Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Falling in Love Again ❯ Poetry in Motion ( Chapter 6 )

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

Thanks for reading and helping: Pirandella (hundred bows as usual) and fujifunmum (also hundred bows)

Thanks for all comments and comfort: Kensuyoko, Fitz, Firuze and Mara

And Wombat - thanks for the research

Warnings for this chapter: No warnings? Yes, no warnings, maybe a bit for language.

Chapter 6: Poetry in Motion

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

I had fallen asleep, sitting in the warm sunlight on the porch of the house. The voices of my daughter and my grand-child, animated by the play, were a like a lullaby. We were alone, because my beloved had to train her students and the step-daughter had gone to shop.
The piercing pain woke me up. For some moments, I was sitting there, fighting with it, fighting for breath and strength. I know my face didn't reveal this much, an effect of training, but she was looking at me nevertheless, concerned and knowingly. Even a smile cannot delude her.
Accompanied by the little one, she had helped me to go inside and lay down, then brought me the medicine against the pain. I don't like it to haze my mind, but when the body cries for rest, what can I do.
Now, some hours later, I feel a bit better, though not really good.
And I feel regret, that I will never know the person she would be when she is fully grown up. My beloved daughter whose whole life taught me to smile at a name that had meant only pain and sorrow for so many years.

New York, May 13, 1965

Jasper Cagney was waiting for the call that that would give him his first real break in the case?

As the phone was ringing, he picked up the receiver.

"Jasper, I -." It was the man in charge of observing Farrel.

"You asshole! I have forbidden you to call me today."

"I'm sorry, boss, but the person under surveillance has just entered this house."

"What?" At the same moment, someone was knocking at the door of Jasper Cagney's office. He replaced the receiver: "Come in!"

It was the red-head, holding something in his hands. He was wearing a finer jacket than the other days, but looked all the same, and he smiled. As if he was ignoring that Jasper Cagney had pierced the stupid little game the two fags had played yesterday.

"Good Afternoon, sir! You are Mister Jasper Cagney, private detective, aren't you?" He asked very politely, and Jasper Cagney had no choice except to nod. He was so happy that the desk was between him and the smiling red-head, this protection gave him enough security to grin back. "My name is Kenneth Farrel. Miss Kaszowiz told me that you are a specialist in old weapons. I want to know your opinion about this." He unwrapped the thing he was holding in his hand and laid it on the desk.

It was a Japanese sword, hidden in an iron sheath.

"Can I have a look at it?" Jasper Cagney found his voice. His eyes fixed on the weapon, he forgot for a moment with whom he was dealing.

"Of course! If you want!" He stood up and took the sword, drawing it out of its sheath. And he frowned, because the sharp edge was on the wrong side. Besides that, the sword was the work of a master artisan. "I know that it hasn't so much -"

This stupid fag had no idea at all of the worth of this weapon.

"It is a master work, perfectly balanced. Though, the blade is somewhat flexible because of this nail that is a bit loosened. Late Tokugawa era, the middle of the last century, made by a real master." Jasper Cagney could not withdraw his eyes from the precious weapon. "Do you want to sell it?"

"No, I just wanted to know its value." Farrel said nonchalantly, while the private detective was still admiring the wonderful blade. "It's a sword that doesn't kill."

A strange idea, the detective thought, maybe a bit naive. A sword that didn't kill was a contradiction in itself, but even so, Jasper Cagney could picture it perfectly in his collection.

"If you want to sell it, tell me. It would be a shame to give it to ignorant people." Like you, he continued in his mind, putting the sword back in its sheath.

"I will think about it." The red-head said smiling, then scratched the back of his head. "How much do you charge?"

"It depends on the job." Jasper Cagney returned, putting a business-like coolness on his face. Without success, he tried to decipher the meaning behind this bright smile.

"I want you to find out some things about a man called Santa Gallo and a casino with the name 'Purgatory'."

Jasper Cagney kept his poker face, but his brain worked under high-speed. Karen Kaszowiz must have told Farrel about Santa Gallo, and, obviously, the red-head didn't know that the "Purgatory" was located in a neighbored street. At the moment as Jasper Cagney was opening his mouth to say that he would be pleased to help in this affair, the phone rang.

Time stood still.

The private detective looked in the curiously blinking, violet eyes, unsure what he should do.

The phone rang a second time.

"Your phone is ringing, Mister Cagney." The red-head said politely, nodding towards the phone, taking his sword from the table.

These words broke the tension, and Jasper Cagney took the receiver. "Cagney, private detective agency!"

"Nice to meet you, Mister Cagney! My name is Simon O'Sullivan. Please, let me know when we can meet!" If not for the strange accent, the private detective almost believed that it could be the red-head, as cheerful and polite as this voice sounded.

"I will come back another time, Mister Cagney. Good bye!" This red-head said, still smiling, while he was going to the door of the office.

The smile became a slight amused glint, just before the man was gone. And suddenly, Jasper Cagney knew that he had been fooled by this visit. For whatever purpose, it was a textbook tactic.

"Mister Cagney, are you still there?" The cheerful voice in the phone asked him, while he was struggling with the violent urge to follow the fag and kill him.

Instead, the private detective, undercover agent and future criminal cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, O'Sullivan. I was distracted."

***

"I'm very sorry, miss," The old man's face was an expression of pure concern. "Kenneth Farrel is already gone. He asked me to let him go home early today, and I did him this favor. He was already busy enough this morning. He is such a friendly young man." Mister Gelbstein has a strange manner of speaking, very thoughtful and slowly, as if weighing the words before pronouncing them. He lays his hand on a big glass filled with candies that is standing on the counter. "Can I do something else for you, Miss - I believe I have seen you already, but I don't remember clearly."

