See you there, part 2
Warm light pooled past the open doors, painting orange rectangles on the floor mats. My throat was parched, mouth dry and sticky. My legs were pins and needles beneath me. I dared not shift them, paying attention to my master. Hashimoto paced to and fro in front of us, bamboo training sword secure in his hands. Two dozen boys around me followed his every movement.
"Death awaits every man. We cannot choose the time, or the place, or the circumstances. We may only choose how we meet it." His voice thundered over our heads, carrying across the room. "A death met with fear is a dog's death. A death met with foolishness, with cowardice, for self-preservation, without self-control, is likewise a dog's death. The only death we may aspire to is death in service to our masters. This is the only death worthy of a man."
I frowned. Surely dogs could die in the service of their masters. Did they then die a man's death? Would dogs aspire to such things, or did they scoff at their dead fellow and eat his body? I have seen it happen. With dogs and with men.
"The great Master Yamamoto[1] says," he bounced the sword on his shoulder. "The samurai is only realized in the presence of death."
Oh, hell, I thought irreverently. Great example of a Catch 22, that one. All the realized were no longer here to tell us what they had realized. Either way, we had to go into the ever-after if we meant to chase wisdom. Useless, by definition.
"He further teaches us, if the choice is between life and death, a samurai will choose death. There is no other reasoning."
"Simple, straightforward, easy to remember. Like every other sort of bullshit."
Whoa. Where did that come from? Oh, crap, I had said it!
Hashimoto rounded on me and whacked me on the side with the practice sword. It stole breath from my lungs. I coughed. My classmates sniggered nervously. "Do you have something to add, Mikuni?"
"No, sir," I mumbled but rebelliousness churned my stomach. I looked up at my master's cold face and summoned all my courage. "It's just that… How are we to win a war, if we're all going out there to die? I, I… I need people who want to live!" What the hell was I talking about? What war? I was eleven years old.
"Shush, Mikkun," Aizawa whispered in my ear.
"People who want to live, run," Hashimoto replied laconically. "They cannot win for their backs are turned."
"People who want to die, die. They cannot win for they are on their arses in the mud." It came out of my mouth, but it was not my voice. I gulped and cleared my throat. "It, it makes no sense. I think."
"The reasoning is thus," he said angrily. "A peasant searches for the perfect crop. A merchant searches for the perfect sale. And a samurai searches for the perfect death. This is the way of things-"
"No!" I protested. My side burned from the hit. "Look at, erm-" forgot the name again. "Look at Sakafuck!"
"Look at who?" my master condensed his face comically.
"Who? What?" others echoed.
"Sakata!" No, wait. I had meant the other one. But Sakata would do as well. "He was not born samurai. He has no master. Yet I would follow him without invitation or obligation. And neither of us would die like dogs."
Stunned silence met my outburst. Then Hashimoto barked, "You can't be serious!" My fellow students laughed ghoulishly.
"He is the finest man I know," I murmured stubbornly. Better than you. Where were you when I needed you?
Wait, what? I felt terrible bitterness, looking at that round face, that perfect hair. When had I stopped styling my hair like a samurai? Must have been around the time I stopped feeling like one.
"You would follow the, what was it? The White Demon?" Hashimoto gave a truly unsettling chuckle. His head bounced on his neck as though it was no longer attached to it.
"Don't call him that! He does not deserve it." He did.
"He did, he did," the others sounded out the chorus.
Hashimoto indulged me, leaning his bulk on one foot. "Alright then. What makes him such a fine samurai? Is he a good soldier?"
Not by far. He disobeyed every order I gave him, even the order to run. I looked away onto the floor mats. My legs were cold and tingly, my breathing shallow. "He was always there when I needed him," I squeezed out finally. And where were you?
"Is he a fine swordsman?"
Yes and no, I thought. Sakata either had the ugliest form or the most beautiful formlessness I had ever seen. I could not explain this to my fellows, however, so I said nothing as my face burned red.
"Does he follow Bushido?" Hashimoto insisted mockingly.
