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In This Truth We See: Chapter 4

by squishybookworm

“Oh, Soujiro-san?”

Soujiro cheerfully plunged the kimono into the water and swirled it.

“Soujiro-san!”

He scrubbed the kimono quickly before plunging it back into the soapy water. The first time he’d done this, he’d been beaten soundly because he hadn’t been able to scrub out all the stains. Strange that this would be one of his favorite chores. His smile tightened. And strange that he’d thought of that time again. Today was just a day for memories, it seemed.

“Soujiro-san, you’re gonna make a hole!”

Soujiro blinked. He stared at the blonde cloth in his hand where abused and frayed fibers created a fuzzy spot on the thick material. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Soujiro-san?”

With a faint jolt Soujiro looked up. “Oh. Keiko-chan? I’m sorry. I was thinking very deeply.”

Keiko gave him an impish smile, dodging around a striped yukata, which flapped loudly from its place on a line leading from the second level of the inn and the bathhouse. “What were you thinking about?” She raised one pinky and an eyebrow. “Was it about a girl?” she whispered.

Soujiro laughed. “No. I was just remembering some people I’d met before I came here.”

“Before you came here? My mother says you’re a wanderer, so you must have met lots of people!”

He nodded. “Yes. They were all very good people.” But it was strange how he could barely remember any of them. Like disintegrating strands of a dream, faces were indistinct and voices blurred. Yet, the feelings were memorable. Refined. He could remember a cold winter day and the warmth of a stranger’s fire. Or a soothing cup of tea offered with a kind smile after he’d finished repairing a roof. Feelings of such contentment that his smile truly felt sincere.

“My mother says you’re a wanderer,” Keiko said. “So was that all you did? Just wander around?”

He nodded again.

Crouching, Keiko leaned her elbows on her knees and set her pointed chin between her palms. Her light brown eyes were brightly curious as she asked, “Why?”

“What do you mean?” Soujiro said.

“I mean, why are you just wandering around? Don’t you have a house or something?”

A house? He hadn’t really thought about it. It just seemed so . . . foreign. With his first family, it hadn’t truly been his house and traveling with Shishio, he’d stayed in many places, from western style mansions to broken hovels that barely kept out the elements. But a home? Shaking his head, Soujiro plunged the kimono back into the water. He hoped the owner of this robe wouldn’t be too observant. The ‘hole’ wasn’t really a hole. Yet.

“I don’t have a home, Keiko-chan.”

“Oh, really? That’s very sad.”

Soujiro chuckled. “Don’t feel too sorry for me, Keiko-chan. I’m doing fine so far.”

“Oh. Is that why you’re wandering?”

“Hm?” Stilling his hands, Soujiro turned to the dark-haired child. “What do you mean?”

“You know. You’re looking for a home, right?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe. Maybe that is why I’m wandering.”

“What?!” She leapt up. Glowering, she planted her small fists on her hips. “You mean you don’t know?! Soujiro-san! What are you laughing at?! It’s not funny!”

Biting his lips to stifle his laughter, Soujiro shook his head. “I’m sorry, Keiko-chan. You’re right. It wasn’t funny.” Seeing the unconvinced look on her face, Soujiro felt it was prudent not to tell her that the sight of her disgruntled and scrunched pixie-like features had been what had set him off. “So, Keiko-chan, was there something you needed from me?”

Young enough not to see such an obvious subject change, Keiko giggled, embarrassed and tapped her temple lightly with one fist. “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Soujiro-san, my mother wanted me to ask if you could give Hajime-kun his lunch and medicine. She said he really likes you, so maybe he’ll take the medicine if you give it to him.” She wrinkled her nose at the mention of medicine. “Ugh! I’m glad I’m not sick!”

“Perhaps I should finish the laundry,” Soujiro said slowly. “Hajime-kun will be hungry enough not to notice if he is eating medicine or food.”

Keiko frowned. “What do you mean? Are you afraid of him or something?” She shook her head and laughed. “Don’t worry, Soujiro-san, Hajime-kun’s too little to do anything to you!”

“No. It’s not that. I was just . . . worried about the laundry.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I’m gonna make Satsuki do it!”

