretched his aching back. He already missed the silent presence, always at his elbow, quick to catch the other basket handle, or to relieve him of an over-filled water bucket. He rummaged around in his gi and pulled out the pendant, fingering it thoughtfully.
He sighed, tucked it back away, and returned to his garden.
The traveler adjusted the strap holding his small bundle, and turned for a last look at the tiny village.
Live in peace, old honored one.
Well, it's a start. She shrouded the blaze of her brilliant midday for a few hours, just this once.
Notes:
"hasaki" : the cutting edge of a blade
Review responses: Chibi Binasu-chan: Thanks for reading and reviewing all 3 chapters at once! Your language usage comments made me go dig a bit, and I wouldn't have done that without them! However, I didn't get them until after chapter 3 had already been posted, so I'm answering them all here. Chapter 1: According to my Japanese friend, "wakarimashita" is commonly used in this context, and it has a meaning more like "I have understood what you just said." She says that "wakarimasu" more likely would be used sort of as you are going along, perhaps when someone is relating something complicated, and you are indicating in stages that you are still following them. Chapter 2: If I understood her correctly, "dame desu ne" is commonly used to mean something like: "It's impossible for me to do such a bad thing." Chapter 3: Per your review: Ah, now I get it! And you're right, "Pause" is only the chapter title, not an indication of a pause in updating. omasuoniwabanshi: I had hoped the "gi thing" wasn't too obvious or boring; glad you liked it! And I'm so glad you liked the tanto part. It seemed to me that he would be of two minds about that: having carried it around with him, he'd sort of superficially think of it as a usable blade, but actually having it unsheathed in front of him would trigger flashbacks, etc. moeru himura: Now I'm confused about the 'cute' thing, since there wasn't another scene with a child in it (was there? have I lost track?). I'm being deliberately vague about the year and location, because Kenshin has actually lost track of time and place, as well. I'm not exactly sure what you mean by "Gozaemon's indifference". Let me know and I'll try to clarify. WolfDaughter, lolo popoki: Thanks for the kind words, and, especially, for continuing to read! misaoshiru: I'm glad you liked the cultural references. I'm also reading Heian stuff right now, and some of it really seems to fit. LadyRhiyana: Yes, I threw in the "scraggly facial hair" partly because it is so easy to think of him as a man, but, really, he's still just a kid in many ways. SiriusFan13: I've changed to trying to use Japanese only when I need the "flavor"—I agree that's much better. I'm glad you like this "history" I'm making up for him. IKnowNot: I'm glad this read better for you. Shirou Shinjin: Okay, I'm choosing to skip past the guy who used to be a machine and the brachiosaurus and the non-Tenken, and instead descend like a hawk onto the phrases I prize most highly in reviews: "Kenshin is spot on" and "perfectly in character"! These always make me happy since, for me, whatever else happens to him (like forgetting to turn up at Toba Fushimi), if Kenshin isn't Kenshin, what is the bloody point? The colour? The colour? slaps forehead I have to tell you everything, don't I? (I haven't read that yet, but it's on my short list…) It's more difficult than I'd imagined working Amaterasu into these chapters; there's the lack of hands and the whole orbital plane problem…