Blossom of the Samurai

by Sedonia Guillone

  Toho nodded. Sho’s regard for samurai was generally low, and he understood his father’s feelings very well. He also understood Sho’s reason for saying these words to him. “I do, Father.”

  “Then tell me what I mean.”

  Toho cleared his throat. He so much wanted to articulate perfectly the beauty of what his father had communicated to him. “You mean that just because I carry a sword I may never use does not mean I am unworthy.”

  Sho bowed his head. “You do understand.” Then he raised his gaze again, now wearing a look of intensity. “Live by that understanding, son. I beg of you. Never forget the conversation between us today. Promise me.”

  “I promise.” Waves of warmth traveled through his chest as before. His eyes blurred with more tears.

  “There is something else I need to say to you, Toho, something I pray that you will also remember and carry with you always.”

  Toho blinked away the salty moisture. “What is it, Father?”

  Sho swallowed and took a deep breath. His broad chest rose and fell with the movement between the gap in his kimono. “You never have to compete with anyone for my love, ever. Nor do you ever, ever have to vie with me for anyone’s love.”

  The wake of this statement sent an odd tremor through Toho, a shiver that made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I don’t understand. I never thought anything like that.”

  “I’m not saying you did. I just want you to remember I have said this and meant it with every fiber of my entire body, heart, and soul.” Sho reached out both hands. “Toho, come here.”

  Toho rose and closed the small distance between him and his father. As soon as he knelt back down, Sho reached out, his fingertips landing on Toho’s cheeks. Closing his eyes, Toho surrendered to his father’s way of seeing his face, through the gentle dappling of the pads of his fingers over his cheeks, eyelids, and lips. In the next moment, he found himself pulled into his father’s strong embrace. His eyes remaining closed, Toho returned the embrace, resting his cheek on his father’s shoulder. Sho was the first person who’d made him feel safe and protected after his parents’ murders.

  Sho squeezed him close, one large hand cupping the back of Toho’s head. “I never, ever imagined growing up, that I would one day have a son,” he murmured, “and not one as good and honorable and loving as you.” He paused and Toho could feel his father trembling. “Forgive my selfishness, Toho. Forgive me for not giving you a chance to avenge Aoki-san. Even if it had not been my fight, I could not have let you attempt it. I could not bear losing you. The mere thought of it makes me want to die.”

  Toho gripped his father’s sleeves and held him close. Sho’s confession inspired more tears, as had his earlier loving praise. “Don’t be sorry, Father. You did nothing wrong. I understand.”

  Sho loosened his embrace and sat back. He touched Toho’s cheeks again. “Thank you.” His touch remained for several more seconds before he lowered his hands. “Now, about Aoki-san.”

  Toho nodded although his stomach fluttered. The place where Aoki’s soul was at present frightened him. “Yes.”

  “This violation has stirred up Aoki’s demons,” Sho went on. “Demons he had long before Sozaemon ever crossed his path. While you are out at the river house, you must let Aoki be, yet watch him. If he needs to be left alone, do so. If he needs you close by or to be held, then do that.”

  Toho stared at his father’s face. “How will I know?”

  “Your heart will know.”

  “All right.”

  “I know you feel frightened,” Sho said. “You’ve never seen Aoki-san in such a state before. But you needn’t be afraid, son. Just love him, as you already do. That is what he needs.”

  “Thank you, Father. For everything.”

  “Hirata and I will be here. I will not return to Edo again. I will stay close by as long as I’m alive and so will Hirata.” Sho reached out and squeezed Toho’s hand. “We would stay with you out there if we didn’t need to work. However, I have all faith in you, Toho. Be strong, as I know you are. Some battles are more arduous than the ones fought with a sword.”

  Toho averted his gaze from his father, even though, of course, Sho could not see him. In spite of his father’s encouraging words, Toho’s shame remained, like a small worm, burrowing into his deepest innards, troubling his soul, causing him self-doubt and recrimination. He took a deep breath. For Aoki’s sake, he would have to put this issue aside. Aoki’s healing was all that mattered. Perhaps one day, when Aoki-san had recovered and was himself again, Toho could face his own demon.

