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In Search of Family: Chapter 4

by Conspirator

Oibore awoke the next morning to the tantalizing smell of food and the unsettling feeling that someone was hovering just outside the entrance to his small lean-to. Considering the number of unsavory characters that tended to congregate in places like Rakuninmura, he decided to be cautious, so he very carefully took a peek outside. What he saw couldn’t have surprised him more than if he had found himself in the emperor’s own palace—it was a small plate of cooked fish and rice, with Hiro guarding it against a circle of jealous men.

"Good thing you’re up, old man," Hiro growled, "’cause I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve held off this riff-raff!"

Oibore quickly held aside the cloth covering his lean-to to let Hiro in. "And stay out!" Hiro yelled over his shoulder as he quickly pushed the plate and himself inside.

"We figured you was hungry when you got back last night," he said as he had settled himself into what little space he could find. "I could tell you had a rough day yesterday, so me and Fat Boy saved you a little something."

Oibore had a sneaking suspicion that this probably had not been Fat Boy’s idea, but still he thanked Hiro profusely. Then, as was customary in the land of the destitute, he immediately offered half the food to his friend. He knew, of course, that Hiro was probably dying to know what had happened yesterday to put Oibore into such a sad mood—for inhabitants of places like Rakuninmura, tales of anyone’s daily exploits were valuable commodities to be savored. ‘What have I got to lose?’ he thought to himself, so he looked up at his new friend and said, "Hiro, I didn’t come to Kyoto just for a change of scenery, you know."

"Hah—I knew that," Hiro guffawed. "No one in his right mind would come to Kyoto nowadays just for that!"

Oibore chuckled, then turned serious again. He decided he’d tell some of his story, but he still wasn’t comfortable telling it all.

"Back in Edo, I had a family once," he began. "My wife died many years ago, but I had a daughter, a son…. Then four years ago, my daughter disappeared, and my son left to look for her. My family was gone, just like that. I remember you telling us how you lost your family, so you know what I went through. But just a few weeks ago, I found out my daughter died in Kyoto and that she was buried here. Yesterday, I found her grave. I feel like I’m not so alone anymore."

Hiro’s face was unreadable, but his eyes flickered briefly with his own grief as he nodded his head in response.

"But enough of this sad stuff," Oibore said, smiling despite a hint of tears in his eyes. "You know what else happened? I’ve found my first student—the young son of a greengrocer!"

"Hmpf," Hiro replied. "Guess that means you’ll be leaving this dump."

Before Oibore could answer, Fat Boy poked his head in. Blunt as usual, he barked, "You still want Battousai stories? Got any food left?"

"Battousai stories?" Oibore repeated. Oh, yes, he had mentioned something the other day about writing up a book of legends, hadn’t he. After reading Tomoe’s diary, though, the thought of writing tall tales about this man seemed a bit disrespectful. On the other hand, what better way to find people who may have information about him or his whereabouts? So, as he handed his friend what little food was left over, he said, "What have you got for me?"

In response, Fat Boy motioned outside, then led Oibore and Hiro down towards a small cooking fire. "Him," said Fat Boy, pointing to a one-handed man. "Name’s Ichiro. Says he fought alongside the Battousai."

Ichiro appeared to be in his ‘30s, with the constantly shifting eyes and tense reflexes of a soldier, though he didn’t appear to be a samurai. From the look of his wound, the loss of his hand had been fairly recent. Fat Boy kicked him and said, "This here’s the guy interested in you."

Anger glinted in Ichiro’s otherwise dull eyes.

"Maa, maa," Oibore said as he bowed. He hoped his courtesy would calm the man’s anger. "Please forgive my companion. I’m just an old man who’s got the silly notion to write a book of legends about the Battousai. Anything you’d care to share with me? What he looks like, things he said or did….?"

Ichiro stiffly bowed back, his anger dissipating somewhat. "Yeah, I fought with the Ishin Shishi at Toba Fushimi," he said slowly. "I was right there with the Battousai. Kind of a short, scrawny-looking guy, real young, too, with that red hair everyone talks about. Always wore this sort of girly blue scarf around his neck."

‘The blue scarf Tomoe always wore!’ Oibore thought excitedly, although his face remained impassive.

"And before every battle he’d touch that X scar on his cheek and say some kind of incantation, something like ‘Tomomomo’ or something."

‘Tomoe’s name!’ Oibore guessed even more excitedly.

"We all figured that incantation was how he got that godlike speed he had—I swear he could move faster than the blink of an eye. We all tried that incantation, just for good luck." Waving his stump, he muttered, "Didn’t do me much good, did it."

This was a proud man come upon hard times, Oibore sensed. He decided he’d bring the man some token of appreciation later, when it wouldn’t embarrass him.

