Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  “Get off of me!” I push him hard, one hand on his face, and the other on his chest, and, surprisingly, he is laughing.

  “You fight dirty, Sanaa. This is not kickboxing… but I like it.”

  “Like it, huh?” I see a twinkle in his eye. That can’t be good. “What is this anyway? Kill or be killed?”

  Jiro looks to his father with raised eyebrows, and Koichi chuckles.

  “Sword fighting… Well, iaido at least, is not meant for slaying an opponent, Sanaa-chan, although that was the reason the discipline came about in the first place. Jiro only wanted to teach you a hard lesson. Sakai tells me you’re a brown belt in karate.”

  Sakai knows everything about me. Now I’m wondering who else he’s talked to.

  “Yes, I am. I enjoy karate, but I just practice for the health and, well, mental benefits. I used to go all the time, until someone took away my freedom.” I place my hands on my hips, turning from Sakai.

  Koichi nods. “You will do the same here. Jiro and I will teach you the kata of iaido. When we feel like you’ve made progress, we’ll put them to practice. You may never spar with him again, if you don’t wish to. Sakai and I both think it’s important for you to have a partner your own age to learn from.”

  “To what end?” I look to Sakai. “Why would I need to use a sword? What’s the point, Mark?”

  Koichi looks incredulously at Sakai, and he clears his throat. “She calls you by your first name?” Koichi laughs again. “My, my.”

  Despite myself, I smile too. Koichi is a lot less stern than Sakai. Maybe he’ll be easier to understand and get along with.

  “The point, Sanaa, is to learn more about our culture. You have been too far removed from being Japanese for too long… And I expect this may come in handy someday.”

  That is all he will say on the matter.

  Sakai leaves me in the hands of Koichi and Jiro for the rest of the day, and they start by showing me the beginning kata of iaido. It is not a fast-paced sword fighting like I thought. Iaido is slow and deliberate; each action precisely made and timed.

  “Iaido is not the furious sword fighting of kendo, Sanaa-chan. It is the full mind-and-body study of drawing the blade, cutting down your opponent, and returning the katana to its scabbard after it has been cleaned. We start from seiza.” Koichi sits down on the mat facing me in seiza, and I join him.

  Seiza is a traditional Japanese way of sitting I’m quite familiar with. Those who never sit seiza find the position uncomfortable, but I’ve spent most of my life in seiza, so it’s never bothered me. I first kneel then bring my butt straight down onto my heels and, allowing my feet to relax outwards, I settle myself directly on them. I rest my hands on my upper thighs like Koichi does.

  “For this, I ask that you do not sit with your legs together. You must separate them by a few centimeters.”

  This is the opposite of how most women sit, but I do as I’m told and wait while Jiro sits next to me. He gives me a short nod after examining my form.

  “Traditionally, men and women practiced iaido in montsuki, obi, and hakama. Since you will be practicing every day, we practice as is, but you will need a belt from which to draw your sword. We have some here for you.”

  “Will I be using a real sword?” It seems crazy to let any beginner to use a real sword. But I can be crazy if that’s what’s required. I may be reserved towards others, but I swear I have a wild streak. My crazy side is just buried deep under all the outward respect I’m conditioned to give, especially to elders and strangers. Miko and Helena have seen plenty.

  “No, we will use the wooden swords for now. All of our katana are family heirlooms and would most likely be damaged in beginning practice. You’ll learn the forms first, and we’ll provide you with a sword later so you can learn to draw from the scabbard, or saya, and return it properly. This is not the same way our ancestors learned, but we do what we can.” Koichi adjusts his sitting position placing his wooden sword on the ground before him and comes to a low, respectful bow. Jiro and I follow.

  “Now Jiro will demonstrate the first kata.”

  Jiro rises and walks a suitable distance away from the two of us. Though I’m supposed to be examining his technique, I cannot keep my eyes off his face. I study his strong chin and long hair with the white streak over his ear that comes loose if he moves his head too much. My mouth is dry with desire. Already I’m a goner. I have to force myself to concentrate on the lesson.