  THE NEXT morning, Toho’s stomach tightened as soon as he, his fathers, and Aoki turned off the main road to the grassy path that led eventually to the little house by the river. The place had been one of healing for him years ago as a traumatized child when Sho took him in and let him be his shadow, never leaving his side, that is, until Sho had brought him to Aoki-san, and the beautiful actor, full of life and affection, had also helped him to heal.

  Aoki’s delicate hand pressed more firmly into the crook of Toho’s elbow, and Aoki shifted the parasol he carried in his other hand to deflect the sun’s rays off his porcelain skin. Toho knew that since Aoki was a boy fresh in the actor’s troupe, the piglike man who led them, Shizu, had cautioned all the youth about getting too much sun and causing their skin to darken and wrinkle. Indeed, even though Aoki was just shy of his thirtieth year, his skin was as flawless and smooth as that of a maiden less than half his age.

  For some reason, the association of the parasol tilting made Toho think of the time Aoki told him about his youthful days in the troupe as an apprentice actor and assistant to Genji. Aoki’s recounting back then had not tripped off any warning signs within Toho at the time, but now, after what had happened with Sozaemon, Toho found himself wondering about Shizu as well. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that a nasty piggish man like that, who’d slapped poor Genji across the face before throwing him out of the troupe, could have forced himself onto Aoki-san as well. Toho suppressed a surge of anger. No use getting himself all worked up over a conjecture. Hopefully the day would come when he could find out the truth. If he did find out that Shizu had forced Aoki to service his disgusting, prurient needs, then perhaps he would have another opportunity to avenge Aoki. He would not allow his father, Sho, to take another chance away from him….

  Their arrival at the little house by the river diverted Toho’s mind from delving into the revenge fantasies that naturally sprung from his present line of thought. A sudden tightness formed in his throat. The well-worn path now gave way to the familiar tall pines that marked the outer edge of the small property, deeded long ago by the lord of the province to Sho’s master, Zatoichi, as a reward for saving his life from bandits when he’d escaped his tutors to play samurai alone in the forest as a boy. A bit farther in and the gentle sound of the river became audible. Within a few more steps, Toho anticipated seeing the little house come into view. The place that had come to represent love and healing.

  As he’d hoped, the small timbered structure appeared as it always had, inviting and cozy, in a dirt yard in which several hens wandered and pecked. The stone well stood in its same place, as did the post and guide rope Zatoichi had set up many years earlier, allowing himself and Sho to walk back and forth from the door to the riverbank without using their canes.

  Images and memories rushed through his mind, creating a swirl of emotion in his heart. He watched Aoki take in his new surroundings with an inscrutable expression. Toho’s stomach jumped a bit. Would Aoki find the same healing here as he had? After all, the place had become what it was because of Zatoichi and then Sho. Toho felt his own inadequacy as he assisted Aoki up the front porch steps and into the shadowy little house.

  Chapter Eight

  PREPARATIONS HAD already been made for their arrival. The peat fire smoked in the center pit. Everything was scrubbed and brushed clean, and the window covers had been opened to let fresh air through the slats.
Clean tatami mats were placed around the center pit for people to sit comfortably, and pleasant smells of rice and taros wafted from the pot hanging over the cook fire.

  “Here you are, Aoki-san,” Sho said. “We hope you’ll be very comfortable here.”

  A faint smile appeared on Aoki’s face. “I certainly will,” he murmured. “It’s so lovely here.” Tears welled in his eyes again. “I just cannot believe all the trouble you’re going through on my account. All of you. I have such wonderful friends.”

  “Here you will have peace and quiet. Complete rest. There’s a chest against the back wall where you can store your belongings.”

  Aoki bowed his head. “Thank you, Sho-sama.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  Toho assisted Aoki with his things, helping him place the beautiful kimonos in a compartment of the chest while Hirata and Sho set out a meal.