"War is a difficult thing that always leaves misery in its wake," Oibore finally said to the unfortunate soldier. "Still, you have helped to bring a new era to Japan, a most honorable undertaking. I will be sure to treat your story with the honor it deserves when I write this book."

Ichiro’s dull eyes showed flickers of pride. He bowed. "Thank you," he said simply.

Oibore could hardly contain his excitement at the new information. It appeared that this Himura fellow really did love his Tomoe. It stiffened his resolve to find the swordsman, whatever it took. To his friends, however, he remained as calm and smiling as ever.

"Well," he said to Hiro and Fat Boy as they walked back to his lean-to, "I now know that the Battousai was not only short and scrawny, but according to the greengrocer I met, he was also seven feet tall with arms like trees. This should be an interesting book to write!"

It was now getting towards mid-morning, so Oibore set off to find the greengrocer who had promised him the teaching job. This time he knew to avoid the refugee area, with its unruly gangs of children, so he managed to arrive at the marketplace without incident. He worried briefly that the greengrocer might have forgotten who he was, but he needn’t have worried. No sooner was he within about twenty feet of the shop than he heard, "Oi! Oibore-sensei! Good to see ‘ya!" The next thing he knew, Ko the Greengrocer had a big arm around the old man’s shoulders to steer him into the store.

"Ko-san, once again you honor me," the flustered Oibore managed to say. He hadn’t expected such familiarity just yet; after all, the two had barely met only a few days ago. "I’ve come to make arrangements to teach your son…."

"Of course, of course!" the grocer said. "I’m just so enthusiastic about finding a teacher for my eldest son. That’s him over there. His name’s Ryoma—named him after the great statesman, you know, so he’ll become a great man."

Oibore glanced over in the direction the grocer pointed to and saw a 9-year-old boy practically asleep on his feet. Ko noted a somewhat quizzical look on Oibore’s face.

"Hey, Ryoma, wake up, here’s your new sensei!" he shouted as he grabbed his son to shake him. Turning to Oibore, he added, "Don’t worry about him. He’s a night owl. He’ll be a lot more attentive after lunch."

The two men discussed what needed to be taught, how much Oibore would be paid, and what time of day the lessons would take place. "I think after lunch, don’t you?" Ko said.

This suited Oibore just fine, for he hoped to start every day by visiting Tomoe’s grave at the monastery—that’s what was most important to him. He knew he wouldn’t make much money teaching his one student, but it would be enough to buy some food and perhaps rent a small room at a rooming house. Already he felt happier than he had in a very long time.

And so Oibore started his new life in Kyoto. After rising and sharing a small meal with Hiro and Fat Boy, he would make his way to the monastery to be at Tomoe’s side. He and the monk Toshiro soon became good friends. Toshiro was the only person in Kyoto who knew Oibore’s real name, and he insisted on calling Oibore Yukishiro-san, then eventually Takuo. After having used the name Oibore for the last four years, it sounded rather strange to hear his true name, but coming from this gentle monk, it sounded rather nice. It didn’t take long before the two made a habit of ending his visits with a short tea ceremony.

After the morning visit, Oibore would then go to Ko’s shop to teach little Ryoma, who turned out to be more interested in raising a ruckus than raising his intellect. He soon found himself brushing off his old samurai physical fitness training as a way to harness the boy’s abundant energy, with the result that he himself began to feel much more energetic. There were days, however, when he thought perhaps he should try teaching the little demon in the morning, when the boy was still half-asleep!

Ko, being the outgoing merchant that he was, bragged so much about his son’s teacher that he found two other students for Oibore. And it was Ko who also found nearly a dozen men with Battousai stories to tell. Most stories were truly unbelievable—that the Battousai could draw lightening from the sky with his katana; that he was really a demon from the underworld, with eyes of fire instead of human eyes—but some stories held kernels of truth. Within a year, Oibore had enough to write a slim volume of legends. It was Ko, of course, who knew someone who knew someone who could print the book and sell it. Soon Oibore was actually making a little money, but he was still no closer to learning the whereabouts of his son-in-law, Himura Kenshin.

It was during his second spring in Kyoto that his luck changed. It had been a beautiful morning, and he had found some early spring flowers to place on Tomoe’s grave. As was his custom, when he was done sitting by the grave he went up to the monastery to have tea with Toshiro. Today, however, Toshiro was not his usual calm self. He practically ran to get the tea tray and seemed absolutely fidgety while drinking his tea. What should have been a calming ceremony turned Oibore into a nervous wreck.

"Toshiro, take it easy!" Oibore finally said. "Whatever has gotten into you today?"

Toshiro insisted on completing the entire tea ceremony, then practically burst out, "Takuo, I have the most wonderful news! A brother monk has met your son-in-law!"

"What? Where—-when?"