"Kaszowiz. My name is Karen Kaszowiz, I have sold you some books, formerly belonging to my grandparents." I couldn't read them anyway, because they were written in Polish, German, or Yiddish. "It was in January."

"Oh yes, yes." Smiling, Mister Gelbstein comes around the counter, goes to one of the shelves in his store and picks up a book. "I always remember the books." Showing me a book, a German novel, formerly belonging to grand-ma: Schloß Gripsholm, written by an author called Kurt Tucholski, he reads loudly. "Ex Libris Anna Blum. She was a ballet dancer, wasn't she?"

I'm touched as usual, finding someone remembering grand-ma.

"Yes, she was." Mister Gelbstein nods smiling and puts the book gently back in its place. "Could I ask you a favor, Mister Gelbstein?"

"Whatever you want, Miss Kaszowiz!"

"I'm trying to continue my grand-ma's dance school and do a little bit publicity for it. Can I put up a notice in your store."

I didn't come for this reason, but as I'm here, I might as well ask.

"Of course, Miss Kaszowiz." The old man points to a message board near the door where other announcements are hanging. Then he continues: "I have a few granddaughters. Maybe, one of them would like learning to dance."

"How old are they?" It sounds too perfect to be real, new students falling in my lap.

"Susanna is three years old, Hannah is five years old, and Deborah is eleven years old."

"Three years is a little too young, but the others could try it out if they want to."

I find an unused tack and pin my announcement on the board.

"I'm mostly at home in the afternoon. They can call me, before they want to come." I explain, pointing to the telephone number on my notice. "But, now I have to go home. It was nice to meet you again, Mister Gelbstein."

The old man smiles and accompanies me even out to the street.

I feel a bit rude about my abruptness, but the question why Kenneth wanted to go home so early is disturbing me. I was just looking for him because I wanted so badly to repair what had been damaged yesterday. And to share my new-found enthusiasm. But what should I do if he didn't want to stay after yesterday?

It had been such a nice afternoon, me and Kenneth. We spent it cleaning the apartment, chatting and remembering silly things from the old times. Then Yacko came home, yelling at me about how could I permit "this queer" to live with us, and if wasn't I scared that "this queer" might harass him. While I was trying to get him in our apartment, the woman arrived. Her timing was as perfect as ever to embarrass me. She told Kenneth she pitied him for having to put up with annoying people like us and then she dragged him away to go out with her. They didn't came home but very late in the night. I had no chance to speak with him, and the fear that he might not feel welcome is worrying me.

*

While climbing the last stairs to our floor, accompanied by the Beethoven sonata, I smell something luscious, somewhat sweet and salty at the same time. The mixture of beautiful music and delicious scent spreads out from the open door with the "Kaszowiz Dance School"-engraving. It had to be a good sign. If Kenneth was cooking, he couldn't be gone already.

Somewhat reassured, I go in our apartment first. I get out of my coat and lay my purse on the kitchen table. Then I put the few things I bought in the fridge and the cabinets, before I follow the mouth-watering smell through the corridor in the small apartment.

Kenneth is busy in the kitchen, only wearing blue-jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt, hair tied in a ponytail. The scarf he is wearing today is red. At the moment I enter Kenneth is cutting vegetables, then putting them in a large bowl. He has more bowls prepared, filled with onions, pieces of meat, and a dark sauce. The whole room is filled with delicious aromas, coming out of a big pot and a strangely formed pan.

"Good afternoon, Karen!" Kenneth greets me with a brief smile, stirring the sizzling contents of the pan with a wooden spoon and expert movements.

"Hi! You could have used our kitchen, it is so much more comfortable than this little room."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to mess it up."

"Don't worry! The function of a kitchen is to prepare food." I answer cheerfully, because he is showing no sign of anger or hurt. "If you want to cook, then use it. If you make a mess, then clean it afterwards. And if you ask very nicely and the food was very good, then I may help you with cleaning. But beware, I consider the kitchen a battle field."

"I see. You wanted to hire a cook, in exchange for the apartment."

"How did you find it out?" I return his joke. "And I'm looking for more than just a cook; I want a maid, too."

"Maybe, I should ask for an increase in salary." He says, putting the vegetables in the pan, then covering it with an also strangely formed cover.

"Only if you do the laundry and clean our rooms too." His answer is a quiet laugh, while he is taking two little bowls and two glasses out of the cabinet, piquing my curiosity. "Where did you get all these things? I don't think that they were in your suitcases."

"Maggie has - well, forced me to go shopping yesterday. She is convinced that, if I wish to live here, I should be ready to stay. And starting by buying more things than fit in two suitcases. For that reason, she forced me to buy a pot for cooking rice and a wok pan and other things for Asian cooking."

The woman seems to be more reasonable than I thought.

"Of course, you should stay! What meaning would it have to make you this offer, if you don't stay?" Kenneth opens the drawer and takes a pair of chopsticks and a fork out of it, then sets everything on a pretty, red tray. Meanwhile, he doesn't say anything. The smile is somewhat faded, and he is looking thoughtful. He might be thinking about his answer. "You are really welcome here, even if you don't have enough money to pay for this apartment."

"No, money is not the problem. I have a job, and I can pay you. You need the money, I haven't forgotten it." Finally, he hands me the tray. "Would you please carry it into the other room?"

He tries to distract me, but I take the tray nevertheless. Then I look down at it, somewhat irritated.

"Why did you only lay one pair of chopsticks on it? Don't you want to eat?"

Lifting my gaze, I meet his helpless questioning eyes.

"No, but -"

"Hey, Kenneth, you can't have forgotten!"

"What?"

"You taught me to eat with chopsticks. You said it is like swimming, or riding a bicycle, once you have learned you never forget."

