moonshadows

Light strikes my closed eyelids, triggering consciousness. I open my eyes.

“Why did you stay out all night like that?”

The ceiling is blank and smooth, just like the words.

“Did I?” My mind is a swirl of jumbled thoughts. The words slip out while I am trying to sort out where I am, and whose voice that was.

“Yes.” The word is sharp and final. “I found you passed out, this morning.” Sanzo’s tone struggles to regain its forced neutrality.

“What time is it now?” I’m stalling for time, trying to reassemble what happened last night.

“Almost noon.” The words are almost aggressive in their neutrality.

I flinch and sit up, bringing my hands to my face. The fingers of my right hand encounter metal and glass instead of my temple. Absently, I remove the eyepiece and set it gently on the blanket covering me, then rub my eyes resignedly. I remember running from the hallucination of Kanan’s specter. I remember the little Buddha statue, and the feel of grass beneath my check. Almost noon. The guilt sinks claws into me, and a feeling of worthlessness bleeds out of the wounds the guilt makes. Sanzo must have had to search me out again. I’d intended to not cause any more trouble for him, and already I’ve failed.

“Why did you stay out all night?”

Sanzo’s tightly-controlled voice slices into me; he’s not going to let this go. Why I was out all night...I wrap my arms around myself as a shudder runs through my body. I can’t tell him that.

“I needed some fresh air.” It’s not entirely a lie. My voice is shaky; I focus on the idea of Right Speech and force it into a calmer tone. “I guess I was more exhausted than I thought.” I replace my eyepiece and notice for the first time where I am. “You...brought me to your room?” I glance at Sanzo in surprise; he’s leaning against the door, arms crossed.

“It was closer than yours.”

I look away, the unworthiness gnawing at me. “You shouldn’t have bothered.” Calm, friendly tone, I remind myself. “I’m sure the other monks threw a fit,” I manage in a more detached tone. “I’m supposed to be paying you the proper respect for sparing my life, and I’m just being a bother to you.”

“They’re not even a part of this. I’m responsible for what happens to you, and I’m not going to leave you in the cold like that.”

Sanzo’s words are an undeniable statement of fact. The finality in his voice pull my gaze around to his, and his eyes seem to look straight into me, down to the unworthy sinner I am inside my skin. Why? Why does Sanzo care what happens to me? Why does my every action seem to cause him pain? I wrap my arms around myself again, trying to hide their trembling, and tear my gaze away from him.

“I’m not worthy of your concern.” Did I just say that? Out loud? I clench my jaws together and squeeze my eyes shut to keep from saying anything else.

“It’s my decision who I’m going to worry about.” There is a slight tremor in Sanzo’s voice; this is affecting him more deeply than he’s letting on.

For the next few minutes there is silence; I am struggling to not let any of what I’m feeling show. I have got to be the most utterly worthless failure in the history of the world. I deserve to be eaten alive by a swarm of tiny somethings. I deserve to starve to death, slowly. I deserve to be locked in a lightless room, to be devoured by the demons in my heart for the rest of eternity. Why does Sanzo worry about me? What makes me worthy of his concern, of anyone’s concern? Why didn’t he just let me die? Why...? I take a deep breath. None of it matters right now; my responsibility is to devote myself to the Noble Eightfold Path and the difficulties it will bring to my undeserved life. Another deep breath. Right Action: to not cause harm to another, either through action or inaction. My actions, staying outside all night, have brought harm to Sanzo. That harm can not be undone. It is my responsibility to prevent myself from repeating my mistake.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I won’t stay out all night again.” A half-truth, but the best I can do right now.

“You need to take care of yourself.” The aggressive neutrality is gone, replaced by a gently accusing tone that somehow is even worse.

“Why?” I didn’t mean to say that, but it was very quiet. Perhaps Sanzo didn’t hear it...

“I didn’t save you to watch you die.”

An epiphany strikes me like a bolt of lightning, scattering the dark questions that circled in my head like a pack of scavengers. I nod once. It all makes sense now – all I have to do is perform my penance in private and make sure nothing I do is fatal. Right Action. I will not take my own life, either through action or inaction.

“I understand.” My voice is calm and steady; it is as though the weight of a great decision has been lifted from me. By my savior’s words, I am to keep my suffering out of his sight and live so that I might suffer more.

“When was the last time you ate something?”

I blink at the sudden change of subject. “I ate dinner,” I answer, keeping it a statement and not a comment on who else may or may not have eaten.

“...Last night?” Sanzo’s tone is prodding.

“Yes.” I meet his eyes again, my own gaze steady and clear. “When was the last time you ate?” I gently remind him that mine is not the only body that requires fuel.

Sanzo flinches slightly at my question. “...Yesterday.”