  They all sat together and ate in companionable silence. Afterward Toho helped Sho wash the bowls outside, sensing that his father wished to speak with him privately. He was not wrong.

  “Toho, I need you to listen carefully.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You are the one person in this world whose company can help Aoki heal. However, there is a worm eating at your soul and you must let it go.”

  A chill passed over Toho’s back. He should have known Sho would guess at his discomfort. “Yes, Father.”

  “You are a healer,” Sho went on. “You don’t need to have avenged Aoki by the sword to prove your worth. No one can be you and certainly no one else can be who you are to Aoki. If you can remember that, you will have learned almost everything you need for your work.”

  Toho bowed his head. His father’s words did bring comfort and strength. He would pray night and day to understand and live by them. “Thank you, Father.”

  “You’re welcome. You are a treasure like no other to me and Hirata. Remember too how much you are held in our hearts.”

  Toho’s eyes stung suddenly with unshed tears. “Thank you, Father.”

  “We must go now but will return in a few days to check on you.”

  “All right.”

  He helped Sho carry in the bowls they’d washed. Hirata rose at their entrance, ready to depart. They both said farewell to Aoki, who rose and bowed to them.

  When they were gone, Aoki stood quietly, watching the door close. He remained in the same spot for what seemed a long time, staring ahead.

  Toho approached him as carefully as he would a deer in the forest. He said nothing, his intuition telling him to wait for Aoki to speak.

  Finally, Aoki turned, his face tipped upward. The shadowy light played on his face, making his delicate features appear masklike. “What would you like me to do, To-chan?”

  Toho cleared his throat. He struggled to remember all his father’s counsel. “I… I don’t know. To rest?”

  Aoki nodded. Finally he returned to the tatami and knelt down, staring at the smoke curling from the center pit.

  Toho joined him, kneeling next to his dear friend.

  “I’m afraid I don’t really know how to rest,” Aoki said. “I don’t have any experience with it.” He turned his head so their gazes met. “Do you know how?”

  Toho cleared his throat. Nervousness made his palms a bit damp. He pressed them flat onto his kimono, over his thighs. “Well, the first thing I learned about it was to sit quietly, and when I felt pressed to do something, I stayed still until I realized that there was a voice inside me that was driving me, like a whip to an ox, and that whatever I felt I needed to do could either wait, or was actually unnecessary. Then I could remain quiet. I did that each time.”

  Aoki seemed to consider that. “All right. I will try that.” He resumed his pensive posture and heaved a sigh.

  Toho looked down at his own hands, listening to Aoki’s quiet breathing nearby. However, so many years of his father’s training, blindfolding him for days at a time so he would learn how to live without sight, had sharpened his hearing to the same degree as Sho’s. In moments, the mere whisper of Aoki’s breath spoke to him as if in words. Aoki’s pain and loneliness, the dreams he’d carried for years, dreams that Sozaemon’s violence had shattered with one cruel act. Aoki’s shame and embarrassment, as well as his struggle to overcome the blow that violence had dealt him.

  So attuned was Toho to Aoki’s breath, that the slightest increase in the speed alerted him. He sensed Aoki’s rising panic before Aoki even manifested the physical symptoms.

  “Aoki-san,” he said, briefly touching his friend’s shoulder, “it’s all right. I’m here.”

  Aoki looked at him, his eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry. The moment I began to rest, my mind, my thoughts, went back there… to that moment.” His shoulders slumped. “Oh dear, it’s been weeks now. I should be getting better. Instead, I cannot stop thinking about what happened.”

  “Perhaps you need to speak of it.”

  Aoki heaved another sigh. He raked the fingers of one hand down the fall of his hair. “You may be right, To-chan, but I just cannot bring myself to. I want so badly to erase it, for it never to have happened.” A tear slipped out, trembled a moment on his long lashes, and ran down his cheek.

  “Don’t worry, Aoki-san. Just a day or so ago, you were all closed in on yourself, and now you’re talking to me. We’re having a whole conversation. That in itself shows healing.”