"I'm sorry, Karen." Grinning apologetically, he scratches his head and goes back to the drawer. "I really forgot." He says, laying a second pair of chopsticks on the tray.

Satisfied, that he feels guilty to have forgotten, I go over to the living room.

My jaw drops when I see it. Yesterday the room looked like a pigsty, today it looks like a home. Kenneth has pushed the sleeping-couch in another corner of the room and the armchair to the window with the fire stairs. Arranging both like a nice sitting corner around a little table that must be another result of the yesterday's shopping trip. And they have bought a colored carpet, a lamp and a bedside-table with a drawer placed beside the couch. Some of these things look as if they had been used, but not damaged. Books have found their way to the bookshelf, but the strangest thing is the desk.

At the wall above it, Kenneth has hung a painting with strange characters and a finely drawn, strange landscape, and on the table itself are standing photos and a black metal box. I would have taken it for a shrine, if there were not paper and pen on the table. I set the tray on the small, new table to have a look at the photos.

There are three. One picture shows a young couple in old fashioned clothes. The women, with unmistakably Asian features, had been pregnant when the photo was taken, and her smile - just a few moments before, I have seen it on Kenneth's face, but he doesn't look as distinctly Asian as her. The man is a very handsome, somewhat Scotch looking, bright hair and bright eyes, and his grin shows a mixture of pride and tenderness.

In the second photo, I see three pretty girls in strange costumes and a serious looking man in the typical surroundings of a photographer's atelier studio, while in the third photo, a colored photo, a woman in high fashioned clothes is standing beside a bright new car. And there it is again - the familiar smile, although she cannot be the woman from the other photo.

"This is Miya."

I hadn't realized that he had joined me and almost jump when I hear his voice behind me. He holds a water bottle in his hands.

"Don't do that again! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry."

He sets the bottle on the table, then leaves the room again.

The name is not unfamiliar for me, because I have read about her in the last letter, sent from Japan some months ago.

"Miya. She is your cousin, isn't she?" I ask when Kenneth comes back.

"How do you know -?"

"The letter."

"You really know them all?"

"All you sent in the last four years." His look has grown very odd. Maybe, he is realizing only now, how much I know about him through these letters. Quickly, I take the photo with the girls and the man and hold it before him. "Who are they?"

His smile is back.

"These are the Sakamura sisters with her father, my grand-father. He was a doctor. The photo has been taken in Tokyo. In 1929, I think. Their mother had died three years before, and in 1929, they moved over to Nagasaki, where my grand-father got a job in a clinic. " Oh, yes, Nagasaki. He wrote a lot about it in his letter, too. "This is Kazumi, Miya's mother," He indicates the eldest girl, rather a young woman, who is looking as seriously as the man, obviously conscious of the honor to be taken included in the photo. "Akane and Kumiko." The two other girls, maybe ten and six years old, are struggling to keep a straight face, trying vainly to imitate the posture of their father and their sister. "Akane was my mother. "

I know that his parents are dead, grand-ma told me. Searching for words, I put the photo back in its place and gaze at the third photo, the happy young couple.

"The dinner is ready.", Kenneth breaks the silence and gestures to the little table where he had set large bowls with rice and a mix of vegetables and meat.

"Your mother was a sweet little girl." I say finally. "And a very beautiful woman."

"Yes, she was." His voice doesn't betray anything, then he starts to fill the smaller bowls. One moment later, when I settle myself in the armchair, drawing my legs up and taking the bowl and the chopsticks he hands me, Kenneth grins all of sudden, but tries to hide it.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I remembered that you liked to sit curled up in this armchair, because your grand-mother always said 'Watch your posture, child!', when you did it in their apartment." Kenneth explains, before he settles himself on the couch, crossing his legs.

Strange thing, the memories of grand-ma's occasional harshness were almost faded, because I only remembered the moments of happiness.

"How was she as a teacher?"

Eating with chopsticks is not that easy after so much time, but I only need a few minutes before I manage to use them properly.

"Tough, because she always demanded the best. But I had no problems with it, I was used to such people because of Kumiko. If you try very hard and fail Kumiko will comfort you anytime. But if you don't give it your all, she has no sympathy. Your grand-mother was not half as tough as she is." Suddenly, the slight sadness I saw in his eyes the other times we met is back, but he doesn't give me time to say something. "How is your arm today?"

"Oh, it is fine. I think I can do some exercises later."

"Don't overdo it! If your body says no, you should -"

There it is again. This teacher-like attitude that irritates me so much.

"Kenneth!" He looks up, obviously surprised at the sharpness in my voice. "I know that, you don't have to instruct me."

"Sorry."

"You really should be."

I have finished my food quicker than I should have, because I still want more. But this wouldn't be wise if I intent to do some exercises later.

"After all, the apartment looks as if you would stay." I say, pouring water in one of the glasses, distracting myself from this temptation. "It wouldn't make any sense if you clean and arrange this room only to move out the following day. When did you do this?"

"In the night, because I couldn't sleep so good."

Ah, finally we reach the point. Now I won't let him escape, because I need to know the truth.

"Why? If it is because of my stupid brother, don't pay any attention to him. He just repeats what he has heard from kids on the streets."

Kenneth carefully sets his bowl on the new little table and lays the chopsticks beside it. Then he takes a deep breath.

"Would it be a problem, if he is right?"

"What do -?"

"I ... I like men ... I'm attracted to them ... physically."

...

It's not as if I hadn't thought of this. Not only because the other girls had said that about him during the dance casting, but also because I knew that very often male dancers were homosexual. Though, after all, this was Kenneth. The idea to apply the word "queer" to him seemed so odd, because he was not like Shawn or other men like him I knew. Despite his looks and his cooking skills, I never considered him as womanish. He was just Kenneth who always did extraordinary things.

