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Tamate had always been a very frightened woman. For no apparent reason, she seemed to have a gift for worrying- or, as the rest of her family might have put it, apprehension and prophecy. She and Kayama had been very lucky, as far as arranged marriages went; They rather enjoyed each other’s company, and got along very well. Tamate told Kayama how afraid she had been all her life that she might have to marry a totally dreadful man without kindness in his heart. She told Kayama that he was not so bad.
They warmed up, over time. Kayama helped. He was much calmer than she. They were a good pair, acting as one: kindly, cordially, functionally. Kayama thought it was a nice thing to be attached to someone. At least then, one would never be alone. Tamate told him then what good it had done her to have him around. Kayama felt that in a silent way, she had done the same for him. It was two halves to make up one whole.
When he happened upon her body upon returning home, he had felt this other half be torn out of him, right in that moment. As if dropping a plate and watching it shatter. As if tearing apart a tapestry and watching its strands fall to the ground. The silent scream had reverberated in his head, if not throughout all the land.
The last thing he had ever done with her was discuss his mission. Kayama had been so cold. He was only frightened. He hadn’t wanted to let Tamate know. It was too late for that, now. He’d never gotten to say goodbye.
They were supposed to have children. They were supposed to get older, and watch those children grow up. The future had been sealed up. He could no longer see past what was right in front of him.
More than that. Kayama had lost his closest friend. His most trusted ally. He would never again feel her shoulder against his, nor her looking to him in confirmation of their shared thoughts. Kayama had held her limply in his arms, almost in disbelief, wondering how it was possible that one of them could die without the other.
Kayama's days stretched on long, now. The ordeal at Kanagawa was over, however it did not feel over. His house was empty. The silence at night would clog his ears. Even in the day, he wandered around with a bad, listless feeling inside of him. It never seemed to shake itself off. As if something would always be around the corner for him, waiting to tear his life apart once more.
Kayama was a simple man, and had always been so. Now, the world was painted in shades of gray, clouded skies which churned all around him. And most everything was cruel.
Most everything, except for…
Well, perhaps when one thing went away, one must replace it with another. But Kayama did not like to think of Manjiro as a replacement. Manjiro was as different from Tamate as was possible- as different from Kayama as was possible.
The very first thing Manjiro had done after being promoted to his new rank was run out into the halls- tripping over himself- find Kayama, and point to his newly shaved forehead with an incredulous grin, saying, "Look what they did to me!"
The statement almost struck Kayama as funny. Manjiro looked the way he really ought to look. Normal. And yet- Look what they had done! Manjiro looked nothing like himself. Perhaps Kayama a few weeks ago would have liked it better this way. But all he’d done was sit there and blink stupidly, trying not to let the shock show on his face. Manjiro said, "I know! I can feel my forehead!" Reaching a hand up to where his hair should have been.
At least they had let him keep it long in the back. Manjiro had demonstrated to Kayama a while earlier, that when it was let out of its tie, his hair fell down to below his shoulders. Kayama thought it was just thrilling. Now Manjiro looked strangely placed in his new dress. Kayama could hardly fathom that they had been born in the same country. Nothing about him belonged here. He couldn’t imagine Manjiro as a samurai. Yet there it was, right in front of him.
Kayama had asked him, unsure of how to approach the question. "...You are still very young, are you not?"
Manjiro smiled, quick on the draw. "Not much more than you."
Kayama lowered his voice, "You wouldn't like to go back to America?"
Still light, Manjiro said, "If I want another death sentence in my name." Then, more thoughtfully. "Perhaps someday. But, after what has happened..."
Kayama nodded.
"Anyhow, I'll have to get my hair back if I want to step foot over there. It seems I'll be a while."
Kayama asked, carefully, "This is right for you?"
Manjiro shrugged. "Anything's right, I think. You've just got to look at it from the right direction. If I could handle America, I can very well handle Japan."
Kayama said, earnestly, "That is very thoughtful."
"'Thoughtful of you to ask." Manjiro replied, briefly touching Kayama’s hand.
Manjiro had stayed with Kayama after Tamate died. Manjiro had tagged along beside Kayama wherever he went. Manjiro had been an unsuspecting witness to every terrible thing that happened to Kayama within the past few weeks. And Manjiro chose not to simply be a witness, but a companion to Kayama.
