Disclaimer: Peacemaker Kurogane belongs to Nanae Chrono.
CHAPTER SIX
Kichisaburo awakened to find his face pressed against the moist earth and groaned in total frustration.
How long was this going to keep happening? How long would these unwanted memories keep resurfacing? It wasn't as though he had amnesia, he remembered everything in his life. But now everything was flooding back. The tone of voices, the colour of garments. Every emotion, every word...why?
Was it because he had finally left? He got up slowly. His vision was hazy and he had to think to remember where he was and what had recently taken place.
The thought is brief when he hears the gentle rustle of wheat. His hand instinctively reached for the katana on the ground, and as he gripped the hilt, he looked at the old woman. Her eyes seemed to be boring straight through him, even in death.
He had never felt sickened before.
It was unnerving, it was unfamiliar territory, and it annoyed him. He reached over and closed her eyelids. "You got in the way," he said to her. Then repeated it, this time with more assurance. Confidence. He sheathes the sword. "You got in the way. You asked for it."
Already he could hear the flies approaching. Turning away, Kichisaburo began the long trudge towards her home.
Inside, he wasted no time at all in digging out all the food he could find, then eating as much as he could. He stuffed bread into his mouth, drank cold soup without a second thought. The risk of starvation changes your attitude towards everything, he thought. People will do anything to eat.
Glancing outside at the darkening sky, Kichisaburo got up and started to kindle the fire. Soon, the flames were steadily licking at the wood, and shadowy outlines were becoming clearer. There was enough light now to properly explore. He began moving around the house, gazing at ornaments, picking things up and studying them.
He sniggered as he wondered how the lady managed to carry her weight around such a small hut. Then he moved towards the single drawer of an old cupboard. Tugging it open, he finds folded clothes, musty and looking like they hadn't been worn in years.
These are boy's clothes, he thought to himself, and took a gi and hakama out.
Seeing as they were clean, he decided to wear them. For a moment, he couldn't help thinking what would have happened if he had come straight to her hut. Would she have helped him? Given him these clothes to wear? Willingly provided him with a meal? He started to close the drawer, but spotted a wooden box partially hidden by the clothes.
Curiously, he removed it from the drawer and placing it on his lap, began to run his fingers over the finely carved lettering on the surface. Whatever this held, it looked rather secretive. He smirked. It wouldn't be so secret if a stranger knew what was inside.
"Well, pretty box, let's see what you're hiding."
As soon as it was opened though, he sighed. Just boring old letters. He had better things to do than try and read them. Actually, no he didn't. It was true that he had nothing else to do right now, but he wasn't exactly literate. There was one familiar character that caught his eye though.
Kasai.
Judging from the letter, it had to be the old lady's family name.
He looked down at his clothes and said aloud, "It really is a small world."
-----
Three years earlier...
As Kichisaburo slowly climbs up the rickety stairs towards his room, specked in the blood of yet another dead man, the scent of opium drifts towards him.
He frowns and slides open the first shoji on his right. When he enters, a young man with unkempt hair looks up at him. Kasai. One year older than him. And a fool. He looks at the pipe. Opium stolen from Chubei's room, he guesses. In times before, Chubei would make a fuss about it, but these days he hardly notices anything.
He makes his way over to him and plucks the pipe from his hand. There is no protest. Kichisaburo stares at him as he exhales smoke. "You're still here."
"Where else would I be?" Kasai answers listlessly, fingers floating through the grey wreaths of smoke, as if to grasp them.
Kichisaburo snorts, giving the pipe back. "You were going to leave."
Kasai's faded eyes are settled on a point behind him. "I am. Just not yet. I'm waiting for Ikue."
For how many more days? Kichisaburo thinks. Aloud he says, "Well I'm going to get something to eat. You coming?" He pauses. Kasai is looking at the bloodstains on his clothing, and Kichisaburo waits for him to say something. He doesn't.
"No." Kasai leans back. "You go ahead." His skin is pallid in the flickering light of the lantern. When did he stop eating? Kichisaburo wonders.
Since Ikue disappeared? He wants to suggest that maybe an angry customer had found out about them, and killed her in his rage. But he won't. Kasai has probably figured that out by now, he thinks.
"Suit yourself."
What was the point in talking to a ghost? Kaisai might as well take his own life right now. There was no use in prolonging his misery. Kichisaburo feels an itch to cut off his head right now, but he contains himself. That would be too much of a mess to clean up, and he is too tired to bother.
----
He smirked at the memory, but somewhere deep within him, he felt a little sorry for that idiot. He remembered with an amused smile, the ramblings. Kasai would go on and on about how Yogatoya was better then toiling in the dirty fields with his mother. (A really old looking mother, Kichisaburo found himself thinking. Surely, she couldn't have spent all those years worrying about such a useless son?)
