Sword Hunting, Again
Fall 1865
Time passes… in a way, peace and order are kept in Kyoto. The politics are still headache-inducing, both internally and externally. But Okita-san keeps to his treatments. He confessed to one bad attack at the end of summer but he seems healthy. Strong. Perhaps Asato-san’s treatments are working? Perhaps curing him?
But today is not one for his treatment, instead, it’s an actual free day.
It’s been a year since we first went sword-hunting – today he went and found the same old toothless woman selling the same overly-sweet chestnut buns. “Ah ha, still with the same young lady,” she cackled, as she boxed up Okita-san’s purchase. “Taking a long time, aren’t you?” After all, the length of my sleeves, the way I wear my hair… mark me as a still-unmarried woman.
I don’t know if “with” is the right word. He’s kind to me. I help him as needed, and in return, I …
I don’t know how to ask for what I want. And what is it that I want? To all appearances we are courting, a couple, sweet and devoted. He beckons me to join him, in the afternoons, when his troupe trains under his direction.
I’m certain that I care for him. I just don’t know where I want that to go, what to actually -do- about it – it’s not that I know much about these things! And I really don’t have anyone to ask.
So I take the moments as they come. That’s all I can have, right? To ask for more… after that one day in the garden, it’s all been so -fragile-. I know my father expects something. My mother, though… I’m not certain how she feels about Okita-san anymore.
But while I’m lost in thought, we arrive at the same sword shop we went to last year. There’s more stock than the last time we came in.
“Oh, hello again, Mibu wolf,” he says, but he’s the sort that thinks the name is funny, instead of saying it as a curse. “Looking for that perfect sword?”
“As always!” Okita-san just smiles.
“But we do have some new things since you were in here last month.” So he’s a regular here? “And the girl again. Still not decided to turn her into an onna bugeshita?” He thinks that’s funny, too.
Okita-san then laughs. “Hardly – she’s entirely hopeless!” I try not to bristle at that. While I was hopeless with a sword, he did teach me (well, Hidejiro, then) the throwing technique, and sometimes, early in the morning, Todou-san helps me practice. “Because this is a dangerous town, Yagi-san.” I don’t say that I only go out with Okita-san, or him, and won’t they protect me?
“Then why bring her? She’s obviously a lady.” I look down. It’s frustrating, sometimes, to be spoken -of- instead of -to-, but I am the daughter of samurai and I must remain quiet and demure, always reserved.
“Ah, but you see… she has an eye for blades. She’s so very handy with a kitchen knife, so perhaps it’s an applicable skill!” Okita-san’s eyes show amusement as he looks at me and I smile back.
The man roars with laughter. “That’s a good one, Mibu wolf!
He seems to find it amusing, in a way, to teach me this. To become an expert in something that I can never touch. But I take it seriously… I can help him, even so. I’m being useful.
It’s the usual assortment of sub-par blades… or silly showpieces meant for show-offs. Cheap blades, well-used, still stained with blood… rusting already. This shop may collect swords but he doesn’t take care of them. I doubt my father’s sword has ever actually been -used- – but he cleans it, religiously, on a schedule. “It’s my pride, my honor, as a samurai,” he told Tamesaburou-kun, as he taught him how to clean it – even my short time as Hidejiro, I cleaned the set – the “heir’s set” – that I wore so poorly.
So I look. I look at the curve of the blade, the grain of the metal. I get as close as I dare, holding my breath. For even that may taint a blade, by his reckoning. I try so hard to get it all right.
“How about this one?” I indicate one that the shopkeeper left on the counter. The blade needs cleaning, but there’s no rust. There’s something about the hamon…
“Phhft, that’s an unsigned blade. You can do better than that, Mibu Wolf!” says the shopkeeper with a laugh. After all, the sword he wears on his hip now is a known masterpiece…
But Okita-san looks at it carefully. “You’re getting to have a good eye, Yagi-san. To be able to judge a sword without holding it…” he grins up at the man, “after all, you wouldn’t want your entire selection to be tainted by a woman’s touch!” He picks it up, to feel the balance, the weight of it.
The shopkeeper regards him oddly. “I’ve seen plenty a supersitious swordsman in my day, but, you, Mibu wolf, are the worst.” He looks at me, then back at Okita-san for a long moment, then shakes his head. “What women put up with…”
What does that mean? I step back and let them finish the transaction.
“So this is a good sword?” I ask, once we leave. For all of the man’s bluster, the sword wasn’t cheap…
“Yes, Yagi-san. It’s the sword I’ll carry when I die,” he says in an even tone, but his eyes have a strange glean. “It’s a samurai’s right, you know, to die in battle. Not in bed.”
“I thought you wanted a sword to bring you back home,” I said, my voice low. I hate it when he talks about dying. He talks about it more and more these days. Every time he leaves treatment. The other day, while watching practice, as he mused about who his successor should be in as first captain…
“Home?” He glances back at me, again with that look in his eyes. “There’s no home for me. Not anymore.”
I fumble for words, to express – to try to give him -something- – “But I -“
He stops walking, and just stands there. In a quiet voice, he finally says, “best not finish that thought, Yagi-san, because you’re not going to get the answer you want.” And then his face turns stony, his eyes straight ahead as he starts to walk again.
“You don’t have to keep trying. Why…” He shakes his head. “I’m not -good- to you. You’re not stupid, but you just take it…” Then he stops and looks at me. Really, actually looks at me.
And then there’s that smile. It’s carefree and wistful, all at once, a strange contrast.
“You’ll feel better soon – Asato-san’s medicine is doing you so well,” I said, trying to think of something -good-.
“If only… she could make it taste better, or put in konpeito form,” he says, with a brighter smile. My heart leaps – I was able to turn him around, this time. We walk back to Mibu, keeping up a stream of light conversation. It feels normal, nice.
It’s a long time before I see the sword he bought that day.