I was Shinta then. I knew nothing, like a leaf hanging from a tree with no idea where the wind wants it to go or why it hangs at all. Merely touched by the breeze and moving at the will of others. I knew nothing back then and every sunrise seemed an eternity of lights dancing across the sky turning reds and blues into a new day.
Sometimes, I wish I was Shinta once more.
The young boy hoped sideways, his eyes flashing in anger as the huge burly man snarled for him to move out of the way. Some people ask such things nicely, but other are plain rude and never speak a kind word. The child sniffed inwardly, knowing that to show his anger in front of such a man would be to stoop to his level. He hoped gracefully out of the man's way and waited until he moved the wears he was moving through the door, making the loudest noise and speaking in the foulest language the child had ever heard, and stared at him. The room greeted the man with loud cheers, almost as if they had been waiting for the sound of his dirty voice with rejoice.
Truth was the people inside were dying of hunger, and even the crudest form of entertainment was welcomed. The young boy followed the huge man, watching the many metal things hanging from his belt and watching one of his belt decorations, shaped into a small snake, move sideways. the room inside was warm and dark like a cave and the noise of people came to his ears like the fall of a waterfall, making low grumbles over rocks but never becoming individual noise. The young boy smiled, watching the way the people began to laugh as soon as the huge burly man dropped his wears in the floor. One of the oldest men in the group gave him a pat in the back and he sat. Drinks were brought to the table and the waterfall became a quiet whisper over rocks the young child would never understand.
"Shinta."
The voice came from behind him. The boy turned, his mouth taking on a smile. His smile was met by the young woman who had spoken to him. She held a wash basin in her hands and an apron over her chest. The boy laughed as she touched his head with a caress, ruffling his hair. She looked sideways at the men who were looking at the huge, burly man's wears, deciding which to buy and commenting about the droughts in the deserts. Outside, in the street, her two friends sat, moving their legs up and down and speaking in hushed voices. Shinta watched as Kasumi laughed and Sakura watched her as if she were crazy, burned by the sun. Akane smiled, her eyes still on the merchants. Shinta followed her gaze as she looked at the older man's face.
"I'm glad that merchant is here," she said. "Now we can have something to eat at last."
Shinta frowned, taking the drink the girl offered him. She smiled as he drank it wholly, watching his face become satisfied. The merchants their group met every now and then across their journeys were the best way to trade and to get food. Some of the group turned themselves to stealing while others traded with the black market, but she had always told the young boy stealing was something only dishonourable people did. He had come to sleep with them last night after she had touched his hair, perhaps the first touch a friend had given the boy, who had no parents. Shinta had been so alone, she had thought. She smiled, taking back the empty glass.
"Akane!"
The young girl snapped out of her memories as she heard her name being called. Shinta didn't much like the way the caller sounded and he turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was sitting in a table, surrounded by huge men with drinks and scowls on their faces. The man's cheeks were tainted reddish and he sounded like an ox, his friends laughing like fools. Akane placed her hand on the boy's arm as Shinta was about to turn, seeing the look his eyes had taken.
"Iie, Shinta," Akane said. There was a small smile on the girl's face. "It's all right."
The boy watched as his best friend, the person that had chosen to protect him as a mother, strode across the room and kneeled before the huge man, speaking a soft word. The man, one of the merchants the group had met, placed his feet before her and the boy watched the woman take the man's feet and begin to scrub. Shinta saw her head hang forwards, her small eyes narrowed, but a smile over her lips.
The boy lifted his head as he heard the men on the corner table begin to talk louder. The burly man that had walked in with wears was beginning to scream, his voice sounding like a mad bull. The young boy gasped, finding his feet moving closer to the group, his eyes staring at the men. One of the drinks spilled over, spilling over some of the things on the table.
"Too damned expensive, Matsuriori," the old man said, his eyes flashing. "We cannot afford such prices if we wish to also buy supplies for our long trip. You know that."
"Fuck you, Aburo," Matsuriori said, his lips twisting into a mocking scowl.
The old man gritted his teeth, rising from his seat. So much he could take from traders the like as the man before him. Matsuriori tightened his fists, tensing his muscles. The men beside them drew backwards, looking up at the two men's faces. The wears lay across the table like a dirty word.
