Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha nor do I, in any material form, profit from posting fan fiction containing its themes and characters. Please do not sue. Thank you Schubert for lending me your song title.
Author's Note: Well, not much to say. I took a really long break in posting this, I know. But I've been applying for college and stuff, and I must say, there's no way you can pursue pleasures like writing fan fiction while debating what lunch plan you want, and whether you really want to be in the Honors dorm.
Anyway, I did get into college. I'm going to CUA next year, as a Vocal Performance major. I'm going to try to form a minor in both Creative Writing and German. We'll see how that works out. (Wish me luck!)
Translations:
Moshi-moshi: a greeting used for telephone conversations.
Chapter 7, An Die Nachtigall
I woke up to the eleven o'clock news. Inuyasha's picture flashed up on the screen. A smallish lady with bleached hair and too much make-up appeared. Her pink lips were folded into a practiced line.
"Kiwante Amiko here with a recent development in the search for the criminal Inuyasha. Last week, police officials confirmed seeing the murderer in a local park. They would have apprehended him at once, but as soon as they drew close, he vanished." Another picture came up, this time of Inuyasha in the park. He was standing by the bench, and I was sitting at the other end.
I almost screamed. It was me! It was definitely me. I crawled forward on my knees, and pressed my palms against the screen, staring into my face. But the picture was blurred, and I was unrecognizable. Whoever had taken the photo was obviously not aiming for the pair of us; instead, it appeared to be an awkward photograph of a falling leaf.
The lady continued to speak. "Inuyasha's location is yet unknown to the police force, but the park shall be kept under strict surveillance for the next few weeks, should the criminal reappear. Police caution all once again to lock all window and doors, and to not admit anyone into their homes after curfew. Those who fail to follow these rules shall be found and processed. Those who find themselves out of doors after curfew, for whatever reason, must report to the nearest care center. A quarter of an hour after curfew, all those who are not inside can expect to be fired at, arrested, and summarily put on trial."
I turned the television off and sank back into the couch. My history book slid down the cushion and bumped against my thigh. I sighed and flipped it open to a random page. Buddha appeared, smiling up at me.
It suddenly occurred to me to write some poetry. Miroku had given me books all about poetry—something we had never been allowed to have in my school. Poetry is dangerous, they would tell us. I remember one time the boy sitting next to me in Japanese class, whose name was Matsui, wrote me a note. It contained three lines of poetry, the most beautiful lines I had ever heard. I stared at the note openly, marveling at Matsui's subtle use of our complicated language. I memorized it, imprinted it on my heart. A moment later, our teacher had snatched the little piece of paper from my hands. She sent Matsui to the principal's office.
I never saw Matsui again after that day. I can only assume he was expelled, or worse. I heard a rumor that he had more poems in his home, that he even had some Whitman in his book bag, and that a copy of one of Keats' love poems was kept under his pillow. Those rumors scalded me. I had no idea who Whitman and Keats were, nor did my classmates. But unlike my classmates who shied away from the names, I was determined to read, to hear, to feel those lines. I absolutely had to have more poetry in my life.
When I got home from school, I wrote Matsui's words down, and taped them to the inside of my desk drawer.
I told Miroku this story, and, without saying anything about it, he left. The next day, I found several books of poems on my pillow. My favorites, of course, were the haiku, those three lines that plucked so fondly at my senses.
I took my pencil, and grabbed my history book. Staring down at Buddha, I began to write.
Buddha's first name was Siddhartha. My mother's first name is Shihona. She was a Buddhist, but her father was a Shinto priest and she married a Shinto man. I wonder if she still believes in Buddhism.
God, I don't even know if my mother is still alive.
God? Do I believe in God? Or do I believe in Buddha? Or maybe I believe in the many gods of the Shinto faith. How about all the gods and goddesses that were lost when China invaded Japan? Do people still believe in them?
The Government does not allow religion. It does not allow faith. That's mostly fine, as most people I know are atheists anyway. The Shinto faith is allowed to remain as long as it limits its teachings to ways of life instead of spiritual guidance.
People are not allowed to believe in the afterlife. But they still do. As of yet, it is unknown whether the Government can really get into your head and manipulate your thought processes…
More like a list of thoughts than a poem. I was immediately frustrated at my first attempt to invoke the spirit of Matsui's writing. I put the pencil down and pushed my history book away. It fell on the ground with a loud report, like the sound of an exploding rifle.
