Chapter Six: The Soul of a Man
Below their twisting boughs, Sesshoumaru stood beneath a few of the many trees that peppered the shrine. The midmorning sun filtered down through their branches, dappling him and the ground with light. The summer breeze blew and the leaves rustled, a sound as familiar that day as it was hundreds of years ago. The breeze ruffled his hair and caressed the back of his neck. It sent yellowing leaves dancing to the ground.
Taking his broom, he started to sweep them up. The handle felt good in his hands as he gathered the leaves into a pile. The broom was an ancient one. Cobwebbed and dusty, he had dragged it out of the back of the storage shed and let it feel the brush of the ground after years of uselessness.
Sidestepping in a slow rhythm, he swept up more leaves, remembering the hours he'd spent doing it in his youth around the dojo of his master. The memories felt vague, trapped in a fog of time. It'd been so long since he last remembered them.
Approaching footsteps interrupted him. A slow, shuffling gait, they dragged on the right side.
He snorted. The old man's hip always seemed to be sore in the morning. With him came another noise, the rustle of a broom being dragged.
"Good morning, Sesshoumaru," Grandpa said, his voice equal parts warmth and rasp.
Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded his bow, and began to sweep again.
He chuckled. "That was the most modest bow I've received in years, but then you are the older one, aren't you? Even if you don't look it."
Sesshoumaru looked over his shoulder again, and his attention lingered.
"You're lucky and unlucky," he went on, "Old age takes its time to find you. I'm afraid it snuck up on me. I've been tending this shrine for so long now." With a soft swish, he began to sweep beside him. "The years go by so fast, and I'm only sixty-five. I can't imagine how a year might feel to someone who's lived for hundreds of them."
"The summer is a smile," Sesshoumaru replied after a moment, "The fall is a gasp. The winter is a shudder. And the spring is a sigh."
Grandpa let his broom pause as he thought, and then he chuckled again. "Sounds like a good woman."
Faint even in the sunlight, he smirked.
"Ha! There it is! Just like the summer, you have a smile."
His smirk vanished. "You are simple to please." Again, he began to sweep, but with quick purposeful strokes as he slowly edged away from him.
"The little triumphs are the best ones."
He shrugged.
"I'm surprised though to see you out here. The chores often fall to me. My grandchildren are too busy with their own lives. How can they care for relics from a past that has no place in their future?" He sighed. "Between the internet and cellphones, I feel like a relic for even caring about a few old scrolls and chipped pottery."
Sesshoumaru stared at him blankly. "What's the internet?"
"I'm sorry. Hmm… well, I don't rightly know, but it seems like it's a huge waste of time."
He nodded, smirking again. "If you believe yourself a relic for that, then I must be one as well."
Grandpa laughed. "A welcomed relic who helps out. I'm still shocked."
"It's familiar work and reminds me of when I was young and first learning swordplay. I was required to clean the dojo every morning. Compared to a forested mountain, this shrine is an indulgence."
"A whole mountain?"
"My master was not an admirer of fallen pine needles."
"Wow."
Sesshoumaru shrugged. "It was my path to discipline, and to do it honored the art that would make me a warrior. It was not a hardship, but a privilege."
"Well, this place isn't a dojo, but I appreciate the honor."
"I have come to realize that it truly is a holy place, and that I still hold a thread of the power I once wielded. You must forgive me. It was an accident."
"What was?"
His broom stopped, and he pointed to the massive iron shrine bell near the entrance. Dark and jagged, a large crack ran its length.
Grandpa's jaw dropped open.
"I was attempting to clean it, but it would appear that my mere presence was too much for it."
"That was two hundred years old!"
Sesshoumaru snorted, unimpressed. "There were several seals that caught fire earlier as well. I stamped them out."
"Where?"
"In the storage shed where I discovered this broom."
Grandpa dropped his broom to cradle his forehead in his hands. "My heirlooms."
He shrugged and continued to sweep.
"That's it!" he exclaimed, "I have an idea! Have you ever heard of Miyamoto Musashi?"
"No."
"I suppose you wouldn't have since he was a little bit ahead of your time."
"Who was he?"
"A great human warrior."
"Human?"
"Yes. He never lost a match and is considered one of the best swordsmen in history."
Intrigued, Sesshoumaru let his broom stop.
"Come on," Grandpa waved to him, "and leave that broom there. I've got something to show you."
Setting his broom against the trunk of a tree, he joined him, and together they headed across the grounds.
"Aside from being a fine swordsman, Musashi was a reasonably educated man," Grandpa explained. "His success inspired him to write about his way of the sword so that others would understand what it meant to be a true warrior."
Hidden away in a far corner of the shrine, they approached a small shed hidden under the branches of an overgrown tree.
"Perhaps one of his most memorable analogies was his comparison between a warrior and a carpenter," he continued. "You see, in order to build a house, a carpenter must be meticulous and capable of putting together a master plan without any errors.
"A carpenter must understand the nature of the wood and its best uses. He must deduce what every piece's purpose is and how to work it, mold it, and sand it. From that, he then must know how to construct the frame, floor, doors, and walls of his house. He must know in what order to place them and how to tease out the best features from even flawed materials.
"A warrior must do the same. He must understand the nature of his opponent and how he can be defeated. He must deduce what his opponent's strengths and weaknesses are and how to manipulate them. From that, he then must know how to create a defense and an attack. He must know in what order to feint and to stab. And how to tease out the best route to victory when facing even the strongest rivals."
Sesshoumaru nodded.
"There is more than just the ability to plan. A carpenter must be skilled in a variety of tools in order to succeed. No tool is insignificant because everything has a use. As a warrior, you must have realized long ago that every weapon has its place. That you should know how they're meant to be handled because you never know when you may have to rely on them."
