|
"The Fox, The Monk And The Mikado Of All Nights Dreaming "Written By: Seraphim Grace View Commisioned art for this fic. Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or its characters, they belong to Bandai etc. Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to. Pairings: 1x2, suggested 13x6 Notes: This is a version of a fairy tale that
Neil Gaiman published as The Dream Hunters, I have changed it a lot
to fit the story I wanted
"The Fox, The Monk And The Mikado Of All Nights Dreaming " Chapter 6 True to Barton’s word he is not the one to meet him. It is a Chinese man who sits in the gazebo with a strict posture. His hair is gathered in a queue at the back of his neck and he wears wire-framed glasses over his eyes. He is also wearing a heavy roll neck sweater, not unlike the one that the Lady Relena has given him, and he looks like he might be taller even than Barton. He looks at him and weighs up his entire being with a glance. “You should be in school,” he says, he has a slight accent, “you are too young to be wandering the streets at this time of day. What school do you attend?” The boy does not answer him. He won’t meet the Chinese man’s gaze. “I am on the board at Saint Gabriel’s it is a fine school. If you are not enrolled come to the gate tomorrow and mention my name, you will be taken to my office and I will enrol you. It is not fitting for a boy of your age to be outside the reaches of education.” The boy blinks, “Barton said that you were quiet and Lena mentioned that she worried over you,” he is stiff and stern; there is no give in the man at all. “If you wish to discuss my offer, which is offered to you on Lena’s behalf, I am willing to talk to your parents about it.” The boy flushes and then protests unaware of even what he is saying, but he does not want to continue this conversation but he thinks that the Chinese man will not let it slide. “I will give you a week to make your decision, but you are still welcome to tour the school if you wish. Saint Gabriel’s is a good school; Lena herself attended it as a girl. It also comes with full lodging.” “My parents couldn’t afford such a school.” He says bluntly. “Who mentioned paying for it?” the Chinese man tells him, “I am a member of the board I can have you enrolled with my recommendation and that of Lena, and I can think of two other alumni who you have not yet met who will also second your entry.” He stands up in a stiff motion that looks almost painful. “I am under instruction from both Lena and Barton to feed you and to continue the story that Lena was telling you, and that if you wished then to take you to the residence to see her.” The boy decides that Barton may have been strict but he is much preferable to this Chinese man. “Now, there is a wondrous noodle bar not far outside the park that does the most divine pork dim sum.” He walks along in a swish of a silk duster that is lined in rich wool. “It also has the only Chinese green tea in all of Sanq, I am sure that they might even be able to make something for you to drink, I have in my life only met one other person at your age who drank green tea.” It is a rather downmarket establishment in comparison to the expensive restaurant that Barton took him into, it has cloth hangings over the door and a woman meets the Chinese man at the door with a burble of spoken Chinese the boy does not understand. He calls her Amah and is older even than the Lady Relena, without questioning she ushers the two of them into a small booth and without even asking what they would like to eat she puts plates of food in front of them, there is a metal pot of tea set on a brass plinth in the centre of the table. She brings the boy a tall glass of cold lemonade mixed through with ginger. “Now, I understand with the story that Lena was telling you that Barton took it up to the monk’s dream after the onmyoji’s machinations.” In his temple of the side of the mountain, unaware of the machinations of the onmyoji the monk went about his daily life and wondered if he would see the fox. He did not, he tended his small garden and fished the small stream that ran outside his temple, taking the fish and putting any that he did not eat in the larger river where they would flourish. He made himself a garden with the river sand and tended it carefully but his thoughts were on the fox no matter how hard he tried them not to be. That night as he laid down in his futon and smelled the lingering fragrance of the fox upon his pillow he found it hard to sleep and when he finally fell asleep he dreamt. He dreamt of a woman with a careworn face, she wore a kimono that was frayed and ragged at the edges; she had a pair of chopsticks holding back coarse hair that was a rich earth brown just like his own. There were crow’s feet at the corners of eyes that were the colour of the seas of Edo after a storm. She had the same eyes that he did. In her arms she held a clay bowl that was well used and it was full of fluffy white rice. The house she was in was old but clean and well kept. There were bowls stacked up on the shelf, and small jars along the walls. The tatami