Chapter 2 – Yoshi
"Are you going to bring him back here?"
Yoshi was used to Gozaemon's determination and energy, so unusual in a man of his age, but this was something else again. His old friend positively glowed with purpose, and he literally scampered as he crisscrossed the worn floor of his little house, gathering a collection of objects listed only in his head. His concentration was such that he responded to Yoshi's questions with hardly more than grunts.
"Where is that other skin bag? I can't put broth in the one for water…"
"Gozaemon…"
"Let's see, which of these herbs will be best?" He knelt in front of a small cupboard, diligently uncorking, sniffing—"Phew, that's gone off!"—and re-corking pottery bottles; loosening drawstrings of little cloth bags, inserting a moistened fingertip to retrieve a taste of the contents—"Tch, how did the curry get here?"—then either replacing them on their shelves or adding them to the growing crowd on the floor next to his knees.
"Gozaemon, are you going back up there yet today?"
"I'd better take two blankets: the floor of that cave is pretty rocky."
"You're not going alone, you know!"
Now the old man was gathering bandages and salve—quite a lot, it seemed to Yoshi.
"What? No, no—you just got here and I'll be gone only about an hour. You've been traveling all day and you haven't even had tea, much less anything to eat; I don't need you collapsing on me as well!"
Yoshi snorted. He recognized Gozaemon's full-dress rescue mode, and knew better than to waste words. He also knew that they would be halfway up the hill before his old friend realized he'd tagged along. Not only would it be too late to turn back, but by then Gozaemon would have forgotten his earlier insistence and be happily re-focused on his goal.
Muttering down into his loaded, still-open pack, Gozaemon mentally assessed its contents, found it acceptable, and tied it closed.
"Well, don't just stand there! Come on, I'd like to get there while it's still light."
Consciousness fought with hallucinatory dreams and battled searing memories as he swam slowly up into light.
Where am I?
He cracked open one eye, then shut it immediately, the dim light piercing deep into his brain. He took a few deep breaths, steeled himself, and tried again. Better. This time, even both eyes.
Oh, that's right—a cave. Thank god.
He raised a shaky hand to his forehead, muscles screeching at the effort, and felt the wound near his right temple. It was surprisingly small and neat. And painless. The bullet had probably damaged some nerves.
I suppose that's a good thing.
He wasn't sure whether he was remembering events correctly, in the right order. He couldn't even tell how long ago it had happened. Trying to recall it all felt like trying to hold fog, and made his head swim.
Later. I'll sort it out later.
He thought about sitting up. He might just be able to do that, and it seemed somehow important, significant—like it meant he would survive.
He was propped up slightly where the wall of the cave curved gently to meet the floor. He didn't remember doing that, but it did make this task easier. All he needed to do was put his left hand slightly behind him and push…
The dimness grew even darker, bright sparks swam in his vision, and a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him. He relaxed his arm muscles, but kept it in place; he had to make this work.
Okay, just rest for a bit… Breathe… Breathe easy…
As soon as the cave stopped spinning and righted itself, he tried again. This time he managed to get his torso vertical, his head upright. He tried opening his eyes again. A brief moment of vertigo, then his vision settled down. He was sweating and breathless from the effort, but actually felt better for having succeeded.
Fuzzy images tickled his mind: a voice, gentle hands, water. A dream? No, it felt like a memory.
He'd been found.
He tensed in the old way at the realization. Now, suddenly, he was fully conscious, in control of his senses, reading his environment with the clarity and efficiency available only to one whose very life had long hung on that skill, no matter the circumstance.
Nothing. No humans, anyway. I'm probably safe. For the present…
"He couldn't talk at all? You don't know anything about him?"
"No. I'm amazed he was even breathing. That shot must have traveled along the inside of his skull and missed his brain. I've never seen anything like it."
The sun cast their shadows well behind them, but would sink below the rim of the hills in just a few minutes. Daylight would linger for a couple of hours more, in the form of the soft, late afternoon light unique to this particular slope hanging under the hill's ridge. This was Gozaemon's favorite time of day, and something he'd shared only with Yoshi. He supposed that was selfish of him.
"What can have happened to him?"
"I can't imagine. That wound, his inability to talk, his fever… And there's a funny smell, sort of like smoked pork. Must have something to do with his clothes."
"Leather, you said. I've never heard of someone dressing entirely in leather. Who would do such a thing? In this season?"
They were entering the meadow, but Gozaemon hadn't had to stop even once on the way up.
Nothing like a mission to put a spring in an old man's step, eh?
"It's just over there, behind that boulder."
"Where? I remember it's there, but it's been so long since I've been up here…"
"See where that little stream is? That's it."
"Oh, yes, I remember now. I don't think I could have found it again on my own."
"The opening is pretty narrow. Wait outside here. I'll go in and see how he's doing."
