BUNRAKU REMIX

BUNRAKU



Resolve



The boy was headstrong in a quiet way – something no doubt inherited from his mother – headstrong and passionate – acting before thinking, as a young child would. The old man  understood what was going on. The last ditch effort of a warrior to burn into his child the hard lessons of life – a desperate act on one's deathbed to ensure that the future would hold strong. But he could not approve. This is not the way.



Even as his low, sure rumble rolled around the room as he chanted the healing mantras of his race, the old Japanese man protested in his spirit. As his hands drifted over the thin wrists, over the bruises and the cuts – he said nothing, although his heart faltered. The signs are there (the heavy imprint of five fingers pressed down along the lightly muscled hip bone), Yoshi had endured something more cutting than the pain of the fist.



So when the Drifter came, the old man knew that the sooner Yoshi paid his debt to the white man, the better. Those brown eyes promised death and violence, and the old man had enough of that for a lifetime. Still, when the Drifter returned with the money unspent (and yet the eyes were satisfied, a goal had been reached), Yoshi wanted to talk. The Drifter was invited for a drink. The old man and the young girl watched the Samurai carefully. Yoshi had said nothing to them. No matter. In a household where a thousand words are spoken in silence, they knew what toll it had taken on the young Samurai.



As the evening drew near on the following day, Yoshi prepared. His ponytail, drawn back tightly, his clothing as pristine as could be, his face carefully blank. The two pairs of eyes following the Samurai missed nothing – the stiff back, the tight lips and the hard eyes. Momoko followed the Samurai down the stairs quickly – behind her, her father slowly followed, reluctant to share what had weighed on his mind so heavily.



Her begging was interrupted by her father – and the air suddenly became a bit more tense than usual.



“Take her...” The old man sighed. “You ruined my business... my home... We have to hide here like stray dogs. Last week you almost got yourself killed. Is that not enough? Or won't you rest until Momoko follows in your footsteps?”

“I have an 'obligation'.”

“You don't owe anything to this man – He is a foreigner.”

“What happened to you?” Yoshi shook his head, ignoring the inference (it cut too close to the bone, old man, too close). “Where is your pride? Your honour?”

“Honour? You stay here another day... and someone is going to die. Your father didn't send you here for a medallion. He sent you here to become a man. His kind of man. And this path, though glorified, leads only to destruction!”



Before Yoshi could respond, a familiar car drove up and honked its horn. The Bartender. He turned to watch the man wave invitingly out of the window. It was his destiny, waiting for him. His destiny – and the Drifter – and the medallion, of course. The medallion. That's what this was all about... the most important thing, yes.



“Yoshi,” his uncle hissed. “Why do you hold so strongly to this path – when you know where it will lead you?”

“I do what I must,” was the simple reply.

“What you must? Or what you want? Perhaps it is not the medallion at all – or your father – or your honour.”



Yoshi's head jerked up and he glared at the old man.



“What are you implying?”

“That foreigner – is offering you something you have wanted all your life, isn't he?”



Momoko's dark eyes darted from the old, lined face to the impassive younger one. Her eyes filled with compassion (she understands, like Yoshi, that you sometimes have to do the unforgivable for a fleeting moment of serenity in mutual acceptance) and she wonders if her cousin has ever reached out his hand in the night and met nothingness and despair. She can see it in the Drifter – purpose, yes – violence, most certainly – but there was also a softness, a stillness which spoke of some kind of inner peace...



And when he looks at Yoshi, she thought, he sees a precious jewel – and Cousin, who has never seen this in the mirror, cannot help but be drawn to this hope...



Yoshi is blushing now at his Uncle's implication. He bites his lip, shifts a little, uneasily and then shakes his head slowly.



“I do not think anyone can know their true intentions, Uncle...” His dark eyes meet Momoko's calm gaze (and if possible, he realizes that she knows – and his blush deepens in confusion and shame). “...but I... I feel that my place is there – and the medallion – and my father waits for me. For now, we walk this path together... but one day... the foreigner and I – will part. I will return home and whatever you think lies between us will meet a natural end.”

“You are more foolish than I thought,” the older man says. “But go – go – and play with fire – don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I won't,” Yoshi nods, trying to keep his voice respectfully demure.



After the Samurai bows and leaves, Momoko watches her father as his shoulders slumps with a sigh. She understands that as well. The Drifter – Yoshi – have changed everything – but would they change each other? What mark will they leave?