  Koichi narrates while Jiro demonstrates. “Start in seiza. Your opponent is attacking you from the front. Remove your blade while coming up on one knee and cut across and away from your body with the blade turned out. Grasp the sword with both hands, and cut straight down from above. Bring the sword’s grip, in your right hand, to your right temple, and then, in a sweeping motion you will fling the blood from the blade over your head, across your body, and down. Return the blade to its sheath. Stand and take two steps back.”

  Jiro’s face is quiescent and peaceful as he accurately carries out each movement. His concentration is intense, and the way he moves without even thinking, instinctive-like, is admirable. This is the same peace of mind I strive towards when practicing karate. Immediately, I envy his form and know I’ll do anything to be as good. I’m determined to show them both I am the ideal student.

  Thankfully, I’m only boastful in my head.

  “Now,” Koichi says as he rises to his feet. “Jiro will teach you. I have other business to attend to.” He bows to us both and leaves the room without another word.

  I watch him go with mounting panic and realize I will be practicing with Jiro alone. I get the feeling this was done on purpose. Jiro’s going to be hard on me, I know it. I deserve as much after playing dirty earlier.

  My entire body deflates.

  “No worries, Sanaa,” he says with a smile. “I promise not to be too hard on you.”

  Another person who can read my mind. I am horrible at hiding my feelings. I wish I had never flirted with him because now I’m going to be so humiliated as he whips me into shape. I was sure he flirted with me, too, but now, the way he is keeping his distance and his tone polite, I’m questioning whether or not anything happened at all. In fact, with his strict demeanor turned to me in full, I’m positive I’m wrong about the whole attraction. He was just humoring me on New Year’s Eve.

  I’ll try to forget and work on letting Jiro be my instructor. What else can I do?

  “I want to learn,” I say, stepping back from him. “Please don’t coddle me.”

  “Okay by me. Let’s begin.”

  * * * *

  When Sakai returns in the late afternoon, I am a sweaty, panting mess, and Jiro is only a little fatigued.

  “Sanaa is an excellent student, Sakai-san. I have no doubt she’ll be a master in no time.” I could cry, but instead I let out a heartfelt chuckle and fall down to the mat with a thump. Jiro shakes his head with a smile and gathers our swords.

  “He’s joking, of course. I was lucky to follow along only about thirty percent of the time.”

  “Did you spar again?”

  “No. I think once is enough for now, don’t you?” I can’t wipe the smile off my face. It was the best practice ever. I love when I get my butt kicked.

  “To be honest, I regret letting you spar earlier, but you seemed… determined.” He grasps my hand and pulls me to my feet. “I also knew Jiro would not injure you.”

  Jiro strips down to his bare chest and throws his shirt into the auto-hamper to be cleaned. I’m mesmerized by how striking he is, and I’m unable look away. Not only is Jiro built in a way that only comes from constant exercise but the tattoos on his chest and shoulders are a complete shock to me. My feet move without thinking, and, completely forgetting myself, I walk over to him. I don’t know anyone with tattoos (except Sakai), but I love them and have always wanted some of my own, though Aunt Kimie would disown me.

  “Ah, kirei kore.” It takes all my effort to stop from reaching out and touching
him. Instead, I pull my hand to my mouth to halt a sigh. The colors swirl up over his chest, grazing his neck and falling over the top of his shoulders. Motifs of green and brown. Is that grass and trees? And the Sakai family kamon, three-petaled flower ring, in the center of his back. “A forest and your family crest. Wow.”

  He stares hard at me, trying to decide if I approve or not. He’s not showing the least amount of embarrassment for being half-naked and exposed, and I’m certainly not going to complain. “It’s fields of rice bordered by a forest and, yes, the Sakai family kamon.” He twists at the waist to show his upper back again. The motif is etched on his upper shoulders as well.

  “But you’re so young.”

  “You sound like my father,” he says with a laugh. My face falls. “I’m twenty-two. If I want tattoos, I get them. I started when I was fourteen.”

