"I was nine," Okita said in a tone so unlike his usual cheerful one. "I...was nine."
"I
understand now," he continued when Toshizou Hijikata failed to comment."You don't want to repeat the mistake you made
with me."
The words haunted Toshi, and as
the hours dragged silently by they cut deeper with each echoed repetition. What could he have done, how could he
possibly have said anything to explain or excuse what he'd done to Souji so long ago.
Souji had been a child, an innocent
little lamb of a thing so eager to please, to be accepted by the much older boys at the Sheiken dojo. He'd hung
around the place like a lost puppy waiting for any scrap of attention they showed him. And when Toshi jokingly
put the sword into his tiny hands he never thought little Souji would have the strength to hold it let alone master
it by the time he turned thirteen.
The boy had spent untold hours practicing
until he was too exhausted to stand, until his hands were raw and bleeding before the callouses formed and toughened
enough to shield him from the rubbing of the katana's corded hilt.
Toshi had been there the night Souji Okita
killed his first man. It had been a bandit who'd set upon them as they were walking home after a festival. They
were lightheaded from to much sake and not nearly as attentive as they'd normally be but when the man stepped into
their path, demanded money and drew his katana, Souji acted out of instinct and sliced the man nearly in half before
the poor bastard’s mind could register what such an “innocent child” had done to him.
Souji hadn't said a word he simply stared down and watched
the sea of blood spread and soak into the ground at their feet.
But that night, in the wee hours
just before dawn Toshi had heard him crying. He'd made his way to Souji's room and found the boy in tears, grief-stricken
as the child he still was finally realized what the hitokiri within him had done.
Friendly concern made him reach
out to wipe Souji's tears and instinct caused the boy to cling to the strong supportive young man before him, but
before long, before either of them thought to question the primal force that motivated them they were naked and
entangled in each other's arms; their bodies, sweating, aching, yearning for what the other alone could give.....
That had been so long ago and yet
the memory of it was as fresh as if it had happened only moments ago. Exhaling a beleaguered breath, Toshi sat
up, wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow and looked towards the door closing off the corridor that led to the
other Shinsengumi leaders' quarters.
He slipped into Souji's room needing
no light to tell him where to step to avoid the futon or pile of books that were stacked near it. He'd slipped
in here in the dead of night many times as Souji had done to his own room.
"It's only me," he whispered
when he heard the scrape of a sword
being drawn in the darkness. "I forgot a paper in here yesterday, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake
you."
"Liar," came the soft
reply.
His eyes adjusting to the pale moonlight
outside the high window, Toshi watched Souji's shadowy form sit up, knees bent, arms wrapped around them. Ignoring
his own inner advice he sat beside the younger man and simply stared while so many things flooding his mind like
a play of their lives being reenacted before his mind's eye.
"I'm sorry," he said at
last.
"It's all right. I wasn't that
sleepy."
"That's not what I meant,"
Toshi whispered back, wishing he'd stayed the imulse to come in here.
"I know," Souji said,
resting his chin upon his bent knees."Am I really so awful that you want to spare Tetsu-kun from becoming
like me?"
Without a forethought Toshi reached
out and place his hand gently on Souji's head. "It isn't that at all."
"Then what is it?" Souji
asked, his dark eyes opened wide and full of infinite sadness.
Toshi let his fingers glide down
Souji's cheek. "I just want to spare him the pain I caused you. I can't take your pain away but if I could...."
Souji closed his eyes and held Toshi's
hand against his cheek. "I can deal with the pain as long as you're by my side," he said softly, taking
hold of Toshi's hand and tenderly kissing the calloused palm. "I've been able to deal with everything as long
as you're with me..."
# # # #
1868
If
only I could be with you now. If
only things had turned out differently, if only you hadn’t gotten sick. If only...Toshizou
Hijikata thought as he ran a hand through his recently shorn hair and tossed back yet another cup of sake. “If
only,” he whispered as he refilled his cup. He looked up when the inn keeper approached and handed him a note.
His dark eyes narrowed and he quickly scanned the small crowded room, surprised when he caught sight of a familiar
face staring impassively back at him from a small table in a far corner.
It was Hajime Saitou whom he’d last
seen at Toba Fushimi
some months before. Saitou’s gaze flitted towards the note Toshi held in his hand. Understanding, he opened it
and read.
