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Hanami: Chapter 2 - Ghosts

by Heartsea ::: 11.Oct.2004

"Takani-sensei!"

A boy’s voice, lined warmly with masculinity, like rough, ragged linen, came drifting through the air, jolting me out of the heaviness weighing my bent head.

What is he doing here?

Brushing away my tears hurriedly with wrinkled fingers, I unpin my bun and with one quick sweep, gather my hair up again. Standing up and promptly ignoring the sharp ache in my knees from having kneeled for too long, I shuffle to the shoji and slide it open, making my way through the corridor to the main room in front.

My eyes are blurred with tiredness, tears, the heat. Standing outside with neck craned into the office, I see him.

Himura...

For a moment the sunlit, ephemeral figure overwhelms my senses, rapidly drowning me in a battle that rips sharply through me. No, it can’t be him. Yes, it is.

Yes, it is. Yes, it is.

Yes. It must be him, finally.

Ken-nii.

I wonder if I am dreaming, I wonder if it’s a ghost. Himura Kenshin’s ghost, who will smile, heal our hearts, bid his last final goodbye to us. I willed with all my heart the spectre to be him, visiting on this beautiful afternoon.

"Ken-nii?" I murmur. Wanting my voice to be loud. Wanting that dull red hair to set fire. Wanting to go closer, behind the golden thread of the sharp afternoon rays that concealed him, to find him.

Take me.

"I want to go... with you..."

He promptly whips around, surprise flaring briefly in his eyes as I stumble in his direction.

No, no, no.

...Kenji.

I stop in my steps, the last remaining strength in me draining away in a violent tide, disappointment and realization taking its place by dawning on me painfully, mocking me. I must be going insane.

I stand there for a few minutes, which seems achingly slow. He dips his head into a curt nod in greeting, a warm, earnest smile arched on his face.

The comfort that the smile brought broke my anguish, right there and then.

I was wrong.

Kenshin was here, save for a goodbye. Later, perhaps later.

He had sent his son.

"Aa. Koniichiwa, Ayame-neesan. I came to find Takani-sensei— Were you expecting someone?"

"What? No... no, I wasn’t."

A sullen child, crying for his mother. Scratching our arms, flailing wildly.

Stepping out from darkened, cool corridor, I see his figure in full, the glaring sunlight no longer a shimmering sheet blocking him from view.

He was tall for his sixteen years of age, and was still growing day by day. One arm rested on the shoji frame of Megumi-san’s office, another held to his side in a kenkaku’s casual yet ready poise. The worn handle of the reverse-edged blade down his back was visible over his right shoulder. Lean and confident was Himura Kenji, the proud air he had always carried about him ever discernible, like a tree young in its years, unafraid of weather. His pride, once stubborn and detrimental, was now calm, soft, laced with great strength. I could see it in the way he held the hand of – what was her name again?

Yes.

Chizuru-san.

The girl he had brought back from Kyoto, the girl that came with this change, like golden-grey rays breaking through clouds after thunder. A wide-eyed girl with the large ribbon in her hair that betrayed the tough, determined demeanour radiating restlessly from her, a student of the sword herself.

We were proud of Kenji. The journey from being embittered to opening his heart and being forgiving was daunting, but he had made it, an accomplishment too similar in essence to that of his father’s – smaller in scale, yet no less of importance.

He was a Hitokiri...

He had found truth, embraced it. His mother had been able go in peace to the side of her beloved, her son redeemed.

Kenji...

His sweat-beaded forehead slowly creases into a frown, and he squints curiously at me. I realize I have been too silent. Not wanting him to worry, I open my mouth to speak, only to be broken off by him voicing his concerns.

"Ayame-neesan, is anything the matter?"

He’s good. I smile feebly, and it succeeds in dissolving his frown. "No, no. That is a question I should be asking you. Why are you here?"

He looks away, and it is my turn to frown.

"Megumi-san is out. I thought we agreed to meet at the dojo this evening, for—"

The dull pain descends on my heart at once, and I find myself unable to continue. Kenji does not notice the abrupt end of my sentence, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, a motion which bears uncanny resemblance to that of his father’s. Kenji’s every movement was a pain to watch. The swish of his ponytail, his footfalls. The way he scratched his head when he was sheepish, something which was rare. I could hear the oro when he did, nevertheless.

"I just came to find Takani-sensei. I suppose I will see her later."

He hesitates for an infinitesimal moment, and turns abruptly to leave.

My frown deepens as I notice the angle of his left shoulder. "Wait," I call out sternly.

He stops short, a guilty man caught.

"Only a week and half upon returning, and you’ve gotten into a brawl? Where is Chizuru-san? Was she involved?" I demanded, newfound strength stirring in me, propelling me to sputter indignantly. He knew I did not like him getting into fights.

I don’t fight in front of women and children...

The eerie ring of swords, the chant-like groans of an injured man.

Fighting is inevitable, Ayame-chan.

Fighting – it had been fused with tears and anxiety in my early memories, expanding into a haunting phobia as I grew up. Nightmares hounding me as I grew up passing days in worry of someone in our family leaving. Drifting backs floating slowly down that fateful path leading away from the dojo, the river next to it stretching, reaching out desperately with its silvery fingers, unable to stop the shadows from fading into bleeding skies. Orange and charcoal. Through these sleepless nights, I readied myself for someone setting out without saying goodbye. After him. I stubbornly prayed at shrines during every festival, regardless of when it was, for kami-sama to bind our family, uphold us, secure these ties we’d forged and the contentment we found in each other, and now, now, we had already lost two of us. To me, it was the root of my despair, it was the root of my pain. Fighting – I hated it with every fibre of my being, I blamed it on causing us all this suffering, today.