  Sakai has tattoos as well. Perhaps I should be watching surveillance footage for tattoo parlors in Ku 6 during my next fact-finding session.

  “Well, they’re lovely,” I say resignedly. “I’ve always loved tattoos.” And Jiro’s body tattooed is not bad either. A chill goes through me and raises goosebumps on my arms as he turns to collect a new shirt from his bag. Beautiful, indeed.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Days one through five of training with Jiro start out fine but progressively get more uncomfortable as each session ends. I walk in every afternoon after lunch, dressed in my Nishikyō grays, close the door quietly behind me, and try to strike up an easy conversation with Jiro. At first he seems pleased to talk with me, but our eyes slide to the cameras watching us, and the chatting dies off. I get the feeling, based on Jiro’s sullen sighs every time he glances up, whomever is watching does not want us being friendly with each other. By the end of a week together, he’s professional and closed-up, so I stop trying to talk to him. He has assumed a teacher’s role, and I am the student. What can I do? It’s not like we can date under these circumstances anyway.

  Sakai knew what he was doing when he employed Jiro to train me because he is an amazing partner. He pushes me to the limit and never once coddles me like I asked him not to. I love the sword fighting. My situation with Jiro is awkward, but I look forward to each afternoon especially when the kata start to make sense to me. Koichi joins us too, and he is quick to compliment me when I get a move right which only makes me work harder. My small accomplishments give me hope I won’t have to just get by. I may actually be good.

  Jiro is bold enough to always exercise without the constraint of a shirt (I love it and try not to stare), but then again it’s quite impossible not to. The dōjō is excessively hot. Air flow to this section of ward must not be working properly. If we could open the windows we could get some relief, but they’re closed for a reason. I doubt they want to broadcast to the neighborhood we’re sword fighting in here every day.

  During our second week in the dōjō, we have one incident when I stupidly get in Jiro’s way and injure my shoulder. My mind is so distracted with work, and not thinking, I stumble into his sword. “Shit, Sanaa!” he yells at me. “Haven’t I been teaching you to fall away from the sword when you see it coming? How could you be so careless?” I almost walk out on him because I’m so embarrassed by his harsh reaction. I have such a crush on him and to hear him yell at me? I harness every bit of strength I have not to cry in front of him and instead let loose my tears in the bathroom. When I return to the mats, Jiro is calmer and reassures me it’ll never happen again. His apology keeps me from quitting, and the event changes everything for us. He suggests we take breaks and talk more regardless of the cameras, and, on the ride home afterward, I can’t stop smiling.

  After four weeks of practicing every day, I can tell I’m starting to impress Jiro. He is slowly losing the stern look to his face, and he smiles more often when I complete a movement correctly. Every evening, I replay the little conversation we had on New Year’s Eve in my head wondering if he was interested in me or not. It’s hard to tell. Things are definitely easier between us, but it’s not like we’re openly flirting with each other.

  He can be talkative and sweet, but also serious, so, just like the first few days of our practice, I do my best to keep him engaged. On the train from Ku 1 to Ku 6, I sit and think of what to say or ask him so I can walk in the door and start up a conversation like we’re the best of friends. Believing it is part of the process.

  Previous questions include: How long have you trained? “Since I could hold a sword.” Where do you live? “With my brother about six blocks from here. My parents live in the same building two floors up, but I moved out with him when he turned twenty.” Are you still in school? “No, I finished early last year and work for my father and Sakai-san now.” He asks me questions too, and we often end up talking for some time before beginning. Damn, I have it bad for him. He is smart and funny but always reverts to his quietude, especially when practicing.

  Today, I’m more comfortable than usual and want to ask him personal questions about what he does outside of training me. I take up his afternoons, but what does he do with the rest of his day?

  “Jiro,” I ask as we’re taking a water break between sessions. We’ve been working on forms all afternoon, and I’m trying to pretend I’m not tired, but he’s noticed my arms sagging under the weight of the sword. The insomnia is taking its toll on my body. “What do you do when you’re not practicing? Not working?”