"No," I answered, and felt spite well up inside me again. "He had never chosen death, not once! He is willing to die for nothing." No, wait. How had Sakata put it? He had put it better.
Hashimoto burst into cold laughter that was entirely unlike him. "Are you even listening to yourself? That boy has been ready to croak since day one!"
"He was willing to kill," I corrected automatically.
"Hah!" my master snarled triumphantly. "So is a madman, so is a mongrel. So is a murderer. This is not Bushido!"
"Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years!" the other boys mocked me. "Ten thousand years of slaughter."
I could not breathe. I felt tremendous hate for my old master at the moment, for my old school mates, and it was seething inside me, filling my throat with bile. Mercy, I was so thirsty.
"Wa-," –ter, I tried to say.
"Not just yet," somebody whispered.
Hashimoto went on derisively. "Didn't he come in, all high and mighty, and say he would get everybody out alive? Swinging his dick! Even you bought into it. You silly, stupid, cowardly boy! You think life was ever his goal?"
"No… Please, wa-"
"Yes! Everything you admire about this one is based in the lowliest instincts. Envy of his utter lack of fear, jealousy of his ability." Hashimoto made a face at me, bending lower. "You are afraid of him, aren't you?"
"I am not afraid…"
"You are terrified. As you are terrified to die."
"I am not…" Suddenly, I was on my feet, facing Hashimoto. Hot water poured down my face. I pressed my fists into his throat, jabbed him in the eyes, but I had no effect. He smirked from on high, untouchable, hardly even there. Where were you? Where were you, I thought at him. It tore out of me like a howl. "Where were you? You promised you would be there! I waited, I waited… You didn't come!"
"How do you know, Mikuni? You ran! You didn't wait for anybody. You ran."
"I, I-, I did not run."
"Ten thousand years, Mikuni! You couldn't wait for an hour!"
"I did not run!" I defended, trying to crush his skull. My hands were useless. "I did not run! I did not run! I did not leave…"
"Shush, Ca'tain."
"Water. Please." My words came out garbled. My hate hurt me. "I did not run. I did not leave them."
"Shhh. Gotta do this first."
Wait. That was Sakata's voice.
"Figures you'd wake up for the worst part. You daft, pain-loving fuck."
"Wh-?"
"Still, nice to know you're in there."
"Mrmmh."
"Here goes."
A sharp pain in my chest lit up my nervous system and pulled me awake. I had trouble opening my eyes, so for a few moments I could hear only my wheezing breath and a hissing, shushing sound. I managed to pry my lids open. They had been crusted over and welded shut. By blood, I guessed. Where was I?
Above me, I saw only black, but a tiny light was warming my face. I turned toward it. Sakata was lit up from below, making his grime-covered features seem even more sharp than usual. He was still in full combat gear, except for the white cloak which I could just see thrown over my legs. He was kneeling next to me, staring at my side.
"Wwwhh," I tried to speak.
"You'll get water in a moment," he told me.
That was not it. I wanted to know where we were. What time was it? Why was it dark? It had been around noon not a few…
The shush turned to a gurgle, and Sakata's tense face relaxed a bit. "Good. Didn't actually know what I was doing, by the way."
He withdrew a knife and a piece of reed from above my ribs, leaving the hole to burp a few more drops of blood. As I slowly began breathing more easily, I finally understood. My lung must have collapsed. He had punctured my chest to let the air out. I tried to look lower down my body but the attempt only sent red hot shrapnel of pain through my side. I could not feel my right arm at all.
"Wouldn't do that," he warned.
"Whhh, w…" I tried to speak when everything went black and Sakata suddenly disappeared from view. I panicked. "S-! Ah! Anng…" There was nothing but darkness around me once more. Don't leave me here! Did I pass out again? Where did he go?
Shaggy hair came back into view, glinting silver along its shadowy outline. Sakata scooped my head up gently and I felt something touch my lips. "Drink," he ordered. "Slowly."