He spent much time now ignoring his duties and watching Manjiro train. He simply sat to the side and watched, as if it were a riveting performance. Manjiro was very clumsy, and the sword did not fit in his hands. He seemed somewhat embarrassed that Kayama would be there, logically so. But Kayama did not have a very critical eye. He found the mistakes quite charming. Manjiro's hair draped down his back and spilled over his shoulders. He would laugh at his own sly remarks, and stop to stare up at an overhead bird flying in the sky.
After the trade agreement had been finished, and after they had destroyed the house, and the mats, and every bit of evidence that the Americans were ever there, Kayama and Manjiro returned to the shore. Perhaps it was in celebration of their completed mission, though it felt more like mourning. They had sat in silence for a long while, watching the waves crash and recede, gently, steadily back and forth. Everything swayed: The leaves, the trees, the grass, the waves. Kayama thought the only unreliable thing was themselves, sitting sedentarily in the sand. He would glance aside at Manjiro and watch his hair sway gently, too.
After Manjiro's training would finish, Kayama slinked along behind Manjiro as they each retired for the day, following him without really asking as Manjiro did not put up a fight about it. It was easier to be in this new place than in an old one turned bad. Manjiro's new little house was friendly, and not so… autocratic. Manjiro liked to sit in the alcove meant for displaying tapestries and for writing. Manjiro told Kayama that he knew what it was meant for- he had been born here, too- he simply just did not care.
Each time Kayama visited, he would intend only to stop by, and quickly be on his way out. And each time, he would inevitably stay. With much waffling and many sheepish mumblings- "I forget myself," and the sort- Kayama would stand with his back turned, merely acting the part of wanting to leave.
Manjiro talked him down, reaching his hands to touch Kayama's shoulders. "My friend, you need not be ashamed. You forget you are still my only friend here in Japan."
Kayama thought that with such a pleasant disposition- "That shall soon change."
"Maybe." Manjiro said. "But I shan't forget the first!" He kindly nudged Kayama. "There are no rules that can get between us."
Manjiro was smiling at him, endlessly forgiving. Kayama did indeed forget himself, it was not simply a figure of speech. Manjiro patted his shoulder and pranced away, dancing and exclaiming, "There are no rules that shall get in the way of the great warrior, Manjiro!" He quickly extinguished himself, doing a charming shrug at Kayama. “If only I were not so busy these days. Then we might have all day to spend together!”
Kayama liked that thought. He watched as Manjiro flopped himself down on the mats, his long legs awkwardly protruding in front of him and his hands resting on his knees. Kayama lowered down as well, folding his legs beneath himself. “If that is the case,” Manjiro continued. “Perhaps we may get tired of each other soon, no?”
Kayama said, “Better to have the chance to tire of someone than no chance at all.”
Manjiro smiled. “Very wise.”
Kayama shuffled closer to Manjiro, sitting by his side and gently brushing his shoulder. “Do not worry. Training will get easier.” He said, trying to sound comforting. He continued in this pursuit, speaking liberally. “You’ve a gift for new things. They will see. Just as I did.” He leaned back. “Besides, it is a nice thing. Hard work looks good on you.”
Manjiro said, “‘Rather American of you.”
“I mean it.” Kayama said, hastily. “I enjoy seeing you out there, you know?”
Manjiro tilted his head. “Really? Ain’t much to see, I imagine.”
“Lots to see.” Kayama raised his eyebrows for emphasis. “I spend my time wisely.”
Manjiro gave him a hard nudge with his shoulder, and even as Kayama stumbled a bit, the gesture was inexplicably friendly. “You flatter me.” Manjiro said, laughing. “I thought you liked it here in Japan.”
Kayama smiled back, rubbing his shoulder. “Do not begin to accuse me. You are the greatest traitor of them all, my friend.”
Manjiro grinned. “With pride.” He raised himself onto his knees and, gesturing grandly, said, “If you shall stay, I shall make myself a gracious host. How would you like some tea? Tea is what you folks like, yes?”
Kayama nodded. He called after Manjiro as he walked off to task, “You are still one of us, you know.”
Manjiro waved him off. “‘Dumb American, mostly.” He turned and smiled in good humor. “I’m recovering, see?” He bowed clumsily at Kayama. “Allow me, my lord.”
Manjiro carefully poured one whole cup of his tea at a time. Kayama did not tell him that you were supposed to alternate.
Kayama stirred the cup Manjiro had given him. He asked Manjiro, watching, "You don't put any sweetener in yours?"