Yoshi settled himself on the edge of the boulder nearest the cave, and the old man pushed aside the vines with one arm and slipped inside.
Gozaemon stood still a moment, letting his eyes adjust—No need to stumble over him!—then moved cautiously further into the interior, toward the spot where he'd left the wounded man. Something was different. The raspy breathing was still the same, but…
He's sitting up?
"Are you awake?"
The man slowly turned his head, and Gozaemon felt, more than saw, their gazes meet. It was like stepping into a campfire's circle of heat. The man made a scraping noise in the back of his throat.
"It's okay, don't try to talk." He called over his shoulder, back out to his friend, "Yoshi, bring that pack in here!"
Yoshi stepped into the cave, and Gozaemon was startled to see the man's reaction: he actually made as if to kneel upright. It almost looked as though he were getting into some sort of defensive position.
"What are you doing?" Gozaemon put his hand heavily on the man's shoulders. "Just stay there! You're in no condition to be moving around." Then, more gently, "We are here to help you."
"Others." The word emerged gutturally, painfully, from the man's throat.
"What? Did you say 'others'? What do you mean? Are there others who need our help?"
"No." The grating breathing deepened to support the effort to speak. "Hiding. Don't… tell others."
"You're in hiding?" The man nodded. "Oh, you don't want anyone else to know you are here." The man nodded again, more vigorously.
Gozaemon snorted. "Don't worry about that! I keep my business to myself, and you, my damaged friend, are my business. Yoshi here is like my own son. You are safe with us."
"Thank you." Even in the man's nearly inaudible voice, Gozaemon could hear the relief, could sense the release of tension.
"Okay, you just be quiet now." He accepted the bowl Yoshi handed him and asked, "How much of that powder did you put in here?"
Yoshi said, "Two fingertip pinches, right?"
"No!" Again the scratchy voice sounded in the little space, insistently, distressed.
"Take it easy, it's only a weak pain-killer. Just enough so you can bear having your wounds cleaned. It's very little—I don't dare give you too much."
Gozaemon held the bowl out, but the man still hesitated.
"I give you my word that you are safe. And that I know what I'm doing."
The man reached out his hand and took the bowl. He peered down at the contents, then turned that piercing gaze back on Gozaemon. Gozaemon kept his gaze steady, allowing himself to be searched, weighed, evaluated.
The man drank. Apparently, Gozaemon had passed another test.
Yoshi wiped his hands clean of the residue from the sticky salve. Treating that head wound had taken longer than he'd expected. The entry had been surprisingly clean—almost as though it's been cauterized—but the exit was messy, really messy. The man refused to lie on his stomach to have it cleaned, had insisted on sitting up, and, in spite of their experience and the analgesic, the process had to have been agonizing. The man's shaved head presented no problem, but they'd had to remove bits of bone, and dried blood, and, oddly, dirt and twigs. His stoicism and strength were remarkable.
Almost too remarkable.
Gozaemon had been completely caught up in his ministrations, but Yoshi had found himself wondering, a little uneasily, about their patient's history. To have survived a shot in the head… And this full-body, radiating heat… Something didn't add up for him.
Then they had laid out the blankets and helped the man to a more comfortable position lying on them. Gozaemon had given strict instructions regarding rest and quiet, and the man had seemed to accept these dictates docilely enough, but they had had to handle him quite a bit in settling him in.
As they repacked their supplies, preparing for the hike back down the mountain, the drug and the broth began to have their effects, and the man drowsed.
They emerged from the cave into deep dusk and cool air, and stood under the starry canopy stretching their limbs and their backs. Yoshi picked up the pack, now considerably lighter, and they set off, descending easily down the slope. Gozaemon chattered happily as they walked—This really is his mission, isn't it?—but Yoshi's thoughts kept him quiet. Finally, Gozaemon noticed.
"My friend, you are far away."
Yoshi considered whether or not he should voice his unease. After all, he himself could hardly credit what he was thinking.
"Well?"
"Gozaemon, I don't think that's leather he's wearing. In fact, I don't think he's wearing anything at all."
Review responses: LadyRhiyana: Well, the "good deed" part (and its outcome) is what I intend to explore. Yes, Shishio sort of got the short end of the stick, didn't he, regardless of what you think he deserved. Thanks for appreciating my "unconventional" approach (what a nice way to say that)! Lolo popoki: I'm glad you approve of my main character, and of my including my OCs. I hope I can make them all interesting. Thanks for your loyalty! Omasuoniwabanshi: Yeah, pretty creepy, ne? But then, that whole "burnt skin" thing is pretty creepy, and there's no getting around that! skenshingumi: Yes, it's certainly true that Shishio and Gozaemon approach the world from quite different directions, isn't it? I guess that's one reason I threw them together here—just to see what comes of their meeting. Some things are being foreshadowed, but not much, as I'm sort of seeing where these characters take it myself—I'm not much more "in the picture" than are you readers!