"Well?" I fume. I was also angry, because I had made a promise.

We promise we’ll take care of him.

Like a younger brother, as always.

Defeated, Kenji turns around, palms outward in parley. "Yes, I did get into a fight." He drops his hands with a resigned sag, adding, "But only because Tsubame-san was harassed by a group of men at the restaurant, so I had to step in." A mix of mischief and triumph then glints in his eyes. "Yahiko-san was away."

I can only glare at him in exasperation.

Resisting the urge to drag him by the collar of his gi, I pull his arm firmly instead into Megumi-san’s office, and wordlessly sit him on a stool.

"Well," Kenji retorts defiantly, "Chizuru wasn’t hurt. She’s still at the restaurant. I have hurt my shoulder, I hope it is not dislocated... one of them attacked from behind."

He curses softly, looking up at me, murmured string of expletives thinning and halting suddenly. I look away, unable to look at him in the eye. He proceeds to remove his father’s sakabatou from his back and rests it casually next to him with a small ‘chink’, and stares pointedly at me.

"You look tired, Ayame-neesan." He says curtly, meaningfully.

Ayame-neesan... gomen.

I half-shrug, start to examine his shoulder. "You planned to keep this secret from me?"

"In utmost respect, no. I did not want you to... to... worry. That is all."

Yokatta. His shoulder wasn’t dislocated, but it was seriously bruised, a large patch tinged lightly with purple and pink. I cannot help but scold him.

"Next time, just tell me, for goodness sake. It could have been much worse by the end of the day, with you traipsing about. And you expected better from Megumi-san?"

He smiles again, as I slip his sleeve back on his shoulder.

"No, I am afraid not. Takani-sensei would have slapped a ban on me from fighting. I did not want to bother you – you look distracted these days. Are you really sure you are alright?"

He doesn’t need to know.

"Yes," I say firmly, "It’s probably—" I rack my brain for an excuse, as I proceed to rummage through an almost empty medicine cabinet. "It’s probably the heat."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him arch a sceptical eyebrow. I find what I am searching for, shuffle back to him, shove the small jar into his calloused hands. "Never mind me, a nap will do me good," I lie, changing the subject quickly, "But your injury – it’s a serious bruising, I suspect the harmless look of it betrays the pain it is inducing."

He nods regretfully, shrugs. "Well, at least my shoulder isn’t dislocated."

"You’d better be grateful." I give him a mock glare, before giving in to a smile. My first real smile in many days. It felt odd, as if the ability to lift the corners of my mouth been gnawed away and spat out again, by demons. Those demons.

"Hai, Ayame-neesan." Awkwardly, he attempts a gaijin salute before flashing me a grin, eyes bright as sky behind his chestnut bangs.

"That ointment," I pointed to his right fist, "rub it on your bruise two times a day. Do it immediately after you reach the Akabeko. Make sure you’re consistent, or I shall resort to appointing Chizuru-san to nag you." I close the cabinet noiselessly, automatically making a mental list of the contents it had left.

Kenji flushes slightly. "Dame, Ayame-neesan. I will remember." His voice softens. "I want to heal, in time for hanami."

We never talked directly about it since the arrival of spring, Megumi-san, Yahiko-san, him and I. We made our way through carefully chosen words.

"It’s beautiful outside, ne?" He continues. "You, especially, should go for a walk and take it all in. The trees outside the dojo are splendid."

I smile, remembering the beautiful cherry blossom trees. It had been quite some time. "I will. This evening."

The word ‘dojo’ that tumbled out of his lips reminded me of something.

"Oh, yes, Kenji-kun. With your bruise, let go of the heavier chores at the dojo for the day. You have to tidy the guest rooms first, anyway... Do some simple dusting before laying out the futons, will you?"

"Hai. Chizuru and I will be done before the sun sets." He nods and bends down to collect his sakabatou. "Ja ne, Ayame-neesan."

I nod, turn to put away the stool. Kenji steps out of the room, but halts and stiffens in two strides.

Knowing him like my own blood, I sense his hostility at once, directed at something outside. A stranger. I turn around, curious. A tall stranger with a hefty, oddly-shaped sack slung over his shoulders was silhouetted faintly through the shoji. A salesman, perhaps, peddling his wares.

I make out Kenji’s muffled words from outside. Demanding, angry.

"Who are you?"

"Kenji—who is it?" I call out, walking towards the opening of the shoji.

The stranger mumbles lazily in reply, and makes Kenji bristle visibly. I freeze.

That stranger’s voice. That low, impatient growl, syllables stretched in an arrogant lilt at the end of a sentence. Harsh and indignant.

Kind in disguise.

So kind. I remember large hands, fists that unfurled to scarred palms of gentleness, sparkling warm eyes. It jolted my memories, and flashbacks erupted in my mind’s eye, a dizzying gaijin’s instrument, one they called a kaleidoscope. Fragments of sound and faces cracking and spinning.

I rush outside, feet moving in another bout of new strength, where I fall on my knees on the polished corridor next to Kenji, at the sight of a face I had almost forgotten. Like a lost shade of colour from my spectrum of sight found, like I had been colourblind all along. Leaning on the wooden pillar, tall and slightly bent than I last remembered, in a brilliance that hurt my eyes.

White.

Aku.