Naoki at Masayoshi
28 August 1998
by Ed Rubin

On his tatami, with his fingers laced behind his head, Naoki lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, willing his mind to still, hoping for the sleep that would wash away the past week's travel fatigue. He knew, however, that he would not find rest for a while, because an image, no, a feeling, was insistently presenting itself to his inner consideration. It was bitter, and Naoki could sense it in many ways: As a metallic tang on the base of his tongue, the only remainder of an over-abundant, but completely satisfying banquet; As a glow, easily perceived with the eyes closed, that resulted from staring a show of fireworks on a dark summer night; As a hum, lingering in the ears, long after the musicians have left the stage.

The feeling coalesced then, into a memory of a scene, the scene of the conversation that had taken place earlier with Ozaki and Kataji, the conversation that described their foray to Hiruma Castle. Ozaki's eyes had looked haunted, Naoki finally noted, but he had been distracted anyway by Kataji's manner. It was so unlike what he had been, previously. Where he had once been exuberant during a discussion of battle, he was now subdued. Where he had once always expressed supreme, and not entirely unwarranted confidence, he now quietly admitted to failings, difficulties, and even, perhaps, fears. When, in the past, Naoki had returned from duty, or battle, with Kataji, the large, almost insatiable man had immediately demanded that they go out, to drink, to party, to tell tales that would be wildly fantastic for most bushi, but not for Kataji. Now, he talked, but in the tones of a person unwillingly reliving an episode that he wished he had not been a part of. Remembering the conversation made Naoki's spirit sink, a bit, pulled down by the bittersweet memory of things gone by, that will never return, and by the fear that a real friend was lost forever, not in the sense that he was dead, but in the one that what he had been, he would never be again.

But Naoki's determination rebelled against these feelings, defiant in its strength. He would not, could not, let the dampening of the brightness of Kataji's flame go unchallenged. A fire dimmed, it was true, before it went out, but if that dimming flame was fed new fuel, it could blaze as brightly as ever it had, Naoki thought with resolve. And he vowed, silently but with a will as hard and unstinting as any Kaiu Wall, to feed Kataji's flame, so that he might burn anew with a brilliance that rivaled his previous nature.

Naoki arose purposefully, and drew on the rough-spun kimono the monks had loaned him earlier. He retrieved the flask of apple brandy that a monk had found for him in the village, that he had planned to share with Kataji the next day. Instead though, he departed his room with it, into the monastery's silence, and set off for the room in which Kataji had retired to try and sleep.

He found Kataji's room quickly, and paused at the entry, listening to the pattern of breathing which was familiar from those days, so long ago now, when they had bunked together in the barracks. The breathing brought back those same sensory impressions he had experienced previously, and the character of the moment further strengthened Naoki's resolve to do his utmost for his friend, whatever the costs. And now, he grinned, might be the first opportunity to pay a cost: Kataji hated being awoken.

Naoki entered the room, and sat, hard, on the pallet that Kataji occupied, calling out his name in a low, but harsh whisper, "Kataji!"

The man's bulk shifted immediately, and his eyes opened and fixed on Naoki penetratingly. "Naoki, you worm, what in The Dark One's back-passage do you think you're doing?" he asked, in a tone that Naoki immediately recognized as signaling Kataji's standard sarcastically disapproving and only partially veiled threat.

"I'm having a drink," Naoki replied, implying that it was both normal, and, of course, entirely expected at this moment.

"I'm sleeping, you lousy mix of geisha and dog's offal."

"No you're not, you're having a drink with me, can't you see that?"

The sound that emanated from Kataji's throat was, at first, an increasing threat. Then it became more amused, as Kataji saw the look that Naoki gave him, the same one he always used when suggesting to Kataji that do something that was likely to earn them a severe beating, when the sergeant found out about it. Kataji grunted, sat up, and started to turn to sit next to Naoki on the edge of the pallet, but the amusement drained from his face as he had to move his injured leg with his hand.

Before the new facial expression could fix there, however, Naoki had thrust the open flask into his hand, and pushed it up towards Kataji's face, saying, "Hurry up, already! I'm thirsty, so don't finish it all."

Kataji took a swig, held it in his mouth a moment, then swallowed. His eyebrows arched up in an unposed question as he turned to return the flask to Naoki. Naoki took a mouthful, swallowed, then sighed heavily, passing the flask back to Kataji. They sat together for a couple of minutes, until Naoki noticed Kataji relaxing again into that expression of amusement. Naoki stood, smiled at Kataji, then said, simply, "Tomorrow."

Glancing conspiratorially both ways out of the door, he then headed off back in the direction of his own room. It would take time, Naoki knew, but he could help bring Kataji back, out of the Shadowlands where he had left a piece of himself. He had seen the old Kataji in those fleeting smiles, a sputtering of the flames that Naoki could now help to fan.

The experience made him think of Ishi, of his burden. Naoki asked himself again if he could help heal his cousin, but he knew that Ishi was infinitely more complex than Kataji might ever be. The task, in fact it's beginning, was difficult even to contemplate. But Naoki would try, he would do what was right, whatever the cost. He would, he vowed, succeed, for nothing less could satisfy him.