Okita-san’s
spirit is shrouded in darkness and it cries out for you. He hasn’t much time in this world. He’s at the quarantine
hospital in Edo. Nagakura’s sister is his nurse. She’s been by his side for days not wanting him to be alone when
the end comes. Go if you can.
Toshi made a move to stand to question Saitou further but the
other man shook his head and stood and Toshi saw why it had to be this way. Saitou was wearing a uniform reminiscent
of those worn by the new Imperial military. So, the rumors he’d heard of his old friend and comrade were true.
After Toba
Fushimi Saitou had been captured and had been given amnesty by the new Ishin government due undoubtedly to his
connection to former Bakufu high officials.
In answer to the questioning look
Saitou gave him Toshi nodded and lifted his sake cup.
Toshi finished the sake then looked
at the silver pocket watch he’d picked up when he’d bought this suit. If he started now he’d be in Edo before dawn.
“His room overlooks the garden on
the left side of the hospital at the rear,” Saitou said from the shadows when Toshi stepped outside.
“When did you see him?”
“I wasn’t there in person. His spirit
came to me last night when I meditated.”
“Ah,” Toshi said softly walking
away, his surprise at the Mugai master’s unusual spiritual talents having dissipated long ago. “Thank you.”
As he walked, Toshi checked the
inside pocket of his jacket. There it was an extra copy of the one photograph he’d had taken just before coming
here. He’d sent two copies back to his family in the hands of young
Tetsu
Ichimura partly to give them a remembrance, mainly to shield his ever loyal
young page from the disaster that surely awaited up in Hakodate, where he’d planned to head tomorrow to join forces
with Enomoto and the other Ishin resistors.
It would be futile in the extreme,
they were out manned, outgunned and yet Toshizou Hijikata’s warrior spirit would not allow him to quit the fight
he’d begun so long ago. He’d vowed to fight the Ishin Scum then and planned to go to his grave doing just that
now.
For a moment he wondered if he’d
feel the same way if Souji were well and with him. Would they have committed seppuku rather than surrender or be
captured? Would they have escaped and embarked on this mad quest of rebellion together? Or would they have taken
the practical outlook like Saitou and Nagakura and surrendered, taken the amnesty then faded into obscurity to
live out their lives?
You
could still do that, a tiny voice whispered from deep within him.
Perhaps. But then without Souji’s
smiling face to wake to and fall asleep with there wasn’t much point in existing in this new Meiji world, was there?
# # # #
Edo
Sneaking
in to the quiet hospital was easy, and a feeling as much as Saitou’s direction guided Toshi to the private room
overlooking the garden. He
slipped inside, crept to the side of the high western style bed where Shinpachi Nagakura’s elder sister sat dozing,
her hand resting lightly atop Souji’s.
He placed his hand gently upon her
mouth and calmed her with a quick, whispered greeting when she started awake. She relaxed, her dark eyes brightening
and he moved his hand.
“Toshi-san, is it really you? It’s
been years.”
“A lifetime.”
Midori Nagakura nodded and moved
from the chair, motioning for him to sit. Her expression grew serious as her gaze skimmed Souji’s face then returned
to his. “His waking moments are getting fewer, but his mind is clear. He usually wakes at dawn. I’ll see you’re
not disturbed.”
“Thank you.”
When Midori left and the room was
silent save for the labored breathing of Souji, and the faint stir of crickets outside in the garden did Toshi
look at his friend and former lover. He reached out and took hold of the younger man’s hands that had once wielded
a katana with incredible force.
Souji had never been a big man but
he was so thin and frail now. So pale, so weak looking that it tore Toshi’s heart to countless pieces. He’d trade
places with Souji in a moment if only he could...
His thoughts broke off when Okita stirred and he gave in to
impulse and brought Souji’s hand to his lips.
With a rasping breath and a half
murmur Souji slowly forced open his eyes, blinking several times as if to focus his sight. “Dream,” he whispered.
“Just a dream...” His eyelids slid closed once more.
“It’s no dream, koishii. I’m here,” Toshi whispered, the fingers
of his free hand skimming the side of Souji’s face as he’d done so many times in the past to wake him after slipping
into his room.
Inhaling sharply and coughing because of it, it took a moment
for Souji to recover. But once he did he offered Toshi a smile to so loving and heartfelt that it brought the rarest
of tears to the older samurai’s eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Souji said,
trying to sit up. “I hear there’s a reward for you.”
