#inuyasha

ka-go-me:

                                 

anyone know who the artist is?

my first crush

Summary: The year is 1947. Lieutenant Inuyasha no Taisho finds himself in the center of postwar reconstruction. Having grown up Westernized, he thought he knew himself and his family. He wasn’t expecting the sudden malaise of coming to a country he knew nothing about. Falling in love with a woman he just met. Nor the very upending of his identity and culture. While the language is known to him, the customs of their world are not: the constant downcast eyes, the bows, the polite way of speaking. The waves of people looking back at him reminded him of his mother, long gone, and a history he never cared to learn.

But she is there: with her quiet smiles and quick wit. Her blue eyes hold a fierce determination of a story to come. This world couldn’t be so bad if she was there.

And his mother asked for one last, dying wish. Who was he to deny such a passionate request?

Disclaimer: Rumiko Takahashi is responsible for the Inuyasha series, I only lay claim on the story I have written.

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Prelude

Mountain View, California, United States of America

April 15, 1935

My dearest son,

I hope you can forgive my absence in the years to come, for I fear that I do not have much longer on this earth. I have asked Mr. Myoga Ogata to hold off on sending this letter to you until my passing. I did not desire to be an unnecessary burden during this most important time in your pursuits. I hope you know that I wish to continue in this life— believe me, my heart and soul— but that I no longer have the strength.

Your father, whom I was death on with each breath, gave to me the greatest gift— a sweet, innocent, little boy. You, Inuyasha, have been my most precious legacy. For many years after your fathers’ passing, I was able to concern myself only with you. I watched how you grew from a tot, into a young lad, into the man you are today. I had thought many times you would settle into a calf-love as your father and I had but instead, you chose to be a scholar. You have the grit to see it through and to do what your father and I have not.

I hope you know how jovial you have made me. Even when I am no longer of this life, you will continue to make me right peart. Your father would be proud, for he was most thrilled in the early days of my motherhood.

My health has me returned for now and with it, my spirits. The consumption has yet to take me!

I count the days though, for the end will be upon me yet. I will have failed as a mother, and as a wife, if I did not console you in these times. Please, my son, know that you have done everything you could. It is not you, nor the doctors, who have failed me. It is the failure of my own body to fight off the coughs, the fatigue, and the pains. Most nights I wake in cold-sweats, and now, the doctor has diagnosed me with a sickness called hemoptysis.

I will walk into the night one day but do not despair— for I will walk hand in hand with death Himself. Please do not pity your mother. It is because of you, and because of your father, that I have lived a life most fulfilled. A life with happiness, laughter, and light. I could not have asked for more.

In a time long past, I spent the early days of my youth walking along the shores of Kujukuri-hama. Once upon a time, I was the daughter of a wealthy lord. Hitherto, I was to marry a samurai, Setsuna no Takemaru. I spent many of my days’ longing for more: beyond the shoes of Tokyo, and of Nippon. It was your father who fulfilled those desires for many years, until his own death. Then, it was you.

Now, I long for nothing more than to lay upon those very shores as the water lap on my toes, my feet, my legs. To stretch upon the grains of the sand. To hear the gulls cry out as they circle above! To feel the warmth of the sun on my face! To hear my native language once more, among those that accept me without provocation. With each passing day, I long more and more to return to where the sun rises eternally. Where your father rests peacefully. He waits for me yet…!

You may be most sad now but remember, these moments in life are only momentary. One day you will walk amongst others and this intense pain you are holding onto, you will soon forget. I hope that one day you will find beauty in the most unexpected of places. That you will find, and accept, wisdom even when you have not sought for it. And that one day you will find love, and strength, in even the most onerous of journeys. You may feel sadness now, and loneliness may wrap your heart, but that is only brief. Without these feelings, you would not feel the joy and compassion that will bear itself to you, like a blossoming flower in the melting snow.

You will always be a part of me, as I will always be a part of you. Your father too will always be with you. Our blood forever runs through your body—for it is from our bodies that you were once part of.

Mr. Myoga Ogata will be sounding the passing bell; I ask that you take my ashes back to the rising sun. Back to where your father rests, along the shores of Shichiriga-hama. I am told that he was laid at Koyurugi Jinja. It is my most ardent wish to lay alongside the man who gave me everything when I could not give even a grain of rice.

I have bequeathed to you all which I inherited from your father, and from your fathers’ father, and from his fathers’ father. That which belonged to my native country is the ring which rests on my finger, and the kimono that I cherished most before leaving Nippon.

Treasure them as I have treasured you.

Forever with love,

Izayoi no Taisho

Tokyo Bay, Honshu, Japan

September 15, 1945

0945:37

The sounds of water rushing against the naval ship bring Inuyasha back to the present moment. Molten amber eyes look beyond the port side, over the vast ocean, and out towards the horizon. The faint outline of islands begins to emerge beyond the fog. Overhead seabirds squawk as they attempt to land on the deck. Brandished away, they perch along the crosstrees, high up from human interaction.

“Lieutenant no Taisho, sir.”