“But–”

“No, no, no. Satsuki’s gonna do it!” Keiko smiled widely. “You can go ahead, Soujiro-san. I’ll see you later.”

Soujiro paused. “Alright. Just don’t work your brother too hard, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, whatever.” Waving him off, she turned away and began calling for her brother.

Shaking his head, Soujiro headed towards the kitchen. Those two . . . It was a wonder that Yuusuke and Ayu hadn’t already been reduced to frustrated tantrums.

In the kitchen, he found Ayu putting the finishing touches on a tray of food. She positioned the legs of the stool-like tray atop another similar one – already loaded down with lunch – careful not to disturb the ceramic dishes.

After she’d finished, she looked up with a welcoming smile. “Ah! There you are Soujiro-san. Just in time.”

“I’m happy to oblige such a beautiful woman,” Soujiro returned.

Ayu giggled like a young miss, light brown eyes brightening considerably. “Be careful, young man, or I might have you oblige more than just your time.”

“With you, Ayu-san, I would be more than happy to do so.”

“Oh?” She approached him and reached up to pinch his cheeks. “But, oh my, now that I am so close, I can see that you’re only a boy! And such a cute boy at that, Soujiro-kun!”

Flushing slightly, Soujiro dipped his head to allow the shorter woman to pinch his cheeks again. “But, Ayu-san,” he protested, “I’m not a little boy anymore.”

She dropped her hands and placed them on her hips much the way Keiko had done earlier. “Hmph. To this old woman, boys like you will always be cute little hellions.”

“You’re not old, Ayu-san. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

“Hmph. And I suppose if I wasn’t already married, you’d snap me up in a moment and woo me off my feet?”

“Of course, Ayu-san!”

The tiny woman reached up to pinch him again. “Cheeky,” was all she said as she turned away to retrieve the trays.

“This is for Hajime-kun.” Ayu pointed to the top tray. “And the one underneath is yours.” She placed a twist of paper onto Haji’s tray. “Put this medicine into the hot water and have him drink it after he’s eaten everything. Make sure he eats everything.”

“Ahhh . . .”

“Yes? Did I forget something?”

“Well, I was just thinking that I’m a strange man and everything, so . . . wouldn’t Hajime-kun be more comfortable with you, Ayu-san?”

“More likely I’d chase his appetite away with this old, soured face of mine.”

“Ayu-san, any male, whether he was ten years old or fifty years old, would be delighted and honored to have one such as you to pour his tea.”

Ayu shook her finger. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Soujiro-san.”

Soujiro sighed heavily and easily smiled. “Well, it was worth a try, right?”

“I truly appreciate this, Soujiro-san. But he wouldn’t answer earlier when I went to check on him. I heard him move and he might have been asleep, but somehow I sincerely doubted that.”

“So . . . Hajime-kun’s brother . . . He hasn’t returned yet?”

“No. Before he left, he’d made arrangements with me to see after Hajime-kun. I suppose he wasn’t aware of Hajime-kun’s condition before he’d left.”

“Even so,” Soujiro said, “You’re very kind, Ayu-san, to be so concerned about Hajime-kun’s welfare.”

“As are you, Soujiro-san.”

“Eh?”

“Yes, Soujiro-san. You.” Ayu reached for his hands.

Almost flinching in alarm, Soujiro tightened his grip against the trays. He didn’t want her to touch his hand. He didn’t want anyone to touch his hands. But she hesitated and instead, adjusted a bowl on the tray instead.

A burning sensation tickled his lungs and Soujiro let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Unable to hold her gaze, he stared at his hands, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

Her gaze remained steadily trained on Soujiro’s bowed head as she said, “You are a very gentle person. I know this because Hajime-kun likes you. You’re the first person he’s talked to besides his elder brother. Even my children have been unable to get him to speak to them.”

“Well, I was the only one there,” Soujiro mumbled. He pressed his lips together tightly and shifted uncomfortably.

But like all mothers, Ayu had exceptional hearing. She shook her head. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Soujiro-san.”

Soujiro smiled easily. If she knew . . . He wondered if she would still say that if she knew what he’d done. What he could never be forgiven for doing. “I’m glad Hajime-kun enjoys my company so much. It’s too bad I can’t say the same of his brother.”