"You know how the new government is closing monasteries out in the countryside," Toshiro said. "Well, many of the monks have been writing here to tell us where they are going so we won’t lose touch with each other. There is a young monk named Haishidiya. Shortly before he and his brothers were to leave their monastery, he came upon a red-haired samurai with what appeared to be a serious self-inflicted wound. He took the man in, nursed him until he could travel, then took him to his old home in Aizu."

"Aizu?" Oibore repeated. "But that was one of the most pro-Shogun provinces in the country! If this was truly Himura Kenshin, Aizu would have been the most dangerous place he could be!"

"Precisely," replied Toshiro, "except that Haishidiya-san didn’t realize until after they had arrived in Aizu that the man he had saved was the Hitokiri Battousai. You can read the whole letter later, if you wish, but I can tell you that Haishidiya-san said this was a man searching desperately for peace within his soul, for a way to atone for all the lives he had taken during the Bakumatsu. It seems, however, that no matter where he went, his reputation as a hitokiri would precede him. In fact, there was an incident while he was in Aizu—he was attacked by former Bakufu samurai."

Oibore was almost afraid to ask, but he said, "Is he still there with your friend?"

"No," replied Toshiro. "Apparently he felt he would put Haishidiya-san in danger if he stayed, so once he recovered from the attack, he left. "

"Aizu isn’t far, even for an old man like me," Oibore mused. "Do you think Haishidiya-san would allow me to visit?"

Toshiro nodded enthusiastically, then wrote a letter of introduction for him.

Oibore couldn’t believe his luck—he would actually be able to talk to someone who had met and gotten to know his elusive son-in-law. As soon as he finished teaching young Ryoma that afternoon, he went to talk to Ko about taking some time away. But how to explain his trip? No one but Toshiro knew why Oibore had such a profound interest in the Hitokiri Battousai, and considering Ko’s congenitally loose lips, Oibore wasn’t about to tell Ko! Then he remembered that one of Ko’s produce suppliers came from Aizu; perhaps he could wrangle a trip there and back with the supplier as a buyer for Ko. Ko thought it was a great idea, gave him a list of specific vegetables to look for, and sent him on his way just three days later.

The trip to Aizu only took a day and a half, then another half-day to find the home of Haishidiya. Finally, Oibore found the small house and knocked at the gate. A young man in his early ‘20s answered.

"I am looking for the monk Haishidiya," Oibore said rather nervously. "My name is Yukishiro Takuo, a friend of the monk Toshiro, of Kyoto."

The young man registered some surprise but welcomed the old man in. "I am Haishidiya," the young man answered, his voice showing concern. "Is Toshiro-sama ill? Has the government closed his monastery as well?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that!" Oibore quickly replied. "I am just a friend of his. He gave me this letter to give to you."

Haishidiya led Oibore in to the main room of the house. As water boiled for tea, they sat quietly while the young man read the letter, which explained why Oibore had come and briefly outlined the story of Tomoe and Kenshin. When he had finished reading, he quickly made some tea and poured a cup for himself and his guest.

Oibore broke the silence. "Haishidiya-san, my daughter meant the world to me. When I visited her grave in Kyoto the first time, it was as if she were talking to me. She wanted me to find the man who gave her happiness—Himura Kenshin. As far as anyone in Kyoto knows, Himura-san has disappeared from the face of the earth. But you have seen him, you have talked to him, you have been with him. Please, tell me what my son-in-law is like."

Haishidiya sipped pensively for several minutes, collecting his thoughts. Then he looked up at his guest and said, "The war has claimed many victims, Yukishiro-san, but not all of them are dead. Himura-san is as much a victim of the war as those who were killed. At heart he is a kind, gentle, and peace-loving man, but within him also resides the cold-blooded killer he was forced to become during the war. His soul has been in torment as his true nature tries to cope with the many deaths he caused."

"Is that why he tried to end his life?" Oibore asked.

"He never really spoke about it," Haishidiya responded, "but yes, I believe it was a deep despair that caused him to try to take his life. After he recovered from his wound, he asked me to teach him the ways of meditation and Buddhism, and I think that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he truly found some peace. At least, he found peace until he was attacked. I’m sorry to say that his reputation as the most feared swordsman in Japan preceded him, and it’s awfully hard to travel incognito when you have red hair! It’s a situation I’m afraid he will face no matter where he goes. Still, he has come to realize that there is no atonement in death, but only in having the courage to live a good and just life."

"Did he ever say anything about his time with my daughter in Otsu?" Oibore asked.

The young monk thought a moment, then replied, "He was a very private man—he kept everything very much to himself. Not long before he was attacked, however, I remember him saying he had not felt such calm and peace since living in Otsu. I didn’t know at the time what he meant by that, but it clearly held a great deal of importance for him."

