Beyond: A Tribute (Interlude II, comes after Part 4, focus on Taka-san again)
© 2008 Gold
Title: Beyond: A Tribute
Interlude II: Burning Heart
Author: Gold
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis . It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.
Notes: This chapter is centred around one of the nicest and most overlooked characters in all of Prince of Tennis-Kawamura Takashi, all-round good guy and sushi chef.
Interlude II
Kawamura grimly dipped his hands into the small bowl of clear water, the cool liquid seeping into the hairline cracks on the surface of his skin, softening the callused fingers that no longer gripped tennis racquets and yet had never forgotten the furry, velvety feel of a little yellow ball. Brows knitted ferociously together and lips pursed tightly, he finally took his fingers out of the bowl and carefully patted them on a dry cloth by the side.
Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
In his mind’s eye, he could see himself, tennis racquet in hand, fingers curled around a furry, neon yellow ball, throwing the ball high into the air, and whacking the tiny yellow projectile to an imagined opponent, all the way across a wide green court, over the low, taut netting and the white lines that ran so straight and true as they marked the courts for singles and doubles...
His eyes flew open.
(Green courts).
The nori was flat and green, and rough beneath his fingertips, like the texture of dried flowers pressed into crinkly, veined, paper-thin sheets.
(Service play).
His fingers dipped shakily into the wasabi, scooping up the thick green condiment clumsily and then lavishing it with abandon over the nori.
(White netting and lines marking singles and doubles).
White rice, plump and short-grained and vinegar-flavoured, spread unevenly in a somewhat hilly-looking layer over the wasabi, which did its best to erupt uncooperatively through the cracks between the grains.
(Bouncing the neon yellow ball).
Anago formed another layer, hastily-cut slices crowding the rice, and getting rapidly wasabi-stained.
(Throwing the ball into the air).
He added a final glob of wasabi, trying to spread over the anago slices what should have been a mere daub of the green condiment.
(Serve).
He rolled it, nori, vinegared rice, anago and wasabi packed together into a long roll, ignoring the fact that the wasabi and rice were all but oozing out from the roll. Then he picked up a knife and hacked out four unusually awkward cuts that nearly produced scars on the wooden board he had placed beneath the sushi. The unfortunate result was four pieces of somewhat overstuffed, little cylindrical shapes of different lengths and somewhat serrated edges.
He drew a deep, tremulous breath.
One more time.
Nori.
Wasabi.
Vinegared Rice.
Wasabi.
Anago.
Wasabi.
Roll, cut, serve.
Four more wobbly pieces.
He rinsed his shaking fingers in the small bowl of clear water that was rapidly becoming polluted with tiny bits of mashed rice and green globules.
"Takashi, what are you doing here?!"
Kawamura froze, three fingers of one hand still trailing in the cloudy water of the bowl, and blinked vaguely. “Ah... ’tou-san!"
His father was standing at the doorway, his arms akimbo and a very familiar scowl on his face. “Takashi, I thought I told you to rest! You didn’t sleep last night! I don’t need help in the shop today-and you’re wasting all the good ingredients! Now go back to bed!”
Kawamura held out his hands and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, ’tou-san … I promise I’ll clean up the mess later. I’m going to Karuizawa this morning… Inui called yesterday and said we’re all going to Atobe-san’s house there, to see how we can do something about Tezuka and Momo… Fujiko called too… he said he missed my sushi… I promised him… ” His voice cracked slightly.
Kawamura's father took a quick, anxious look at the heavy circles under his boy’s eyes, shadows that made him seem so much older than his twenty-one years. Takashi had always been a shy, quiet boy, much like his mother when she was a young girl. But the elder Kawamura thought he remembered a time when his son's face was less worn with care. If these last three years had been hard on Takashi, the last few days had been more painful still.
Kawamura’s father darted a glance at the single tray of sushi pieces, all heavily dyed green, several looking somewhat wobbly, and cringed. It was bad enough that they looked as if they had been serially dipped into wasabi and left overnight to stew; it was an utter insult to his craft and teaching to have his own son create such-such miserable dumplings of rice and nori!
“Takashi...” Kawamura’s father took a deep breath. Must not scold son.Son having a bad time. “Sushi reflects the heart of the maker," the elder Kawamura said through gritted teeth, unconsciously echoing what a good man had once said to his son many years ago. The elder Kawamura waved his hands almost frantically. “And Takashi, your heart is not still and in the proper place to make sushi.”
His son bit his lip and made a gesture that looked very much like he was wringing his hands.
Kawamura senior stifled a sigh. It had been three years since the boy had left high school. Things had seemed fine in the first year, but over the last year or so, Takashi had seemed a little quieter, and a little more intense. He had never been a great talker, but together with the increased silence came the loss of the usual gentle, cheerful air that he always wore. As a father, he had simply thought that his son was just growing up; however, his wife-that is, Takashi’s mother-had often been worried enough to ask the boy if anything was wrong. Of course, Takashi had always assured her that everything was all right. He didn’t always understand this son of his, but he tried. He didn’t know why his boy was growing so quiet, and he didn’t know if there was anything wrong-but so long as the boy wasn’t mixed up in gangs and drugs, it was all right. The boy would find his own way. That was the way of life.
Now, this matter at hand, the one that was really troubling his boy and causing the ridiculous-this one he could understand.
The elder Kawamura rubbed his chin, his scowl lessening somewhat, and glanced again at his son. “Takashi, you shouldn’t worry so much,” he said finally, his tone mellowing a little. “Things will turn out all right-it’ll have a way of coming out all right, you’ll see. Take it from an old man like me. You boys from Seigaku are good boys. Your captain-someone set him up, everybody knows he’s not like that. They’ll find the truth and the ones who did it. And your friend, the one who’s missing, you just wait and see, he’ll probably turn up in some village and end up eating all the food in it, ha ha, he always liked to eat a lot here...”
Kawamura moistened dry lips. “Thank you, ’tou-san.” His voice was a little hoarse. Automatically, he scooped up another two fingerfuls of rice and began another shaky attempt to mould it. "I know they’ll be fine, just... wondering how they are...”
His father eyed the dismal pieces of attempts at making sushi. “You’re no use today,” he said, shaking his head and sighing. “Did you not think, Takashi, that sushi must be made, fresh, with fresh ingredients? It will be four hours, maybe five hours by the time you reach Karuizawa and our Kawamura Sushi will not be worth eating.” He paused and thought for a moment, knitting his brows together. “I will tell you what. Come with me to the market today. I think we can still be in time to get some good ingredients. Then we will come back here and pack the ingredients. I will close the shop today and I will drive you down to Karuizawa myself. When we get there, you and I will make the sushi for them-good, fresh sushi.”
Kawamura’s voice was filled with wonder. “’tou-san...”
His father waved a hand in a lordly manner. “No need for thanks. Now-clear this mess up!”
Kawamura blinked and immediately began scrambling to clear the counter. “Hai, ’tou-san...”
The elder Kawamura’s eyebrows twitched compulsively as his son accidentally knocked over the bowl of cloudy water, banged his elbow twice on the counter as he tried to put back the remaining pieces of anago in the ice-box, and then fell over a stool.
“And leave the ... sushi... behind.”