“I’m sure that is not the case, Soujiro-san.” She paused and opened her mouth as if to say something else, but stopped. Then said, “You should take that to Hajime-kun now or the water will be too cold by the time he’s finished. Now go.” She waved her hands as if that would hurry his departure. “I need to prepare for a dinner party tonight.”

“Yes, Ayu-san.”

Balancing the trays carefully, Soujiro made his way to the Chinese boys’ room. In the clear afternoon sunlight, with the delicate aromas of soup and pickled vegetables wafting up from the trays in his hands, he couldn’t help but let his smile relax. The steady thrum of his feet against the floorboards seemed like an extension of his own heartbeat and it was very . . . comforting.

Yet the idyll seemed so fragile. As if he did not breathe carefully, it would shatter like so much glass. Gentle. He could afford to be gentle with this moment because he wasn’t truly a part of it. He wasn’t glass, he was the cold blade of a sword. He could be gentle because beneath his easy smile, he still hadn’t changed. He was still the smiling Tenken.

Outside Hajime’s door, he paused and crouched, placing the trays on the floor. He would be gentle with Hajime, too.

He knocked and announced himself. A slight shuffling and a weak affirmative came through the rice paper. Soujiro opened the door, placed the trays inside the door, and entered.

Kneeling beside Hajime, who had sat up in his futon, Soujiro smiled easily at him.

“Are you ready for lunch, Hajime-kun?”

“Um . . . yeah.” Nervously fingering the neckline of his sleeping yukata, which Ayu had found for him, Haji peeked up at Soujiro through the fringe of his long messy hair as the swordsman placed one tray across his lap and rearranged the bowls.

“Um, S-Soujiro-san . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thank you . . . th-thanks for bringing this to me and-and for . . . before, too.” Haji stared at his pale hands, so unlike his elder brother’s darker hands. Yet so alike with calluses lining the ridges of the palm and a few, faint scars along the back of the knuckles.

“Don’t worry, Hajime-kun. You are very sick, now, and you’re a guest.”

“Oh. . . . Is that . . . um, is that why . . .”

“Yes?”

“Um, nothing. Nevermind.”

Soujiro stopped arranging the various bowls on Haji’s tray and looked up at the boy. Flame-tinted dark hair obscured his face as he stared at a spot on the blanket that covered his lap.

“Hajime-kun?”

“. . . “

But Haji kept his silence. Slowly, Soujiro felt his smile grow wider. Gentle. He could only be gentle. That was all he could do for Haji. He couldn’t get involved. Didn’t deserve to be involved.

The brown-eyed youth snatched up his soup bowl. But his trembling hands lost purchase on the smooth porcelain and the clear soup sloshed over the sides, creating trails of salty brine along his hands then splashing darkly against the polished wooden tray.

“Hajime-kun!” Soujiro grabbed the bowl from Haji’s unresisting fingers and set it aside. Then began blotting the young boy’s hands with the sleeve of his kimono. “Are you alright, Hajime-kun? Hajime-kun?”

“I . . .” Haji’s lips quivered and soft brown eyes became suspiciously bright as he blinked rapidly. “I am strong . . .” he whispered. “I . . . I have to be strong. I can’t . . . I have to be strong. . . .”

If you’re strong, you live. If you’re weak, you die.

“No.”

Flame-tinted strands flew like damp threads as Haji whipped his head up to stare incredulously at the blue-eyed swordsman. “Um . . . what?”

What?

He hadn’t meant to say that. But the memory . . . It was as if Shishio had been standing behind him, whispering into his ear. The tingle of shock had traveled the length of his spine and up to his mouth and burst forth in the form of that simple word.

Yet, it was the most perfect word he’d ever said.

“No. Don’t just bear it, Hajime-kun.” His smile was slipping. He could feel the strange relaxation in his facial muscles and a tightening in his chest. As if the tension had become too heavy and had been dragged down. But it still felt so right. So good. Like a real smile. “Cry and complain and yell and scream and tell me it’s all my fault, but don’t tell me you have to be strong.”

“I have to be strong. Xiao Yan-niisan is strong. He always tells me if I don’t stop crying, I’ll never get stronger.”

