The dozens of koi fish that had been born and raised here swam through my spindly fingers, anxiously nibbling on the tips; just as they did to the dragonflies that were unfortunate enough to meet their end here. The orange speckled ones had always been my favorite amongst the many different schools that navigated these shallows waters.
My subtly detailed Edo Komon furisode, along with my thick Tabi socks served as a barrier and protected my legs from the honeysuckle breeze that blew in from Mount Fuji in the near distance and briskly through the palace's heavy pillared halls.
The many dark and thin haphazard piles of rock that were placed so precisely by the landscaper's mama had hired long ago, created a stream of clear water that trickled down into a winding pond. Lavender flowers and Vanilla buds mixed while beautifully colored pink lilies were perched on bright green lily pads along the water's edges and stone pathways. Many other types of flower that had been planted over the extensive years grew and tangled together like a colorful explosion of art filling the green space surrounding me on either side. Cement statues and birdbaths sat in their own nestled sections. The royal gardens were the most spoken about in Japan and was nothing if not art personified in natures blessings; Mama made sure of that before she left us.
Hiroshima castle rested on a plain, sprouting up from flat moat ridden ground. Its constructs were all heavy stone and strong sandalwood beams. The maroon clay hand crafted shingled rooftops curled upwards towards the heavens. The interior of the palaces five floors was built around the large square dimensions of the garden. Our open walls and highly arched ceilings gave you a view from each main hall of the first and second floors. If you crossed over to the right side of the castle the courtyard and palace gates sat in the immediate distance. This was usually where you found our armies gathering for their daily drills. The gates were held in place on either side by the tall white walls that surrounded the entirety of the place and gave it its immense privacy.
I had spent my entire life within these walls.
It was a weeks' time before Hanami and the Sakura trees grand blooming. My excitement was soon to bubble over at the sight of the green leaves gracing the trees. When mama and papa first began their rule as Emperor and Empress of Japan, they planted a plethora of Sakura trees here to commemorate the occasion. I was anxious for them to grace us with their beauty this year's spring.
The long wispy branches of the ready to bloom flowers and sweet-smelling wood reached out to every corner of the garden's expanse. This was by far my utmost favored place to be within the grounds. I was always sure to bring a good novel and a handful of candied fruit to snack on while I hid from the world.
"Good morning my darling."
I turned and found my father still in his morning gown smiling down on me from a narrowly arched window from the third floor. It overlooked the masterpiece I was currently so enthralled in. He had had the rest of his hair removed a long while ago, but his beard remained long and healthy, bits of snowflake white now mixed in with the black. His eyes were kind but hard at the edges. He always told me,
"your mother taught me how to instill tenderness and compassion, while the throne has instilled discipline and skepticism.
You must one day find a balance."
When I was a little girl, I never understood nor tried to understand just what he had meant. But I was seventeen now and I paid much closer attention to things spoken in hushed tones. I tried hard to listen in on all the other things papa refused to let me in on, but it usually resulted in my being caught and scolded.
"Good Morning Baba!" I greeted happily. His smile was always kinder in the predawn before the daylight turned him back into the Emperor and not just a kind father.
He nodded, smile still resting on upon his lips. "Come watashi no kodomo, Akame is serving your favorite Asa Gohan this morning."
(Chi)
"Otosan…"
The cough that racked my father's body caused his fists to clench and his body to shake with chills. I had rode for days searching for a Hira to help him, but I found no help with no coin being offered. I wanted to kill every one of them who had coldly turned me away.
My father's wax paper hand pulled me from the foul thoughts as he gripped mine, his breath wheezing from his lungs.
"Chi-San, I have fought in many wars…lost many of our brothers within those same wars…" His breath was deep and shallow. "Won battles I should not have…and seen terrible things." He swallowed hard. "I was not able to be with you as much as I-I wanted… I am sorry. But you must know, I only ever found real peace in this Kazoku."
Tears found solitude in the ducts of my eyes as I knew that this Kazoku was falling apart, and that the dreaded moment was not far off. I could smell the stench of death on his breath and yellow skin. I saw his eyes seeing something far away that the living could not. I fell to my knees, bowing my head on his frail hand.
"Otosan, please tell me what to do."
When I lifted my head and took him in, my heart sank. His eyes held such little light; what was there sparked, if only for a moment.
"Help me…." He leaned slowly forward. "Up…"
"But father," "-up!" her growled.
The sound of how his voice once was, that strong sense of will I had known all my life, peeked out in his last moment of authoritativeness. He continued as if he were not barely able to walk. "I refuse to die in front of my son lying in a bed! I will use the last of my strength for Harakiri. If I am to go into the afterlife. I will do so with honor."
I opened my mouth to retort only to be met with a steel gaze and set jaw.
"Death will not beat me.
Sitting him up slowly I was cautious as to his pain which he did well to try and mask. He lifted his hands shakily. "Get Wakizashi." I turned back to the room, grabbing his sword from it is wooden perch on a shelf we had built into the wall of our house long ago. In silence I grabbed a hold of my fathers' hand and slid my other hand beneath his arm, taking most of his weight as we rose. His sigh was light and hollow, dying man's breath.
We shuffled slowly out of the bedroom and across the bamboo floors, through the dining room where preset ornate delicate plates and shallow round teacups sat empty.
We arrived at the very front of the house with just a few more steps. Pale cement walls inches taller than me enclosed our property, a willow tree resting near the left corner in front of us. It boasted rich green leaves on long hanging branches this time of year. Underneath it's shroud was a pillar of refined marble tile embedded in sanded pebbles. With the strength I did not think he had he yanked his arm free of me and stumbled down the stairs and onto the rocks. His feet slid against the loose stones with every unsure step he took. My heart ached watching him struggle to the marble. But when he reached it, he descended smoothly to his knees, doing his best to tuck his feet and keep his back straight.
It was a relatively warm day in Osaka. Somehow, that made it all that much harder to watch. The sun shone down brightly on my father's impossibly white garments. His eyes watched me as he pulled Wakazashi from its black scabbard and set it gently down in front of him. His name had already been painted on one of the many white cards that symbolized the dead. He had down it himself some time ago. The fifty-two other like it hung from the willow and looked down on us in this very moment.
My father pulled his robes apart at the chest, all the way down to his abdomen exposing the soft skin there. Breathlessly, I watched in horror and unparalleled respect as he set the tip of the shining cool blade to his abdomen and ran it with one quick jerk of his hand directly across. Blood instantly stained his once exquisite white robes, but he made no show of the pain in his face. With every breath he took, blood poured from him like a river. His hand not wavering with the weight of the blade, held it out to me.
I could not do this!
I never thought I would have had to do this!
My hands shook violently at the sight before me. But I knew. That if I did not do this. My father's Harakiri would not be honored. If I did not do this, my fathers' soul would never rest. I quickly took my place behind him; my feet skimming a puddle of his blood as I did. With what spirit was left in him he tilted his head back to look at me. My tears hit his cheeks as I shook my head violently, unable to accept my duty.
I would have to put all my strength into this in order to complete it. My voice broke as I spoke one final time to the man that taught me everything.
"Sensei, aishiteimasu."
His eyes fell closed as I shut mine. I bought the narrow blade up, pausing a moment as the whistle of the air kissing the blade sounded off the cement walls. Then, swinging in a round arc, my fingers gripping the hilt, cut through flesh, bone, sinew, and vein.
Opening my eyes, my father's head lay departed from his shoulders, blood spraying my robes a deep red and dripping from a no longer gleaming Wakazashi blade. "Goodbye father, and safe travels."