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xifengThis piece really needs some work; it feels rushed, because I was in a hurry to get down everything I wanted to before the timer buzzed. I'm not really happy with it, but I suppose it's better than nothing. Anyway. Yukichi, aged 14 or 15. Big trouble brewing. Word of the day was "hide".
The gentlemen of Japan seem to have no problem kneeling for long periods of time; Willem van Hooven of Amsterdam cannot fathom it, himself. Still, he is a stranger, and my Lord Takizawa is his host; that they have enabled him to come so far away from Nagasaki, and live, is a blessing in and of itself, and he dares not impinge upon their hospitality.
Takizawa is not much longer for this world, van Hooven thinks; he is an old man, and seems a touch frail and indecisive. The man next to him, tall and broad-shouldered, appears on the verge of saying something, but a tap on the shoji dispells the unspoken words.
"Yes, who is it?" Thank God van Hooven can understand, even with his small Japanese; their situation is so precarious that he dares not endanger it by hiring a translator. None of my Lord's men speak Dutch, of course.
"My Lord Akita? Your son would see you."
The tall man pales and then regains his composure. "Send him in."
Van Hooven stares at the boy who enters shortly; tall for his age, proud of bearing and not unhandsome, he is his father's younger self. When the boy catches the foreigner's eye on him, he straightens his back, curls his lip in a sneer, and stares back, teeth set and nostrils dilated. He smells fear.
"Are your brothers all right? Has something happened?" the boy's anxious father says, trying to keep his hands still.
"Yes, fine. I wanted to know if I could borrow some armor."
My Lord Akita sighs, glaring at his son. "Which is it?"
"Great-grandfather's."
"Your great-grandfather's? Most assuredly you may not. It is a valuable antique. He wore it at Sekigahara."
"It's cut to pieces, almost, and that's why I thought--"
"You thought nothing." Akita Kichibei stares at his son, who does not withdraw. "Permission to withdraw, my lord."
"Of course."
In the hallway, as soon as they are out of earshot or eyeshot of the servants, Kichibei grabs his son by the shoulders. "I can't believe you interrupted an important meeting just for the sake of asking whether you could borrow Grandfather's armor, when you knew very well what the answer would be." His grip tightens as he rattles on, the undercurrent of his voice low and dangerous. "If you know what's good for you, Yukichi, you will not only leave immediately, but you will forget what you walked in on. If I find you've tattled to all your little cronies, I suggest you find a neighboring han to hide in, because I will have no compunctions about hunting you down and killing you. You almost scuppered the whole thing, because your selfish little self could not wait until I got home to ask about the armor, even though the answer would still have been No, in case you thought it might be anything else."
Yukichi nods dumbly, teeth clacking together as his father shakes him.
"Now," Kichibei says, "you are going to go home, and you will stay there, preferably in your room but on no account will you leave the property, and then tomorrow, you will come by the castle before you do anything else to apologize to my Lord. I hope I have made myself abundantly clear, because for all your faults, I do not think you unintelligent." Kichibei shakes his son violently one final time, and then lets go for just long enough to slap Yukichi across the face; the boy's head rocks to one side, but he dares not rub his cheek. It will only bring more of the same. "Go. And if you ever do this again, the carrion will pick your flesh from your bones."
"What'd your old man say?" Kurozawa Saburo shrieks, jumping up and down and leaving the spot on the bridge where the boys have been waiting. "Did he say you could? I can't wait! This is gonna be so much--"
"Who cares what he said," Yukichi says sullenly, glaring at his feet as the boys shuffle home. "I'm gonna go home and get me some armor. Wait for me."
The gentlemen of Japan seem to have no problem kneeling for long periods of time; Willem van Hooven of Amsterdam cannot fathom it, himself. Still, he is a stranger, and my Lord Takizawa is his host; that they have enabled him to come so far away from Nagasaki, and live, is a blessing in and of itself, and he dares not impinge upon their hospitality.
Takizawa is not much longer for this world, van Hooven thinks; he is an old man, and seems a touch frail and indecisive. The man next to him, tall and broad-shouldered, appears on the verge of saying something, but a tap on the shoji dispells the unspoken words.
"Yes, who is it?" Thank God van Hooven can understand, even with his small Japanese; their situation is so precarious that he dares not endanger it by hiring a translator. None of my Lord's men speak Dutch, of course.
"My Lord Akita? Your son would see you."
The tall man pales and then regains his composure. "Send him in."
Van Hooven stares at the boy who enters shortly; tall for his age, proud of bearing and not unhandsome, he is his father's younger self. When the boy catches the foreigner's eye on him, he straightens his back, curls his lip in a sneer, and stares back, teeth set and nostrils dilated. He smells fear.
"Are your brothers all right? Has something happened?" the boy's anxious father says, trying to keep his hands still.
"Yes, fine. I wanted to know if I could borrow some armor."
My Lord Akita sighs, glaring at his son. "Which is it?"
"Great-grandfather's."
"Your great-grandfather's? Most assuredly you may not. It is a valuable antique. He wore it at Sekigahara."
"It's cut to pieces, almost, and that's why I thought--"
"You thought nothing." Akita Kichibei stares at his son, who does not withdraw. "Permission to withdraw, my lord."
"Of course."
In the hallway, as soon as they are out of earshot or eyeshot of the servants, Kichibei grabs his son by the shoulders. "I can't believe you interrupted an important meeting just for the sake of asking whether you could borrow Grandfather's armor, when you knew very well what the answer would be." His grip tightens as he rattles on, the undercurrent of his voice low and dangerous. "If you know what's good for you, Yukichi, you will not only leave immediately, but you will forget what you walked in on. If I find you've tattled to all your little cronies, I suggest you find a neighboring han to hide in, because I will have no compunctions about hunting you down and killing you. You almost scuppered the whole thing, because your selfish little self could not wait until I got home to ask about the armor, even though the answer would still have been No, in case you thought it might be anything else."
Yukichi nods dumbly, teeth clacking together as his father shakes him.
"Now," Kichibei says, "you are going to go home, and you will stay there, preferably in your room but on no account will you leave the property, and then tomorrow, you will come by the castle before you do anything else to apologize to my Lord. I hope I have made myself abundantly clear, because for all your faults, I do not think you unintelligent." Kichibei shakes his son violently one final time, and then lets go for just long enough to slap Yukichi across the face; the boy's head rocks to one side, but he dares not rub his cheek. It will only bring more of the same. "Go. And if you ever do this again, the carrion will pick your flesh from your bones."
"What'd your old man say?" Kurozawa Saburo shrieks, jumping up and down and leaving the spot on the bridge where the boys have been waiting. "Did he say you could? I can't wait! This is gonna be so much--"
"Who cares what he said," Yukichi says sullenly, glaring at his feet as the boys shuffle home. "I'm gonna go home and get me some armor. Wait for me."
