All rights to Fushigi Yuugi belong to Yuu Watase, Shogakukan Shojo Comics, TV Tokyo, Studio Pierrot, and Pioneer Video.
Chapter Three.
'It seemed like a good idea at the time.'
I expect that to be my epitaph. I can almost see it engraved on my tomb, next to the dates that mark a sadly shortened lifespan.
When I think about it, I can trace almost every one of my bad experiences to that course of thought. Especially since I joined up with the rest of the Suzaku seishi.
Just as an example: It seemed like a good idea to remark to a lost and naïve foreign girl that I'd really love to have one of the Emperor's crown jewels. It also seemed like a good idea to declare my feelings for her in her bedroom, which happened to be next door to the same Emperor who had become my romantic rival. Wait, let's not forget that brilliant plan to voluntarily hand myself over as a hostage to Kutou. Though to tell the truth, I believe my best moment was when, chained to a wall, I decided to backtalk Nakago while he was holding a whip.
You'd think that I would learn by now to hesitate before leaping into the next disastrous situation…but I guess I'm on a steep learning curve.
Because here I am, sitting next to a delirious bandit who hates me, pretending to be his aniki. Who I know nothing about. For that matter, "nothing" is a pretty good description of what I know about Tasuki himself, except for this:
I beat him nearly to death—and he'd like to return the favor.
I know this for a certainty because between gasps of pain, he's been detailing exactly how he's going to "kick the shit outta that scumshit bastard Tamahome." But the subject seems to be losing its luster even for him, because now he's switched over to a different train of thought. He's begun to speculate about my ancestry, starting with a theory about my grandfather and several domestic animals.
I wonder if Mitsukake would notice if there were a few new bruises on Tasuki along with the old ones.
Probably. Better change the subject.
"So, uh, Tasuki, how're you doing?"
That stops him in mid-rant, his unbandaged eye widening for a moment before it suddenly tilts up in mischief.
"How the fuck do ya think I'm doin'? I'm ready ta dance, so tell the fuckin' band ta start playin', okay?"
I can't help it; I snigger at his smartass humor. He grins back at me, and just for a moment, it feels like we could almost be…
But the spell is broken as his mouth curves down in a bitter, self-mocking smirk.
"Yeah, an' you can cut the crap with callin' me 'Tasuki.' I get it already, aniki. I don't belong with 'em."
That last part is lost on me as I'm hit with a sudden wave of panic. Not call him "Tasuki?" What the hell am I supposed to call him? I don't know his given name, damn it! But wait—there was that name he shouted at Mitsukake, something to do with a wolf, I think. Hidden Wolf or Spirit Wolf…
"Hakurou!" I blurt out.
Tasuki frowns at me. "What about the old boss?"
Damn it, wrong wolf! Time for a quick comeback, something clever and leading…
"Uhhhhhhh…"
"Nah, forget it, I know what yer gonna say already. So the boss wanted me ta follow my destiny as a bigshot Suzaku warrior, so what? He's dead an' gone, an' all that hype about 'brotherhood of warriors' and kiss-my-ass 'glory an' honor' turned out ta be nothin' more than smoke an' shit. I shoulda stuck with you guys and let the rest of them glorified Suzaku warriors piss up a rope."
Now I'm more than a little angry. After all that Miaka went through—hell, after all that I went through so that she could find the rest of the warriors—this guy has the nerve to bail out on us? What the hell kind of warrior is he? If he really didn't want anything to do with us, then…"Why did you join up with them in the first place?"
Okay, that came out a little more belligerent than I intended. He doesn't seem to notice, though, because he's caught up in another pain spasm. It passes soon enough, but afterwards, he just lies there, head turned to the side, staring off into space. Just when I decide that he must not have heard me, he licks his dry lips and draws in a breath.
"I been askin' myself that a lot over the past coupla days. I mean, I know you weren't keen on me leavin' the gang, but it seemed like somethin' I hadda do. An'…okay, I know yer gonna laugh yer ass off when I say this, but…I guess it was because of her. It's like I hadda protect her, or she needed me or somethin.' An' maybe I felt that way 'cause it's a seishi/miko thing, but…it seemed like somethin' more. Like when she said, 'Genrou, I'm gonna help you get yer position back as leader,' I thought it meant somethin' ta her, like…like I mattered ta her. Me, Genrou, not Suzaku Seishi Tasuki, 'cause she didn't even know I was Tasuki back then."