were swept, although like her kimono ragged about the edges, and from one wall on hooks there hung a variety of objects like bundles of candles and bales of rope. There was even a lobster pot, which had other items inside, like chalk and string. The monk sat at a table with two other boys and a girl, of them the boy’s had the same rich earth brown hair but the girl, whose hair was slick and glossy black like raven feathers had the bright blue eyes. One of the boys was a child and to the side of his face there was a bright bloody smear that obscured one of his chocolate brown eyes. The others were all grown and older than him. The girl wore the robes of a nun with a heavy golden chain around her neck. Her clothes were very fine and she had pickled plums laid out exactly upon her plate. Her skin was golden and rich but as clear as that of a girl much younger and she had a look of peace about her eyes that suggested a life of utter serenity. She was a great beauty and he had heard of her when he had been in the temple with the other monks for she was blessed indeed but he had no idea why she might be in his dream. The other man, who was at the same time a boy, wore mud brown linen with a komon crest on one shoulder, like the woman’s his obi was tattered and stained at the edges. There was a translucent quality to his skin as if he had gone hungry for a long period of his life, laid out on his plate were two golden sardines. In front of the boy, who the monk knew was older than him, but appeared like a child of six or seven, had a long strip of lean pork laid out on his plate. He was sat on the bench on his knees so that he could reach with his back almost arched as he leant on his elbows. In front of him there was a steak of rich raw tuna such as he had seen but never eaten. It was on a fine plate although the rest of the house was old and worn; it was the sort of plate that would be laid before a great member of the court. Laying the large bowl of rice on the centre of the table the woman sat with a piece of tile instead of a plate. She laid a ball of sticky white rice on each plate and poured out beer and cups of water. Then she bowed her head and said a small prayer over them. The monk knew in that moment that this was the mother he had never seen, because he could recognise in her those traits he knew to be in himself. She was like unto him in the set of her head, and in the way she held her hands. He understood that the other s around the table were his brothers and his sister, he recognised his sister as one of the great honours of the Buddhist church in Nippon. “We are gathered together,” his mother said, “to share this meal on this the anniversary day of my baby’s birth.” She said, and looked across to him, “and on that day as I ran into the Great Snow I found for him a home amongst the monks loyal to Buddha and I know it brought him a peace in life that could not have been given him as the son of a shop keeper in the lands of the Matsumoto.” She reached across to the monk and took his hand, “in death I gave you a gift that I could not give you in life,” she said, “and so we celebrate this day with the greatest foods that I can give you, and to each of you your favourites. Now, my son, tell me your name?” “Heero,” the monk said quietly. “I was brought to a great temple by a Ronin who said that my name was Heero.” His mother reached out and stroked his cheek and her palm was rough. “It does my heart good to see you grown so well and so handsome. Your father would be proud of you because I know you have grown tall, strong and handsome. I would give you a gift, I know it cannot make up for a mother’s presence in your life, but it is all that I can give.” She stood up in a singularly fluid motion that looked as if one moment she went from sitting to standing at the crates in the corner, then back within the blink of an eye. In her hands she held out a beautifully lacquered black box that measured no longer than three inches by ten inches. Inlaid on the top was the image of three beautiful maidens, one had hair the colour of buckwheat and wore a structured blue kimono trimmed in gold, the second had hair that managed to be a shade darker than the lacquer of the box and wore a red kimono trimmed in silver, the third had hair the colour of pale sunshine and eyes like chips of ice, she wore a pink kimono trimmed in white. He took the box from her hands and tried to open it but it was locked tight, she smiled and ran her hand through his coarse hair and then took the box slipping it into the gather of his kimono at his neck. He was not; he realised then, dressed like a monk, but as a rich gentleman with layers and layers of fine fabrics. The brother who was still a child with the terrible bloodstain on the side of his face stepped forward and pressed into his hands a wooden horse that was rudely carved. “Father carved this for you,” the boy said in a voice that was strangely adult, “but I was dead before you were born and it was lost, so I give it to you now.” His sister stood up and laying her hands upon his head in a blessing she reached into