“Haji-kun.” In Soujiro’s eye, the scene of a rainy night played itself out. Bloody and broken bodies laid about and the rain continued to pound the hard ground. And in the middle of the tragedy stood a little boy with tears running down his face. “Crying does not make you weak.”

“It makes him go away,” Haji whispered harshly. His pale hands twitched as if he wanted to fist them, but lacked the strength. “It always makes him go away. . . .”

Li Xiao Yan . . .

“You’re still a child. You can’t be strong for me. I should be strong for you. Do you understand, Haji? I . . . I shouldn’t make you ask for my presence. . . . I should know.”

But Haji lowered his brown eyes. Hiding his tears. Hiding his pain. The confusion of a child. So easy to ignore.

Something warm covered his fingers. Soujiro jerked in surprise, almost pulling his hands out of the boy’s grasp, but a surprisingly strong grip kept hold. He stared at their linked hands with wide blue eyes. Pale skin against pale skin like winter flowers in snow.

But Haji’s hand was warm.

Something he did not deserve. Could never let a child such as this see. He was the Tenken. The boy of the merciless smile. Gentle. That was all he could be. All he could do for the young, brown-eyed boy before him.

Breath catching in his throat, Soujiro prepared to wrench his hands away, but Haji’s voice stopped him.

“Your hands, Soujiro-niichan . . . they’re just like mine. . . .” To prove his point, Haji flipped Soujiro’s left hand to briefly trace a scar there. Then placed his own smaller hand against Soujiro’s.

With hushed awe, Soujiro slowly brought his hand up and Haji followed his movement, base of his palm cupped in the older man’s large hands and his shorter digits splayed against Soujiro’s slim fingers.

“Haji-kun?”

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you . . . afraid?”

“. . . No.”

“This hand you’re touching . . . it has felt the flow of people’s blood. . . . Did you know that?”

“. . . Yes.”

Soujiro jerked away. He pulled his hand back as if the boy had strapped a burning coal to his palm. But all he could feel was the lingering warmth of Haji’s scarred palm.

“Oniisan . . .” Haji paused then began again. “Xiao Yan-niisan . . . he always told me: ‘the hands of a martial artist shall always be stained with blood, with the misfortune of those weaker than they.’ Your hands . . . they’re like Xiao Yan-niisan’s . . . and like mine. That’s why I know . . . you . . . .”

“But Haji-kun, you’re not a martial artist . . . Your hands are not like mine! Never like mine! You’re just a child!”

“My mother.”

“What?”

“I killed my mother. . . .”

A curious sense of betrayal swept across him and Soujiro wished his limbs didn’t feel so heavy. That he could swing his arm. His left arm. And slap Haji. Slap him for saying such utter ridiculous nonsense.

He killed his mother! This child who could barely have lived a decade and he’d claimed he’d killed his mother?!

‘Like the Tenken,’ a voice whispered in his ear. A voice that sounded so much like Shishio’s.

‘Will you allow your past to blind you to this child’s need?’ another voice interjected. Soujiro almost whipped around, expecting to see Himura standing there in the portal of the door.

But he felt so heavy, like the tightness in his chest had become heavier and fell to his stomach, pulling his heart and lungs along with it. The air felt heavy, as if the day was summer and not early spring, and his smile felt stretched, like someone was pinching his cheeks all over again.

He wanted to laugh. Yes, he wanted to laugh. Laugh and never stop.

‘Will you abandon him and allow him to follow a path, which will surely lead to the fate you’d abhorred so much?’ Himura’s calm voice continued relentlessly.

No.

‘It’s better not to get involved,’ Shishio’s voice whispered. ‘Just walk away. Walk away and let the child’s will determine his fate. Whether he lives or dies is in the strength of his will to live.’

No!

“Haji-kun!”

“Huh?!” Haji jumped at the desperate note in Soujiro’s voice.

“You are a liar or I am missing something here. How could you have possibly killed your mother when your eyes are still clearly those of a child? How would you know of the blood and the anguish of seeing another life extinguished?”

Haji stared at him with blank incomprehension.

“Haji-kun, how exactly did you kill your mother?”