Kara no geki
I return to my room.
As I close the fusuma the old woman remains bent and bowed. A touch of spite makes me slide the screen closed as quietly as possible. I wonder how long it will be until she dares glance up to see that I have retreated. I shake my head at my ill humor and resolve to ask for guidance when next I visit my family shrine.
A slight breeze carries the bitter tang of smoke to my tongue. I cross the mats. They creak and slide a little as the fibers shift and settle beneath my feet. It is eerily quiet in the inn yard. I gaze out through the open shoji panel. Near the river the black kishi of the fire curl and shift. Inside me anger roils, mirrors the smoke, as I watch the blue-eyed man's declaration of war. He dares to marshal fire against us! Against me!
Ah! I cannot think with anger trying to rule me. Surprised to find myself white knuckled, I unclench my fists. I slash at the air with my open hands. It helps level the anger to forcibly cast it from me. I turn back my back on the city and look at the room.
My room is large. The innkeeper combined two rooms for me,sliding walls like pieces of a puzzle to remove and store them for my convenience. He gathered mats for my comfort as well, laying them over the worn and age polished wooden floor. I must have cost him several koku to accommodate. Ah,well. He will have the right now to brag that one of the Emperor's magistrates used his humble ryokan. My family name alone would have been a point of pride for him. Half the city must know that we are housed here by now.
My room is suddenly small. Realization is a sharp blow that strikes me between the shoulder blades and drives my breath from my lungs. For a moment I look into the void.
He knows where we are. He knows exactly where we are!
I cross the room and yank the fusuma open. It slams against the wall as my heart slams against my ribs. The old woman is gone. Only the workman's empty husk remains.
As I close the fusuma the old woman remains bent and bowed. A touch of spite makes me slide the screen closed as quietly as possible. I wonder how long it will be until she dares glance up to see that I have retreated. I shake my head at my ill humor and resolve to ask for guidance when next I visit my family shrine.
A slight breeze carries the bitter tang of smoke to my tongue. I cross the mats. They creak and slide a little as the fibers shift and settle beneath my feet. It is eerily quiet in the inn yard. I gaze out through the open shoji panel. Near the river the black kishi of the fire curl and shift. Inside me anger roils, mirrors the smoke, as I watch the blue-eyed man's declaration of war. He dares to marshal fire against us! Against me!
Ah! I cannot think with anger trying to rule me. Surprised to find myself white knuckled, I unclench my fists. I slash at the air with my open hands. It helps level the anger to forcibly cast it from me. I turn back my back on the city and look at the room.
My room is large. The innkeeper combined two rooms for me,sliding walls like pieces of a puzzle to remove and store them for my convenience. He gathered mats for my comfort as well, laying them over the worn and age polished wooden floor. I must have cost him several koku to accommodate. Ah,well. He will have the right now to brag that one of the Emperor's magistrates used his humble ryokan. My family name alone would have been a point of pride for him. Half the city must know that we are housed here by now.
My room is suddenly small. Realization is a sharp blow that strikes me between the shoulder blades and drives my breath from my lungs. For a moment I look into the void.
He knows where we are. He knows exactly where we are!
I cross the room and yank the fusuma open. It slams against the wall as my heart slams against my ribs. The old woman is gone. Only the workman's empty husk remains.