That fever-bright eye turns and meets mine, his mouth twisting up in a self-deprecating smirk. "Live an' learn, right, aniki?"
I'm sitting frozen in the chair next to him, my hands clenched into fists. Everything he's saying, everything he's feeling—those could be my words. He's saying my thoughts of a few weeks ago, as if we're the same person or…in love with the same person.
"Are you in love with her?" The question bursts out of me, uncontrolled, urgent.
His eye flicks away from mine, and he's back to staring off into space. "Don't be an asshole, Kouji." His voice is very soft. "I'm a fuckhead bandit. What the fuck do I know about love?"
More than you'll admit, I think.
"Plus you know that I fuckin' hate girls. Lyin,' cheatin,' no-playin'-fair—" His voice stops abruptly. He turns away from me and presses his face into the pillow as if another spasm has seized him, but I didn't see the usual grimace that signals his pain. After a few moments, he rolls back. His eye is closed, but I can see that the lashes are damp.
"I hate this. I hate bein' like this, a fuckin' useless pain-in-the-ass." That golden eye opens, fixing me with a pleading look. "You know that I'm not like this, right, aniki? I can take whatever shit is dished out ta me. Not that easy ta take ol' Genrou down."
He lifts his lips in a frustrated snarl, exposing those weird pointed teeth.
"He couldn't've done it either, not without… I coulda taken him. I coulda kicked that fucker's ass all the way ta Sairou, if only…"
"So why didn't you?" I interrupt, tired of his ego-driven bragging.
He looks at me, his expression surprised instead of angry. "I thought I told ya…. She wouldn't let me. There he was, swingin' his goddamn nanchakus and threatenin' her an' Chichiri an' me…an' she sent me out there ta face him unarmed."
I can feel it happening again, that punch of shock snatching the air from my lungs. Some faint voice in the distance warns me that I'm blowing my cover; that he's going to catch onto me because his aniki wouldn't be as completely stunned as I am right now.
But Tasuki doesn't act suspicious as he squints up at me, nodding at my openly horrified expression. "Yep, that's why I know I don't mean nothin' to her. If I hadda fight for her…. If I hadda give my life ta save hers, that's only right, 'cause I'm a seishi and that's what I'm supposed ta do.
"But she didn't ask me to die for her. She sent me out there ta die for him."
"No!"
The denial bursts from me, and I'm not even certain of exactly what I'm denying. Everything, I guess, since what he said is wrong on so many levels. Miaka is too kind and good to sacrifice anyone, let alone someone she thinks of as a friend, while I… I would never attack an unarmed man, regardless of what poison they poured into my brain!
There's only one explanation for his outrageous claim. He's a liar. He lies and exaggerates to soothe his wounded pride, because he can't stand the fact that I beat him fair and square. Well, okay, maybe not fair because I obviously went too far in the beating, but there's no way that I fought dirty. That's not me, and I'll tell him right now, just as soon as he spouts off with some bitching, whining excuse for—
"No?" he repeats softly, as if he's tasting the word. "'No,' as in 'I don't believe they had the nerve ta do that shit ta you'? Or 'No,' as in 'Yer fulla shit, an' yer lyin.'"
I blink, thrown off balance by his brutal directness. Not to mention the keen, intent gaze he fixes on my face. He must be seeing me for who I really am; I can't possibly still be fooling him, unless… Yeah, his face is even more flushed than before, and his lips are dry and cracked. His fever must be rising in spite of Mitsukake's efforts.
I can't explain it, but somehow my rage diminishes in the face of his suffering. Maybe he's not really a liar. Maybe his condition is making him delusional. That's it! It has to be; I was an idiot not to realize it right away! Just like he thinks I'm this "Kouji," he also imagines that the world, and even Miaka, is against him.
"So, aniki," he rasps, "what's it gonna be? Am I a liar or what?"
"I don't think you're lying. I'm just not sure that you're remembering things right. Um, you've been badly hurt, Genrou," I hedge, pleased to have gotten his name right—okay, it was only after he shouted it at me about fifty times, but still… "and maybe some of this is, you know, imagined or…" I trail off in the force of his sudden fiery glare.
He doesn't explode with curses, though; the glare merely shades into something that looks like betrayal, and finally a reflective sadness.
"My imagination…yeah, wouldja like ta know some of the other things I imagined?"
He plunges ahead with his story, not waiting for my response…not caring what my response might be.