~If I have something to drink, I’ll eat.~

I take a deep breath, stand up slowly, and straighten my robe. “I’m sorry,” I say in as polite and friendly tone as I can manage. “I’m being lax in my duties.” I give a formal bow, and Sanzo steps to the side and unlocks the door. “I will return as soon as I can,” I tell him. “It may take me a while to find what you asked for.”

“Thank you,” Sanzo mutters, not looking at me.

I force myself to smile politely, bow once again, and leave the room.

*********************************************************

The monks hadn’t wanted to let me leave, but they didn’t want to interfere in Sanzo’s business, either. I told them that the Honored Genjo Sanzo had sent me to fetch him something from town, and after a moment’s hesitation, they stepped aside. One of the loudest protestors had muttered that I better not be bringing anything ‘forbidden’ into the temple; the same monk now eyes my burden with considerable suspicion. I keep my face and posture carefully bland and unthreatening, and walk up the stairs unchallenged. The loaf of dark brown bread seems to draw every eye – it’s easily two feet across and a foot high. My calm smile holds a hint of amusement as I make my way through the halls in search of my honored savior. When I find him, some monk with a nasal whine has trapped him in a corridor and, to judge from the look on Sanzo’s face, is quickly taking his life into his own hands with his complaints. I continue softly down the corridor; the monk’s back is to me, and I stop just behind and to the right of him.

“I have returned with that bread you asked for, Honored One.” My voice is as polite and subservient as I can make it, but Sanzo doesn’t miss the amused quirk of my lips. He looks at me piercingly for an instant, then assumes a haughty, arrogant expression.

“Bring it to my rooms,” he orders coldly, fixing the other monk with a look of disdain. “I will give your words the consideration they deserve,” he tosses over his shoulder to the other monk as he sweeps past, every inch the arrogant asshole the higher-ups consider him. His tone implies that the amount of consideration the other monk deserves is none at all, and that unfortunate flinches and sighs resignedly. “Follow,” Sanzo tosses at me in that same voice, not turning to look at all as he strides imperiously away, robes rustling slightly.

I bow politely to the other monk, give him a sterile apology, and meekly hurry after Sanzo’s retreating figure. He sweeps grandly through the corridors to his room, looking neither right nor left and acknowledging no one. Several times, some hapless monk or group of monks has to scramble out of his way to avoid a collision. Sanzo pauses to unlock his door, then sweeps inside. I follow, and am not surprised when he closes and locks the door behind me. I carefully set my burden on the little table in the room, and turn to face Sanzo with a bland but pleased smile. He gives me a suspicious glare.

“Why is there bread on my table?” He demands, his tone threatening immanent bodily harm if no acceptable answer is forthcoming.

“Ah, this bread is highly recommended for its delectable insides.” I wink as I calmly evade the question.

Despite himself, a wry smile twists his lips. “So that’s how you snuck it in.” Understanding and grudging admiration color the words.

Smiling broadly, I reach over with both hands and pull the top half of the loaf upwards. The tavern keeper’s clever cuts release; the entire loaf comes apart in two clean halves to reveal three ceramic bottles of the strongest alcohol I could find, nestled snugly in the soft interior of the bread. I set the top half aside and pull out a chair for Sanzo; after a moment, he seats himself. He opens one of the bottles and sips at it, giving me a sharp look that seems to be half surprise and half admiration. Apparently, I made a good choice.

“Try the bread,” I suggest gently.

Sanzo nods and tears a chunk out of the interior, stares at it for a few seconds, then gives me a look that’s half accusation and half inquiry. I shake my head politely, and he frowns.

“Don’t you need to eat, too?” The words are suspicious and threatening.

I shake my head again while Right Speech and my innate worthlessness squabble with each other. Do not tell a falsehood...punishment is deserved for causing trouble for Sanzo...do not tell a falsehood...punishment is deserved...

“I picked up something to eat while I was in town,” I say by way of explanation. It’s the truth, and it does not specifically imply that I ate. If Sanzo chooses to interpret it that way, it will be through his own choice.

Apparently, he does interpret it that way, because he gives me an understanding nod and begins eating. I watch for a minute as he finishes the fist-sized chunk, sipping occasionally from the ceramic bottle.

“There’s something I have to go do,” I say quietly.

Sanzo nods briefly, and I let myself out.

*********************************************************

The flail of thorny vines is right where I left it. I look at it a moment, then put it back and visit the laundry. There are a few monks there, and one of them asks me sharply what I want. When I tell him I’m looking for a rag, he tosses me what looks like the remaining half of a sheet that had been eaten away by mold and hard usage. I thank him politely, bow, and return to my little garden. I slide my arms out of the sleeves of the robe, letting it fall around my waist, and tie the sheet over it in a thick bunch to protect the robe from being stained. Today, for my sins and mistakes, I am going to whip myself thoroughly, and not stop when my back starts to bleed. Flail in hand, I kneel before the Buddha statue and begin atoning for the pain I’d unthinkingly caused Sanzo.