I did. Gulping hurt me, but the tepid water helped me regain some of my senses. We were in a make-shift shelter. Now that the tiny fire he had built was out, I could see the canopy of the forest above us, rippling under a gentle breeze. My body went from hot to freezing cold as I thought about it.
"More?" he asked.
I tried to nod but my head was too heavy. Thankfully, he understood, patiently letting me drink. We were in the forest. We were alone. It was night time. I was wounded, I couldn't say how badly. Worse than ever before, by the feel of it. Pieces started falling into place. I finished another small mouthful of water and smacked my lips together to try speaking again, but Sakata was faster.
"You got shot in the head. It only grazed you, though. The real problem are the ribs. Fixed that up as best I could. Still," he gave me a smile. I did not buy it. "You made it this far. Thought I'd lost you there a couple of times but you're a stubborn old bastard."
I was not old! The little prick. But a more pressing question ached on my tongue. "M… mm, unit? Ba'tl?"
Sakata nodded. "The battle's over. Sasaki led the retreat with the right wing. The left had to run willy-nilly." He looked away for a second. "I don't know where the others are. By the time I found cover for us, they were gone. I'll try tracking them down in the morning."
Why didn't he stick with the unit and leave me like I fucking said he should do? Then he would know where my men were. Insubordinate hick! Instead, I asked, "Hashh, 'oto?"
"They never showed."
I felt bile raise up in my throat. At first, I thought it was my resentment but as a hot trickle of acidic dribble slid down my cheek, I realized I had vomited something. Sakata wiped me clean without a word. Strange. I hadn't retched or anything. I tried squeezing my abdominals experimentally. Pain dissuaded me quickly.
"Ah!"
"What'd you do?" Sakata asked. "Told you to stop moving, for fuck sakes."
"Mmmrh," I grunted.
"No more of that shit, are we clear?"
He was giving me orders? I swore to slap him silly for it later. Oh. That reminded me. "Khrrrr,moto?" God, I sounded retarded. I tried again. "Ku, ra, moto?"
Sakata stared at me for a while. "Dead, Cat'ain."
Yes, I remembered now. Flung into the air and pieced by some alien bitch. Then they started shooting at us. I tried raising my right hand to check my head but nothing happened. My body was too heavy to move.
Sakata sat back, careful this time to stay in my limited field of vision. With a sigh, he took off his breastplate and opened the white shirt underneath. I watched him bandage his shoulder, check a cut on his chest. In the darkness, I could not tell how bad his wounds were. He moved in the same lazy way he always did. It made it very difficult to know when he was in pain.
"Hurt, bad?" I asked.
"Nah," he waved his head. "Thing went cleanly through and through."
I had actually meant myself. "Colll."
"What?"
" ."
He nodded with sympathy. "I know but I can't build a fire. They're still looking for us."
I nodded.
"Rest, Ca'tain," he said. "Things'll be better in the morning."
I wanted to tell him morning only brought light, nothing else. Not clarity, certainly not improvement. I wanted to tell him how furious I was that he had stayed with me instead of going on with the rest of the unit. I wanted to tell him how afraid I was of falling back to sleep. But by the time I found my voice, I was asleep already.
My dreams were misshapen things, shifting sensations, pain and fever. Hashimoto appeared in them with terrible regularity, mocking me, but so did Sakata, and Kuramoto, and Katsura, and Aizawa. There was no respite with any of them. Every now and again, I would open my eyes to slowly moving scenery, but I could not be sure whether that meant I was awake or not. Vaguely, I knew I was being carried, but my mind was blurry, reality and fantasy dripping into one another like ink staining water. The ground seemed to be strewn with corpses. Their sweet smell was all over me; rotten flowers decaying on thorny vines. Maybe it was me. I could hear Sakata's laboured breathing as he made his way over uneven terrain. He slipped and stumbled, never letting go of the grip he had on my knees.
"Whhh?" I tried to ask.
"Go back to sleep, Ca'tain," he told me.
"Aanhh," I mumbled, realizing the stupidity of asking a dream whether I was dreaming.
