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I Remember

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Author: Kintora

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Chapter 2

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I opened my eyes. The images of the past swam through my tired mind. I set my tea down, untouched. Smoothing my pale hands over imaginary creases on my lap, I felt the corners of my eyes pinch. It all happened so long ago, yet the pain never truly went away.

Moving my tea to my cosmetics stand, I set it beside my brushes. After I left tomorrow morning, a maid would probably find it and carry it out for me. If not, I wouldn't mind cleaning it myself. Standing slowly, I limped slightly over to the other side of my room. On the simple lacquered altar, my eyes glazed over as I read the tablet. It was no bigger than the length of my hand. I prayed to the name etched into its smooth surface.

Takiyama, Rumiko.

After my nightly prayer, I looked up at the lonely slate of granite stone. Before the small incense sticks and bowl of yuzu, a dried, delicate flower ring perched on a white silken cloth before her name.

Deep seated pain bloomed within me, but I quelled it again. Placing a small hand over my heart, I imagined easing the beating muscle inside my chest. The emptiness of suppressing such emotions welcomed me with cold arms as the pain numbed and faded again. If I were honest, I was afraid of facing that pain. But now I had something better.

Under the shelf, I pried open a hidden drawer. I stared inside at the cold, marbled steel. My hand closed around the handle as I gently lifted the secret dagger from its resting place. The reflection of its wicked blade caught my lips as they curled up.

I was close. So close to my target. Just a little longer.

Putting it away, I moved towards my futon again only to settle down for another haunted sleep. Before I drifted away on a night journey through my restless dreams, I couldn't help but reminisce the events after my near-death drowning all those years ago.

As I recalled, it had been but a few days since that fateful incident. Rumi and I didn't speak much about it. I knew she felt horribly responsible, though I never blamed her. She had been the best friend she knew how to be. It was just so unfortunate that fate would punish us with unforeseen blows.

If that mysterious man hadn't rescued me from the river, I would have died for sure.

But if I had died, my sister would not have had to suffer… Oh Rumi. My poor friend.

Just wait a little longer.

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I walked alone in the forest along the banks of the river I nearly drowned in. I thought despairingly about my injured friend as my thoughts buzzed noisily in the summer heat. Twining my fingers around the little leafy package of fresh onigiri, I continued on absent-mindedly.

I kept off the road nowadays, even though I knew that the other children wouldn't dare harm me anymore. However, that wasn't the same for their families. My presence was already despised and uneasily tolerated, but almost over night, the mood of the village had turned murderous. I was the blackest of bad luck, and it seemed a matter of time before I would have to leave.

I have never been brave, always easily cowed by others. I was ashamed to admit that I wanted to give up and leave. I wished fervently that some miracle would deliver me from this godforsaken town. I dreamed of running away, but every time I did, I would think of Rumi and my parents. Unless they came with me, I would never be able to leave them behind.

I felt trapped. There had to be a way. Maybe if I could convince Rumi... I was so close to asking her the day before to run away with me. But at the last moment, I chickened out. I was afraid she would say no.

Amidst my thoughts, I felt my gut wrench suddenly. I tried to ignore it, but goosebumps riddled my skin. It was as if a sudden winter draft had cut through the sweltering summer heat. Shivering, I hurried on to Rumi's house.

As I neared her home, I caught the scent of burning wood. At first, I wasn't alarmed. I thought someone had forgotten to douse the cook fire. While Rumi's family had never been mean to me, I wasn't sure if I would be welcome there. Not after what happened at the river... Just as I was wondering if I should turn back, a feeling of unease pushed me on. I felt like I would let Rumi down if I was any more of a coward. But as I rounded the trees into the clearing where her home was, I couldn't help staggering back in fright.

The house was burning! The fire contributed to the summer heat and it was no wonder I hadn't felt it until now. I watched as if in slow motion when a blazing tree nearby fell on top of the fiery house, crushing it in two the way I had seen the village kids crush small bugs with sticks.

At the same moment, I snapped from my stupor and ran stupidly towards the fire and flinging my small burden to the side, spoiling it. But I could care less. I tried to break into the house, but my clothes caught flame and I had to step back when I felt like I was coughing up soot. But my voice never stopped screaming her name.

I don't know how long the house had been on fire for I heard no screaming, no cries of help besides my own. The wood splintered and hissed like it was in pain. The next thing I knew, pieces were beginning to crumble more and more. I was small and stupid, clumsy and frantic. Before I knew what had happened, a flaming beam collapsed and crushed my leg, sending me into the ground.