And now, he is looking at me intently, and the only thing I can say is: "You are kidding."

"No, but it won't change anything between us. I just ... just thought, ... you should know it."

It won't change anything. These words gripped my heart. I think that he may be like grand-ma, only in the other way.

"It's alright, I have no problem with it."

"Really?" At this question, the brightness returns in his eyes and deep relief is lingering on his face.

"Yes, such things don't matter between friends."

"No, they shouldn't." With a smile, he takes his bowl again and continues to eat. "Do you want some more?"

"Ah no, I shouldn't over eat before my exercises."

But then, - mm, it smells so tasty. ...

*

"I hate this!!"

The windows are vibrating with my yelling, and it feels really good to release it.

Not even an hour, and I'm already tired. My arm still hurts and reminds me every time I move that it doesn't want to be moved yet.

Six days without the possibility of dancing have driven me to the edge of patience. I need it, I absolutely need it, and it makes me angry when my body is so disobedient.

"Karen?" I haven't realized Kenneth standing at the door, before he speaks to me. "Can I help you with something?"

He looks at me with concern, but this doesn't help me to feel better. On the contrary, feeling ridiculous, because he has seen me so out of sorts, makes me even more angry.

"Don't look at me so dumbfounded, idiot!"

"Wait a moment!"

He disappears, and I try to calm down.

Soon after our little conversation, Mimi had come to say good-bye, but Kenneth had invited her for a meal, too. There had been a little tension between them, but she accepted. While they were eating, I had started my exercises. I hadn't realized that she was gone.

Kenneth comes back a few moments later, and I see that he has changed into more comfortable pants, but kept his scarf. Taking off his shoes, he comes to me, and I feel my cheeks heat. Just concentrate, Karen!, I say to myself, he is just like your colleagues from the dance school, you have no reason to get excited like this.

"I'm not really warmed up, but I think it will be alright." He says calmly, taking the wrist of my left arm.

I cannot help myself against the goose-bumps covering my back and the little hairs rising up on my neck, when I feel his arm supporting mine, warm skin against my skin.

"Don't pay attention to me! Do whatever you have to do, just let me hold the arm!"

Think professional, Karen!

I'm very clumsy at the beginning, but then, quickly, we find a perfect rhythm. Even the excitement caused by his nearness fades, because I concentrate on my moves, the silent language of my body. I don't need music to find the balance in myself that I missed. Music is what comes later, the knowledge of limits and strengths is what matters now. I only do basic exercises, but it's important to do them right and with full concentration. A few moments, I forget that I'm not alone. Even as my arm is steadied and his other hand rests lightly on my hip, it is as if Kenneth himself has vanished, giving me space enough to move freely, never disturbing me. He is like my shadow, reacting perfectly to my moves. When I realize that, I start to provoke him, trying to make him stumble, just to see where the limits of his reaction are.

Suddenly I hear him chuckle. "What are you up to?"

"How do you do it?" I ask stopping and turning to look at him. Bad thing to do, Karen, you silly girl! At the moment when my concentration breaks, the excitement is back.

"What?" Slowly, he lets my arm sink.

"What you did. You always knew what I would do."

"It's just a question of concentration."

"Will you explain it to me!"

He shrugs, then says: "Close your eyes! Concentrate only on what you are sensing" and takes my hands to lay them on his own hips. "Do you feel it?"

I feel shifting muscles, announcing that he would do a step backwards, and when he makes this step, I follow. Then we do the same thing, going in the other direction.

"You do such things all the time when you dance with a partner, reacting to his movements, reacting to a shift of balance, or to a different flow of energy between you and the other person. Normally, you have choreography, giving you both hints about the moves." He explains calmly, while we are continuing this game for some time. "But it is possible to make a whole dance without any choreography. The hints announcing a movement are always there, if you learn to see them and to sense them, not only when you have physical contact with someone, but also when you watch a person. As I said it's just a question of concentration."

I open my eyes. His are closed, the red lashes, darker than his hair, fluttering against the cheeks. The expression of concentration on his features makes me dizzy. Every person deeply involved in something they love and excel at exudes a kind of charm, a beauty greater than their physical appearance. But him -

"You say this as if it was the easiest thing of the world." I say quickly, my voice is calmer than I feel.

"Ah, no. It took me some years to learn it. It's something that I experienced for myself because I needed and looked for new ways of expression." Opening his eyes, he smiles, although the hint of sadness in his voice. Then he breaks apart. "We have danced for almost an hour, and you should still take care of your health."

This time, I'm only a bit angry, because I really know that I should not overdo it.

*

It had been very nice, standing under the stream of warm water and thinking how I fooled the bureaucrats of the welfare with the help of this old lawyer, an acquaintance of my grand-parents. Dreaming about the reckless idea I had had this morning and how I would execute it. Sharing this idea had been the reason why I had gone to Mister Gelbstein's bookstore. I was sure that Kenneth would immediately understand and surely approve my project, knowing what it implied.

The New York Ballet. Once, grand-ma had told me that, if she hadn't been to old for a new career, she would have tried to enter the New York Ballet. Last year, I was unable to make the last step, although I had been perfectly prepared. Until now, I don't know what held me back. Maybe I just needed to see Mimi and how she followed her path, to find the courage and the self-confidence for this. Or the sudden changes in my life had lifted more of the weights that pressed me down before.

Deeply immersed in my thinking, I hadn't realized Yacko coming home. Only when I leave the bathroom, clad in my bathrobe, I hear him arguing with Kenneth.

"I can do this alone!"

"As you wish."

"Don't look at me like this!"

"Like what?"

"With that cheesy smile, you look even more queer like that."