In school, we had no history course. Everything that I had learned was a lie, a total and complete lie. I hated the Government. I hated them so much at that moment that I began to shake.
I wanted my mother. I wanted to hug Souta, and I wanted to tell my grandfather that no, I don't want to hear the story about the hanyou and the brave miko who… Well, I quite frankly couldn't tell you what that story was even about. I wanted to know: are they alive? My heart ached under the weight of the question. What had we done to deserve the attention of the Government? Why were they after me specifically?
"Ah, so you don't know, then? You don't have a clue what you are?"
The phone rang. I let it go, waiting for the answering machine to spring into action.
Leave a message, the answering machine commanded gruffly in Inuyasha's voice.
"Hello, Kagome-chan? Sango here."
I picked up the receiver with a loud groan. "Moshi-moshi, Sango-chan," I said. "What's up?"
"I'm getting some bagels for breakfast tomorrow. Can I get you something?" That was code, of course. Why would Sango be worrying about bagels at eleven o'clock at night? The Rebel movement at all times strictly watched the phone line, and Sango didn't want the organization to catch wind that the Shi were in action again just yet. She wanted to remain low maintenance as long as possible, so when she was talking about bagels, she really had some important news to share, and wanted to come upstairs.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry," I replied. In other words: yes, I'm alone, please come up.
A knock came on the door. I opened and tried to smile at Sango.
"You look awful," she said at once. "Haven't you been sleeping?"
"Gee, thanks," I replied, stepping aside to let her into the room. "I've been sleeping…" A lie. I hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. What winks I could get in during the day were a blessed luxury.
Sango smiled. "Sorry." She crossed to the sofa, picked up my history book, and put it on the coffee table. She sighed.
"Do you want something to drink?" I asked, already moving towards the kitchen.
"Just some water, thanks," Sango said. Manners dictated that she ought to have refused the drink at least twice, but I had quickly learned that manners had no place in the world of the Rebellion. "What time is it?"
"Ten after eleven," I reported without looking at the clock.
"Good, then I have some time," she said distractedly.
I returned, carrying two waters. The first I placed in front of her, and then I took a quick sip of my own. "So, what's the story?"
"Miroku got back half an hour ago."
"How is he?" I walked calmly over to the remote, and switched on the TV. I turned it up. We had to be sure that our conversation wouldn't be overheard by anyone. We both pretended to be engaged in a program about opossum babies.
"He's the ER right now, but he'll be fine," Sango said, laughing as though she had told a hilarious joke. But there were dark circles under her eyes and her hands were shaking with fatigue.
I laughed as well, but a weight had formed in my chest. "Is it alright for you to be here right now?"
Sango laughed again, but there was a hard, self-critical look in her eyes. "He went under four minutes ago. The night nurses can handle the situation for the moment. And I had to tell you what he found out."
"You shouldn't, Inuyasha wouldn't like that."
"Fuck what Inuyasha likes or doesn't. This is out of his hands now. He's got to trust you. No more stalling," she said sharply, suddenly.
I pretended to be wounded, but, with my back to the windows, I smiled at her. "So, what did he uncover?"
"Someone's been poisoning Inuyasha. I don't know how they got the poison to him. Miroku killed the guy before we could get the information, unfortunately. I could have smacked him for that…" But the fatigue and worry in her frame said otherwise. "Anyway, others confirmed that the man Miroku killed was the only one that knew how to mix the cocaine into a substance that Inuyasha wouldn't be able to detect. The knife that was thrown at you was laced with cocaine. Inuyasha must've taken that knife, and examined it. The amount of cocaine in the knife sent him over, and he attacked you."
She smiled. "It took awhile, but the poison's completely out of his system now. Tomorrow should see an end to any withdraw symptoms, and he can come home. The withdraw shouldn't be severe, however, since the amounts that Inuyasha was exposed to were very small, hardly noticeable little spurts of energy until that last one."
I wanted to hug her, but I turned my eyes back to the screen. I turned it off. "Rather boring program, isn't it?"
"Yeah, well," Sango said, rising to her feet. "Sorry we couldn't get that movie."
"Nah, whatever. We'll get it next time," I said, swatting at the issue with the back of my hand.
"See you," she said.
"See you," I agreed. I got up and walked her to the door. When she was outside on the landing, I whispered, "Can I see Miroku tomorrow?"
