One Year and Three Months Later, Tokyo
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Okita had never particularly thought about the sound of snow underfoot. Imagine that. Seventy-three years old and he could still find new things to think about. Life never ceased to be interesting.
Of course, there were new things in Japan every day now—strange but wonderful things from the West. Every year, new girls enrolled in the school. Jikiri never stopped trying to find new ways to sneak up on him. Naoya had a new recipe for him to try every time he visited.
But this new sound felt like poetry, light and crisp, echoing only mildly between the trees as his journey continued.
The fact that his joints ached just a bit could no longer easily be slid aside. Old sword wounds he’d long since forgotten attempted to make themselves known. Jikiri couldn’t sneak up on him, but age certainly had. It must have been only yesterday … Well, then, if I am going to think like this, I’ll certainly have to end up admitting that I am old. And I shan’t do that. No. Definitely not.
Grieving for his friends had been so hard. It was then that he had begun to realize that age had crept up on him. It had been stalking him in the shadows like a hitokiri of old. Saitou-kun would have had some choice words about how a simple morning kata routine would leave him sweaty and ragged.
But then, Saitou-kun could always pick at a man’s weakness until that man unraveled like a ball of yarn.
And Tokio-san, if she saw him now, she probably would have worried. “You’re not eating enough, Souji,” she’d say with that enigmatic smile. “It distracts me to see you so frail.”
Ah. He missed them deeply. Sometimes, he even caught himself wondering how long it would be until he could see them again.
They had had such wonderful times—and some bad ones too. But, of course, he regretted none of it. In the end, using his sword to make a safer Japan never pleased him even a fraction as much as using his heart to make so many good friends.
Okita paused at the gate to the Tokyo City Cemetery and said a few words of prayer. He’d never been particularly religious, but if praying was to be done, he’d prefer not to do it in front of his friends’ graves. Saitou-kun would think it silly, and Tokio would likely find it too sad.
As Souji passed the bucket he was carrying from his right hand to his left, a sudden pain seized his chest. The bucket fell into the snow, thankfully upright. Okita put his hand to his mouth, leaning on the gate for support as he coughed.
Three perfectly round spots of crimson blossomed in the snow.
It had been like this for three days now. Ever since that night he …
He’d gone outside to take a brief stroll around the campus. The day had been long and full, requiring too much paperwork and too many meetings. A quiet walk could calm the mind. He’d taken to the garden behind the greenhouse, appreciating how well the full moon bathed Eiji’s plants in a peaceful glow. A sudden wind had brought him from his reverie to the realization that someone else was in the garden. Jikiri trying to sneak up on him again? No.
And then he distinctly heard a very familiar voice say, “I can hold back the river of time for you only so long, Sou-chan. I’m sorry.”
Souji became dizzy after that, so much so that he gave in to the overwhelming urge to lie down on the stone path. He’d found himself looking at the sky, the sound of rushing water assaulting his ears like he’d just fallen into the deepest, most unnavigable rapids.
And the sky …
The sky …
It was completely starless.
Okita remained leaning against the cemetery gate until his fit of coughing had completely ended. He bent to retrieve the bucket before heading inside. Well, at least Saitou-kun was dead and couldn’t ask pesky questions about why Okita smelled of blood.
He found their graves without much trouble, having been there many times before. Brushing away the snow that had accumulated on top of their stones, Okita smiled a bit. It wouldn’t do to not smile. If he didn’t smile, how would they be able to recognize him at all?
“Saitou-kun, Tokio-san, how are you today, hmm? I’ve brought a bit of soba with me, see? Well, you can’t taste it, but I had a bit and I assure you, it isn’t as good as yours. So you don’t have to worry, Tokio-san.”
Okita used his toes to push some of the fallen snow out of the way, making a clean patch where he could sit. His bones creaked as he lowered himself to the ground. Souji pushed his hands inside the sleeves of his gi, hiding them from the advancing cold.
“We all miss you very much, you know,” Okita said quietly. “Life seems so much less thrilling without you two troublemakers constantly stirring things up. Yes, I mean you too, Tokio-san. You could be quite naughty when you wanted, couldn’t you?” Okita laughed, the soft lines around his large brown eyes crinkling with mirth. “But I think everyone has done their best to live their lives in a way that would make you both proud.
“Eiji is still Eiji. I can’t believe what a fine man he has become. He loves Jikiri deeply and tries to show her at every turn. One of these days, I know she’ll give in to his advances. I hope it will be sooner rather than later. As for Jikiri, well, she’s so busy now. In title, yes, I still run the school, but Jikiri is really the one who does all the work. She says that she wants to make sure that every girl realizes that she has great potential and that there are so many possibilities for a young woman, if only she works hard. I think you gave her a good name, Saitou-kun. It fits her life.
