Written: October 28, 2005
Posted: 29 October 2005, rev. 0
28 April 2008, rev. 1 Yet Another Formatting Fix
Category: Drama.
Summary: Hiko wonders about, and learns a little of, Kenshin's family background. Second in the Adoption series.
Disclaimer: The characters and story of Rurouni Kenshin are the property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shonen Jump, et al. Used without permission. This work is for entertainment only, and no profit is intended
Adoption II. Conversations from the Crazed
What's that saying? Insanity is inherited: you get it from your children.
My case, of course, is unique. I got it from your son. Here I'd thought I was perfectly safe from the threats of snotty, whiny, sticky smelly children—there is something, after all, to be said for living the life of a hermit, apart from fresh mountain air, beautiful views, and quiet—the fewer people you encounter, the less likely they will inflict tedium upon you.
That was when the little red dragon hatched out in front of me, when I least expected it. One expects to encounter strong and disturbed ki where slavers have passed, but having it mixed with sweetness and innocence isn't an everyday occurrence.
I wonder about you, sometimes. Who were you? What were you like, how did you approach life, to nurture this odd little spirit as you did? Kenshin says you and your wife were farmers, and judging from his joy in setting out plants and pinching caterpillars from vegetables you may well have been.
But that isn't the whole answer. Can't be—it doesn't explain having a last name, or the boy's obviously carefully taught manners, or his basic knowledge of kanji.
I do know a little about you: what you look like, how you smiled. How much your son loved you and depended on you.
He's come through his experience with the slavers and bandits well, all things considered, but there were still marks. For the first year, he had night horrors on and off. I would rouse from sleep to find him curled into himself and whimpering, pleading with—who? For what?
Once such night brought me all the knowledge I have of you.
Of course, I reached to wake him, and he did respond. Not waken, exactly, but continued to live out the nightmare, only with his eyes open. In fact, once wakened, his immersion in the world of horrors in his mind seemed even worse, as his quiet whimpering turned to choking sobs and screams for tou-san.
"Kenshin, Kenshin, shh, it's alright, it's just a bad dream. You are here, in the mountains, with your shishou."
"Tou-san! Tou-san please! Please come get me, don't leave me with them any more. Tou-SAN!"
By now his face was redder than his hair, and his nose and throat were swollen and clogged with tears. At this rate, it was a toss-up as to what would burst first, one of his lungs or my eardrums.
"Kenshin, Kenshin! Wake up!" Nothing, nothing, nothing, just a screaming, hysterical boy. Finally inspiration struck.
"Shinta. Shinta, shh, shh, tell me what's wrong."
It worked, to some extent. The screaming stopped, but not not the desperate sobbing. Instead, he uncurled, stretching his arms out with his head bowed between them, as if supplicating the gods themselves to help him.
His face and his ki was an absolute mess by now. I grabbed him under his outstretched arms and hauled him onto my lap as I settled on the futon. I pulled his face against my shoulder, still murmuring "Shh, shh, Shinta, shh," as I rubbed his back. If nothing else, the position would muffle his wails a bit. My eardrums might have a chance to survive
"You're safe now. Nothing can hurt you--it can't get past my blade."
There was a slight, choking mumble from the child.
"What, Ken-Shinta?"
"I said, and nothing would be silly enough to even think about arguing with your blade, huh, tou-san."
It was a sentence, mumbled through sniffles, but still a sentence. Quite a surprising one, too, for the son of a farmer.
"Nothing would be silly enough to even start up the trail to my house with the intent of facing my blade."
The little body against my shoulder stilled, as if confused. Even the sniffles and occasional gasps stopped. His head pulled back from my shoulder, just a little, and softly but clearly he asked "Tou-san?"
Best to simply be still and say nothing, I decided, and await developments.
When it was clear I would say nothing, the little red head tilted up and back. Apprehension, confusion, and slow recognition chased each other through his tear-reddened eyes as they took in my face.
"Master." It was as certain a statement as the tear-roughened voice of a little boy could manage. "But how did you know about arguing with the blade?"
It was my turn for a little confusion.
"What do you mean, arguing with the blade?"
"Oh. When I was small and the monsters tried to come out of the tansu in the corner where I slept otou-san would always tell me that no monster would ever want to argue with his blade. And then he'd go over to the tansu and thump the top with his fist and say' Listen to me, any monsters in there. Don't come out here and bother my son, because if you do you will face the blade of Himura Hideiki.'"
"And it worked?"
"Oh yes," he assured me, nodding vigorously. "No monsters ever came out when they heard about otou-san's blade."
"I see. Do you remember what his blade looked like, Kenshin?"
He looked at me with great patience.
"'Course not. I just said, the monsters never came out so otou-san never had to draw his blade. Besides, I think they would've just run right back to the tansu if they could've seen tou-san when he was talking to them."
"Ah. What did he look like, then?" I asked, mostly to keep him talking. The memory of the horrors seemed to be receding as he spoke, and besides, I was curious about you now.
"He was fierce. His eyes would go all slitty and his hair would ripple around his shoulders, and his voice would get really strong—"
Really, now? This was getting interesting.
Kenshin was positively animated by now, scrunching up his eyes and tossing his head to demonstrate what his father looked like.
"Was his voice loud?"
He shook his head. "No, strong, like—"
"Like it was coming from some place far down?" I said, dropping my own voice several tones to demonstrate.
"Yes! Just like that! And it was like everything in the house held still, even the things that couldn't move anyway." By now Kenshin was bouncing with enthusiasm.
"Did your father look like that often, Kenshin?"
His eyes widened as he solemnly shook his head no.
"Unh-unh. Kaa-san would thimble him if he forgot and went fierce at us."
"Thimble him?"
"Rap him on the top of the head with a thimble on her finger." He paused to giggle. "She always managed to reach, too, even if she did have to grab his hair and pull his head down. Kaa-san was little."
Judging from the absent-minded way he rubbed the crown of his own head, Kenshin's okaa-san found thimbling a useful method for communicating with her son, as well.
A bemused look crept over the boy's features as he continued to slowly and absently run his hand over his hair.
"Not that she had to do it very often. Mostly tou-san smiled, and he twinkled at kaa-san a lot."
"What's twinkled, Kenshin?"
"I don't know, really, but kaa-san used to say it a lot because I think tou-san liked to tease her and he'd get this big smile on his face and kaa-san would tell him to stop twinkling at her.
"And then her face would get pink, and tou-san would hug her. And kaa-san would always say that nobody that tall and good-looking should get that smile topped off with that hair of his."
He'd been yawning through all the thimbling and twinkling, and now Kenshin leaned on one hand.
"Time to sleep, baka deshi." I could see the tension start in his features as I finished speaking.
"But I'm tired of leaning on the wall, so you are going to have to make yourself small on one side of the futon. And no complaints, and no kicking, understood?" I added in my best "stern shishou" voice.
So we settled, and he slept.
After that, when the memories haunted his dreams, I was able to call him back to himself by using the name you gave him, and gradually over the course of a year they dwindled.
We never spoke again at any great length about you.
So I still wonder, Himura Hideiki, who were you? Did you know that a young boy's imagination and admiration for his father would forge that unseen blade into something that could defeat any threat ? Was it an accident of memory that left such an impression of your fierceness on your son?
Or were there fine steel, a sharp edge, and a swordsman's ki to direct them somewhere in that farmer's house?
Owari
Glossary Baka—idiot, dummy, stupid Ki—spirit, essence, presence Otou-san—father shishou—master of an art or craft, who teaches Tansu—type of japanese storage chest Tou-san—dad, pop