I had planned to go immediately to my room. Though, true or not, I cannot tolerate that brat continuing like this, even if Kenneth just laughs.

"I don't see that you can make this alone." He says amused, when I enter the kitchen.

Whatever I have planned to say, the words die on my lips when I see Yacko. It's not the first time that he comes back with bruises, but this time he looks really beaten up. One of his eyes is swollen and bruised, his lips are bleeding, nasty abrasions cover his arms and hands, and also his right knee. "What happened to you?"

"Mind your own business, stupid girl!", He answers, trying to wrap a bandage around his arm, but he just makes a mess of it.

"I apologize for going through your belongings, but I had to search a bit for the first aid kit." Kenneth is sitting at the kitchen table. The first aid kit which is normally in a closet stands openly on the table. He has taken a bottle of antiseptic and packets with bandages from it, now opening a new packet. All through the offensive words from my stupid little brother, his look at him is rather amused.

And it is really pitiful to see Yacko's vain effort of bandaging the hurt parts of his arms and legs. "Let me help you with this!" I say, when I can not stand it anymore.

"No! Take care of yourself! It's not decent to walk around in a bathrobe, and it's no surprise he's a queer, seeing an ugly girl like you wandering around in a bathrobe."

What a jerk! Hurt or not, he has no right to talk to me like that, and I give him the slap he deserves. As if I was doing this regularly. I feel embarrassed enough.

"You insolent brat. How can you dare to speak to me like this?"

"How dare you slap me, you ugly raccoon?" He yells back and tries to hit me back with the bloody and dirty bandages.

"Watch your language, brat!"

We can continue this for hours. It's not the first time. His stupid behavior makes it impossible to deal normally with this brat. But before I get totally carried away with my anger, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, hey!" Kenneth says calmly, his eyes grown wide in surprise. "Why don't you go change, Karen? I can handle it."

"Yeah, he can handle it, and he doesn't want to see you in this bathrobe any longer." Yacko adds in his usual insolent way.

"You -"

"Alright, alright, Karen." Kenneth gently pushes my out of the kitchen, before I can really explode. Then he closes the door.

"Help! I'm alone in the room with a queer." Yacko cries. I know he is just savoring his victory over me, trying to provoke Kenneth to get furious too.

But, as usual, Kenneth doesn't get furious, only his voice grows a little sharper. "And now, we will stop this funny little game, and clear up a few things." I hear him, before I go in my room.

It's really interesting, how he switches always between a mellow attitude and the teacher-like attitude, I think, while searching for one of my prettier robes. I remember that, back then, he had been more short-tempered than now. Of course, I know better now what bothered him in the past.

The letters are in a drawer of my little desk, and I find the one I'm looking for very quickly:

Dear Madame Kaszowiz,
Dear Mister Kaszowiz, ...

Kenneth has never in all this years lost this incredible politeness towards my grand-parents.

... Contrary to everything I feared or expected, visiting the city was like healing, the fading of a scar that hurt for such a long time. I never really told you anything about my first trip to Japan, nothing more than some generalities. I'm not so sure why I felt as if I had to keep these things away from you. Maybe, I didn't want to revive your own pain, the guilty feeling of the survivors. Because it was exactly what Kumiko felt in Nagasaki.
She felt guilty because she had fled and hadn't been there when her father, her sister and so many acquaintances died. She hadn't been ignorant of the bombardment, she knew more than she told me before the trip. However, the realization of the consequences was something she never imagined. Myself, I didn't know what to feel. Too many impressions crowded in on me, and I had to be strong for Kumiko. What else could I do for her?
After one night of crying - and it was the first time I ever saw her cry - she did what she always does. Instead of sitting and moping, she acted. She started to collect the memories of that day with the intention to make these things public after our return to the US. Of course, she let me choose whether to accompany her, or to stay with Miya's family. But, it won't surprise you that I accompanied her, worried about her extreme reaction. I was right to do so, because sometimes she was too disturbed to write. What else could I do for her?
I kept my courage up the whole time, it was even easier than I thought, but I didn't feel good about it. I felt that they didn't like Kumiko for questioning them. Japanese don't like to speak about humiliating and harsh experiences. They looked at Kumiko as if she was just a foreign journalist, but she didn't hear when I told her my own impressions. For that reason we stopped speaking about the interviews, I just accompanied her, because I thought it was the least I could do for her. She is my family, and whatever happened between us, she will always be my family, more than the others as much as I like Miya.
And, yes, it was easier to be courageous than I had thought before. Always, but in the nights I was helpless. I still am sometimes. However, I don't dare speak about these nightmares, because I fear just mentioning them might revive something. Only now, I know that the city of my nightmares has nothing to do with the real city of Nagasaki. As much as the real living, hoping or suffering people of this city have nothing to do with the figures of my nightmares. Their dreams of reconciliation and peace have given me back the courage I had lost on my way. They reminded me of the many different fights that have to be fought. And so does Miya. I'm so proud of her. Her wish to have children in spite of the risks is such a strong sign of hope. Besides, she always includes you in her prayers, since I told her about your losses. Forgive me for taking this liberty. ...

The first time I read this part I cried, because of the touching idea that a young woman in a far away country might pray for my grand-parents and for their relatives dead in the concentration camps. Regardless of whether she prayed in a synagogue or not. And later as now, I think that Kenneth shouldn't have been alone with his nightmares. I don't remember his aunt, but I don't understand how she could have let him suffer, not seeing it. But, then, I know now that the sickness of my father resulted from what he had learned during the last months of the war. And he made us suffer, even if he hadn't wanted to. He just couldn't help himself. Sometimes, hurt people can only spread their pain.