“Ah, and there is exciting news, as well. Naoya and Chou went to Europe last spring. I tell you, they wouldn’t stop talking about it for months after they returned. Apparently, Naoya made quite a splash among the social scene there, and everyone wanted to meet the ‘refined lady from Japan.’ The recipes she brought back to inflict on all of us were quite … ahem … interesting.” Souji giggled into his hand. “And they went to Paris, so that Chou could put Yumi-san’s ashes into the Seine. Well, I don’t think you’d recognize Chou now. His hair is very short due to a … hrm … an incident wrestling Naoya in the kitchen and apparently tumbling too close to the stove. They took him off active duty a while ago, though he protested vehemently, and he now works as a clerk in the armory.
“Naoya is taking very good care of Snowflake Sweets. Well, Eiko does most of the work now. The store’s patented sakura mochi have become somewhat of a local favorite. The business is doing so well that Eiko is discussing plans to open another shop, possibly in Yokohama!”
Souji stopped for a few moments and looked up at the sky. Even though they were dead, it was still hard to say the next part.
“Tsutomu is doing well and his family, also. Tsuyoshi’s wife had her second daughter, and they named her Toki, after you, of course, Tokio-san. But …
In a way, it made him glad that his friends were gone. He wouldn’t have been able to stand seeing their faces if they were alive.
“I’m afraid Tatsuo … There was a fever that spread through the city in the fall. He … he didn’t make it. But his brothers were there with him when he went. We were all heartbroken, but Tsutomu most of all. He told me that he worried that you would both be disappointed that he couldn’t protect his little brother. They didn’t put his ashes here, because Tsutomu thought this place of death might not be appropriate for a young man who tried so hard to live. He’s out by Snowflake and Midnight, which he would have liked, I think.”
The sob in Souji’s throat irritated the already sore tissue there, causing a sudden bout of uncontrollable coughing. Okita bent forward, and his cheek pressed against a mound of snow as his body was overtaken by painful convulsions. “Kami-sama …” Souji whispered to his friends during a lull in the fit. “I sound like a dog, barking coughs like that, don’t I?”
Souji slowly tried to compose himself. The walk here must have been longer than he remembered, as he felt uncharacteristically tired for this time of day. His cheek remained in the snow. It felt soothing, especially with how strangely hot his face had become. Old eyes, still shining and rimmed with laugh lines but suddenly weary, gazed at the gravestones of his friends.
“You know, I don’t think I can put into words how much I’ve enjoyed this life of mine. Such sweetness, and such beauty … Such an amazing adventure. Each day more magnificently delicious than the one before. But as much as I marvel …”
Another fit of coughing took hold of Souji. The small man stretched out his arm, catching a fist of snow, which he squeezed in his hand until it became a hard rock of ice. His entire chest was pressed against the ground as blood leaked unchecked from the side of his mouth.
“As much as I marvel at the wonders of this world, I doubt I’ve ever known anything as unexpectedly dear and precious as the friendship that you both gave to me.”
Souji’s eyes closed as his chest exploded into a conflagration of pain. He could hear his own breathing, like a sharp whistle as he tried to suck in air that would not come between sputtering and progressively unproductive hacking. Darkness beyond darkness pulled at his mind, drawing him away from the agony of body and the sadness of spirit.
“Why, if I close my eyes right now, I can hear spring already … How nice it smells here, like cigarettes … and honey … If you just close your eyes and listen, you can hear them. At first, they may seem indistinguishable from the cacophonous sound that composes the symphony of water’s journey. There. Can you hear them?”
Is it springtime already? Just a moment ago, I thought … it was winter.
Okita suddenly became aware of someone cooing his name, over and over, like a warm breeze tickling his ear.
“Souuuu-chan. Sooouuuuu-chan. My, oh, my, such a lazy one, at that.”
Opening his eyes, Okita found the world bathed in not the fierce brilliance of snow, but the gentle glow of sunlight. And not six inches from his face was … his own face?
But not his current face. No, a younger version of himself, one shining with the pinnacle of youth and health. The lips on that face curved into a beatific smile, and its owner leaned back, clapping his hands with delight.
“Yatta! Most excellent! Ahhh, what’s that look now? I thought you’d be at least somewhat happy to see me.”
Souji blinked. “S-s-seichii?”