the folds of her robe and removed a piece of cloth stuffed like a fox. Strangely he remembered the toy from his own childhood, but now its eyes were like chips of lavender jade when before they had been simple black stitches. “Mother made this for you out of remnants of cloth from those bolts that we sold, it was stuffed with the soft husks from the mulberry bushes. But I had been taken into the temple by the time you were born and you were taken from us, I do not know what happened to it, but it was made for you.” He took the stuffed fox as he had taken the wooden horse and placed it into the folds of his fine robes. Like his mother had she ran her hand through his hair in a fond gesture. His elder brother stood up, he was taller than the monk and broader in the shoulders. He offered him a brass rattle in which hardened beans were inside a brass cage with a bell at the end. It was on a polished stick that looked like it had been chewed. “This was passed down through our family, I had it, then Nana, then Minoru and it would have been yours if Mother had not been driven out into the snow by hunger and fear of a visiting stranger.” He squeezed the monk’s hand, “you may have grown apart from us but you are still the baby in our family.” His mother moved around the table and wrapped her arms about him and in her arms he felt like a small child and it felt like home. That amazed him, because he had never really had a home before the small temple that he had built himself. He felt very small and very vulnerable and allowed the lingering smell of cooking in her hair and clothes to soothe a hurt in him that he had not even known that he had. She pressed her face against his and whispered into his ear, “wake up,” she said, “and go with our love.” He woke up and the memory of the dream was heavy about him and he felt about for the lacquered box that he was so sure that had been there. It was gone. He stood up, wishing for the Baku to come and eat the dream to take it from him, and opened the door of his small temple to the morning, laying across the wood was a small stuffed fox made of scraps of fabric that had fallen to pieces many years before and given up it’s stuffing of the husks of mulberries. In the dirt leading away from his temple, on the small path that led to the forest, was a trail of tiny fox prints. The green tea ice cream is sweeter than he expects and he rolls it around on his spoon with his tongue. The lemonade is spicy sweet and cleans his palate. Amah had given him a hot noodle soup with prawns and large chunks of soft tender chicken. The noodles were thick and fat and feel good in his belly. “I think this is a good place to leave the story for today,” the Chinese man, who has introduced himself as Wufei says, pushing aside his plate and spinning his tea bowl on the table. There is a willow pattern on the dishes. “Do you wish to visit Lena?” The boy shakes his head, “I should go,” he says, “You’re a busy man, I have taken too much of your time as it is.” The Chinese man laughs and finally stops playing with his tea bowl. “I am an old scholar, each time I tell a story I learn new nuances of a tale I thought I knew, there is much to be learned from the time spent with any person.” His face is impassive as if he has never had an expression to stir his calm serenity. “It took a long time for me to learn what it meant to share time with other people.” “You are a professor.” The boy tells him. The Chinese man laughs, “I became a professor much later, when I was a boy your age I,” he smiles to himself, “I travelled and was proud and sent people away, I thought that they couldn’t understand me because my family were killed and they wouldn’t know my pain. I drove them away and took my temper out on those who were steadfast and remained my friends despite my best efforts.” “You mean like Lady Relena and Barton?” the boy asks. “Exactly like them,” the Chinese man says, “Lena gave me a very lucky break, I think she sees that she might do the same for you. She was only the Queen of the World for a little time but she still sees us all as her children and mothers us all.” He looks fond, “she is a very warm hearted and good person.” He lifted his tea bowl and finished his tea, “she would sacrifice herself if we let her, but just as she mothers her then we look after her.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small black leather portfolio which he opens, “If you call at Saint Gabriel’s tomorrow at ten I will be at the school to give you a guided tour but I will be busy after noon, I’m sure one of the five of us will meet you to continue the tale,” he writes something down and then scratches something out with his pen. “It will most likely be either Duo or Heero.” The boy does not miss the names that he was told. When
the Chinese man notices the reaction he smiles, “Lena is a romantic
at heart.” He says. “I will leave word with Amah that if
you wish to eat something here later it is already paid for. It was
nice meeting you.” He stands up and offers out his hand to shake.
The boy takes it and wonders when it was that he made a friend.
|
