Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
86: Kanji
~*~
Whenever
she thought about his name, Kaoru couldn't help but feel a deep sense of
romanticism in Kenshin. It was aptly chosen, so perfectly selected out of all
the possible names a child could have, for the legend he was to grow up into.
Heart of Sword.
She never doubted that it was
his name; she asked, and he answered. She trusted him to be honest as she had
always been with him, though he had his secrets and his protective lies. For
what was a name? It should have been a thing of pride, for him. Glory, if he
was a different sort of man.
She liked to write it out
sometimes, the elegant traditional characters of his name, over and over when
she was certain he wasn't watching her. Four simple characters, scattered
across a sheet of rice paper, the smooth brush strokes creating a picture of
the man she had come to care for. To love.
Hi. Mura. Ken. Shin.
Hi. She wrote it with
care, the jagged lines a simple imitation of his brilliant, beautifully unruly
hair, and the straightforward nature of his stranger, darker personality.
Anger.
Mura. A wanderer,
coming to her city, her town, entering her life with all his troubles and a
cross-shaped scar, just as the ideogram indicated. A cross, a judgment others
made of him when they noticed his marred cheek.
Ken. A sword, like the
forbidden sword at his waist, like the sword of his anger, his justice,
striking down men who were cruel or greedy, foolish or ambitious, those who
threatened anyone who needed his protection. Like his heart, truly. A sword,
and beside it, a home, like the great shelter he was to those who were near
him.
Shin. His heart, her
heart, mingling together, forever apart. Constantly seeking each other within
the center of the image, drawing closer together each time she repeated the
strokes, never touching; the tiny lines like falling teardrops.
She thought for a long time
about his name, how it blended into so many words, so many things in the
world, but she could focus only on the final kanji. Shin. Heart. How
could it be so open, so full, yet closed and empty as well?
She wanted his heart for her
own.
Sometimes
she played with her own name, blending it into his own, wondering how they
would look together if - when - they became a family. The possibilities were
difficult to consider; who's name would become the other's?
Himura Kaoru?
Kamiya Kenshin?
She watched her hand as it
wrote her own name, how the strokes came so automatically, with the practiced
ease that Kenshin seemed to lack. His name was beautiful, and she hoped
someday to help him write it perfectly, elegantly as she could. It was one of
her few feminine skills; the ability to wield a brush just as she wielded the
sword, to make it dance page upon page without a flaw in the writing. It
made her smile, both in pride at her own abilities, and in amusement at
Kenshin's odd deficiency.
She admired her father's
name, her family name, and there was great pride in that as well. Kamiya.
Kami - the gods, the presumption of the gods in her name - Ya,
also creating the image of a protective home, rising above those inside to
shelter and warm them. She had always felt that her own name looked like a
beautifully dressed dancer, crowned in jewels, presenting her talent with her
head held high before all who watched.
Such a complex kanji for a seemingly
simple person.
As much as
she loved her name, she gave it up for the love of her husband, although he
never asked it of her. He offered to take her name - a surprise to her, though
it really should not have been, considering his usual selflessness
- but she wouldn't allow that.
She had made a decision some
time ago, writing down names and titles in a disorganized scribble of words
and pictures, that as much as she wanted to carry on her own name - with her
pride and her love - she wanted even more to recreate the legend that was
imbedded into her lover's name. She wanted to change all that was associated
with the name Himura, from the legends of the manslayer to a penniless
freeloader who attracted trouble, and form a new man, a new reputation. She
wanted people to know Himura Kenshin, family man, husband - even
father, eventually. She could not just sweep the existence of his name under
the carpet and let him start anew with her name. Change was a gradual thing,
and from her experiences with him she knew that forgiveness was not granted in
an instant.
And so she became Himura
Kaoru. And she continued to draw, forming the words together on letters, dojo
certificates and contracts, anything she possibly could. She took his name and
made it her own. Part of him was hers.
His name, his heart.
When she
discovered that she was going to have a child - part of him, her own,
she couldn't help but think once again, with a thrill running through her -
Kaoru immediately wanted to be sure that Kenshin knew the baby was his. Not
simply as a father, for there was no doubt at all in that; she was who she
was, and just as he could not fathom to be unfaithful, neither could she. But
she wanted her child to be his in the eyes of the world the moment she
introduced him.
So, back to the drawing board
she went, ink and brushes in tow.
She doodled and she sketched,
imagining what the child might look like; his features, how his smile would
light up his face and his eyes would sparkle at every wonder of the world. She
created names for girls, names for boys - somewhat reluctantly, for she wasn't
sure about having a boy, really - names that involved the kanji she had grown
to know so well since her initial meeting with the soft-spoken man she
married. Over and over she drew each picture, each word, and gazed at them,
focusing on the flow of each syllable with the name she had chosen for
herself.
She asked Kenshin a few times, but he always smiled - the smile that
lit up his face, like the child she imagined having - and shrugged, stating
that it was up to her, that it truly didn't matter to him what the child's
name was. He would love his child, regardless. She knew that.
It was impossible to decide.
The image was there - both in name and feature - but she didn't know
what the child would look like. The name had to fit the face, of course. It
was part of who they were. Impossible. Kenshin just kept on smiling.
And finally, when a child was
handed to her, barely discernible through all the blankets and that silly mop
of hair, with scrunching eyes and a bawling voice, she was able to smile, to
take her husband's hand, and to give her son a name.
The name never looked so
beautiful on paper as it then appeared in her mind.
~*~
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