  Aoki’s gaze whipped to his. Eyes wide, he stared at Toho a few moments. A grateful smile came to his lips. “You know, you’re right. Thank you, To-chan. I feel a little better now.”

  Toho felt a flush of hope, an invisible force that spread through his chest. He tried to capture the feeling so it would stay with him, giving him strength as the day wore on. By the time evening came and they’d had supper, Aoki seemed in much better spirits.

  After supper, Toho gathered water from the river, heated it over the fire, and poured it into a small tub so Aoki could bathe. He turned his back so Aoki could have privacy and listened to the gentle sound of the water as Aoki washed. Judging by the sounds, Toho could tell when Aoki had finished. He waited, however, for permission to turn.

  “I’m finished, To-chan,” he said finally. “I didn’t use much of the water and it’s still warm.”

  Toho turned. And caught his breath. Aoki had dried and put on a simple white kimono for sleeping. His wet hair glistened in the firelight, which also danced on his perfect skin.

  “I’m just going to comb my hair. Please, don’t let me prevent you from bathing too.”

  “I-I’m fine. Perhaps just my face.” On his knees, he inched the short distance over to the tub, from which steam still rose. He took the same washrag Aoki had used, dipped it again, wrung it out, and washed his face and neck while Aoki combed his long hair.

  In midwipe of the washrag, Toho caught himself staring, transfixed, at the comb as it ran down the length of Aoki’s ebony hair. How beautiful it was! So smooth and sleek.

  Aoki must have felt him staring, for he turned. “Is something wrong?”

  Toho cleared his throat. “No, I’m sorry. I’m almost finished.”

  Aoki smiled and turned back to his task.

  Toho grumbled inwardly at himself. How dare he ogle Aoki that way! He was supposed to be helping Aoki-san, not staring at him. To distract himself, he set the rag aside, near the fire to dry, and carried the tub outside to dump out the used water. When he went back in, Aoki had finished combing his hair and tied it at his nape in a long braid for sleeping.

  “I’m very tired,” Aoki said. “I hope you don’t mind if I try to sleep?”

  “Of course not.” Toho did his best not to let his self-reproach show on his face. No doubt, Aoki would think he’d done something to upset his friend. “I’m quite tired too.” He went to the chest against the wall and took out a kimono for sleeping. In the corner, behind a screen, he changed for bed. When he emerged, Aoki had settled onto his own futon under the covers. He lay on his side, facing Toho.
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br />   Toho knelt down and prepared his bed. Memories emerged of when he was small, staying here with Hirata and Sho. He couldn’t help smiling.

  “What is it, To-chan?” Aoki asked. “I noticed you smiled.”

  “Yes.” Toho pulled back his cover. “I was remembering when I first came to stay here with my fathers. They had me sleep between them each night so I’d feel safe.”

  Aoki rose up on an elbow. “Oh, how wonderful. I’m sure you felt very safe that way.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I couldn’t sleep until they settled down with me on a futon between them. They were a great light in the darkness.”

  Aoki nodded. “I know. For me as well.”

  Toho turned down the lantern so that the only light was the glow of the embers in the cook fire. Outside the cricket song surrounded them with its steady chirping. Despite the darkness, Aoki’s face remained in his mind.

  “Sleep well, To-chan,” Aoki said after several quiet moments.

  “You too.” Toho lay on his back, staring up into the darkness. Each night he’d fallen asleep to the gentle rise and fall of Aoki’s breathing. Even in his sleep, Aoki was graceful and beautiful. Finally, with scenes of his childhood playdates with Aoki flitting through his mind, his eyelids began to grow heavy.

  A sound pierced his sleep. Sitting bolt upright, he turned instinctively to Aoki.

  “Sozaemon, no, please!” Aoki was squirming, his head thrashing back and forth against his pillow.

  Toho sprang up and knelt by Aoki’s futon. He pressed his palm onto Aoki’s arm. “Aoki-san!”