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January 21st, 2009
Kasumi wiped the last bit of oil from her lips with the silk of her inner sleeve. She stared into the bamboo that skirted her clearing of tall grass and a single boulder. The forest held an interminable darkness that reached out and grabbed the stalks five layers deep to pull them in and to extend Kasumi’s distance from her husband’s pagoda. The bamboo forest was a wall between the light of Yoshinori’s oil lanterns and the silver glow of the moon. She pulled her skirt taught under her thighs and sat down, loose—in the day she was made of wood. She pulled the sticks from her bun and shook it loose, and she waited, and thought of Ryu.
In the morning there was a tiny piece of paper pinned to the inside of her robe on which Ryu’s name was roughly printed in charcoal-ink. Katsumi left it there, completed her chores, dressed for Yoshinori, and laid with him. Then she retired to her own room, and when she saw the moon in her window, she put on her sandals and left. Yoshinori built a home that never made a sound.
She stole through the bamboo, for a mile, on the path the soldiers had made with little effort, for the ground was hard packed with rock, and now she waited. The tip of the mountain was gilded in white, and gleamed above the fern shaped leaves, and after an hour, Kasumi meditated on it.
Ryu had acquired by necessity the ability to snake through the reeds in silence. He spoke violently and succinctly, and when Kasumi asked him about his black Gi, leather soled slippers, and the bandanna around his face, he only said that it made him sick. When she inquired about the shape of his bamboo-handled sword, he did not answer. Kasumi didn’t know where he lived, if anywhere. She didn’t know what he ate, or the nature of his profession. She only knew, intrinsically, that he was a once great and proud man, but was now a broken man—that his passion was fueled by shame and anger.
Kasumi found herself lost in the vision of the mountain when the breeze brought the scent of sweat through the forest. She turned to see Ryu emerge, and peel away his bandanna. For a moment he stood looking at her as she warmly smiled, then he walked to her.
“You’ve lain with Yoshinori…” he said.
“Yes,” answered Kasumi.
“Does he know?”
“No, he wouldn’t know. I am his first woman.”
“…”
“I feel ashamed for Yoshinori. He’s a good man.”
“Then I will leave you.”
“No, please don’t.”
“Then I will take you with me.”
“I don’t know...”
Ryu put his hand on Kasumi’s cheek. His hand was rough and cold. He looked into her eyes and Kasumi placed her hand on his.
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Siredwinsantos@gmail.com
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Tony... Tony... Tony...
