Chapter Fifteen
Background Theme: Business As Usual
"For your consideration: a man, humblest among men. Come, join me as I journey through the
realms of dreams. See him: thin, somber, yet his eyes are ablaze with
naïve idealism. He has become weary and
tiresome of Man's malevolent ways toward his fellow man; he is driven, almost
to a sort of madness. In this
incoherent haze, he contrives the
strangest endeavor ever conceived: no
longer a mere country gentleman, he is the bravest and most valiant of Samurai,
venturing forth into the world righting all wrongs. His name: Don Quixote de
La Mancha!
"Heeeeaaaarrrr
me now, oh thou bleeeeaaak and unbeeeeaaarrraaable world, thou aaart…"
"Thank
you! That will be all for now! Next, please!" I looked over to my assistant and newly appointed Stage Manager,
Nabiki Tendo, sitting quietly next to the portable sound system at downstage
left. Her hands were covering her ears
and an unpleasant grimace showed on her face.
I nodded at her. She quickly reached
over and hit a button, gritting her teeth followed by a discernible sigh of
relief.
An audible click could be heard as the cassette player disengaged, followed by
the soft garbled squeeble of the
cassette being rewound to the beginning.
Bowing slightly, Gosunkugi reached behind his head to scratch nervously,
a slightly embarrassed flush coming over his features. The hapless student auditioning for one of
the lead male roles had much going for him in means of movement, projection,
and delivery of the monologue preceding the musical's opening number, but he
needed quite a bit of vocal training to improve his singing ability. About several years' worth. To be attempted after he finished going through puberty. I had to commend him for his effort, though. I would probably cast him in one of the
non-singing roles. Gosunkugi
disappeared into the crowd of students waiting excitedly for their chance to
audition.
I sighed and shook my head. My theatrical endeavors had initially been
plagued with delays for several days.
Furinkan's student body had showed scant interest in the first of the
shows I had decided to undertake: Man of La Mancha. Transposing the story from its original
setting in Cervantes' medieval Spain to Japan's locale during the wane of the
golden years of the Samurai proved to be a monumental task in itself. Artistic
License describes the playwright's prerogative in making minor changes to
the original storyline to suit the production's setting. I was better off composing my own script
from scratch, but to do so would rob the students of experiencing the moral
intent behind the story of Cervantes' mad knight. I made changes here and there where it would suit the story, but
in the end it differed very little from the original stageplay.
The
license I was taking was very much in the same vein as a show I did many years
ago. King Creon, Antigone's antagonist
in the renowned Greek tragedy, was
transformed into a Cuban dictator in a setting following the Bay of
Pigs; the Greek Chorus consisted of three card-playing old geezers sitting
around under a small pavilion, looking up from time to time to spout their
cryptic lines. I figured that if my
theatrical mentor could get away with that,
I should be able to engage my Japanese audience in a similar suspension of
belief when La Mancha, muleteers, and
the Golden Helmet of Mambrino held no
place in their culture, mythology, or history.
That was the least of my concerns,
though. I needed performers. A few of the students came to the first
couple of auditions. Decent talent, but
not quite lead-role material. In my
mind, I had already pre-cast several of the roles. Tatewaki Kuno, of course, as Cervantes/Don Quixote; Akane Tendo
as Aldonza/Dulcinea; and Ranma Saotome as Sanson Carasco/The Great
Enchanter. Getting them to agree to
their respective roles was another thing all together, as was filling a number
of equally important roles that needed superior talent. I decided to go on the offensive and solicit
help from an unlikely source: Nabiki
Tendo. Checking with a student aide in
the Administration office, I discovered that her next class was on the school
building's third floor. I found the
nearest stairwell and headed upstairs.
The middle Tendo sister was deep in
conference with one of her cohorts in a
secluded corner between a wall of lockers and the Girl's restroom. I patiently and politely waited behind her,
just out of earshot, not wanting to intrude on what I assumed was another of
Nabiki's financial ventures-in-progress.
Her back was to me, so she never saw me approach. Her companion was a young lady probably the
same age as Nabiki, with chestnut hair and plain but not unattractive features. Leaning forward, her intent expression was
focused on whatever Nabiki was telling her; her dark eyes darted up and to the
side for a second, her head turning slightly to look down the hall. When she returned her gaze toward Nabiki,
her eyes passed over me and widened slightly as she quickly straightened
up. Nabiki, a scowl on her face as she
wondered who dared to eavesdrop or interrupt her conversation, straightened up
just as quickly. Her features became
neutral, perhaps slightly embarrassed.
I
smiled and bowed slightly. "My
apologies, Miss Tendo. I didn't want to
interrupt your conversation, but I had a favor to ask of you." Looking toward her companion, I smiled
hesitantly. "My apologies to you as
well, young lady. I didn't mean to
startle you."
"Oh, that's quite all right," she said, bowing deeply. "I was going anyway." She nodded slightly to Nabiki as she turned
and walked away.
Nabiki respectfully bowed her head
slightly toward me, her composure regained.
"Sensei. How may I be of service?"
"Well, we've only a moment until the next
bell rings. Why don't you and your
two…"lieutenants"…join me at Uchan's
after school and I'll tell you all about it.
My treat." I chuckled. "I hear her okonomiyaki is legendary."
Nabiki raised an eyebrow. "Indeed.
A favor, neh?" She said,
smiling. "Your offer of refreshments is
most welcome. Just bear in mind," she
continued, slipping into her business mode and shaking a finger in my
direction, "I don't come cheap."
"After school, then?" I asked.
"We'll be there," she replied, bowing as
she turned to leave. I watched her walk
away for a moment, looked at my watch, then turned and headed back toward the
auditorium on the first floor. As I
turned down the central hallway, I overheard three students talking in slightly
hushed tones:
"Did you hear? They kissed!" one girl
almost shouted.
