Shinji: The Disastrous

When Sada finishsed cooking Hana stood up and fetched the bowls. They clinked as she set them out, the faint sound loud in the hush of the house.

Sada place stew, and two pieces of river fish into each bowl, careful not to spill. They bowed heads for a moment of thanks, though no one spoke the words aloud. Then they ate.

For a while there was only the scrape of wooden spoons and the low sighs stew makes when it cools. Shinji felt the warmth slip down to his stomach and spread fingers of comfort through his limbs. Outside it had started raining. the raindrops drummed on the roof, almost sounding like a lullaby.

Ren finished his bowl forst and wiped his mouth with a sleeve, then looked at Shinji. "Your mum's stew is the best," he declared. 

Shinji tried to smile. "I'm going to need this food to get into shape again."

"That too," Ren said with a grin.

But as he set the bowl aside his gaze slid to the empty place at the table. The cushion where Jiro used to sit. The grin faltered.

Hana noticed and kicked his shin under the table, soft but sharp. Ren blinked, startled, then pushed to his feet. "I I need to get home. Mum hates storms."

Sada nodded. "Take a lantern. The path is slick."

Ren grabbed the small oil lamp from the shelf. Its wick glowed like a single firefly in the grey afternoon. "See you tomorrow?" he asked.

To which Shinji just gave a small nod.

Ren gave a quick bow and dashed out, sandals slapping on the wet porch. The door slid shut behind him, and the house settled into silence.

After they finished their meals, Hana gathered the bowls, stacking them with gentle care. "I'll wash them." She carried them to the side basin, back straight like a soldier on parade.

Sada reached for more broth to refill Shinji's bowl. He covered it with his hand. "I'm full mom. Really."

Her eyes moved over his sharp cheekbones, the hollows under them. "You need it to get healthy again," she said. "Your father always needed three. Said stew ran through him faster than water."

The words floated for a second before they found their meaning. Father. Jiro. The name neither of them had said yet tonight.

Hana's hands stilled in the wash water. The rain outside seemed louder.

Sada set the pot lid down and folded her hands in her lap. "The house is too quiet," she said softly. "Even the floorboards miss his steps."

Shinji lowered his gaze. He remembered the weight of his father's work boots, the scuff of leather that always came a second before the door opened. He tried to summon the sound, but his memory gave it to him muffled, as if had been decades since it last happened.

"He would be angry if he saw me like this," Shinji whispered. "Thin as a reed."

"He would brag you beat the fever," Sada answered. "Then shove more food down your throat."

Hana turned from the basin, sleeves rolled high, eyes shining. "He would call the stew weak and claim he could do better, then burn the pot and ask Mum to fix it." She smiled at the picture, though a tear slipped free as she said it.

The three of them laughed, small, broken laughs that were there to hide the pain.

Sada reached across and touched Hana's wet cheek with her thumb. "It is all right to miss him," she said. "It is all right to cry." She drew a breath. "But we keep living. For him. For each other." 

Sada let the silence linger a litle and stepped into the kitchen and came back holding a small cloth bundle. The gray fabric was stained with dirt that would probably never wash out.

"These were your father's," she said softly.

She opened the cloth. Inside lay a rope bracelet decorated with tiny coral beads and a bent iron nail.

Hana's eyes filled with tears as soon as she saw the bracelet. She had made it for their father three years ago. A traveling merchant who claimed he was from the Land of Water had shown her many pretty things and had given her the beads. She strung them herself and tied the bracelet for Jiro. She never knew he kept it with him. Hana lifted the bracelet in both hands and pressed it to her chest, afraid it might fly away if she let go.

Shinji's gaze settled on the nail, and a small smile tugged at his mouth. He remembers he had stolen it from Goro's workshop, convinced its odd shape somehow had magical properties. Children's thoughts are so simple, he mused. Even so, he slid the nail back into his pocket.

Sada straightened and moved the stewpot off the hearth, setting it by the open shutter to cool. "The rain will last all night," she said. "Hana, lay extra mats so the leaks don't reach Shinji's bed."

"I'm not made of sugar," Shinji protested.

"You're half stew and half sticks right now," Hana replied, though her grin softened the jab.

Hana spread spare mats, and Shinji tucked a folded cloth beneath the roof corner that always dripped. Sada banked the embers, then lit a slim candle on the household shrine. 

By the time they finished, the rain had quieted to a soft mist. Only the candle lit the room, painting their faces in warm gold.

"Bed," Sada said, making it sound more like a plea.

Hana slid under her quilt. Sada knelt beside Shinji and smoothed his blanket over his shoulders, just as she did when he was small.

"Goodnight," she murmured.

He caught her hand. "You too, Mum."

She squeezed once, then went to her own corner.

Shinji lay staring at the ceiling. The drip he had tried to block still found a way past the cloth, one soft plink every few breaths. He counted them until numbers blurred. Somewhere near the fiftieth plink he looked sideways and saw Hana's eyes open, reflecting the faint shrine flame.

"Can't sleep?" he mouthed.

She shook her head.

He reached across the space and hooked his little finger around hers, she squeezed back. After a while her breathing slowed.

Shinji closed his own eyes. The smell of stew lingered in the air, mixed with rain and candle smoke. He pictured Father's wide shoulders, the sure way he had lifted the stew pot with one hand. A hole yawned in his chest at the thought, but under it, but under it something else burned. Resolve, tomorrow, training would begin, even if it was only careful stretches on bruised legs. One step, then another.