Goodbye, My Memories

2004-08-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

(Author's Note: For my beloved mentor and teacher, a man who took a girl who'd given up, and reshaped her dreams, a man who mended this bird's wings and taught her to fly again, a man who was taken from me by a fatal gunshot in January 2004.)

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"A Foreign Tongue"

"For my beloved mentor and teacher, a man who took a girl who'd given up, and reshaped her dreams, a man who mended this bird's wings and taught her to fly again, a man who was taken from me by a fatal gunshot in January 1920."

The Russian woman rolled the piece of parchment and slipped it inside the spirit lamp. A knock at her door pulled her back to the present with jarring suddenness. She ran a hand through her short shock of blonde hair, momentarily holding it back from her face. It slid through her fingers and back over one eye as she stood, composed herself, and went to the door.

"Taichou," she spoke to the person who'd knocked, standing inside the door and holding it only half open. Ohgami Ichiro stood in the hall, his hands shoved deep in his pants pockets, his collar and tie loosened. "Konichiwa."

"You weren't at the shooting range," the captain of the Teikogu Kagekidan stated the obvious to the spectre of sorrow who still lurked at the edge of the candlelit darkness of her room, repelled by the bright electric light of the hallway upstairs of the Imperial Opera Theatre. "According to General Yoneda, you are always at the shooting range at this time on Friday nights."

This might prompt any other of the Hanagumi to explain themselves. But not the Imperial Flower Division's former captain. Maria Tachibana had been given no information she did not already have, and had been asked no questions. She continued to regard Ohgami with chill and indifferent eyes.

When he could bear the scrutiny and uncomfortable silence no longer, Ohgami gave one more shred of information. "I was hoping you would teach me to shoot."

Maria lifted an eyebrow.

"A captain should be familiar with the fighting styles and techniques of every member of his team. I have never fired a British Enfield Mark 1 Star revolver... Besides... I have always wanted to learn and... well... you are the best. Who could ask for a better teacher?"

Maria flinched, her gaze falling away from his and settling on the floor. She was not the best. But she had been taught by the best. And that man was betrayed to his death seven years ago to the day. And what had she done with the legacy he'd left her? She had deserted the Revolution and nearly become a professional killer in New York City. She turned as if to close the door.

"Maria, wait... please," Ohgami's voice softened. "Look, I... I know what today is, and... May I come in?"Maria froze with her back to him, silent and unmoving. For the space of five heartbeats, Ohgami was afraid he'd pushed too hard.

Then, softly, from the darkness, she whispered, "Yes."

Still, Ohgami hesitated a moment. He could count on one hand, and have fingers left over, the number of times he - or likely almost anyone - had been inside Maria's room. Somehow it seemed a bit like the part of Maria's past which no one was allowed to know, the part of her soul no one was allowed to explore. With proper reverence, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Her room was colder than the rest of the theatre - she had her window opened a bit. Outside the window, the snow was slowing, flakes clumped together and meandering featherlike to the ground. The street was quiet, the hour was late. Ohgami turned back to Maria just in time to see her tuck a locket inside her shirt. He'd seen the locket before, but never inquired. Now, he was fairly certain he did not have to. He knew whose picture was inside.

Already Gone

2004-08-12T21:48:00.000-07:00

Even when I still held him, it was nearly as if he was already gone. It is a horrid curse to dread what will come, for it causes you to lose what you have.

I had joy, even if only for a little while.

And fear destroyed it.

Dread eclipsed the contentment of our love, knowing that, soldiers as we were, any stray bullet could steal either of us away from the other, at any given moment. Knowing that our days could be counted in small numbers made me fear each morning. I loathed to fall asleep at night, afraid that when I woke, he would be gone. I would wake in the middle of the night and lay a hand on his chest to be certain he was still breathing. I had seen so many of our comrades fall. I was waiting for the day he would die, too.

But nothing could have prepared me for the day that he did.

My entire world was crushed, as if in someone's fist. It did not shatter, no, that is not right. It was crushed. Crushed in such a way that does not permit the drawing of a breath, the passing of a moment, the blinking of an eye - crushed until sound is muted out and sensation wanes.

I remember a dull white fuzzy haze around the edges of my vision. I felt faint. I hear a voice cry out, but only afterward did I realize it was my own. I remember that the voice sounded abhorrently tortured to my ears. I remember nearly retching. My life - my survival - depended on him. And he would not open his eyes, no matter how hard I shook him by the shoulders. I remember the way his head slipped sideward in my arms. That I will never forget. Something about the angle, the weight. Something about the gesture and my desire for him to live combined created a hideous mockery of life, and it horrified me. I held him for hours, days - or was it just a few seconds? - until our comrades dragged me away.

I remember being enraged that I had been taken from him. If they had left me, perhaps the enemy would have shot me, too, and I could have died with Yuri in the snow. I damned my comrades for stealing me from the respite, from my salvation, in death. I cursed them for wrenching me from Yuri and exiling me to a long life of solitude. I hated them for saving me.

For months I was sick with grief. I did not have the will to stand, to move. I did not have the power to function. I was attempting to act as if I were dead, instead of Yuri. When the knots in my stomach were so great that I could neither eat nor sleep, I realized that grief would indeed kill me, unless I decided not to allow it.

The very memory of the man I loved was what caused me to disallow my wasting death. That, and the memory of my father, as well. Neither of these very important men in my life would wish for me to die simply so that they might enjoy my company further. And both of them gave their lives in an effort to give me a better world.

So I would live. I would live because they willed it, they wanted it. My father, and my beloved. But it would be years before I lived for the reason they lived. It would be years until I could say that I lived my life, and risked my death, to give others a better world.

2004-08-08T17:20:00.000-07:00

"Only Man"

My only man, even though I can forget you, I cannot forget you. The thought of you is attached to my heart, and the warm memory of that summer won’t go away.

My only man, just one more time, let it amount to something. You didn’t return, I will forget you… but right now, I love you. So I will crush and end that memory.

My only man. “I was serious about it.” My only man, now it’s goodbye. Goodbye, my only man. Goodbye, my sweet memories, and so goodbye, my only love.