I
I'd once thought that since I was the son of a samurai that I would automatically follow in my father's footsteps. I'd once believed, just like a child believes a fairy tale, that I would be fine in the future because I was of samurai descent. If the world had been as it was, that would have been true.
My ego, a friend once told me, is what kept me going as a warrior. Maybe not as a samurai, but as a memorable survivor. Though, to me, memories are flammable. I could toss them into my internal flame, and they would be gone forever. Or at least, that's what I wanted to believe.
They say I was born to ignite. Though I denied it, I could feel the explosion inside of me cause catastrophic damage to my morals. The crackling and burning of my inner blaze was physically painful, and my good intentions deteriorated and curled at the edges.
Friends of my parents once said that I had inherited the element of fire from my mother. She, apparently, was as enduring and powerful as the flame before her impending death. For a long while, I was embarrassed by that fact- to think that a boy would inherit his mother's attributes instead of his father's. However, as I grew older, I understood that I never wanted to be like my father, in any way. I don't know what element he resembled, but in all honesty, I didn't care.
The fire in my personality would burn the memories of everyone's appearances, some sooner than others. My figurative flame would scorch my memory of the ones I'd left behind. As they burned, I would watch the embers crackle, pop and simmer. I was born flighty, and never gave leaving anyone a second thought, except for one person in particular. I could never burn the memory of my only childhood confidante. I could easily torch what he looked like, but the memory of the man was simply unforgettable.
He was a fairly young man, though he said proverbs like one of the elderly, and worked as an indentured servant in my household. He was known as Ohagi, because he was known around the village for making the autumn treats irresistible. Ohagi didn't seem to mind his name. In fact, he took it as a form of compliment rather than ridicule. Once, I'd asked him how he could stand being named for bean jam, and his response was so unlike how my father would have responded.
Ohagi had said, “The one who has conquered himself is a far greater hero than he who has defeated a thousand times a thousand men. Isn't that true, Little One?”
I growled at that name- Little One. That was what you called someone who was weak and fragile. Unfortunately for me, Ohagi hadn't called me 'Jin' once. He ruffled my hair, which only made me growl more, and he said another Buddhist proverb as he washed out my wounds. This one was about pride, though, oddly enough, I didn't listen.
The stinging pain of the anti-biotic brought me out of my reminiscing. I hissed as Ohagi dabbed a bit of medicine on my scrapes. Though, my frustration with myself ran deeper than the iodine.
“These are pretty nasty wounds, Little One. Did you fall?”
I'd discovered that the wars of children had significant differences between the conflicts of civil adults.
Unlike adults, children were entertained when they saw someone get hurt. They would gather around, in a circle just like this one, and shout. The thing about brawling children is that they always want more. They don't care how many bones are being broken, or how much blood is being spilled. They will still keep cheering on, as if it brought them joy to see others in pain. Just as I'd expected, there was a crowd of bloodthirsty little imps, rejoicing in the hopes that my opponent would crush another skull.
Nakayama Rai fought just like his given name implied. He struck down like a bolt of lightning, and when you least expected it, secured the victory for himself. I knew I wasn't going to win- I was ten at the time, and he was twelve. But my pride would not make me get a wink of rest if I chose not to show up.
As we stood in the circle of screaming children, Nakayama-kun said, “You really don't give up, do you?”
I stood my ground defiantly, not answering him. I then opposed the force of fear and looked him in the eye. In our culture, looking someone in the eye is universally a sign of disrespect to your elders, no matter where you are in Japan.
“You dare?” Nakayama-kun had yelped like a dog. “Prepare to die, shrimp!”
And at that point, I thought I did. From that moment on, every punch, every kick, every bite and every tug made me feel brave. I couldn't believe that I was actually taking all of those blows, and that my body wasn't going into shock. I was getting hit, falling down, and then, I would stand back up so that he could hit me again. I didn't know what I was thinking at the time, but somehow, frustrating him seemed to mean something to me.
I looked away. “Not my body, but my ego.”
Ohagi chuckled as he bandaged my knee. “Now, now. Haven't we talked about that?”
As Ohagi was bandaging me, I wanted to do it by myself, but I let him continue anyway. I felt like hurting Ohagi, even emotionally, would be the worst thing in the world because he seemed so untainted. He was the kind of person whom I could never degrade, because he had never degraded me. It didn't matter to him that I was totally consumed by anger. The only thing that mattered to him was that I was his friend, and somehow, we both filled a void for each other.
I never asked him what kind of a 'void' that I filled, and why he had chosen me to become friends with me, instead of just being my caretaker. I knew how it felt to be pestered with questions about my past, and I hated that feeling. So, no matter how much I wanted to, I promised myself that I would never bring up the subject unless Ohagi brought it up himself. Ohagi probably made that same promise, and that's why we never knew about what made us who we were.
“Is there something bothering you, Little One?” Ohagi asked me, snapping me out of my trance. “If your heart is hurting, you can tell me.”
Ohagi was almost exactly the same as the pastry he was named for. He was sweet, sickly sweet. Compared to him, I was jaded; it almost made me feel unworthy of his kindness. But he was right- my chest was compressing, making me experience an entirely new sensation that I'd failed to push away. That particular sensation, I would soon find out, was longing. Though, it was unnecessary longing.
I pulled my eyes away from his, and my unruly bangs covered my eyes to hide my vulnerability. “I'm not hurting, Ohagi. I'm just angry.”
Ohagi placed a hand on my shoulder, and I immediately shook it off. I wasn't used to physical affection- it was probably the only thing I would admit to fear, but only silently. When Ohagi spoke, there was a seriousness in his voice, but when he kept speaking, his voice melted into gentleness again.