The rhythm of the lash-strokes and my deliberate awareness of the physical and emotional pain I’m causing myself bring me quickly to my meditative trance-state. With each sharp pain, I remind myself ruthlessly of the unforgivable sins I’ve committed. This pain is my punishment. With my own hands I ended lives that I had no right to end; with my own hands I now carry out the vengeance of my victims. The cold, calculating portion of my mind guides my hand so that no portion of my back is spared the touch of the vines. The stinging pain runs down my back in lines of minor agony, crisscrossing a thousand times. Those points of intersection begin to throb in time with my heartbeat, and I welcome the higher level of pain. This is my punishment for casually living my life at the school for two months while Kanan was tortured and raped. My back becomes a sea of boiling, throbbing agony; each thorn that now tears into my raw flesh burns, bringing yet a higher level of pain. This is my punishment for causing harm to Genjo Sanzo, who did nothing to deserve it.

When each stroke of the flail only blends into the burning pain and does not raise the intensity, I stop and put the flail back in its hiding spot. Very carefully, I untie the sheet from around my waist and bind my still-bleeding back with it. Makeshift bandage in place, I tie my robe back over it and meditate further on my sins, the throbbing of my back a slow fire of atonement, eating away at my guilt, granting vengeance to one of the innocents I slaughtered. Letting one of the thousand youkai I killed find peace.

The bell for dinner brings me out of my trance. My body reminds me painfully that food is an important part of continuing to live, and I promise it that as soon as I’ve seen to Sanzo’s needs, I’ll feed myself. Halfway to Sanzo’s room, an enthusiastic shout from behind me catches my attention.

“Hey!...uh, YOU!” Goku doesn’t sound fazed by my lack of a name. He grins at me as he trots up, and we continue walking. “Hey, why were you sleeping outside? Sanzo got really pissed at you for that and made me carry you to his room. You sure don’t weigh much! Do you eat enough?” Goku doesn’t wait for an answer. “I bet Sanzo’s run out of cigarettes an' that’s why he’s so cranky. He doesn’t care when I sleep outside sometimes ‘cuz the monks here are so stuck up and I just want to get away from them for a while. Hey, d’you know if Sanzo ate anything for lunch? He didn’t come to breakfast...” His golden eyes are remarkably pleading as he looks up at me, waiting for an answer.

I nod, brain trying to catch up with the stream of words, but my nod seems to be enough of an answer because he spends the rest of the walk to Sanzo’s room telling me about his favorite foods.

“Oy, Sanzo!” Goku bangs on the monk’s closed door with one fist. Silence. “Sanzo?” He tries the door, but it’s locked. Goku presses one ear to the door and gives me a triumphant grin. “I can hear him,” he whispers loudly and winks at me before arranging his features into a calculated expression of pity-inspiring pleading. “Saaaaaaaannnnnnnzzzzzzzooooooooo!” He whines, “I’mmmmm huuuuuunnnnngrrrrrryyyyyy!”

There is a somehow threatening silence, and then the door opens abruptly and Sanzo brings a thick roll of paper down on Goku’s head.

“Shut up, you stupid monkey! Go eat if you’re so hungry – you know where the dining hall is!” Sanzo’s irritated growl doesn’t faze Goku at all.

“But Sanzo!” Goku rubs his head absently. “Those stuffy monks look at me meaner than you do when you’re not there...” Those pleading, golden eyes beg Sanzo to give in.

“Fine,” Sanzo snaps, glaring at the kid.

He stolidly ignores Goku the whole way to the dining hall, which doesn’t dampen the boy’s enthusiasm any. Goku skips ahead a few feet, then turns and waits for Sanzo to catch up before skipping ahead again, keeping up a nonstop flow of one-sided conversation. Sanzo stalks along sullenly, arms crossed, glaring at anyone and everyone without saying a word. I follow silently behind Sanzo, taking in the nonchalant way Goku rambles on and Sanzo ignores him. When we get to the dining hall, the looks we get are resigned glares. Goku stays with us long enough to make sure Sanzo actually has food on his plate, then darts off to fill his own plate to heaping. I serve myself a moderate portion and look expectantly at Sanzo. He rakes the room with a generic glare, then hands me his plate with a snort and walks out.

*********************************************************

Dinner is silent, but not uncomfortably so. Sanzo picks at his food until he looks up and sees me watching him expectantly, then sighs and grimaces at his dinner. He halfheartedly eats about a dozen bites, and I smile blandly at him before returning my attention to my own food. The next time I look up, he’s giving me a sour look, but his plate is also a bit emptier.