"I wasn't supposed ta go with them ta Kutou—with Miaka and Chichiri, I mean. But after all we'd been through together, somethin' told me that I hadda be there…an' I'm still not sure why. Maybe it was because this was the end of the road; ya know, get the rest of the Suzaku warriors together, then rescue him from Nakago, then summon Suzaku. Maybe it was because all I kept hearing from Miaka and them little kids was how fuckin' he-ro-ic that shithead was, an' I wanted ta see for myself."
Now I'm confused. "What little kids?"
"His little kids…I mean, his brothers and sisters. On our journey ta find Chiriko, we'd ended up stoppin' by his house, and it's a good thing we did, 'cause his dad was in bad shape an' Mitsukake cured him. What beats the shit outta me is tryin' ta figure out how those kids could have such a shithead for an older brother. I mean, they were pretty cute, 'specially the little one, even if she was a girl. Maybe the mom had trouble givin' birth ta the first one, crunching his head on the way out."
As if to verify his words, a headache starts throbbing behind my eyes. He's driving me crazy with all the emotions he's provoking in me: a wondering joy at my father's cure along with humble realization of how much I owe Mitsukake; soft gratitude at Tasuki's flattering words about my siblings, conflicting with real anger at his continuous insults for me; all of this overlaid with a weird sense of resentment that he was there in my house, intruding, uninvited…well, okay, maybe invited by my dad but certainly not by me.
I'm so caught up in these thoughts that I'm barely listening as he continues to grouse. I catch the words "Kutou," "Bitch Priestess of Seiryuu," "Nakago," along with Miaka's name, and "unfair dirty trick"…but suddenly, he grabs my attention with his changing tone.
His voice is dropping, turning soft and cold; snow instead of fire, drifting over me and freezing me in place..
"I was almost too late, ya know. When I caught up with her at that goddamn meetin' place, he was already there with her, an'…an' I didn't rush in right away, 'cause they were jus' standin' there, an' she was lookin' at him all hopeful an' shit, with her face lightin' up like it did every time she talked about him, an' for a second, I…I couldn't…. But then he held up some kinda paper and started tearin' it ta bits, an' I could see her face go white an' shocked, like he was tearin' up somethin' inside her--an' I just snapped. I was already movin' when I saw his arm go up, swingin' those damn nanchakus…an' I knew that I hadda move even faster, or else he was gonna kill her right in front of me!"
He swallows and takes a breath, and I hope he doesn't notice how badly my hands are trembling, how all of me is trembling because this is it, this is the truth that no one would talk about, not Chichiri or Hotohori or Miaka herself, and I'm dreading it because I know it's going to be bad, real bad, because if not, then why wouldn't they tell me? Here's the thing, though: I don't want to hear, and something small and scared inside of me is begging, Please, Suzaku, don't let it be that bad, or at least make it that he's lying or just make him shut up, because I don't want to know! At the same time, there's this burning need inside me to get the whole truth—so now I'm not even sure what I'm praying for, and my head is whirling from all these stupid conflicting thoughts, and I clutch the arms of the chair, hoping that I'm not going to get sick all over the floor.
"Water." A dry, raspy cough. "Aniki, can I have some water?"
His voice grounds me, giving me something to hold onto. The room stops spinning, and I focus on small, essential tasks. Lift the pitcher, feeling the drops of moisture drip down its cool, glazed surface, then tip its mouth onto the rim of the porcelain cup and listen to the quiet burble of trickling water. Get an arm around him, around the heat burning through the back of his robe, rest his head against one shoulder, and place the cup against his parched lips.
He drinks and I breathe; long, deep breaths that slow my panicked heart. It's okay, I tell myself. It'll be okay. I accept it now—whatever it is he's going to say—and I know that it'll be bad, but the important thing is that I didn't kill him. He's still alive; gasping a little as I draw the cup away, exhausted by the effort of sitting up and drinking, but…still alive, still breathing. Whatever else I might be, I'm not a murderer.
I feel a flash of gratitude for that simple truth, and without thinking, I lean my head against his, holding him close for a moment. Instead of pulling away, he moves deeper into me, and I inhale his scent: sweat and medicinal herbs and fever-heat, yet beneath all that is a scent that makes me think of sunshine and trees, something vital and alive.
I savor the peace; this fragile peace we share before the oncoming storm.
To be continued…
My apologies for my long silence; computer access time has been difficult to obtain. Thank you for your patience.
Many thanks, also, for the kind and supportive reviews. You inspire me.
Aenisses 2-May-2005