"Nuh-uh." Manjiro shook his head. "Reminds me'a home. Home home. I never used to get it sweet when I was little; tea houses were merciless, the way they always made it, you know? I missed it. Did you know, they serve tea cold sometimes in America? 'Real shock to me, when I first got there. I'm happy to have it this way again." He suddenly looked at Kayama. "You asked if I'd like to go back. To America? Well, it isn't so bad here. I have become a... sailor, as it were. I can't stay in one place too long. Perhaps I may travel home, sometime soon." Kayama startled. "My parents, you know, they’ll be-"
"Sometime soon?" Kayama asked, suddenly.
"I may." Manjiro blinked. Kayama shrank back down, becoming embarrassed as quickly as he had piped up.
Kayama stuttered. “I… only mean that…” Manjiro gave him a concerned look. “Well, you’ve only just gotten here, and…”
“Why do you fret?” Manjiro asked. He set down his teacup, seeming to think. Kayama felt terror creeping up on him. Manjiro leaned forward. “Why do you fret I may go away?”
Kayama stalled, and held his tongue. He lowered his head. "I… I am ashamed of myself." He looked into his tea. Manjiro’s voice had still been very kind. Kayama’s stomach twisted as he spoke. “It’s only… I have been so lonely.” He took a breath. “My life… it is filled with everything, and devoid of anything.” He glanced up from his cup, nervously. “Do you understand?”
Manjiro looked softly back at him. “I shall try to.”
Kayama struggled, feeling naked. He held on tight to his teacup, his eyes fixed on it as if looking for solace in its green surface. “What we two have been through… There are only so many words to describe it. If things had been different, I might’ve…” He had to swallow. “I might’ve had her… and she would have understood, eventually.” He shut his eyes. “But I do not. I am all alone.”
He felt Manjiro shift and come closer to him, settle by his side. He put his arm gently around Kayama’s shoulders. Kayama went on, “I am all alone…” He opened his eyes, and looked up to Manjiro. “Except for you!” Manjiro looked surprised. Kayama’s hands shook. He put down his cup and put them forward, as if begging. “You have been nothing but the dearest companion I could ever have, and I am nothing but grateful…” Kayama seemed to run out of breath. He dropped his head, and closed his hands back into fists. “My life has been opened in an instant. And in the next, closed back up. I carry on in my duties as if nothing happened. It is because of you, I feel unsettled with this place. My old life is now…obsolete. I’ve no choice in that matter.” He leaned sideways, and defeatedly laid his head onto Manjiro’s shoulder. “I may as well get in a boat with you and sail away.”
Above him, Manjiro’s voice asked, “Is that what is right for you?”
Kayama replied, “I do not know. All I know is…” He closed his eyes, “You are safe. You are warm.” He caught himself once more. “And so I run away again. I am so ashamed…” He attempted to hide his face, looking at the floor.
Manjiro said, “It is alright that you are frightened.”
“I am nothing but frightened.” Kayama said, morbidly. “It is as if I never came home, as if the ships never left the harbor.”
Manjiro was quiet for a moment. Before he pulled Kayama closer in and said, “I’ll stay a while longer. You won’t have to worry.”
Kayama gave in, burying his face into Manjiro’s shoulder and letting his vision be obscured. He hoped that he would not worry, like Manjiro had said. As it was in the moment, it seemed somewhat possible. He wrapped his arms around Manjiro in return, feeling suddenly tucked in. He wondered how it was that Manjiro always knew the answer. And how it was that Kayama could love someone so impolite.
Kayama said, “You are the most honorable man I have ever known.”
He felt Manjiro laugh. He said, a little startled, “I do only what I suppose is right.” Then, deliberately. “As do you.”
Kayama could have argued. He whispered, “I wish for your courage.”
Manjiro told him, “You possess your own.”
It had taken two to save Japan, the two of them.
From the very moment they met, though Manjiro had been kneeling at his feet and staring up at him through bars- Manjiro hadn't been afraid. He'd never been. He was only every bit forgiving, and willing- As if the very concept of willingness was what made up Manjiro’s being.
It was beginning to rub off. Kayama thought that his uncertainty was simply the beginning of balance.
What he felt was not merely admiration, or gratefulness- though perhaps that was a great part of it. More than anything, Kayama felt an incredible love for Manjiro. He was somewhat startled by the thought. He wondered if Manjiro noticed. The two were pressed so close together now; against his shoulder, Kayama could feel every breath Manjiro took. He hoped that Manjiro had noticed.
