For Ten Thousand Years, 3/5
anonymous
January 28 2009, 02:10:31 UTC
Yong Su lowered his head again, pulled up his knees and folded his arms around them, beginning to sob into the quilt. Kiku rested a hand on his back and waited, patient.
“All right,” Yong Su murmured at last. “I’ve thought.”
“What do you want to say, now that you’ve thought?”
His head jerked up. “I hate - I hate you! Mansei, mansei -”
The force of Kiku’s strike snapped his head to the side and knocked him off the futon, onto the tatami mats, where he curled in evident anticipation of another blow. Kiku stared (this was an era for staring) at the tears streaked across his fingers and palm, then hurriedly left the room before he could lose enough control to deliver that blow. As he slid the door shut behind him, he heard Yong Su begin to retch.
***
When they opened their doors to him again at last, Yong Su gave him a tentative smile and Yong Jun gave him a blank face. Kiku smiled back and marveled at how small they seemed now. Had he seemed as small to Alfred Jones?
They could no longer rely on Yao to protect them. They could no longer hide from the rest of the world and hope to be overlooked. The world would no longer pass them by - it would sweep them along. They would learn to look outward again, or they would be trampled underfoot. Kiku had learned that lesson well.
When he stepped closer, Yong Jun stepped in front of his brother in turn, perhaps divining his intentions. Though if he did so, he divined the intentions of either the past or the future. Yong Su looked much the same as he had two, three hundred years ago - and that was the trouble. Kiku had outgrown him.
It was a trouble, however, that could be remedied. And the remedy began here, as each of them pressed their seal to the treaty.
***
Kiku returned hours later, bearing another tray of food and drink. The room was cleaned up and Yong Su had retreated to a far corner, draping himself in the quilt. His legs were crossed, his knees jutting out from underneath.
“I want to see my brother.”
It was the same thing his brother had said, delivered even in the same measured cadence, and Kiku repeated, “You’ll see him if you conduct yourself properly.”
Yong Su’s hands clenched and he turned his face toward the wall.
“Look at me,” Kiku told him, moving closer. As he showed no sign of doing so, he set down the tray, knelt, and reached to grasp his chin and turn it. When he succeeded Yong Su’s eyes were shut, his lips a line of distaste. Yes, he looked more and more like Yong Jun, and Kiku didn’t want Yong Jun - not in this way.
“It would be pleasant,” he murmured in half reflection, “if you would smile for me again.”
“Smile?” Yong Su blurted, eyes flying open. “After what you did to us?”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Yong Su’s eyes promptly closed again. “Please,” he tried to soothe him. “There’s no need to be like this.”
“There wasn’t a need to kill them.”
***
“You killed her.”
“No.”
The queen of Korea had most certainly been an obstruction, yet in her death he might also have lost Yong Su, at least for a time. The boy was clearly no longer in a state to mull over reform and modernization with that peculiarly endearing expression of contemplation. The hems of his voluminous trousers and sleeves were heavily stained. He lifted his hands before his face, stared at them as if he didn’t know what it was that streaked them, and then stared back at Kiku and repeated, “You killed her.”
“All right,” Yong Su murmured at last. “I’ve thought.”
“What do you want to say, now that you’ve thought?”
His head jerked up. “I hate - I hate you! Mansei, mansei -”
The force of Kiku’s strike snapped his head to the side and knocked him off the futon, onto the tatami mats, where he curled in evident anticipation of another blow. Kiku stared (this was an era for staring) at the tears streaked across his fingers and palm, then hurriedly left the room before he could lose enough control to deliver that blow. As he slid the door shut behind him, he heard Yong Su begin to retch.
***
When they opened their doors to him again at last, Yong Su gave him a tentative smile and Yong Jun gave him a blank face. Kiku smiled back and marveled at how small they seemed now. Had he seemed as small to Alfred Jones?
They could no longer rely on Yao to protect them. They could no longer hide from the rest of the world and hope to be overlooked. The world would no longer pass them by - it would sweep them along. They would learn to look outward again, or they would be trampled underfoot. Kiku had learned that lesson well.
When he stepped closer, Yong Jun stepped in front of his brother in turn, perhaps divining his intentions. Though if he did so, he divined the intentions of either the past or the future. Yong Su looked much the same as he had two, three hundred years ago - and that was the trouble. Kiku had outgrown him.
It was a trouble, however, that could be remedied. And the remedy began here, as each of them pressed their seal to the treaty.
***
Kiku returned hours later, bearing another tray of food and drink. The room was cleaned up and Yong Su had retreated to a far corner, draping himself in the quilt. His legs were crossed, his knees jutting out from underneath.
“I want to see my brother.”
It was the same thing his brother had said, delivered even in the same measured cadence, and Kiku repeated, “You’ll see him if you conduct yourself properly.”
Yong Su’s hands clenched and he turned his face toward the wall.
“Look at me,” Kiku told him, moving closer. As he showed no sign of doing so, he set down the tray, knelt, and reached to grasp his chin and turn it. When he succeeded Yong Su’s eyes were shut, his lips a line of distaste. Yes, he looked more and more like Yong Jun, and Kiku didn’t want Yong Jun - not in this way.
“It would be pleasant,” he murmured in half reflection, “if you would smile for me again.”
“Smile?” Yong Su blurted, eyes flying open. “After what you did to us?”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Yong Su’s eyes promptly closed again. “Please,” he tried to soothe him. “There’s no need to be like this.”
“There wasn’t a need to kill them.”
***
“You killed her.”
“No.”
The queen of Korea had most certainly been an obstruction, yet in her death he might also have lost Yong Su, at least for a time. The boy was clearly no longer in a state to mull over reform and modernization with that peculiarly endearing expression of contemplation. The hems of his voluminous trousers and sleeves were heavily stained. He lifted his hands before his face, stared at them as if he didn’t know what it was that streaked them, and then stared back at Kiku and repeated, “You killed her.”
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