"Shush. Go to sleep."
His voice was thick. I thought he might have been weeping but I could not see his face. I wanted him to turn.
"Saa. Kngh."
He ignored me. I was about to try again, head heavy and eyes blurry, when Sakata came alive. He slid to the side as quickly as he could and laid both of us down into a dip in the ground, sheltered from immediate view by roots and foliage. My body protested painfully.
"Nngh!"
"Shhh," he ordered. Decades of training helped me muffle my moans. Only then did I hear voices. Even if I could not understand the words, I understood the tone. They were Amanto mercenaries; scavengers, most likely, and not a hunting party, judging by how loudly they were speaking to each other. Next to me, Sakata tensed as their ugly laughter came closer to our position. I could see his muscles coil and extend, feeding the resolve in his burgundy gaze. If they found us now, he would fight them. He was in no shape to fight. I summoned the last of my will, and murmured, "Go." It came out audibly only on the second try.
Sakata's eyes snapped onto me. Their edges were red and raw, I noticed. I gave him a crooked smile. "Go." Get out of here, leave me, just go.
The voices were trailing off, thank the merciful heavens. Sakata did not relax.
"Wait here," he breathed through clenched teeth.
What else was I going to do, I wanted to say, but he gave me no time for cheek, disappearing over the ridge. No! No, wait, goddamn it! I wanted to scream after him, but even in my delirium I was not stupid enough to attract attention to us like that. I lay there for what seemed like ages, heart pounding against every broken bone in my body, stupidly wondering which was it going to be: would he return and continue dragging me through the woods until I finally died on his back, or would he not return, and I would die here alone. I could not tell which was more terrible.
It would still not be a dog's death, I told to myself, holding on to this thought as though it was the golden thread keeping my reality together. A dog's death, I realized, was death in service of a master who did not care. Who did not even show up. Why hadn't he shown up? I had bought an hour! I had bought more than that. That was supposed to be all I had to do. Where was he, my old master? Why hadn't he showed up?
I heard screams from the distance but could not quite keep awake. Sakata, you moron. You stupid, stupid boy. Slaughter them for me.
Rotten flowers sucked me in. The ink spread over water and I was surrounded by blackness once more.
XXXX
There was a fire crackling next to me, bouncing off the uneven earthy walls of a cavern. A hailstorm was raging outside. Ice pounded the canopy while the wind bent it ferociously this way and that. I could not feel my limbs at all, and for a while I merely lay there, staring at the brown-black-and-red ceiling, surprised to still be alive. Then I noticed that my head was clearer, my mouth less filled with cotton and razors. I tried turning my gaze towards the fire and found I could do so with almost no pain.
Sakata was sitting there, dressed in fresh clothes. Amanto clothes. His sword was next to his thigh, as was a bag, several metal canisters, and an assortment of different tubes and pills. He was concentrated on mashing something up between two pieces of flat rock. I noticed that I too had been dressed in layers of ill-fitting garments. My chest was bandaged rather tightly, and my right arm was immobilized and tied to it.
He looked at me at the same moment as I tried to think of what to ask first.
"Birch bark," he explained. "Should help with the pain. Although that alien stuff probably already worked its magic. You look better. Do you think we can eat these?" He nodded to the side where I saw a pile of mushrooms.
"You gave me. Amanto medicine?" It took me two breaths to say it, but it came out rather clearly.
"Scavengers always carry first aid kits," he shrugged, as though that explained everything. "Got some other supplies as well. No, but honestly, Ca'tain, you think we can eat these?"
I squinted at the mushroom he was holding between two fingers. It looked white, regular and entirely too innocent. "You can eat all mushrooms. It's just that some, you can eat only once."
Sakata gave me a terse look then reached his hand over and rested it against my forehead. "Fever's down."
"Where are we?" I asked.
He looked as though he did not want to answer but then thought the better of it. "Two days' crawl southwest from the battlefield. We're turning north tomorrow. Rendezvous point in another day, day and a half. You know, I think it's fine to boil these."