Kayama knew that this was not a very good idea. Despite that, he felt very clear-headed. He willed power into himself once again. This was the courage that Manjiro possessed; Kayama hoped to borrow some of it in one divine moment. Or in one small moment, he reasoned to calm his nerves. One small gesture.
He lifted his head to look at Manjiro’s face, his doubts slowly leaving him as he gazed upon features grown so familiar to him. Manjiro acknowledged him slightly, waiting for him to speak. Kayama thought he should be punished if he were anything but tender.
“Manjiro,” he whispered, compelled forward. He set his hands gently on Manjiro’s arms, and willed himself not to think as he tilted his head to kiss him.
Kayama thought it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done anything for himself. It did not feel selfish. It felt wonderful. Manjiro responded to him quickly, and did not seem to be startled one bit. He moved with Kayama, and did not impose. Kayama squeezed his hands where he held Manjiro’s arms. And only then did Manjiro raise his own hand to touch Kayama's shoulder, to settle his nerves.
The gesture helped, for a moment. Kayama pulled his head away, flustered and still somewhat frazzled. His heart fluttered when he saw Manjiro’s face again, lips that he had just kissed pulled calmly into a smile. Kayama wondered how he had not run away yet.
Manjiro said, still very close, “I was wondering if that would happen.”
Kayama looked away. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. He said, like clockwork, “You saved my life. I must repay you.”
Manjiro suddenly laughed at that. His hands fell down onto Kayama’s knees. “Oh, Kayama…” He said, breathlessly. “I hope that is not the only reason.”
Kayama frowned. “I don’t find it very amusing.”
Manjiro straightened back up and said, “Sorry, my friend.” Manjiro reached his hands to Kayama’s face and kissed him again.
Their foreheads together, Kayama mumbled, “It is not the only reason.”
Manjiro smiled. He held Kayama’s hands, and asked him, “Do you wish to stay?”
Kayama first thought, Of course. Of course I wish to stay. It is all I ever wish. But he froze up. He thought of it, the impossible gift of being able to forget his worries for a night. Perhaps more than a night. He thought of Manjiro, smiling at him warmly, coaxing him in. Kayama pulling away his robes and touching his skin, reveling finally in his lean body, and his dark hair which would pool beneath him…
Kayama said very suddenly, before he could think, “I can’t.” He tore his clammy hands away from Manjiro’s. His throat felt tight again. “It… would not be right.”
His heart hurt to look up again at Manjiro’s face and see on it something like disappointment. Manjiro’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes still somewhat caring. “Right?” He echoed, asking.
Kayama pulled himself back. He suddenly could not bring himself to look Manjiro in the eye anymore. He instead fixed his gaze on his cold tea cup, sitting discarded beside him. He heard Manjiro call for him again: “Kayama?” gently, and with a significant undertone of worry.
Guiltily, Kayama picked up his cup again and drank it until empty. It only made him feel worse; Manjiro had been so good to him. He fought his feelings out of his voice and said, “I… must go.”
Kayama made himself turn the cold shoulder and, slowly, picked himself up to leave. Manjiro asked from the floor, only after watching him rise as if he hadn’t realized Kayama was serious. “Why? So suddenly?”
Kayama felt he should at least do Manjiro the dignity of being truthful. But he had never gotten on well with words. The ‘truth’ in his mind had gone somewhat unexamined, whatever it was could not seem to be spoken aloud.
“What’s the matter?” Manjiro asked. Kayama thought that Manjiro had silently meant to extend the question; ‘What’s the matter with you?’
“It’s alright.” Kayama said, pained in response, “You will fare fine without my company.” He turned his back fully.
“Kayama…” He heard Manjiro’s voice behind him. “You do not believe that, do you?” He heard Manjiro’s feet scraping the floor as he got up, approaching Kayama. “What must I say?” He asked. “What must I do?” He set one hand on Kayama’s shoulder, and Kayama jerked away on impulse. Kayama could hear the nearing hurt in Manjiro’s voice as he asked, finally, “...You regret it?”
Kayama said quickly, “No!” Almost panicked, as if it were absolutely imperative to clarify. He had turned his head, and regretted it immediately. He averted his eyes from Manjiro’s sad face. Again, he said, “No…” He felt he was being split in half.
Nudging over his shoulder, Manjiro persuaded, “Won’t you listen to yourself?”
Kayama shook his head. “I can’t.”
