by Ronan Frost
Chapter Fifteen
“What are you doing boy, do you have no respect of another man’s privacy?”
I ducked my head low, my face burning a furious scarlet. I kept my eyes to the floor, studying the woven detail of the tatami with far more intensity that it deserved.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered.
“It’s just as well we’ve finished our bit of business here,” Kan’emon said. I could hear from the direction of his voice that he had stood and was moving towards the door.
A high feminine voice tittered prettily, and from the corner of my eye I saw her bare feet dancing as she shrugged into her clothing.
I shot my eyes back down to the floor.
Kan’emon up-ended his money pouch into his palm, a large coin plucked deftly from the pile as the girl swished past in a perfume of flowery scents. I was still a boy, and had not known the touch of a woman, and as the edge of her yukata whispered against my side it brought Aki into my thoughts. My head swum as I held that bittersweet breath in my lungs.
When she had gone Kan’emon strode past me, sliding the door closed with a firm clack, shaking me from my thoughts. I pivoted and stood, hurrying after him as he made for the adjacent room. I did not cross the doorway, but only watched from my place of humble beseech as Kan’emon sat heavily at his writing desk.
“Well, what is it?” he asked.
I swallowed, gathering my courage, my gaze directed firmly at the floor.
“I wish to begin the kaihogyo.”
There was a pause. At last my curiosity got the better of me, and I looked up.
Kan’emon had not moved, but the line of his lips thinned and hardened.
“That damn fool Yobutomo,” he grunted at last, beneath his breath. “What has he put in your head? You are much weaker than he ever was.”
“He has nothing to do with it.”
Kan’emon ignored me. “Well, he planted the idea in your head somehow boy. Do you even know what is involved? It demands the most extreme devotion and focus.”
I gave a nod, for I had indeed found a scroll detailing the course; a seven-year commitment entailing one-thousand days of running.
“You are no good to me dead. Now go back to your chores.”
I thought about trying my voice against his, but quickly discarded the idea; I had often enough overheard Kan’emon’s bellow of anger. I lingered, and Kan’emon let fall a hefty and dusty parchment roll upon his desk.
“Are you deaf? Get out of here!”
He then opened up the ancient roll midway and began searching for his place. Left with no other choice, I backed out of the room, my knees feeling each smooth blade of the tatami matting.
Kan’emon did not look up as he bellowed: “And shut the door!”
With sweating palms, I did as I was asked, sliding the framed door closed gently and noiselessly. I raised myself to my feet, and paused there.
I found that my feet did not take me down the hallway back into the kitchens where my schedule dictated, but instead took a turn, taking me to the vestibule where I slipped into a pair of sandals and opened the door to the brisk winter air. From this exit the previous night’s heavy snow lay blank and almost without footstep. I wallowed out into the drifts of powder and then stopped, dropping down to sit cross-legged in the snow; I did not fully know what I intended, all I knew is that I had had enough. I would wait here. I would begin the trials, or I would perish.
After a time, snow began falling again, a vast countless number of flakes so vaporous they seemed immune to the pull of the earth, drifting upward as much as downward through the still air. A soft white blanket grew steadily upon the ground and my body inexorably chilled and for a time I thought my protest pure stupidity. The falling snow became heavier and visibility less than a score of paces, and it seemed likely I would simply die a useless death.
Then I saw a figure emerge from the whiteness. I squint at the slender form, and knew by the grace of her movement it was Tomoe. I had often seen her at Kan’emon’s side, and indeed, had heard many rumors of her skill with the naginata; the legend that in all her battles she has never let a single drop of blood touch her. Her exceptional beauty and sudden appearance spun my head, as if I were in the presence of something not quite human. It was with real relief I saw her path marring the fallen snow, each step squeaking like that upon a nightingale floor, and I knew that she was no ghost.
“Kan’emon’s not happy,” she said to me.
I did not say a word.
“His dinner didn’t arrive,” she continued.
“He can fetch it himself.”
“He told me you asked to begin the kaihogyo.”
I nodded.
“If you don’t want to work, we can find you other chores.”
“No. It’s not that. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You want to prove yourself to him?”
“I do it for myself. There was once someone… Some I cared about…”
“The trials are no a salve for an adolescent’s broken heart. Wait until you can reach a decision without emotion.”
I looked at her. Snowflakes eddied about us, and some landed upon her face. Those that struck her perfect cheek remained there, poised, as if her pale flesh were as cold as they.
“Come inside when you are done,” she said. The corners of her lips twitched, forming a smile, but the expression was fleeting. She stood and moved away, leaving me alone with my conflicting thoughts, lost in that moving mottle of white.
At some point in the night I must have fallen, for when I awoke I was curled into a fetal position, shivering.
Tomoe returned at sunrise. My shoulders were hunched up over my ears and my whole body ached. She squatted next to me, and wordlessly extended her hand, palm up.
I wanted so desperately to stand against Kan’emon’s will, to prove that I had some measure of internal fortitude, yet quite suddenly, my resolve cracked. My hunched shoulders heaving with silent sobs I reached out a clawed hand and without a word, she led me inside.