He dumped his mushrooms into a steaming canister and pushed it closer to the fire. We both stared at it meditatively. I relished in my new-found clarity only for another few moments before my pieced memory of the last two days started coming together.
"Did you find the rest of the unit?" I asked eventually. Honestly, I knew the answer but I wanted to see if he would lie to me.
He did not. "Yes."
Yes. And we were not with them. There could only be one reason why we would not be with them now. I nodded. "And the right wing? Sasaki's half?" My voice came out surprisingly evenly.
Sakata gulped. "Them too."
I felt tears tickle my cheeks. I wanted to wipe them away. My immobilized right arm made no response. The left one twitched lazily, reminding me of the line of broken ribs connected to it. I tried to stop myself but the treacherous water itched on my skin nevertheless, feeding my frustration. I recalled Katsura's devastated face on that bloody battleground months ago, when it had been only him and Sakata left among thousands. I had thought then that he was living my nightmare. I had no idea what a nightmare it really was. At least my broken body better echoed my broken soul.
Sakata politely ignored me, grinding the birch bark resolutely. Once again, he looked older than I was, even with that smooth face. Now cleaned of dirt, I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the tense bumps of his clenched jaw. Did he resent himself as I did? Did he resent me?
That field of bodies he had to carry me through? I knew now that it had not been a dream at all. The same way I knew he had not attacked those mercenary scavengers for the canisters and the medicine. My gaze was seduced to the lacquered elegance of Sakata's blade, leaned on the cave wall opposite me. At least he could still wield it. At least he was not this powerless, useless lump of mangled meat.
"The purpose…" I gulped away the doubt blocking my throat. "The purpose of a warrior is simply to grasp his sword and die[2]."
"Who told you that bullshit?" he asked after a moment, not looking up at me.
"Hashimoto," I bit the word out as though it were a curse.
"Never liked that dude."
"He wasn't wrong," I chuckled darkly. I collected my runaway breath and pronounced as clearly as I could, "Give me that sword, Sakata."
"No, Ca'tain," he said easily and tipped his birch shavings into another canister of boiling water.
He denied me the way he would have denied sweets to a child. My terrible sadness morphed into terrible anger within the space of a single heartbeat. At least the anger was warmer; it anesthetized my pain better than the alien drugs Sakata had fed me, the medicine that would not help me. I gathered all of my strength into a growl. "You think I am afraid to die? Not anymore. Give it to me and walk away. You don't have to watch."
Sakata frowned. "Your fever's back?"
"No, it's not the god damned fever!" I shouted and felt my shattered ribs close around my heart. Maybe it was not my ribs. "I'm not you, Sakata. I don't believe I'm immortal and all powerful! I don't know how to make others believe I am either. And I am not always ready to die. I am now. Give me that fucking sword!"
Sakata was stricken enough to look me in the eyes. For a long moment, the only thing between us was the fire and the sound of the storm outside. His mouth was a mere cut in his face; the sheen in his eyes, glacial. Both of us were preternaturally still, as though we were about to duel. Then my spiteful courage broke in me and I looked away, ashamed. I had no right to ask him that. Not when he had carried me on his back for days. Not when he had bound my wounds, no matter how pointless. My shame hurt me more than my sadness had.
I felt ill. My voice was weak and pleading. "Why didn't you leave me when I told you to? Twice? I was ready, Sakata. I was ready."
He continued staring at me. The side of my face burned under his gaze. Then I heard him sigh. "You think I could have gotten this far if I wasn't dragging your arse around? I had to… save something from that bloodbath."
We fell silent again, listening to the storm outside. Trees ripped in the howling wind. I sympathized. As time dripped by violently, I began finding pieces of my heart. Tears lined my eyes again. I gave it up and let them flow. Commanding officers were not supposed to show weakness before their subordinates. It was shameful and it screwed up troop morale. But I was not ashamed to cry in front of Sakata. God knew I had never really commanded him, and as for the morale of our mighty troop of one and a half… it was about as screwed up as it could get.