Manjiro said, straining, “Of course you can!” He advanced himself forward and took Kayama by the shoulders again. “You and I are cut from the same cloth, no?” Kayama blinked in surprise. “Where the differences come from- any number of things. It doesn’t matter. If it were possible for me, it is possible for you, my friend!” Manjiro looked at him straight on, with wide, impassioned eyes. “Kayama,” he said, “I care for you.” He lifted one hand to tenderly touch Kayama’s cheek. “You don’t have to uproot your life for it. You can start here.”
Kayama trembled somewhat. He looked at Manjiro’s face and thought how beautiful he was, and how only an idiot could refuse this. So badly he wanted to listen to Manjiro. How many times he had thought Manjiro was right, how much Manjiro had swayed him. With Kayama’s silent judgement, still as a stone anchored in a stream. Perhaps Manjiro and his wild ideas had begun to erode away at him, lapping at his feet as the rushing water around him. Perhaps Kayama had taken a quiet liking to him all on his own.
Manjiro’s eyes were now twinkling with hope. How does one say no to that?
Kayama knew how. He had done it a million times before. It was like instinct, second-nature to him. He would tell himself, in his sternest voice, to keep as still as possible, and with precision, fold the blanket and put it away.
The coil would stay wound. The door would stay shut. Kayama did not need to see what was on the other side.
Kayama said, very quietly, “I can’t.” He shut his eyes. “You must understand.”
He felt Manjiro’s hands lift off his shoulders, and his presence moved away. Kayama opened his eyes- though he'd wanted to keep them closed forever, if he could. Manjiro was a few steps back, hands dropped to his sides, looking at Kayama, resigned.
Kayama looked deep into Manjiro’s soft, brown eyes and thought, he had really done it, he had killed the hope within them.
Manjiro spoke, numbly. "I understand. You are afraid." He shook his head, disapproving. But then, his face welled up with emotion again, and he moved toward Kayama. Kayama sucked in a surprised breath as Manjiro pulled him into a hug, his slender arms wrapping around him, just as before.
Manjiro’s chest pressed warmly against his, Manjiro’s cheek brushed past the side of his head. Kayama was frozen in place. He held his breath until Manjiro let go.
Manjiro looked at him sadly, backing away. “If you must.” He said. He slowly stepped past Kayama and out of sight, his hand still touching Kayama’s arm until it finally drifted away.
Kayama stayed still for a moment. He did not turn around. He made himself envision leaving and walking the distance back to his own house. Only after that did he move his legs to take the first step out.
Afraid. The word tumbled around in his mind for the rest of the night. Afraid. Kayama could see Manjiro’s face as he had said it, a solid image imprinted into his eyes. Kayama wanted to bristle. I am not afraid, He would say, quickly unravelling, Do not look at me as if you pity me. A week ago you were my servant, and before that you were a prisoner, and before that you were a runaway who’d rather betray his own family than accept his place. Your life is nothing. They were going to kill you!
…Of course, they were going to kill Kayama as well.
He could go on and on with these insults. It scared him, his ability to conjure them up. He thought he did not believe most of them. But some of them, it seemed so. Like he could never get rid of it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get rid of it. He felt safe with those thoughts in the back of his head. That way Manjiro could never hurt him. So long as Manjiro was a small idea, far away from him and out of sight, it would be easier. Better than up close, pressing near him, warm and alive…
Kayama did not go to see Manjiro the next day. Though the loneliness was painful, perhaps it was necessary. He did not think about it much while he was working, anyway. He was already beginning to forget the feeling. He thought what might have come of it if he had stayed. He told himself, not much. He’d have to give it up eventually. One cannot live with a foot in both worlds. It was ridiculous in the first place, two people with so little in common. Why give up everything for nothing?
Manjiro was nothing. He tried to convince himself, Manjiro meant nothing to him.
He was a very busy man, now. He had no time.
The last normal thing he and Tamate had done together was fish for good fortune. Kayama had looked into the stream with unease, the flowing water distorting his image. He felt that somehow he had always known, just in the same way Tamate had always known.
Tamate had said to him, her hands in his, “Perhaps they may cut us down, even if we haven’t done anything.” Whispering to him, glancing around as if conspiratorial. “Perhaps we are already dead.”
Tamate had killed herself. Kayama thought he could never do the same. No matter how much he occasionally felt he wanted to. Giving up one’s life might’ve been the most extraordinary show of cowardice possible. Kayama would not give in.
He would convince himself: Forget, and move on.