... Tomorrow, we will travel to Tokyo. It's a family funeral. The brother of our grand-mother has died, and his sons and daughters have invited Miya and her husband to participate at funeral. I will accompany them. Realizing how much this country has changed in the last thirteen years makes me hope that I might also find a changed Tokyo, a changed people. Besides, I owe the old man so much, because during the time we stayed with them, he was the only one treating me like a part of his family and not like the bastard of a dishonorable girl. I'm not sure if he didn't think this too, as traditional as he was, and since he was a highly decorated hero of two wars. However, he was friendly to me, and for that reason, I will go there and honor his memory. ...

It's funny. Now, as I think about it, I can almost picture the old man leaving him that sword Kenneth has told us about. I think he did find a changed people, I think he has made a sort of peace with the country of his mother. Yes, that's what I believe.

Blinking away a few tears, I put the letter back in the drawer. Then I go in the bathroom to wash my face again, before I return in the kitchen.

Even before I enter the room, I can hear them speaking, very calmly now. No, Yacko's voice sounds somewhat excited, but in a very enthusiastic way.

"Hey, this is easy."

"You are a fast learner, but you will only know that you have learned it when you can apply it in a real fight."

"Show me more!"

"No! Step by step. Only when you have really understood these basic movements, then you can learn other things."

"Come on!"

"Puppy eyes don't work with me."

When I enter the kitchen, Yacko who is properly bandaged now and holds a wet pad against his eye, throws me a wicked glance then asks: "But why did you continue that useless dance school, when you have gained such amazing fighting skill?"

He does it because Kenneth who is just preparing another pad at the kitchen sink hasn't seen me yet.

"Only in ancient times could warriors survive by being warriors. It doesn't happen today." Kenneth says, smiling when he turns and notices me. "Besides, I liked the dance more, because I thought it was like flying."

"That sounds like girly stuff." Yacko retorts, but it's a very tame version of a provocation, and he grimaces when he takes the fresher pad to put it on his eye.

"Perhaps." Kenneth says, starting to clean up the table. "When I was a kid, before we came to New York, one day, Kumiko - my aunt - made a kite for me, a dark red kite. I had it for several months, but one day, a storm was too strong and I lost it. It just flew away. Since that day, I dreamed about flying. When I was here the first time and saw the other children dance it looked a lot like flying to me." Realizing that we are both looking intently at him, he blushes suddenly and scratches his head. "Sorry, I started babbling." Then he looks at Yacko. "Are you hungry?"

We only need a few minutes to put away the first aid kit, to get out the pots and pans in our kitchen, and while Kenneth is cleaning his own kitchen and washing the bowls, I fry some new vegetables and meat in the pan. I make it perfectly. Yes, indeed, not even Yacko can complain about the food. Then we are sitting at the big table, and of course, Yacko wants to show me that he can easily learn to use the chopsticks too, but he is wrong. I grin at his efforts, elegantly eating my third bowl, without dropping one single grain of rice.

Then we explain to Kenneth some things he needs to know about the chores. The cleaning: If he cleans the dancing studio too, he does not need to pay for the apartment. The laundry: It would be his job to go once a week to the laundromat. The cooking: This would be his job too.

Then he agrees, that, yes, he would clean the dancing studio, but he would pay nevertheless. Yes, he would go to the laundromat - "what is the problem with it anyway?" - "You will know it soon enough." - and do the cooking. And we end by making a plan for the other chores like shopping, cleaning the kitchen, doing dishes and taking out the garbage, because he refuses to do this alone. After all, he is not as mellow as I hoped. Or Yacko hoped.

*

We are still talking, when the door-bell rings. Sighing, I stand up to take a look.

"Good afternoon, Miss Kaszowiz!"

The great man in the black suit is smiling at me, as much as the three men behind him. I recognize one of them from Friday night.

For seconds, I'm paralyzed by fear. Against all reason because, because Thursday has always been pay-day. I had forgotten it, because these worries seemed too far away since yesterday. Now, seeing them revives the memories of Friday night, and the dreadful knowledge of what could happen to me if I am not careful.

That's why I blink at them like a deer caught in the headlights, while the grin of the man grows larger. He knows what I feel. The realization of it changes my feelings from fear to anger. After all, facing a visible enemy is less scary than facing an unseen menace.

"Good afternoon, Mister Santa Gallo! Wait a minute and I will give you the money." I say, going into my room, hoping that Kenneth wouldn't do something stupid. Even though I was very grateful that he saved me that night, I don't want him to stand up to Santa Gallo in person. Standing up to Santa Gallo was different from standing up to his underlings.

Luckily, everything stays calm while I'm searching for the money. Yesterday Kenneth had given me everything he had earned as my temp. I'm glad now, that he didn't let me force him to keep the half of it. I need all of it.

Santa Gallo is polite, as usual, and waits at the door. I don't know why he does it, maybe to keep up appearances. Once, his men had broken into my apartment, and the nice lawyer my grandparents had recommended, helped me to negotiate with them. Since that time, our business was strictly legal. I could pay the debts by installments. Whether justice was blind or not, it helped me in this little affair. And the few still living friends of my grandparents. It was not their fault that dad made this much debts.

"I see," Santa Gallo says when I hand him the envelope with the money. "you still prefer staying stubborn, Miss Kaszowiz." He takes his time to count. "But, you really should reconsider your option. It would be so much better if you accepted our offer. The other house is even better than this half-ruined building. Reconsider it! Maybe, one day something might happen to you, and there is nobody to help you."

My angry face hides the panic, rising in my stomach at his words. I remember that last week he warned me with almost the same words. But - but -

"You know my answer, Mister Santa Gallo, and I won't change my mind no matter what you say."

He smiles like a shark.