Sango nodded, and then she was gone. I thought maybe for a moment that I saw a grateful smile flicker across her face.
I woke up when the key slipped into the lock. I was lying on the couch, my history book open on my stomach. I blinked twice, tried to get up, and then found myself sinking further and further back into the cushions. It was my first night of undisturbed sleep in a week.
I was somewhere between consciousness and oblivion when Inuyasha walked into the room.
"Girl, are you here?" he asked softly.
I froze. My throat restricted. My limbs were immovable. My stomach rolled. A single tear trickled down the side of my face. I smiled. Inuyasha…
I didn't hear him approach, but the next moment he was beside me. He was kneeling on the ground, staring into my face. I wondered if I was dreaming. "Hey, are you awake?" he whispered.
And then I wasn't. A little breath eased out of my slightly parted lips, and I was asleep.
Miroku looked up as we walked into the room. He smiled, and then put a finger to his lips. Sango was sitting in the chair beside the bed, but she had fallen asleep, and was resting on her arms on the edge of Miroku's bed.
I smiled at my friend's peaceful face, and walked across the room to place the flowers on the windowsill. Inuyasha walked over to Miroku, and the two spent several moments in close conversation.
"What's the diagnosis?" Inuyasha asked quietly when he was satisfied with their private council. He took a cigarette out of his back pocket and lit up. A thin stream of milky haze fled from his lips.
"Nothing new. The bastard was a fighter, and stabbed my arm. But he missed the important stuff, and a couple stitches should have me sparring with Kagome-sama in two weeks." He grinned at me.
"In the meantime, then, I'm going to get her a job," Inuyasha said lightly.
"A job?" I asked, blinking at him.
"That's right; you've got to start pulling your weight. Sango works, I work, and Miroku works. Your turn," Inuyasha said, looking at me over his shoulder.
"Excuse me? You work?" I asked, truly surprised to hear this. I'd never seen Inuyasha lift a finger.
"Sure I do. I teach," Inuyasha said flippantly, totally unaware that he had just said something so strange.
"You're a teacher?" I blurted out incredulously. "Who'd hire you?"
Inuyasha turned his back to me. "I teach private lessons."
"Anyway," Miroku interjected, sensing the intimacy of a fight and loathing the idea of waking Sango. "Anyway, I think it's a good idea, Kagome-sama. You could get some money set aside for yourself, and you could help us get some information on the Government's movements."
"I'll look up something for you," Inuyasha said. "I already have a place in mind." With that, he nodded to Miroku and walked out of the room.
I made an angry little sound in my chest that made Miroku smile. "Don't get too angry with him, Kagome-sama. Despite what you may think, he's trying."
"Yeah, I can tell," I said, rolling my eyes. "The only thing he tries to do is get on my nerves."
"Maybe so," Miroku said sagaciously, "but if you ask me, which I know you haven't, his snide remarks are a poorly disguised cry for help."
"Help?" I repeated. "What does he need help with?"
"I think you should go home and check under you bed, Kagome-sama," Miroku said.
Sango stirred slightly, and muttered something in her sleep. Miroku looked sad, suddenly. He touched Sango's hair, and whispered softly to her. She settled at once.
I had disappeared in Miroku's consciousness, so there was no reason for me to stick around to hear what he meant. I slipped out of the room and walked down the hall.
That night, after Inuyasha was asleep, I crept out of bed. Pushing aside my sheets with the stealthiest motions I could manage, I tucked the upper half of my body under the bed. My hands groped in the darkness for several moments, and then closed around the little chest. I pulled it out, cradling it to my heart like an infant.
I took the key from around my neck, and opened the chest. Inside were a few keepsakes from my old life: a cell phone that Inuyasha had taken the batteries out of, a picture of my fat cat, Buyo, that Souta had drawn a couple of years ago. Also, there was a photo of my family in front of Higurashi shrine's Goshinboku. I was wearing an apricot-colored kimono with trees, mountains, and fog. My mother's kimono was light blue, with lazy pink and yellow designs. Souta's yukata was blue with tiny fish, and my grandfather was wearing his shrine robes.
And my father was there, his arm around my mother. He looked so happy, so full of life. His black hair and dark brown eyes, his tall, erect frame, those strong, broad shoulders that had carried me, I knew each detail so well. I kissed my father and mother, and then put the picture down. Behind it, Kikyo looked up at me.
"Kikyo…" I shivered.
- Ichimu