The man folds the letter along the creases. After so many years, the missive has become discolored from exposure. The ink, however, stood out clear and crisp. Too many times he read, and re-read, this very letter. He knew every word by heart. Even now, he could picture the slanting of his mother’s chancery cursive. He imagines the slopes of her a and the quick-dash and crosses on her t. She often tended to confuse her f’s for p’s, sometimes to the point he would have to reexamine the word and sentence. Was this a result of learning a new language as an adult, with little help and no education?

Inuyasha returns the letter to his breast pocket, careful to avoid loosening his pinned insignia. He turns about-face towards the Chief Warrant Officer saluting him. Returning the gesture he raising his arm sharply, palm down, above his eye.

“Chief Warrant Officer Johnson.”

Both return to a formal stance of acknowledgment.

“Sir, I am here to inform you that we are approaching the islands of Japan. We should hit shore before the end of the day, sir.” As the CWO Johnson speaks to him, Inuyasha loses himself in memories long forgotten. Of feelings lost to him until now.

“Sir?” Brown eyes gaze up at him all the while standing to attention. CWO Johnson’s arms press steadfast to his side, shoes polished as they reflect light from the sun above.

Blinking, Inuyasha realizes he has yet to dismiss CWO Johnson.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. You are dismissed.”

The CWO salutes him once more before he leaves, walking in the direction of other sailors. For a moment, Inuyasha’s eyes follow his path before he turns back towards the sea. He inhales deeply, tasting the sharp, brisk seawater on his tongue.

Had he not been on and off naval ships for the last decade, he probably would have choked on the sudden intrusion. As it were the scents around him were dependable, comfortable, and familiar.

More familiar than the country his mother left. A country ravaged and destroyed by times of war and despair. Could he truly impart her final wishes in such a place, so far from the nation he grew up under? So far from him? He had no family here. No ties to link himself to a return trip.

Except for his mother, now.

An ache settles in his mouth, from whence Inuyasha has clenched his teeth together. He releases the pressure, moving his jawbone side-to-side to decrease the tension.

It was her dying wish to be laid to rest alongside his father. Even if he never knew his old man, he loved and cared deeply for his mother. The least he could do was respect her most impassioned desire.

Tokyo, Honshu, Japan

September 15, 1945

1728:15

“Did you hear? A new boat landed today.”

“Marshall MacArthur sure is busy. I hope they brought more of their American food. I haven’t been able to grow anything in months.”

The word ‘American’ sticks out, a harsh emphasis on the last syllable. Higurashi Kagome peers at the two women in line before her, in hushed tones talking to one another. A slick sheen gleams against the tanned skin of one of the women. Her dark eyes survey around her before catching Kagome’s own blue ones. A small, shy smile spreads across her face and she looks away, pretending she had not been listening.

The sun began to set, leaving behind hues of blues, pinks, and reds. Across the horizon, it beams as a deep ochre in the sky, emanating a white-gold ring and rays of orange across the land. A whitetail streaks across the faint blues, pinks, and reds left behind by an aircraft.

If not for the rubble, the scorched lands, or half-torn buildings, Kagome might have thought the setting sun beautiful. The ration ticket scalds against her skin though, reminding her of the situation at hand. She refocuses her attention to the front as allotments are distributed.

Would today be the day they receive the wheat and oats necessary to survive another week or month? There were only so many ways one could stretch over boiled rice. Adding wheat and oats turned congee into tasteless gruel, but it upped the calorie intake.

The line moves faster as rations are given. Soon, Kagome finds that she spies only eight heads ahead of her. The two women continue to chirp, talking of black market deals and spools of fabric costs. It reminds Kagome of her younger brother who, in only a span of three months, grew three inches. Maybe she could extend his yukata with some of her old and wearing kimono. She didn’t think she could afford this month’s rations, the charcoal to cook them, and a new spool of fabric. Inflation continually depreciated the value of yen.

As Kagome decides this is the best way to keep costs down, she realizes a hushed whisper has come upon the group. The women point excitedly and talk fast; Kagome almost misses the words “Japanese-American” and “nay-vee”. She follows the trajectory of one finger, where a small group of military personnel stands off to the side.

It is one man that the group talks about and, for a moment, Kagome convinces herself they are mistaken. His headgear is off and he holds the visor between his thumb and pointer, arms crossed.

The setting sun caresses unusual blond hair, flecked with hints of platinum. It creates the illusion of a halo around him. Unlike her own paler complexion, his skin is tanned from years of sun exposure. His eyes, the color of burnt amber, slant downwards and betray his lineage. He is wearing the standard service uniform, a button-down, and trousers. She doesn’t understand military ranking, but his shoulder boards denote a star.

Next to him, a pretty Japanese woman dressed in nurse garb leans over in conversation; her own features illuminate tales of lost origins. Large, almond-shaped eyes scan the crowd, momentarily pausing as they meet her own.

A hand on her shoulder startles her back to reality, and she sees a gap between herself and the two women in front. She bows, apologetically, before closing the space in line.

Only three heads wait in front of her now. She thinks though that the two women in front count as one.

Father daughter chaos ensues