"My dear Miss Kaszowiz," The tone of his voice is patronizing, and if he wasn't this large, and if he wasn't accompanied by these thugs, I would like to punch him for that. But, I'm not exactly like Mimi, I try to be a nice girl and keep my temper. "my dear Miss Kaszowiz, do you think the little incident last week-end, could be the worst thing to happen."

My body is already tense, and I feel cold, but I have to keep my temper. The large grins on the faces of the men behind him, aren't helping, but I prefer to look harshly at them rather than letting them see my fear. Or giving them a hint of what I'm seeing behind them. "Think about it, my dear Miss Kaszowiz, if you are too stubborn to realize your situation, then -"

Oh my god, I hadn't thought that someone could move so fast. "Then, what?" If I wasn't this tense I would have laughed at Santa Gallo's face when he feels the gun at his temple. It's mine, the one I bought on Monday. "You will arrange another little incident? You will kill her? I think not." Kenneth speaks very calmly, but his look is terrifying. Even for me, I'm convinced that he will kill this man if one of them makes a move, and so are they. Santa Gallo is swallowing. "I think that you and your men will leave this house immediately. None of you will do anything to annoy Miss Kaszowiz. If you do, you will have serious problems with me."

"You have no fucking idea with whom you are dealing." Santa Gallo is growling, but he gives his men a sign with this head. They step back to the stair-case, then start to descend the stairs.

Kenneth is waiting a few moments, then tells Santa Gallo, the politeness of his words contradicting the tone of his voice: "Please, would you follow them!"

"This is suicide, you know that." Santa Gallo returns, but he obeys nevertheless. Slowly they follow the others.

When they reach the first turn, I permit myself to breathe again. My relief that Kenneth has helped me against all reason is spoiled by my shock about his sudden change and my worry what problems he may have from his interference.

"Hey, shouldn't you follow them!" Yacko is yelling at me, making me almost jump, because I hadn't realized he came to the door. "He is so cool, I can't believe that he is a queer."

What a sudden change, didn't Yacko call Kenneth a queer first without thinking? But, he is right. We should follow them.

"How did he get the gun?" I ask when we go down the stairs.

"I gave it to him, before he climbed over the fire escape to his own rooms. You won't believe it, but he entered by the kitchen window."

It must have been the only open window, because of the cooking. Imagining the small window, I'm also amazed.

Yacko happily continues his praises. Isn't it foolish what impresses teenage boys? One has to be stupid and imprudent to gain their respect. I would have been happier if I hadn't seen Kenneth' face when he put the gun against another man's head. I prefer him laughing, cooking or dancing.

Just before we reach the ground floor, I hear the door slamming.

"I hope I was convincing enough to scare them away." Kenneth says calmly, just his usual self, and hands me the gun. It hasn't been loaded. "I never feel good doing such things, but this sort of people has to know that they cannot come and intimate people. What are they using to blackmail you, anyway?"

"He bought father's debts. He has a legal contract, and he can confiscate our property if we don't pay." I answer, looking from him to the gun, still stunned by his actions. He was bluffing.

Before I have time to make any other comment, Mister Badass comes through the door. Karen, I blame myself, where did you get that word? I swallow my sigh.

"Hey, did I miss something?" He says, grinning from ear to ear.

"No, Sam."

"But I saw these guys hanging around here before, and I thought you might need some help."

"No, Sam, everything is just fine."

"And why -"

"Hey, I remember you." Yacko interrupts them, grinning and tugging Mister Badass's jacket from behind. "You are the 'bad' guy."

The face of this guy is so incredibly stunned that I start to laughing so hard I'm crying.

"Excellent, I see he has moved in with the right people." He smacks Kenneth on his shoulder, making him almost stumble. "All of you are really ungrateful. To laugh at the person that brings you a present."

"I don't see anything." Yacko is gotten extremely excited by all what happened in the last half hour.

Mister Badass smacks him too. "I thought you needed my help, of course I left it in the car. And if you have nothing to do you can always help me carry them." If he was a monkey he would be beating his chest.

Shame on yourself, Karen!

*

It was a record player that he had left in the pick-up. It was a really nice present, a record player, two boxes and two records, but I think he didn't buy it in a shop. The few hints he dropped, confirmed this suspicion of mine, and at first, I felt a little strange, having stolen things in my rooms. But then, I remembered that I had to sell our record player because of some real criminals, and I stopped feeling guilty.

Mister Badass carried the player himself, because this was men's work. I almost died laughing when he said it. Also grinning at the pouting face of our benefactor, Kenneth and the owner of the pick-up, a very nice, but quiet man called Kay Blackhawk, were carrying the boxes. Yacko and me, we only had to take the records. I had to carry "Bill Hailey and his Comets". It sounded somewhat familiar to me. But wasn't this old music? Maybe, ten years old.

At first, we set the player in our kitchen, listening to music. Then Kenneth fried the rest of vegetables and meat for our visitors. Unfortunately, the nice Mister Blackhawk had to go very soon, and I pitied him a little, because he has a rendezvous with the woman. He is such a friendly man, I hope she doesn't break his heart.

Now, we are dancing since I don't know when. Or, it is better to say that, Kenneth and me, we are dancing barefoot, while Yacko is looking disgusted and undignified at our silliness. Sam is also playing the cool cat, sitting beside the record player and tapping the rhythm of the songs on his knees. But, I don't care too much about him. And I don't care about my arm either. I'm too excited to be dancing rock and roll again, because Kenneth is really brilliant at this.

Later that night, Sam proves again that he is more useful than suspected. He proposes us that we go out. Just the three of us, because underage, and by the way wounded kids have to stay home at night. Yacko has no chance to win against three adults. Calling us by the worst names he knows, he retreats to his room. I hope he stays there and doesn't go out on his own. But, this is a matter of trust, and I trust him as long as I don't surprise him. I have never spied on him.