  I stare at the floor or my water glass. I’m never sure if I’m overstepping my bounds with him. Teacher or friend? What role does he think he plays?

  “What? You mean for fun? What’s that?” He laughs, and it makes me blush. I love his laugh. It reminds me of Sakai.

  “Yes, fun. I know you’ve heard of it. An elusive concept, I’m sure.”

  “Well, lately, I go out with my brother a lot. I like to walk the ward when it’s quiet…” he pauses. He must be debating telling me. “I draw.”

  Hmmm, this is unexpected. I thought he might be into a sport or something. “Draw? As in, illustrate?”

  “Yes, don’t look so surprised.”

  “No, no.” The blush is not going away. It’s so aggravating when my body won’t listen to my mind. Stop being so obvious! “Well, I am a little surprised. It wasn’t an answer I expected.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, and I concentrate on cooling myself down.

  “I’m horrible at drawing,” I confess. “My mind is too analytical. Best I can do is schematics and diagrams. I wanted to learn but gave up when I became too frustrated.”

  He smiles at me and pokes me in the shoulder with his elbow. “I can see that. You want to break down iaido into perfect movements and get upset when you can’t do them right away.”

  “You noticed, huh? I’m glad you keep pushing me… So what do you draw?”

  He turns his glass around in his hand. “This and that. Images that are clear in my mind. Sometimes just places in the ward. I often pick a spot and sit with my tablet and draw whatever’s in front of me. But sometimes I imagine places I’ve never been and draw them too.”

  “Like where?” I imagine him sitting with his eyes closed and calling up the same images in his head I do when I think of Yūsei or Earth before the Environmental Decline.

  “The old cities. Forests, fields, trees.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Places I hope to see in my lifetime.”

  “On Yūsei. I know. I think a lot about what life will be like there. Oceans, the sky, and clouds. Sunsets. I’ve only ever seen pictures of them. Wait. Did you draw your tattoos?” I ask but I’m sure of the answer.

  “Yep.” He looks down at himself and over his shoulder, and I follow. I love looking at him. I hope my aunts aren’t home later. I have sexual tension I need to get rid of, and I doubt I can call up Chad and meet him at a love hotel ever again. I’m now spoiled by Jiro’s gorgeous body. “I drew the outline when I was fourteen. We’ve been adding to it ever since.”

  “You have someone you work with?”


  “Yeah, she’s amazing. Has helped me translate my line drawing into this.” I love his tattoos so much. The colors are so rich. I hope they stay like that forever.

  I drink the remainder of my water, knowing our rest has almost come to an end.

  Clearing my throat, I feel the nerves wanting to make my hands shake. “I’d love to see your other drawings. I mean, if you wanted to show them to me. You don’t have to, of course.” Stop stammering, Sanaa.

  “I’ve only ever shown my mother,” he says standing and offering a hand to help me up.

  “Oh, okay. Well…” Stupid. That’s just too personal, I guess.

  “We’ll see.”

  Huh. “We’ll see” is a whole lot better than no. Maybe I’ll win him over yet.

  Chapter

  Eight

  The next day, I’m daydreaming away the usual ride from Ku 1 to Ku 6 with Sakai at my side. After watching people interact with each other on camera, I think about the people I’m now spending all of my time with: Sakai, Koichi, and Jiro. I gather Sakai thinks the highest of the Itōs. He always listens to their opinions or works with Koichi on whatever goes on in the back room of the dōjō. They seem very tight knit.

  “How do you know the Itōs? Besides being in the same clan and all,” I ask.

  “Koichi and I share the same father. My mother died when I was young much like you, and I took her last name because their marriage was a clan match. My father remarried fairly quickly, but only because he had met Hisako in school when they were kids. Koichi and I are only two years apart.”

  I knew they were related. They all share the same features, the same laugh and smile.

  “So Jiro is your half-nephew?”

  “The ‘half’ part of our family never mattered. I know no other mother than Hisako and no other brother than Koichi.”