It's a small price, what I have to pay, Kasai had told him when he first came. Kichisaburo snickered. How long did it take for him to regret those words?
He lowered the box on the floor and the folded futon in the corner suddenly caught his eye. For some reason, he felt relief at being totally alone out in the middle of nowhere. No one would know where he was. Not his customers, not the boys he had lived with, and not Chubei. He was dead to everyone. Dead and gone.
He settled himself in front of a dusty old mirror.
Picking up an ivory comb, he started to brush out the tangles in his hair, finding himself gazing at his reflection, and not wholely out of vanity.
He was almost astounded at how ghostly he seemed. Was that an omen? To reassure himself he extended a hand and touched the glass. He had a name, he was real. He was still part of this Life game. "Kichisaburo," he whispered. "I am Kichisaburo..."
-----
my reflection
dirty mirror
there's no connection to myself
I'm the face in your dreams of glass
so save your prayers...
I never let on
that I was on a sinking ship
I never let on that I was down
You blame yourself for what you can't ignore
You blame yourself for wanting more
-----
Ki...chi...saburo.
Sitting in front of Kaiyoumi's wooden vanity, the boy's eyes wander to the beam of moonlight dancing upoun the mirror surface. The sun is dozing and the little boy knows he should follow that example, but he can't seem to fall asleep. Kichi...saburo.
Averting his eyes from the sparkling light, he looks down at the scented paper in his hands. Earlier in the day Kaiyoumi had taken some time to give him a calligraphy lesson...
----
Kaiyoumi looks so peaceful, dressed in a plain yukata and without her ornate combs. Her hand moves gracefully, as with a stroke of a brush, demonstrates a letter for the boy to copy. Then while he is busy, she brings across a fresh piece of paper, and studies him briefly before dipping her brush into the ink and starting to write something else.
Under her scrutiny he thinks that perhaps he has irritated her and that she is preparing to break her promise to him. But to his suprise, she asks him if he recalls ever being named. The question is a simple one, yet as he scans his few memories he finds no answer to give to her. He hears only blurred voices repeating the same word. It was always gaki, gaki. But he is sure that isn't a name at all.
"No," he says in a small voice.
She tilts her head and smiles. "Well, can I give you a name?" She leans towards him and whispers in his ear. He repeats the word to her, thinking it sounds like it belongs in a play. Kaiyoumi's slender hands pause on the parchment. "Is the name okay?" She bites her lip, and he stares, puzzled. "I thought it suited you...I was looking in Chubei's name book.."
Is she upset because she thinks he doesn't like the name? Panicking in his hurry to reassure her that it's alright, he tips over the bottle of ink. They both watch as it blooms on the paper, and then Kaiyoumi leans forward and thoughtfully studies the blots.
"I'm sorry..." His cheeks burn red.
She surprises him once again, by clapping her hands together and laughing. "Oh look at it! It looks just like us!"
At that, the boy glances down at the paper, and blinks. She is right. If you look hard enough, you can see that it is a big figure holding the hand of a little figure. It can't be anything else. His mouth curves into a delighted smile.
"You're so very talented, my little Kichisaburo," she states in an exaggerated posh voice, hugging him close to her. She gazes down at him, her fingers brushing his cheek. "So. Do I have your permission to call you that?"
But upon hearing his soft breathing, she realises he has drifted off to the land of sleep. "Oh..." She covers her mouth with a sleeve as she giggles. "Well, I'll take that as a yes then."
----
Pulling the thin paper under his nose, the little boy catches a whiff of Kaiyoumi's lavender scent and feels panged. In the mirror he can see the shadowy outline of her bed, a raised futon decorated with draping curtains and silk cushions.The layers of soft padding allow him to sleep more peacefuly then when he used to sleep on the hard ground.
He thinks it silly that she has such a comfortable futon, since she hardly ever sleeps in it.The little boy sighs wistfully, this is not the first night that Kaiyoumi has left him alone. Where she goes he can not follow, he still recalls how she once said she leaves him only to make others forget their sorrows and pain.
"Like an angel?" he had asked her, brow furrowed. Yes, she had replied, smiling as always, but her eyes were sad.
He doesn't complain though, because he knows each morning when he wakes up, he'll be in her arms. And he'll feel safe, protected. The little boy always wakes up before she does, before even the sparrows outside begin chirping. He likes to place his head against her heart, the steady rhythm soothes him. He also likes to pretend she really is his mother, even though she looks so young to him without all her makeup, more like an older sister.