Eventually, Sakata fetched the mushroom canister from the fire. Two twigs served as improvised chopsticks while he fished the food out. The grey water dripping from the shrivelled fungi looked singularly unappetizing. Sakata laid them out on a piece of cloth. He blew on one of the grey things and pushed it into my face with a disgustingly maternal expression. "Open wide."
I screwed my face up suspiciously and let a fragile smile fight its way onto my mouth. "You'd give it to me first? You arse."
"Age before beauty," he chuckled.
"No, no, no," I said gallantly. "You need it more than I do. Carrying me around like that."
"Oh, I insist, sir," he attempted to out-gallant me. "Honour me!" Sakata made a show of bowing his head rigidly, mushroom held aloft. For all intents and purposes, he might have been offering me a ceremonial cup of tea.
Unwisely, I laughed. The pain shot through my limbs, and caused a fit of coughing. This was even worse. Each squeeze of my chest muscles felt as though I would rip along the seams. Warmth spread over my side as the cut in my side drooled blood. Sakata dropped the mushroom immediately and came over to wipe spit, bile and, I assumed, blood from my chin. There was little else he could do. It was a good few minutes before the fit stopped; another few before I could breathe normally again.
"Don't argue with me," I told him weakly. "Or I'll do that again."
He chuckled without feeling, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "pain-loving fuck".
"Give me that mushroom," I sighed finally. Sakata obeyed, and I chewed listlessly. I was so far from hunger that the thought of food only nauseated me but there was no point in pretending it did not make sense for me to try the thing first. Then I saw him flip another mushroom into his mouth.
"What are you doing? Spit that out! Give me at least a few moments to-"
"Nah," he cut me off stubbornly. "They're fine."
Ready to croak from day one, I heard Hashimoto's voice ring out again. The thought coiled in the back of my head like a headache. Actually, I did have a headache – no amount of alien drugs could do much for a bullet wound to the skull. Neither could they do very much about the creeping realization of how my ribs poked into my abdomen like stakes; how my right hand would not move because there was nothing left there to move it. I didn't want to think about it, though. Sakata pushed another mushroom into my mouth wordlessly. He used a spare rag – piece of my old clothes, I realized – to pluck the other metal canister from the fire. I watched him pour some of his birch tea into the canister top and blow over its surface. "Gotta learn all kinds of skills, growing up in the streets," he commented, clocking my gaze.
"This includes herbal remedies?" I asked. "And field surgery?"
Sakata merely snorted. "Here, take a sip." He inclined my head and waited while I slurped obediently. The liquid was bitter. I desperately kept myself from gagging.
I watched him withdraw back into his seat while something clicked in my head. A corner piece of the puzzle which, for the first time since I had met this man, started to give me an idea about his shape. "You are an orphan, right?"
"Ten points, Ca'tain." He smirked in that irksome, secretive way, and said nothing more. I couldn't even tell whether my questions bothered him
By the time we finished our meal, and Sakata forced more bitter tea down my throat, the storm had passed, leaving behind a deep blue peppered with silver stars, just beyond the mouth of the cave. Spent, exhausted, deflated, I stared at that patch of night until I drifted to sleep. I did not dream.
This took longer than I had planned. Much longer. I have trouble finishing stories, you may have noticed, and my rather hectic schedule over the last few months did not help with that. Once upon a time, I had a very clear idea about how it was all supposed to end, but those ideas have been constantly evolving without my consent.
I am back on track now - I hope - so please stick with me for another chapter, and that will be that. I promise. In the meanwhile, reviews and comments are appreciated!
[1]Yamamoto Tsunetomo (1659-1719) wrote in his Hagakure, "Bushido is realized in the presence of death. This means choosing death whenever there is a choice between life and death. There is no other reasoning." Hashimoto paraphrases it in Mikuni's memory.
[2] "The purpose of a warrior is to grasp his sword and die," was originally a quote from another samurai philosopher, Katou Kiyomasa.