| [Jun. 2nd, 2009|10:59 pm] |
The wait must have been meant to encourage meditation. Natsumi straightened all the hanging scrolls, re-arranged the very simple flower arrangement on the low table at the front of the room, re-packed her belt pouches, and finally sat seiza in front of the most interesting-looking painting and tried to think.
Usually it was almost easy--or at least, not altogether difficult--to empty herself, to let ice fill her soul and still her face to sculpted marble. Her thoughts should slow, crystalline in their clearness, until she could pluck each one from the surface of her mind to examine and tease apart. One logical link in the chain leading to the others...
Except this didn't make sense. Of course it was natural for her to find Asuma attractive. He was a very handsome young man, and he knew it. And he was kind, under the cockiness, and careful; he might hurt through sheer carelessness, but never deliberately. He could make her laugh. He kissed like--like--
Comparisons failed her. She clenched her good hand in her lap, stared down at the still, white-bandaged fingers he'd set and she'd sacrificed again in carrying him, and started from the opposite side.
He was, obviously, a flirt to rival Takeo, and probably just as carefree in his flings. Girls fell into his lap; why would he worry about what happened to them afterwards? He smoked and he snored, and his unshaven scruff and uncombed hair made her fingers itch. He kept too many secrets. His brutal violence in ripping that kunoichi apart still turned her stomach. No, that one's my flaw, not his. Is a clean kill really any better? She's still dead...
And he wore the dead woman's dogtags looped around his wrist, like a silent penance for his sin.
Somehow she'd come round again to the beginning of the circle. Perhaps the zen circle symbol on the scroll hanging at the head of the room would have been a good one to meditate on, after all.
The door slid open to rescue her at last. She scrambled to her feet as the little monk came in again, followed by three shaven-head acolytes carrying lacquered tray tables already set with dishes of food. They glanced shyly at Natsumi as they placed the tables side by side, with a cushion before each one. She bowed and forced a smile for them. They looked quickly away, and whispered to each other.
"Forgive their rudeness, shinobi-san," the older monk said heavily. "They are assigned to kitchen duty because their minds are still too fixed upon things of this world. Services have just ended; your companion will join you soon. Is there anything else you require?"
"Nothing," Natsumi said. "Unless you can bring me peace of mind." She smiled again, edged with self-mockery. "Isn't that what temples are for?"
The monk smiled sadly back. "I am still looking for it, shinobi-san. I hope you will share it with me when you find it." He bowed. "Please, enjoy your meal."
"Thank you," Natsumi said. "I will."
She watched him go, herding the acolytes like reluctant geese before him, and then knelt on her cushion to wait.
This time, she watched the zen circle. |
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