“Well, of course it’s me, silly. Is there anyone else who looks exactly like you?” Seichii put his hands on his hips and took a step backward, blowing air upward into his bangs. “It took you so long to get here, Souji. I’m going to tell you all the bad jokes and horrible poems I made up while waiting as punishment …”
It was Seichii, but as Souji had hardly ever seen him. He was so … well … It was like he’d never been sick a day in his life. Seichii hopped from foot to foot, doing a bit of a jig of celebration as Souji slowly sat up.
A low male voice muttered from behind Souji, “You’d think he’d at least know his own twin. Ahou.”
“Come now, Hajime. He’s only been dead for a few minutes,” a soft voice answered.
“No excuse. It is terribly irresponsible to not have your wits about you at all times.”
Slowly, Souji turned his head, blinking into the sunlight as he attempted to make out the silhouettes. One taller one, angular and lean, and a shorter one, her arms entwined around the first, long white kimono flowing in the breeze as she rested her head on his chest. As the figures became clear, he found they looked just as they did when they, too, were young. Saitou rested his left hand on the hilt of his katana as he glanced from Tokio to Okita and back again.
“Sa … Saitou-kun? Tokio … Tokio-san!”
“Aa,” Hajime said, one corner of his lips turning up to mar his sneer.
Tokio, however, wore a quietly enduring smile as she waved. “Hello, Souji. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Waiting … for me?” Okita Souji had never looked so confused.
“Hn. We’ll explain on the way,” Saitou said dismissively, turning himself and his wife away from the twins.
“Hai, hai, Sou-chan.” Seichii extended a hand to his brother to pull him up off the ground, “We have to get back before Katsu-san starts making fun of Kume-san again.”
“Katsu-san is here too? And …”
“Oh everyone, Souji. Tatsuo, and Nagakura-san and all sorts of people from the revolution days. Even Himura-san and his wife are here. So, we’d best go.”
Souji looked down at his hands. All of the wrinkles of age, the thick veins, and the swollen knuckles were gone. As he moved, he felt so light, the creaking bones and small aches of his advanced age having melted away to nothingness. As he peered at his brother, the patent Okita Souji smile once again returned to his face.
“Where are we going, Sei-chan?”
“Ah, to the ocean, of course.”
Souji scratched his head lightly and shrugged, resigning himself to be led by his very energetic brother. Wherever they were, everything seemed fine now. Seeing old friends would be nice. And maybe the others would come along someday too.
Hajime and Tokio watched as the twins walked past, Seichii speaking quite animatedly to his older brother and Souji laughing at just about every other sentence. Saitou raised one fine black eyebrow as his wife peered up at him.
“Shall we go too, Hajime?”
“Aa,” he replied as they began to walk. “Though, I do despise the sea.”
Tokio’s silent laughter made her shoulders quake lightly. “As do I, Hajime, as do I.”
“Let’s not stay here long, Kitty …”
As they disappeared into the blur of the springtime sunlight, Tokio finished her husband’s sentence. “This place irritates you. I know, Hajime, I know. But next time …”
“Aa, Kitty?”
“Next time let’s try to avoid cross-dressers.”
“Good choice.”
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The Next Morning
The officer bowed his head reverently as he opened the gate for Okita Jikiri. Overnight, the city of Tokyo had experienced quite a devastating freeze, and as Jikiri meandered through the cemetery, her breath left a trail of translucent fog, marking the last few steps of her path. Bundling her hands tighter into her woolen muff, Jikiri bit the inside of her cheek.
Eiji would be so upset. Jikiri took a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out her mouth slowly. But, at least once she told him, he’d tell the others. She couldn’t bear to repeat such news more than once.
She found him lying on his side, one of his arms under his head. His other arm, bent at the elbow, lay outstretched as if he’d wished to embrace the frozen earth. Okita’s hakama had blown upward during the night, revealing his left leg up to the knee.
His skin. So blue and so fragile. His legs … so small. Was he really such a small man? To Jikiri, he’d always been massive. His extraordinary zeal for living made him larger than his little body could ever contain.
His head, tucked between the two gravestones of his friends, lay in a pool of rust-colored blood. Okita’s ice-encrusted bangs obscured his eyes, but the mysterious smile on his lips let her know that at the end, at least, he’d been amused by some parting thought.
Jikiri knelt down beside the body and ran her fingers lightly over frozen strands of hair. “Finally, this Jikiri sneaks up on you.”
The tear that hit Okita’s face froze before it could roll down his cheek. “I just wish she could have told you that she was so glad you found her … Father.”
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