"Lower your prices and you can have one of the girls we are taking across," one of the huge men behind the old man said, his teeth glimmering in the dark. Aburo, standing before him, narrowed his eyes, not much liking the man's idea. Matsuriori's lips twisted, his eyes shinning like an animal's.
"I get to keep one of your bitches? Nice offer coming from a slave trader. You bow so low as to toss your wears as free gifts to anyone you meet? Interesting."
Shinta gasped, his breath leaving his body as he stared at the men around the table, their faces stern and looking at each other like knives about to cut skin. He tightened his fists. There were only three women in their caravan whom the men could be speaking about. Kasumi. Sakura. Akane. He felt his lips tighten, his narrowing eyes taking a look at the long sword that lay across the table, the reason for such a dispute.
"No," Aburo said. "Lower your prices and we'll make a deal. We cannot waste anymore time with you. Our group heads out across the mountains this night. So make up your mind."
Matsuriori laughed, his hands crossed over his chest. He turned his head sideways, an amused smile on its lips. Shinta followed his gaze as it ran across the room towards the huge man sitting on the other side of the room, his feet being washed by Akane's hands. A small gasp escaped his body.
"Mo," Matsuriori said, laughing at some joke the slave traders did not comprehend. "What do you think, captain? Should we make business with these people?"
Shinta drew back, his hands grasping towards the walls behind him. The man stood from his seat, toppling the wash basin the girl was holding over sideways. He gave a huge laugh, looking at the lady and then turning towards the old man. The old man gritted his teeth.
"I like our deal," he said. "I appreciate free gifts on my trades."
Shinta gasped, watching as Akane's hands fell before her body, her eyes staring out at nothing. Aburo growled, his fists closing in anger beside his sides. The young boy turned around, his teeth gritted and looked at the sword lying in the table, smeared by the man's sake. Akane. The merchants had begun to laugh, laughing at their small group and at the helpless slaves. Laughing at Akane. Shinta felt his fingernails tearing the skin in his hands. The sword on the table, its hilt towards him, laughed at him with its silent blade.
"Shinta!"
The young boy leaped from his quiet stance, rushing towards the table, taking the sword by its hilt. The men gasped, their leader growling like a beast. The boy turned around, eyeing the door, and ran towards it, his feet moving faster than he could even imagine. He looked backwards once, his eyes glowing with rage. Akane lay on the floor, forgotten by her abuser, and one of the slave traders was dashing towards her, grabbing her hands. The merchants dashed across the room, tossing tables and drinks aside, bearing their teeth. Aburo stood watching the young boy get away with the priceless sword, feeling the men become alive near him. A small smile ran across the old man's face.
Shinta had stolen the merchants' priced jewel, outsmarting them, and they still retained the girl they could've lost. The merchants, men who were, Aburo knew now, stupid in the head, had forgotten all about the traders and seemed intent on rushing after the boy to get their sword back. Aburo, watching his group draw back from the hurricane the merchants became, stepped backwards, his small eyes glowing with yellow, and laughed. Laughed.
"Shinta
... Shiiiiiinta!"
It seemed a thousand voices called his name. Countless of voices, screaming out his name until it seemed it was not his own anymore, until it seemed he was not Shinta but some other person, someone he had no idea could run this fast, or leap so high. Still, the voices called him and pulled him, wanting to draw him to their fire.
His mother. His father. He closed his eyes, willing the faces away. He didn't want to remember. He seemed to be rushing into the darkness, feeling its tongue licking him until he was in the bottom of its stomach. He was alone, so alone. There was no one near to hear him cry out or pant. All he could hear was the voices, calling out his name, but his name wasn't Shinta. He wasn't Shinta anymore.
Okaasan! He heard himself screaming, calling out for his mother, willing her body to appear like that of other boys and girls who could run toward her skirts and hide in her warmth and feel her hands cover his head. Her face would light up when he'd rush into her, longing for her embrace and knowing she would tell his followers to stop chasing him. She would speak in a stern voice, raising her kitchen spoon and waving it at his chasers. He would be safe until his father would face him and he'd have to explain why he was being chased. He'd show them the gleaming sword in his hands, stolen to protect some girl he'd met, and his father would feel proud. He'd speak in a stern voice, telling the child he should not steal, but that such a sword was a wondrous gift. The boy would be shamed, but he'd find forgiveness such a father's eyes. His mother would ask them to put their sword away and clean their hands and come to dinner. The father would agree, eyeing his son with a smile and ruffling his hair, and both would head to the table.