“Believe me when I say this- you don't need any more fire in your spirit. Sometimes, it's good to put it out.”
His voice paralyzed me, leaving me in a cocoon of contemplation.
Ohagi was pouring my father's tea innocently into a cup. I noticed how Ohagi did it without remorse in his psyche, and without bitterness in his heart. He did it with complete mindfulness that he was going to serve tea to my father.
It compelled me to dump some rat poison into the liquid.
*
I knew that death was coming for me as I sat before my father.
My father never did give me the courtesy of his glance, until now. The shame never did leave his features. His bones would still rattle, and his jaw would still be tense whenever he would think about my condition. Even when he was pleased with me, that shame would find its way back into his eyes again when he thought about it, and it was always on his mind. Perhaps I'd gotten my outlook on life from him- we were both frustrated. He, for the changing era and I, for the fact that I would never be good enough in his eyes.
We sat in seiza, or seated position, for a long time. As his eyes stared deep into my fear, I was counting the planks on the wooden floor. We both knew the reason why I was in his quarters, and why I held my head low in shame.
“Do you know why you're here, Jin?” He asked with a cold familiarity.
“Y-Yes.” Suddenly, my guilt-stricken voice was now filled with courage. “I'll beat Nakayama Rai one day!”
“There won't be a 'one day' if you tarnish my name again.” My father said icily. “Ohagi!”
Ohagi was already sitting by the doorway. His head was bowed low in humility, and he advanced to my father's presence, not daring to look him in the eye. He was carrying a tea tray.
“Yes, Sasaki-dono?”
Dono, in our language, was an honorific that suggested that you were lower than dirt. It was a dying honorific because of the changing era, but Ohagi still held onto that humbleness. Embarrassing me was one thing, but Ohagi felt so poorly that he did it to himself.
“My tea?”
“Yes, Sasaki-dono.”
My father sipped it with bitter distaste. Ohagi, concerned for my father's comfort as he was for mine, merely asked my father if it tasted good. My father then took the tea, and splashed the searing hot liquid in Ohagi's face. Ohagi cried out in pain, and was thrown back on the floor.
“This is oolong, you incompetent piece of trash! I asked for green tea!”
Ohagi struggled to stand up, and then to my surprise, bowed.
“My apologies.”
Tears were welling up in my eyes. I couldn't stand the humility that Ohagi had to endure. I took his pain as if it were my own. With kiai, a battle cry, I charged at my father. I didn't care if he were going to kill me. All of a sudden, it didn't matter anymore. He could do his worst, and as long as I protected Ohagi's honor, that's all that would matter to me.
Suddenly, I felt a strong hit to the back of my neck, and I was asleep.
*
In my dream, I was drowning. It wasn't, however, the sort of drowning where heaving breaths of water cause your lungs to fill. It wasn't the panic stricken sort of drowning, no. In this kind of drowning, the water was calm, and I was left to decide for myself if I wanted to live or not. I was left to float to the bottom, and stare at the surface. I contemplated on whether or not I would come up for air. The way I died in the dream was that I couldn't decide. I put the decision off for another moment, until finally, my lungs ran out of air, and I was forced to gulp in the water. In the process of my demise, I could hear Ohagi's voice cooing, beckoning me to the surface. He would call, 'Little One, Little One'.
I guess that was what I feared the most- that I would run out of time.
I jolted upwards, and found that I was in my bed. Ohagi was sleeping in the corner of my room with his red, aloe-covered face, and his bloody knuckles.
I walked up to Ohagi. I kept my eyes on one thing about him in particular- his scar.
It looked like a burn, but one far worse than what he had endured with my father. The scar was shaped like a growing wildfire, and looked to be severe. It consumed his whole arm, like a fire would to a tree. I wondered he'd gotten the scar, and overall, the story behind it. It was pink, like it ran deep and seared most of the layers of his skin off.
For some reason that I'd failed to comprehend, I touched it. I stroked the scar with the tips of my fingers, and he awoke. He pounced on me like a tiger protecting its kin, but he could only see that it was me by the light of the mistress moon.
The only sound you could hear after that was my heavy breathing from shock, and Ohagi's uneasy breath from guilt.
As Ohagi eased off of me, he embraced me with his phoenix wings, and it felt like summer in the midst of winter.
*
“I hate him.” I said as I referred to my father
I'd said that as I overlooked the snowy landscape. The koi pond was frozen over, and the bare trees looked dead. Their arms were reaching out for the life of spring, but their efforts were of no avail. All of the grass was covered by the thick, powdery crystals that looked bright to the naked eye. But in reality, it dimmed everyone's spirits by making things dreary, and full of death.
“Don't say that, Little One.”
Ohagi had his arms around me, as I sat in his lap. His warmth was so unlike what I was used to, and I wasn't uncomfortable. It seemed as though Ohagi was a large bird, wrapping me in his body heat like a blanket. The phoenix wings were containing my anger, and my sorrow. Now, there was only tranquility.
“Your father is facing hard times, but it is not your fault.”
When Ohagi had said that, I sniffled, but refused to show him my tears. I whimpered, but refused to show him my misery. When he wrapped his arms slightly tighter around my person, I started to cry uncontrollably. I don't know why the tears came, but perhaps it was because I'd been keeping them locked up in the closet of my eyes for too long.
“It is a changing era,” He began. “It won't be long before your father faces hardship for his crimes.”
“Like splashing tea in your face?”
Ohagi chuckled. “Now, don't you worry about that.”
And the phoenix wings were upon me again, encompassing me in their heat.
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