Chapter 11
"Sensei."
Splinter completed a final stroke with his brush and set it down on its tray. "Ah, thank you Leonardo." He took the cup of tea that his son held out to him and wrapped it in his long, bony fingers, inhaling the rising scent of jasmine.
Leonardo sank to the ground next to his master.
"It is from an old poem," Splinter explained. "I am rediscovering calligraphy in my old age. I find it quiets the mind."
Leonardo studied the precise, flowing brushstrokes, so akin to the elegance of a well-handled katana. "I'm not sure anything can quiet my mind right now." Speaking miserably to the floor, "I don't know how I've let all this happen."
Splinter took a sip of his tea. His round, bottomless eyes were sympathetic but serious. "Leonardo. I know it can be hard to see, but there is a thin line between shouldering responsibility and taking blame."
"I couldn't imagine that Mike would get mixed up with the Rising Hand like this. And what Don did last year- that crazy gamble- I didn't see that coming either. With Raph," Leo laughed weakly, "it comes with the territory, but the others... what am I doing wrong, chichi?"
Splinter was silent for so long that Leonardo began to feel nervous. It was hard enough to admit to it himself, this sense of failure and loss of control, much less to voice it out loud to his sensei.
Finally, Splinter said, "You do not see what I see, and that is why you judge yourself so harshly." He laid a hand on Leo's arm. "You cannot expect to predict or control your brothers, nor would they want that of you. You are one family, yes, made up of four grown men. Especially after I am gone, they will look to you, even more so than they do now, to understand that." His voice softened. "You may not realize it, but I have seen you do that admirably already."
Leonardo sat still, trying to absorb his sensei's words, unsure whether to feel reassured or discouraged. He did not like the casual way that Splinter sometimes talked about a time after his death, as if referring to the weather forecast for next Tuesday.
"As for this particular situation, I am no more comfortable with it than you are, Leonardo. But I do understand it. And in no small measure, I am grateful." He set down his cup and picked up his brush again. "Think on what I have said."
Leonardo stood. "I will, sensei," he said, as he bowed to leave.
Raphael was waiting for him in the training room. He was sitting against the wall, elbows on bent knees, idly and slowly turning the sai that he held balanced on its point on the scarred wood floor. "So did he make you feel better?" Raphael smirked. "Tell you that you aren't a big failure after all?"
Leonardo scowled at his brother's baiting. "What is it, Raph?"
Raphael rose to his feet. "What do you think?" He threw Leo his sparring gloves. "Warm up without weapons first."
Leonardo looked askance at him. "You're not well."
"I'm getting there."
Leonardo sighed. He knew what this was about. "Let me and Don handle it."
"No."
"You need to recover. You can't afford to go into battle and get injured."
"All the more reason to train, ain't it? And no playing around and going easy."
Leonardo gave his brother a long look. He still looks weak and tired, Leo thought. But his color's back, he's getting better. "Be sensible," he urged. "Can't you see all this will be in vain if-"
"Dammit!" Raphael snapped, cutting him off. "What good am I if I can't fight?" For a second, there was something in his eyes that Leonardo recognized and understood, before Raph shuttered it quickly behind the shield of a fierce glare. He fell into fighting stance. "Spar already."
Leonardo locked eyes with him. "You'll be careful," he said, not referring to the sparring. Like asking a rhino to fly, he thought morosely.
In response, Raphael snorted in exasperation and launched an opening flurry of strikes and blows that Leonardo fended off and countered with punitive low kicks. Raph was slower than usual, moving a little stiffly from his weeks off, but he had a wry smile on his face. "I don't know about you, but I feel better already."