The little boy lets that pleasant thought linger as his fingers fumble atop all the exquistive bottles, which he had neatly arranged this morning. The tasks he is asigned to do don't bother him at all. He enjoys tipping the contents of her dressers drawers, polishing all her ornaments and placing them back in order of size. Daily he brings a tea tray from the kitchens to her quarters. And since he passes the gardens, he has made a habit of picking a different flower for her each day.
Apart from that Kaiyoumi also let him to choose the garments for her evening outings. Her wardrobe amazes him each time he looks inside. Never before has he seen such beautiful kimono, in rich colours that make him feel dizzy. Each time he helped her dress he felt as though he is wrapping a human present, not knowing how close to the truth he really is.
In the mirror he sees the reflection of his own kimono. He feels proud as he views it on the wooden stand and even more when he wraps it around him, because Kaiyoumi is the one who chose it for him. Pale green with a current at the hem.
The boy studies her makeup utensils that came in different sizes and shapes, he is fascinated by them. Often he lies on their bed and watches her paint her face, singing him songs that make him laugh. As soon as he removes the lid of a small container, he sneezes, and the powder goes everywhere.
"Oops," he says aloud.
Curiously, he peers into the mirror and grins. He looks so silly! As he reaches for some tissue paper, he yawns and rubs his face not realising his hands are also smeared with rouge.
He glances back at the mirror and jumps.
Slowly tracing the smeared rouge around on his face, he stares at his bleeding reflection. At that moment, a gentle breeze sails into the room and tips over a few bottles, the boy is startled and a chill run up his spine. He unsteadily slides off the stool and walks to the window. Ignoring the mirror's looming presence he gazes down.
Below him red paper lanterns bob in the breeze, and as he watches them glow, he is reminded of fireflies. He wonders how long it has been since he came here. He is forgetting his family, with every day they disappear like sand thorough his hands.
The world beyond Yogotoya's walls seems like a distant dream to him. Can all people play and dance forever? Perhaps his grandfather wasn't lying after all,maybe this is a place of eternal happiness. And he would be a part of it too. He gazes upwards, watching the stars glitter and shimmer just the way Kaiyoumi's obi brooches do, once he finishes shining them. He hopes Kaiyoumi can see them too.
Feeling cold he moves away from the balcony, walking backwards and consequently he steps on something. With a yelp he moves to the side and stares at it, before it comes into focus and he realises what it is. He nudges the item into the moonlight, feeling the familar lightness of a hair ornament, and not the body of a scary bug, like he first thought it was.
He remembers who it belongs to, a little girl named Ikue, who had come into their room the other day to give Kaiyoumi a letter.
He smiles when he thinks of Ikue, she is a year older then him. She has a penchant for losing her belongings and he often saw her getting reprimanded or slapped by her keeper, Rozu. A beauitful yet mean woman who always carries a hand mirror with her. He feels sorry for Ikue, who is lively and talkative and often passes him sweets when he carries tea trays for Kaiyoumi. It doesn't bother her when he is silent during most of their conversations.
The only other person he talks to besides Kaiyoumi is a funny boy with white hair. He remembers the first day he met him. Shouki was marching down the hallway, banging a drum and singing. The little boy had been on his way to Kaiyoumi's room, and when he heard the strange sounds, he froze. But when he looked up, right away he had known Shouki was different from the two other boys who had been laughing at him.
That day, the white haired boy had stopped and looked at him. "You're new," he had said, smiling bashfully. "You don't know Shouki." He giggled.
"Who's Shouki?" the little boy felt compelled to ask.
The white haired boy had laughed like this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Then he bowed. "I'm Shouki," he had answered proudly. The little boy had watched, bewildered, as this Shouki placed the tip of his thumb in his mouth and asked shyly, "What's your name?"
He hadn't known what to say. But just as that moment a young woman had hurried towards them and grabbed Shouki's hand. "Chubei's been looking all over for you!" she had scolded as she pulled him along.
"Bye, bye!" Shouki had waved happily as he was dragged away. "Bye bye no name!"
Ordinarily, the little boy would have been upset if someone called him no name but he had just skipped along to Kaiyoumi's room, feeling light hearted. When he asked Kaiyoumi who Shouki was, she had explained that he was a page for Chubei, bringing him tea and things. Kind of like me, he had thought.
Yawning loudly, the boy climbs onto the futon. He crawls beneath the silk duvet, leaving a space beside him for Kaiyoumi. He can feel the heaviness of the makeup on his face but he's too tired to wash it off. He feels very sleepy now, after thinking about everything. The last thing he thinks about is that he's going to find Shouki tomorrow and tell him that he has a name now. There is a smile on his face as he falls asleep.
He will sleep well this night.