Haishidiya then got up to fetch something from a small cabinet—a woman’s decorative hairpin. Oibore let out a small gasp when he saw it. "That was Tomoe’s," he whispered as he carefully took it in his hands.

"While Himura-san was here, we often talked about the importance of enjoying life today and not dwelling on the bloody past," Haishidiya said. "Perhaps that’s why he left this here. He was not one to forget anything, so I assumed he left it here on purpose." He held the pin out to Oibore, who took it and pinned it to the trim of his gi.

"Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart," Oibore said. Then, after chatting briefly about Toshiro and Kyoto, he left to meet up again with the merchants for the trip home.

Time once again moved on with nary a word of Kenshin’s whereabouts except from Fat Boy, who had decided to wander again and came back with news that Kenshin had lived briefly in Hokkaido. Hokkaido being about as far away from Kyoto as one could get in Japan, Oibore figured there was probably no chance in the world that he would ever get to meet his son-in-law. Nevertheless, he found himself leading a fairly contented life. He continued his daily trips to the monastery, though sometimes, he had to admit, it was more to have tea with Toshiro than to visit Tomoe’s grave. As Ryoma outgrew his need for a teacher, Oibore began teaching the boy’s younger brother as well as the siblings of his other students. His book of legends continued to be popular, so he had a bit of extra income, which he used to bring at least one good meal a week to share with the inhabitants of Rakuninmura. As for his friends Hiro and Fat Boy, they both saw how Oibore managed to survive in the world and decided they, too, should try. Fat Boy decided to give up wandering and settled in Kyoto to work as a laborer. Hiro ended up working at a shop not far from Ko’s and rented a room in the same rooming house as Oibore. If life gave him nothing more than this small circle of good friends, Oibore figured, he would be content.

But life has a way of surprising people, even late in life. It was eight years later, in mid-May of 1878, when Ko came running over to Oibore’s rooming house, practically knocking down the door to his room as he banged on it.

"Oibore," Ko practically exploded as the surprised old man opened the door, "I have just heard the most unbelievable news! The Hitokiri Battousai is alive and well and living in Tokyo!"

"What?"

"My brother-in-law—he lives in Tokyo," Ko rattled on excitedly. "We just got a letter, and he’s got some great Battousai tales for you to add to your book! Seems this short, red-headed swordsman with an X on his cheek took on the sword-wielding police in Tokyo because they were terrorizing the locals, and he got them to back down! And then he helped the Tokyo police capture some big drug lord! It was him—he’s positive—and he’s been there for at least three months!"

Oibore couldn’t believe his ears. "He’s still there? He’s living there now?"

"Yes, yes!" Ko could hardly contain his excitement. "He’s living at some dojo!"

Oibore knew it was time to tell his now long-time friend the truth of his identity, for he knew this was the only way he would be able to explain his need to leave immediately for Tokyo.

"Ko-san, we’ve known each other now for 10 years, and not once have you ever asked what my true name is," Oibore began. "Do you remember in my book of legends, there is a story about the incantation the Battousai supposedly uttered before entering battle? Something like ‘Tomomomo?’ What he was really saying was the name Tomoe, the name of his wife, Yukishiro Tomoe. I am Tomoe’s father—Yukishiro Takuo."

Ko’s mouth dropped so low Oibore could have scraped it off the floor.

"My daughter was killed accidently during the Bakumatsu. I learned just before I moved to Kyoto that she was buried at the monastery I visit every day, and that they had her diary. That’s why I came to Kyoto 10 years ago. I have read her diary—it is the saddest tale. When I arrived in Kyoto, the Hitokiri Battousai had only recently been fighting here, and I didn’t know if people knew of my daughter’s association with him. I had called myself Oibore for years in Edo, so I just kept up the habit here, and…. I’m sorry I never told you before."

"Well! I’ll be!" For once, Ko was speechless. Then he clasped his friend about the shoulders and said, "You ought to go to Tokyo, then, and I know just how you’ll do it, too!"

The next thing Oibore knew, he was being dragged bodily by Ko to the home of the owner of a fabric shop not far from Ko’s grocery store. It didn’t take Ko long to convince the man that he needed Oibore to accompany a small caravan of silk dealers to Tokyo to make sure they didn’t shortchange his order. The shopkeeper even added an extra job of having Oibore buy some of the latest merchandise to bring back to Kyoto. "And I’m not going to tell him why you’re really going," added Ko as they left. "I figure it took you 10 years to tell me, so maybe I should wait 10 years to tell everyone else!" A very surprised Oibore heaved a very large sigh of relief at that news.

It took nearly two weeks to make all the arrangements, but finally, by the end of May, Oibore was on the Tokaido Road with the silk dealers. He couldn’t believe it—in a week or so, he would finally get to meet the man who had given his daughter her happiness—Himura Kenshin.