Toshi stood and helped him then
sat on the edge of the bed. “I was close, I had to come to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t before—“
“It couldn’t be helped.” Souji squinted
and reached up to touch Toshi’s head as pink dawn light began to filter in the window.
“You cut your hair. And those clothes...”
“What was that Sannan used to say?
I was always too fashion conscious?”
Okita offered a half smile and Toshi
regretted mentioning their old friend whom he ordered to commit seppuku. Okita had been the one to deliver the
final blow to sever Yamanami’s head. If only he could go back....
“No,” Souji said quietly as if reading
his thoughts as he did so well. “No regrets. We agreed on that long ago.”
Toshi nodded. “That we did.” A shiver
ran through him when Souji ran his slim fingers through his shorter hair.
“I think I like you this way,” he
said skimming his fingertips down across Toshi’s neck to rest lightly upon his chest.
Silence fell around them but it
wasn’t an awkward or tense silence but the peaceful type of quiet intimacy that close friends and lovers shared.
All too soon the tranquility was
broken by a fit of coughing and Toshi watched impotently as Souji gave himself over to it, turning away, trying
to discreetly hide the bloodied towel on the nightstand.
There was still a trickle of blood
at the left corner of Souji’s mouth and Toshi wiped it away with his fingers then bent to place a tender kiss upon
Souji’s lips.
“I feel so cold,” Souji whispered
in a voice that was clearly weaker than before. “Would you...hold me?”
Toshi sat further on the bed, shifting
Souji so that he was nestled against him just the way they lay so many nights in the past.
Souji breathed a familiar contented
sigh and relaxed, drawing Toshi’s arms in front of him like a protective mantle.
They were still laying together
when Midori Shinpachi came in near noon to check on Okita.
“He’s gone,” she said. “He’s grown
cold.”
“I know,” Toshi whispered. “I couldn’t
bear to let him go.”
Taking a deep breath and blinking
back the tears he would not shed in front of another he finally released his hold on Souji.
He lay him back, smoothed his dark hair from his pale, pale face and folded
his hands across his chest. Almost as an afterthought he remembered the spare photo he had tucked in his jacket
and placed it in Okita’s hands.
“Could you see that this is buried
with him?”
“Of course.”
# # # # #
June 20, 1869
Hakodate
Toshizou Hijikata drove himself headlong through the fray at
Fort Goryokaku , cutting down opponents with his katana in one hand, a pistol in the other. The chaos of battle
engulfed him–-the crack of rifles, the screams of the injured and dying, the roar of charging horses, the sound
of clashing steel, the acrid smell of gunpowder surrounded him.
Without warning pain seared his chest, thigh and arm.
Bullets. He felt them burn, strike bone, drive him to his knees. He cried out when another bullet grazed his temple.
Suddenly the cacophony withdrew
and a rush in his ears tore Toshi’s attention from the carnage around him, the feel of blood soaking through his
clothing, the weakness engulfing him. He felt the warm June sun bathe his sweaty blood- streaked face.
Toshi.....Toshi.....
His vision blurring, Toshi struggled
to look towards the voice that called to him. He knew that voice. It was...Souji’s voice...
The pain was fading rapidly into
the distance along with the chaotic noise of the battle. The sun grew stronger, his body grew stronger yet oddly
lighter. He stood, though it felt as if he floated to his feet. He looked towards the northern stone wall of the
fort to see a black cat staring at him.
The cat
hissed then purred and looked to the wall as a ivory mist seeped through the stones from somewhere on the other
side. The mist swirled and thickened and in the center Souji Okita appeared.
He looked wonderful, so bright and
glowing and full of life. And he was smiling the bright ever boyish smile that never failed to warm Toshi’s hardened
heart.
Souji held out his hand. “Are you ready?”
Toshi stepped—drifted–-forward his
arm lifting of its own accord. “Ready?”
"Ready to come with me." Souji
took his hand. It felt so solid, so comforting, so warm and full of untapped energy.
Toshi shook his head, tried to clear
his thoughts that were so unusually muddled. He tried to look behind him but an odd stern warning from Souji stopped
him.
“No. Don’t look back.”
His tone softened. “Leave it. Come with me. Stay
with me. Please.”
Toshi gazed at Souji’s youthful
handsome face. He never could deny the younger man anything.
He felt himself smile and went forward. He draped his arm around Souji’s
shoulder and stepped with him through the vanishing stone wall.