"You're kidding! When did that happen?" a young man uttered in disbelief.
"Not so loud," a hoarse whisper
interjected a third, female, voice. "On the field trip. To the beach."
I stopped dead in my tracks as I
disappeared, just around the corner, out of sight of the
conversationalists. I about-faced and
bent down, dropping to one knee.
Pretending to tie a shoelace, I closed my eyes to shut out any
distractions while I listened intently.
"…when they were off by themselves. She made him lunch and everything."
"Woah.
You don't think…"
"What about Shampoo or Ukyou…or
Kodachi? Do they know?"
"They'll have a fit!"
The conversation downshifted to a quiet
buzz as they moved away, further down the corridor. I stood up, feeling a disquieting mood of déjà vu settle over me. The
beach field trip. The place I where I
first remember appearing in Japan.
Akane and Ranma…their private picnic.
Their brief, yet passionate, kisses.
This was sounding all too familiar.
Shaking my head, I turned back toward the
stairway I had ascended and continued my quiet musing. The events at the beach and, now, the hushed whispers of secret
romantic interludes…something about all this was gnawing at the back of my
mind, a revelation trying to escape the confines of my subconscious. The sensation bordered on that of having a
word or a name on the tip of one's tongue and a sense of growing frustration
that usually came with such a mental block.
The growing noise of a brewing commotion
intruded on my thoughts as I approached the wide anteroom where the hallway
ended, the door to the stairwell being located on the opposite wall. I could see several students gather in the
middle of the chamber, talking excitedly among themselves, looking and pointing
at something that was occurring off to the left side of the foyer, out of my
line-of-sight. I increased my pace,
walking closer to the right wall to give me a better view as I reached the
opening to the foyer. The double doors
were propped open with rubber wedges placed between the bottom of the doors and
the floor. Standing with my back to the
opened right door, I looked on in shock as I took in the scene.
Between two large windows built into the
antechamber's left wall, a short, young Chinese girl with dark, almost
black-blue hair, was holding Ranma up against the wall with strength that was
belied by the young lady's stature.
Ranma held his hands up, palms out in front of him, in a defensive
posture, frantically trying to calm his adversary down. The girl was about sixteen or seventeen, by
my guess, and dressed in pinkish-lavender slacks and an overblouse, both of
silk cut in traditional Chinese style.
Slippers of a matching hue adorned her small feet, up on tiptoes as she
held her prey in place. Her small fists
were balled up, clutching handfuls of Ranma's shirt. This attractive, petite package of fury could only be one
person: Shampoo.
A
moment later, a dark blue blur flashed past me, the metallic glint of a large,
flat-ended spatula flashing briefly as another young lady appeared in front of
me, the spatula in full swing. Ducking
quickly, I avoided getting hit as the spatula missed its intended target, the
Chinese girl, who leapt clear of the weapon's arc, somersaulting backwards and
landing with nimble grace on the other side of the room. The spatula was imbedded in the door, mere
inches above my head. A familiar line
jumped, unbidden, to my mind.
"I'd recognize that spatula anywhere…"
And
that must Ukyou Kuonji. Dressed in her trademark boy's school uniform
from her days at an all-male school, she stood about half-a-head shorter than
I…well, when I was standing. Ukyou
pulled her weapon clear of the door, her dark brown hair – held in place by a
white ribbon – swung behind her as she spun and advanced on Shampoo's position
near the foyer's right wall.
I quickly stood up and cast a glance in
Ranma's direction. The young lad had
been unceremoniously dumped to the floor when Shampoo vaulted clear of Ukyou's
attack. As the two girls began a heated
exchange, Ranma scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off. Looking back to the arguing pair, Shampoo
gestured wildly toward Ranma, then leapt up to the ledge of one of the opened
windows. Ukyou spun on her heel, closed
on Ranma, tears streaming from her eyes.
Ranma's eyes widened with an "oh,
no…not again" look of fear on his face as the brunette grabbed him by the
collar and slammed him up against the wall.
"You
let her KISS you?" she cried between sobs.
"YOU JERK!"
Again
the spatula swung, half-heartedly, yet hard enough to connect with Ranma's
torso and fling him, outstretched, against the wall. Ranma grimaced with pain, letting a tortured moan escape his lips
as he slid to the floor. Ukyou rushed
by me, sobbing as she left the foyer with alacrity.
Much
of the incident had gone by too quickly for me to comprehend what had been
said, but from Ukyou's accusation, I now understood what it was all about. The taking of Akane's lips would not come
without a price being exacted from him.
Challenging
Ranma loudly from her precarious perch, Shampoo glowered angrily, the scowl
marring her otherwise attractive features.
"This
not over yet," she said in halting tones.
"I make Akane pay for what she do."
Leaving the threat hanging in the air,
she twisted on her feet, springing out from the window, arms outstretched. She somersaulted once halfway down, landing
with remarkable ease on the ground three stories below.
Ranma slowly picked himself up, regaining
what was left of his dignity, and vaulted out the nearest of the left wall's
windows.
The crowd quickly disbursed, chatting
excitedly amongst themselves. Some were
speculating what Shampoo's threat meant.
Most thought she was going to challenge Akane to a duel. Some blew it off as just another jealous
ranting of another of Ranma's numerous fiancées. Unfortunately, I now fathomed, with complete clarity as the final
mental block fell away, how this confrontation was going to end. There were too many similarities, too many
coincidences, to many instances of déjà
vu. Yes, I knew without a doubt how
this would end.
With Ranma's death.
Not
if I can help it.
I crossed the empty antechamber to the
stairwell door, taking the steps quickly as I headed back to the auditorium.
Somewhere, distant words began to whisper
across time and space.
Deux
Machine.