Going out with the guys is very funny and extremely safe. The place where Sam drags us is more decent than I expected. It's been so long I almost can't remember the last time I'd gone out just for fun and not for business.

Author's notes: Well, well, I hope that chapter wasn't too boring. There was not so much action, more family memories.

1. Let's talk about characters: I can see that my portrayal of Karen is very different from most interpretations of Kaoru's character. Foremost, because I don't see her as always "Merry Sunshine" as most of the readers do. However, she is optimistic and she wants that everything is just fine, sometimes she can be very stubborn and a bit obsessed. That's also what Karen is in my story. Only being fine means getting back a family. That's the reason why Karen tries to revive the past relation with Shintaro. As for their conversation about "the subject", you might think that she is almost too liberal for that time as much as Maggie in chapter one. Well, that's how it looks like. At that moment, Karen is believing and means truly what she is saying because she wants to believe it. Believing doesn't automatically mean being conscious of all consequences.

As for Shintaro telling her, I have very long times meditated about that point, because I have read other scenarios in other yaoi stories. But, this story is not the classical yaoi story, and his decision was just the logical consequence of the conversations with Sam in the previous chapter.

2. Let's talk characters (II): Susanna = Suzume, Hannah = Ayame (I ignore the right order of them.), Deborah = Tsubame.

Santa Gallo is a combination of Sengaku and the Gohei brothers.

3. Let's talk about the family: Of course, all characters related to Shintaro's background, making a link between the world of Rurouni Kenshin and himself, are my own creation. I like to invent family stories and for that reason I created a whole genealogy for Kenshin. Taking the liberty to ignore the Seisou Hen story line and to give him and Kaoru a daughter besides their son. I understand the decision of Watsuki to give them only a son, because a son can have the skills of his father, but this is just a purely patriarchal sight of the life. I don't feel bad about changing that. I wasn't so sure if Kaoru and Kenshin would give their daughter the name Tomoe, but well -.

I took the names Kazumi and Akane from the girls who sacrificed themselves for the little Kenshin. But, I choose Akane also because of Akane Tendo another female anime hero. Miya was a name I just liked. The old man who left Shintaro the sakabatou is Kenji. How he got that sword? I surely could find an explication for it, but it's not so important for the story. The story of Kenji and how he became a Japanese hero is another story and shall be told another time. But not by me.

4. Let's talk about Nagasaki: I don't feel good at hundred pro cent about this, but I hope to touch the subject with the necessary subtlety. A traumatic experience is a fundamental part of Kenshin's character, and for that reason I chose this connection. It's not the only event influencing his decisions.

To make you understand that Kumiko's try to make people speak about what happened was a real break of taboos, I will insert following citation from an internet site, dedicated to a project examining war experiences in Asia:

"Many survivors experienced a fractured sense of identity and reality but were unable to process the bombings emotionally because of the ban on discussing them. The Japanese themselves ostracized hibakusha, the survivors of the bombings, who were often physically marked and regarded as unmarriageable."

I found similar information on other pages.

5. Let's talk about photographs: Most of the photos in that chapter and in later chapters will be black and white photos, partially because they are old, partially because they are art works. Only the photo with Miya is a colored photo, because it is a symbol of the revival of Japan after the war.

6. Let's talk about books and lifestyle (a bit extended information):

Kurt Tucholski, Schloss Gripsholm (Castle Gripsholm): The book is a fluffy, slight frivol, little story about a young couple making holiday in the mentioned castle in Sweden. The book contains allusions to experiments with hallucinogen mushrooms and a very tame allusion to a threesome between a man and two women. Remember that I wrote about Karen's grand-ma that she was bisexual. That's just another symbol for it.

Tucholski was a Jewish-German poet and essayist. He wrote chansons for cabarets and was famous for his very sharp observations of the political evolution in Germany. When the nazis took the power in Germany, he was forced to emigrate. He emigrated to Sweden, but committed suicide in exile.

He is representing in my story the climate and the lifestyle of the Berlin between the end of WWI and the beginning of the nazi regime. In that time you could find in a certain part of the society most elements reappearing during the sexual revolution in late 1960s and 1970s, and Berlin had a flourishing lesbian and gay culture. If you know the movie "Cabaret" you might have a little impression of what get lost with the upcoming of the nazis. That's the atmosphere where Karen's grand-parents lived before they emigrated to the U.S.

By the way, Karen's grand-mother is representing assimilate Jewish families in Germany while her grand-father represents Polish Jewish tradition.

Ex libris (lat.) = from the library of .../ from the book collection of ...

Anna Blum = Anna die Blume (Anna the flower): The name appears in experimental poem written by a poet called Kurt Schwitters. The style of art is called "Dada" and is also a part of the 1920s European lifestyle. (see my note about Marcel Duchamp in chap. 3.) Besides, "Dada" is considered as another source of pop-art.

"Bill Hailey and his Comets" In 1955, they had their greatest success with "Rock around the clock". That's make the little performance in the "Velvet" a tribute. (I didn't even know it when I wrote the chapters 1 & 2.) Here's a link giving information about this song: http://www.rockabillyhall.com/RockClockTribute.html

6. Let's talk about - ballet and Martial Arts. In someone's footnotes I read once that it is impossible to imagine Kenshin as a dancer. This might be correct for the classical ballet, but if you have some looks on Modern Ballet and compare it to Asian Martial Arts, you can find some similarities. Especially if you take the branch of Modern Ballet dedicated to the exploration of human movements and the functions of the human body.

Besides that, in my story, I explore a rather drawn to earth idea of what "ki" is. I consider it as a form of energy inherit to every human being, expressed by the tension of the body or the charisma of a person. I got this idea from an introduction to Aikido.

Posted first: 22-01-2003