An old-fashioned lock, a board hung across the shed's doors, keeping it shut. Grandpa tried to lift it from its hooks, but it was hopelessly wedged in. After a few more struggling attempts, he looked back at the daiyoukai.
Sesshoumaru stared back at him.
"Could you?"
"Ah," he said, and stepped forward. With ease, he lifted the board out of place with one hand and set it down against the shed.
"Thank you," Grandpa replied. He reached for the handles, and the hinges whined as he opened the doors.
Swirling in the sunlight, dust motes glittered in the small workshop. Tables lined the room, each covered with a tarp. Grandpa walked over to one, and pulled back the tarp, sending up new clouds of dust. Set in rows, a myriad of carpentry tools was laid out. Chisels, saws, hammers, and levels. Each one was immaculate and in its proper place.
"It's an old hobby from my youth," Grandpa reminisced, letting his finger longingly trace a few tools. "Nearly every piece of furniture in the house originated here." Then he pulled his finger back. "But when Kagome was born, my daughter needed me, and old hobbies were put to the side. I had hoped that Souta would show an interest, but he didn't."
A long silence passed as each man dwelled on a past that had become just that, the past.
"You're a broken man, Sesshoumaru."
His brow furrowed, the daiyoukai stared at him.
"Only a broken man seeks out his youth, searching for the beginning so that he may build once more. Perhaps you think that if you sweep up enough leaves that you'll find yourself again, but it won't work. You're not who you were then." Grandpa picked up a hammer and gave it to him.
Sesshoumaru looked at it. The steel alloy felt heavy in his hand.
"You need to find a new purpose. A new way of the warrior. And the sliding door in the kitchen is warped and doesn't slide like it used to. The stairs creak. And the floor upstairs is awful and needs to be replaced. I know that you're an honorable man, so consider this training your compensation for room and board."
Finished, Grandpa reached up to pat him on the shoulder. Then he walked away, muttering under his breath about his hip and how some tea sounded nice. The leaves could wait a little longer.
Alone, Sesshoumaru set the hammer down and walked over to each table, pulling off their tarps. On top of one of the tables, he noticed a small bookcase lined with yellowing tomes. White creases traced their spines, and he plucked one up.
"Bikini Girl's Basic Guide to Carpentry," he read aloud. "Strange." He thumbed through the pages, remembering again what it was like to read.
Through the gap on the shelf, he spotted another book. 'Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.' He took that one too.
OOOOOOOOOO
"I'm home!" Kagome announced with bubbling vibrancy. With two deft shakes, she was shoeless, abandoning them by the door as she crossed the entryway.
"Welcome home," came Souta's tepid reply from the family room.
"School was tough today," she went on, "I think I did pretty good on my math exam even though the teacher went over the material way too fast." She continued to ramble on as she set her backpack down to hang up her school coat in the closet. A long time ago, she realized that she didn't really care if anyone listened.
She knelt next and unzipped her bag. Inside were several textbooks, and she pulled them out. Cradling them against her chest, she carried them with her as she headed towards the family room. "I went to the library too and found some good history books for Sesshoumaru so he can catch up with the world.
She stepped into the family room.
"Do you know where he…" she began.
Feeling a pillow of sawdust under her foot, her question dried up, and then her mouth dropped open.
From wall to wall, the room was a disaster. Long dowels and massive sheets of torn rice-paper were strewn about the floor and over the furniture. And at the center, the table was overwhelmed with a variety of tools and one sticky bottle of glue.
"What the hell happened here?" she blurted out.
Hidden somewhere amid the chaos, an indifferent Souta replied as he channel-surfed on a barely visible television. "Sesshoumaru's fixing the screen door."
"He's what?"
He sighed. "Grandpa showed him the tool shed, and now he's fixing the door."
"Is he?" She looked at the disarray, mystified.
A pile of rice-paper shrugged. "He's determined."
His clothes and skin stained with paint and wood glue, Sesshoumaru entered the room, carrying the skeletal frame of a new door.
"Is the frame dry?" Souta asked, leaving her wondering how he even knew he was there.
"The clamps were left on the joints for four hours as Bikini Girl instructed, and as I have learned, her instructions are not to be trifled with. I will slide it down the track to make sure it fits. Would you take the roll of rice-paper out to the shed? I will be applying it out there once I am finished."
"Sure!" Souta agreed, clambering out of the mess that enshrouded him. He walked over to the big roll set beside the wall. And with a grunt, he hefted it up, teetering a bit as he took his first step.
"Isn't that too heavy?" she asked.
"Nope!" he replied as he headed down the hallway and out the door.
She shook her head. He won't put away the dishes, but he'll carry something that's as big as he is out to the shed for Sesshoumaru.
Weaving her way through the debris, she headed for the kitchen.
At the entrance, she found Sesshoumaru kneeling as he aligned the frame with the track. On the other side, she spotted Mama and Grandpa leaning against the counter with two cups of tea between them. Taking the greatest care, she gingerly sidled around him and joined them.
"Good afternoon, Kagome," they welcomed her.
"Good afternoon," she repeated back.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mama offered. "There's still plenty in the pot."
"Maybe a little later. What's going on?"
"He's fixing the door."
"Why?"
"You're a woman," Grandpa said dryly. "You wouldn't understand the soul of a man."
"Whatever," she scoffed.
Mama smiled. "I've been meaning to ask, but exactly how much will this soul of a man cost? The labor may be free, but the materials definitely aren't."
"Don't worry about it," he replied. "The shrine's going to be short a few heirlooms in the future, but not any anyone would miss. Besides, I think we'd be lose a lot more if I didn't find something for our houseguest to do."