I screamed bloody murder from the hot stinging pain. My burning flesh smelled like roasting pork. There was no doubt, the beam had broken my leg. My hands burned trying to pull away. I was clawing in the dirt until I heard familiar voices of the villagers calling out. Two people pulled me from the mess I had gotten myself into as others ran back and forth, borrowing water from the well to douse the vicious, power-hungry flames.

My eyes stung as someone began tending to my leg. I remember very little, except for the blistering pain and nausea. The fire took all afternoon to stop from spreading.

My leg had swelled and bubbled with pus, burned red and raw from the fire. The village apothecary said that I could probably walk once it was healed properly, but not normally. I hardly despaired over this fact because as he splinted my burned and broken leg, I saw a few village men picking through the ashy remains of Rumi's house.

I saw two charred figures heaved out by the men, neither moving. The last one was smaller, and also not moving, the ruined spindly arms hanging uselessly down, the thin curled up fingers curled against nothing. Though the sun was getting low, I was still able to see her face.

Rumi didn't have eyes anymore and she was missing the familiar swell of her round nose. Her face was charcoal black along with the rest of her small body. Only a few wisps of burnt hair remained on her crusted, flaking head.

Her mouth was withered and brown, cracked lips twisted forever above small white teeth. I can still remember how her teeth contrasted starkly against the rest of her horrific features. Her body was carried away and though I barely saw her for more than a few seconds, I would never forget the image of her burnt corpse seared into my memory.

I passed out then and there, unable to remain conscious. The last I heard were my parents' stricken voices.

I couldn't walk for weeks, and my scars never went away. The villagers had found out that someone had started the fire intentionally, and as usual, they all thought it was my doing. However, many questioned that rumor. Why would I want to burn down my best friend's home? On top of that, I was only six. I knew nothing about accelerants and starting fires.

But others claimed that I could conjure demons and what not. They weren't true of course, but I no longer cared about anything. That part of my heart must have collapsed on itself. I stopped talking to anyone who would talk to me. My mother cried almost every night, and my father always came home from the fields with such sunken eyes that I couldn't even recognize him at times.

I did gain back the mobility of my legs over time, but like the apothecary predicted, I couldn't walk very well. I could barely run for my gait was always never more than a limp. My parents never went outside with me. They were beyond ashamed. They had every right to be too.

To this day, I never hated anyone more than I hated myself.

It had to be many weeks later after my recovery when I was wandering down the river's edge towards Rumi's old home. A small memorial was built there with her family name and incense burning inside the simple stone shrine. I often went there to pay my respects and beg forgiveness. Sometimes I even thought I heard her voice.

But that day, I heard a two voices as I neared the familiar bend in the trees. I remained quiet and peeked around the towering tree trunk, staying in the shadows. There, I recognized Kuro's father and another man whom I didn't recognize. They seemed to be discussing something, and I heard my name.

My ears strained to catch every word after that.

"In a few years, she would be very attractive, Sakurai-sama. I'm sure of it," Kuro's father told him, "If you overlook her eyes, she is a very comely girl with a submissive temperament. If you train her well, she could make you a lot of money."

"Matsueda," the stranger said, "Why is it that nobody likes her? Even her own parents did not seem to want her. That seems too extreme for some silly backwater superstitions."

Matsueda shook his head, "Do not underestimate the villagers' fears. Everyone wanted a scapegoat to explain such a series of unfortunate events. Of course, I don't believe any of it," he grunted uneasily. "Still, the sooner she is gone, the better."

The man was silent for a few moments. Suddenly, his sharp eyes took on a different light, "If I do take her off your hands, what price would the village ask for?"

Matsueda's eyes glinted slyly, but he kept his face serious, "There is room for negotiation."

"If I asked to take her without paying anything?"

Matsueda floundered, slightly taken aback. "I would say she was worth something, don't you? Surely, to help the village get by… And it is good karma for you. Our village is old and stubborn. She would be safer living in the city."

"Is that so," Sakurai said, looking once more to Rumi's family shrine, "Let us discuss this further. Where is she?"

My heart sputtered loudly in my ears, and I almost feared they could hear it too. However, Matsueda carried on flippantly, "She will come home before dusk. Please, follow me back to the village. I will take you to her parents so we can discuss these terms further."

The men started in my direction, but I ducked out of sight and held my breath until they were beyond earshot. Even then I waited longer with baited breath and wide eyes. Would my parents really approve of this? My eyes burned at the thought, and I unconsciously rubbed my stiffening arms.

I thought I heard a ghostly sigh, but when I looked up, nobody was there. I shook it off as my imagination. Shakily, I got to my feet again and walked over to the small shrine.

Today would be the last I ever saw this place again. I felt it more than I thought it.