He stumbled, his eyes closed so hard so he could not see his way, but he picked his body up, dashing like a faun through the trees. he darkness was eating him, swallowing him and licking his limbs one by one. He could feel it as his breath left his body. His legs were tired, but he could not comprehend how his body still kept running. It must be the darkness animating his skin, dilating his eyes, making his voice unlike his own.
Lightning shot through his head, tearing his body apart. Wide-eyed, his breath still in his tiny chest, he stopped in the woods, his red hair flowing over his eyes like a beast child. The voices screamed in one last flash of lighting.
"Run, child! Run! We'll kill you!"
Shinta felt his arms become numb, his feet cold beneath him.
"We'll
find you again and kill you! Kill all of you!"
He could only watch. The storm rushed screamed too loud, its hands like fists and a thousand swords slashing like hurricane. He could only stand and watch as it tore skins and heads, passing like an animal full of hunger. Hunger for human blood and hands and legs. He could only watch. He was too small and too weak, his hands not like a father's and his voice not strong like a mother's. He could hear his mind screaming, screaming like pain, as if a fingers were tearing his insides apart and the fear left him frozen with eyes wide open. He could not make them stop, and lay powerless before it.
He took hold of the gleaming sword and rushed forward, wielding it sideways like a wave, cutting the air with awkward movements. His fingers closed around the threaded hilt of the sword, animated by the hellish scream inside his body. His body was being torn apart by the lightning, the thunder crashing one upon the other in his head, his mind screaming so... screaming so...
"No, Shinta!"
His body shook with the violent sob of the woman that held him near, embraced by maddened hands, taken close to a body ready to die, holding him from the pain, saving him from the storm. Still. He was so still. Quiet. He couldn't understand why he was so quiet. Her hands, and those of the other women reached for his eyes, wishing to keep him from seeing such a horrendous storm. Still. He was so still, and everyone dying around him. Dying around him. Dying. The young girls over him were dying. His eyes watched, widened in a cold numbness that took his body like a violent convulsion.
"Live... Shinta... live..."
The hands of death embraced him one last time as he felt the sword penetrate her body, tearing their bodies apart. The tears of death fell on his head, hot liquid on his red hair now darker with their blood.
"You
are too young to die.. for others... Live your life..."
I was Shinta then.
He closed his eyes, his hands reaching forward to hold on to the wall before him. He opened his eyes, his mouth opened slightly, his breath still in his body. His hand reached down to touch his sword, hanging silent on his waste, his fingers running over its hilt. He was not a leaf anymore. He was the tree now, holding on to the leaves, allowing the wind to move them and caress them, watching them grow into green miracles and red blossoms, smiling as the sunrise paints him with colours of blue and red, making him stronger.
He
lifted his head, his fingers tight around his sword, his violet eyes serene,
and walked out into the light of the waking sunrise.
Author's Note
This
story was written while listening to one of its enduring forces, the song
"Por Amor" by Menudo, which the author links with Himura Kenshin for reasons
he can't understand. We wish you to see this song, so as a treat, we've
copied a translation of it here. Listen to Kenshin's voice, singing to
those he protects, like the author does.
Por Amor (For Love)
You
were born for love
and
grew up like me
They
took care of you
and
because of love you are here
The
man cries for love
because
love said goodbye to him
With
love you will understand
that
because of love there is no solitude
If
I give you my hand, come,
you
will be happy and so will I
The
moon will smile.
All
for love, if God wishes it so
For
living, for smiling. You and me.
If
I give you my hand, come,
you
will be happy and so will I
You
will walk by my side
Some
die for having riches and power
but
there is a better way to die
and
its for love
If
I give you my hand, come,
you
will be happy and so will I
You
will smile and feel better.
© August 18, 1998. Team Bonet Please do not copy without permission from the author. Have a great day!