Chapter 6
The lost and never found.
The end days were coming. He could see it in the people passing—exasperated, hopeful. He heard it form the stragglers, flocking back, uproarious. He felt it within his bones, heavy, and ominous. The taste of his sake bore heavy with blood. And he drank himself senseless. Night by night, he sat up alone, companion to the dark; watching Kyoto light up with fire. And souls flock up to heaven in their throngs. The grounds heaving, dragging more to hell.
Beyond, the walls of the city rang loud with the sounds of seppuku. And amongst the continuous clash of metal, the burst of firepower, the sound of falling men, he hastened a drink in his hand; holding it long enough for a smile to creep his lips. The end days were here. The war was burning out, finally. Incredulously.
And now, what has become of my baka-deshi? But every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was that little, broken boy, looking up to him like he was the sun. Innocent, even though blood stained his cheek. Now his hands too, must be drenched, as his was before. Dripping crimson. He would always be as if he had just walked out of a rainstorm. And the ageing man drank himself until he too, was knee deep in blood again.
Are you done? Baka deshi?
The days grew longer, and brighter—quieter, and stiller, and one breathless day, it ended. The war was won. By the Shishi, he later confirmed. And in the days following, there were bell sounds and bugle-shrieks and laughing, crying, rejoice. Momentous, and fleeting, celebration.
And through and through the upheaval, he waited. Sitting in that same old sunny spot, sake jug never a few centimetres away. Long cloak billowing in the warm wind, hair tousled in a low pony-tail. He waited, unyielding, unrelenting. The weariness in his lines were mismatched with eyes up-lit with hope. His mind raced with anticipation, saddened by what would be, but not ready to give up what was.
Baka deshi, come home now. He chanted.
You've done enough, come home. He prayed.
"Please."
And he waited
And waited.
waited.
The sun set in his eyes.
He never came home.
Glossary
Seppuku: a ritual suicide performed by someone who must wipe away shame by killing themselves.
baka/deshi: Idiot apprentice/disciple
'saddened by what would be but not ready to give up what once was.'- simple explanation- Hiko knows the war has changed Kenshin for the worse, but he still wants to believe, as illogical as it is, that he's OK, and that the war hasn't corrupted him.
Notes
Its an unspoken truth but Hiko and Kenshin are father and son as much as they are Shishou and deshi. I imagine Hiko waited with every hope in 1868 that his boy would come back after the war. He didn't. Not for 11 years, at least. What a bastard.
Sorry if some of my writing techniques/ phrases are repetitive...I know I totally overuse the imagery of blood, but its just so symboliiiiic...
A review would absolutely, unquestionably, make my day! Tune in next time!
-earl