I was leaving either way. Wasn't this what I had wished for?

I knelt again and offered my prayers before standing up to bow and head back. But I stared long at the three smooth tablets resting against the shrine. No one dared to touch them, so they were left as pristine as if they had been set there just yesterday. My eyes had already overflowed with tears again and I wiped at my face viciously.

'Are you crying? I'm sorry, Chihiro.'

I felt like Rumi was with me again with her friendly arms around my shaking shoulders. My tears still wouldn't stop though, and eventually I gave up and let them fall, soaking into the stone before my bare dirty feet. The wind howled eerily, and I could almost feel small ghostly fingers braiding my scraggy hair away from my burning face.

I heard a startling clack and I jumped, my head snapping up and looking around automatically. I followed the previous sound to the front of the small shrine where one of the tablets had fallen. Hurriedly, I picked it up and looked at the name on it:

Takiyama, Rumiko.

It was smaller than I had thought initially. But that was probably because I was small and everything looked big to me. I reached to put it back on the shrine's stone shelf. Just then, Rumi's murmuring voice stopped me. My wide eyes looked around, but I couldn't see her. It was like she didn't want me to put it back.

Hesitantly, but I tucked it into the folds of my ragged clothes. It created a slight bulge, but it didn't really matter since the clothes on me were already too big anyway. As I walked away, I thought I heard her bid me farewell.

Hugging the stone tablet to my chest, I cried my last tears and headed back home. I paused halfway though, suddenly thinking about the river man for the first time in a long time. I had this strong urge to talk to him for some reason and crept closer to the water's edge. The forest was getting darker under the evening sky, but the rushing water continued to glimmer brightly as if it was full of stars.

But I didn't know what to say. I just touched the water, feeling like I was trying to say goodbye, that I would miss him just as I missed Rumi. For a moment, I felt as if the river was holding my hand. But when I tightened my fingers, the water slipped away.

I knew I had to get back, because if I didn't, I knew they would find me anyway. I decided I would face my future the best I could. I didn't have to be brave. I simply had no choice.

Slipping reluctantly away from the river's side, I cast it a longing look before I forced myself to limp back into the woods. I couldn't look behind me or else I knew I would never have left the river's side. There were too many memories there. I grit my teeth, my tongue stinging in pain. It was only when I reached the village and slowed down that I realized the bitter taste was my blood.

I returned like I would any other day, though my face held a void look that I've now come to master many years later. No child should have had that mask, but I learned to use it well. The instant I entered my home, I saw the man from earlier along with Kuro's father and my parents. Although the silence was palpable when I entered, I knew from the looks they exchanged that they had already discussed the details of my departure. When it became apparent over our tiny dinner that I had no intention of running away – in fact, I had not reaction at all – they broached those details with me.

To my mute despair, it was true. My parents had agreed to Sakurai's payment. I had no particular possessions, so I left immediately after my meager meal. Sakurai guided me by the arm, a distant look on his face.

But before we reached the wagon driver and his cart, I stopped in my tracks, my hand holding the coarse cloth of my grimy yukata together. I could feel the pressure of Rumi's tablet against my skin just as I could feel the painful throbs of my heart. Slowly, I turned my head in my parents' direction. They stood apart, staring after me with hollow eyes. They looked like a pair of lifeless statues.

There must have been something on my face, because my mother burst into tears and my father's gaunt face looked away in shame. I returned my gaze to the ground, letting the man drag me towards the wagon again. I would not face anyone with my eyes, not even Sakurai when he forced my chin up to make sure they were truly discolored.

The ride was silent, except for the clip clopping of the horses hooves on the hard dirt road, the occasional grunt from the driver as the wagon shuddered against some stray rocks, and Sakurai's light snores beside me.

Before we left the dirt path and turned onto the main road, I felt compelled to look at my disappearing village for the last time.

Standing on the darkening path behind us, I could see a small, forlorn figure. Rumi, her name suddenly slipped between the crevices of my numb mind. And behind her, I saw him. He stood tall and regal in his flowing robes, his pale hands resting on Rumi's small shoulders. They watched me as I watched them draw farther and farther away.

"Goodbye," I whispered quietly, somehow knowing they would hear me, "Please remember me."

The wagon shuddered again and their image was consumed by the hungry night.

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"Please remember me," I mumbled on the edge of sleep.

I imagined the ghostly kiss of a child's lips against my forehead. Briefly, my eyes fluttered open. I blinked tiredly, but that didn't dispel the small pale figure kneeling beside my futon. She looked warmly at me, 'We do.'

Smiling wishfully, I closed my eyes again, not knowing how true her words really were – as I would find out the next day.

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