Goku is waiting for me when I return the plates. At his question I point him towards where Sanzo was eating, and he dashes off. I make my way to the library, select a promising book and a secluded corner, and happily tune out the rest of the world while I indulge my love of books.

One of the monks comes over to me a few hours later and tells me that he’s going to put out the lamps and go to bed, but that if I would like, I may take the book and a candle back to my cell. I nod and follow him to the store room, where he lights a taper from his lamp. I suddenly remember my earlier resolution to find out about Sanzo’s past. Well, this monk is fairly friendly to me. May as well ask.

“Might I trouble you with a question?” I ask as I take the candle.

“That depends on the question,” he answers carefully.

I pause to choose my words. “I have noticed that the Honored Genjo Sanzo dislikes certain subjects,” I say carefully. “I was wondering if I might trouble you for a bit of information, so that I don’t accidentally offend him...?”

The librarian-monk gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Come to the library after the breakfast bell. I’ve lived in this temple for close to forty years; I can tell you all about our honored prodigy.” There is amusement in his voice, and a hint of malice.

Well, no better way to learn what pain hides in Sanzo’s past than to hear it from someone who would enjoy telling it. I thank the librarian profusely and make my solitary way back to my cell. For the next few hours, I read in silence. The flickering light from the candle keeps the darkness at bay, and the book occupies my thoughts. When the candle starts guttering, however, I can see shadowy movement in the corners of my cell, and I know that if I stay here, I will not be able to sleep at all. The horrors of my subconscious mind will tear at me until I flee mindlessly like I did last night.

Well, part of the night has already passed; if I go outside, I will have kept my word to Sanzo that I won’t spend all night out there. Averting my eyes from the lurking hallucinations, I use a corner of my sheet to keep my place in the book and calmly leave the room, closing the door behind me. The vine-choked garden is cool but not uncomfortably so; I eye the eastern wall and position myself so that the first light to enter the garden will wake me.

*********************************************************

The cold wakes me just before dawn. I drift down to the baths and wash, scrubbing the bloody sheet and wringing it out as much as I can before re-tying it. Clean and dressed, strengthened by the knowledge that the sun is rising, I venture back to my cell and retrieve the book I was reading. There is a wooden bench fairly close to Sanzo’s room in a garden that gets the morning sun; I read there in peace until the breakfast bell rings, then tuck the book into a fold of my robe and go knock on Sanzo’s door. There is no answer, and the door is locked. I press my right ear against it and listen, but either Goku has better hearing than I do, or Sanzo’s not in.

He’s not at breakfast, so after greeting Goku I take a plate of food and try Sanzo’s room again.

“Who is it?” The question is less of a request for a name and more a demand that the one knocking simply go away.

Not having a name, I pause for a second. “Sanzo? I’ve brought you some breakfast…” I wince slightly; that came out more uncertain than I wanted it to.

There is a shuffling sound, and then the door opens and a surly, disheveled Sanzo opens the door. He blinks at me, then mutters something that sounds like ‘serves me right for asking’, and takes the proffered plate to his small table.

“You eat yet?” He growls, eyeing me with a combination of crankiness and angry concern. When I shake my head no, he gruffly tells me to go eat, and with a bow I close the door.

The library, not the dining hall, is where I go next. The librarian is waiting, and he waves me into a small study where he has a simple assortment of breakfast foods waiting. I nibble at some bread while he gives me a somewhat uncomplimentary account of Sanzo’s past. When he’s done, I thank him and return to my little alcove to think about what I’ve learned. There are a few disturbing parallels between my past and Sanzo’s: both orphans, both raised surrounded by religions we couldn’t put any faith into. ‘Disrespectful towards the teachings of Buddha and those who follow in the Buddha’s footsteps’ is how the librarian had put it, but despite the rank he inherited it is obvious that Sanzo was not meant to be a Buddhist. Knowing about Sanzo’s predecessor and the circumstances of his death, I think I understand why Sanzo took such an interest in my fate, and why my self-torment seems to cause him so much pain. If I ever met a man whose situation was similar to mine, I think I would try my hardest to help him, to give him something to live for. Most likely, I would measure my own worth by his life, and view his success or failure to survive as reflecting directly back on me. I hold no hope for myself, but if I were able to help someone else, someone with a future, that might bring some measure of validation to my sham of a life. I would not be a complete failure; my pain would have not been for nothing. The worn stone Buddha smiles beatifically at me as I regard it thoughtfully.

~I didn’t save you to watch you die.~

I must survive. Well, aside from the directives given to me by Sanzo, I have no responsibilities. He, on the other hand, is bound to the responsibilities of his rank. Therefore, my responsibility is to bring no more pain into Sanzo’s life and to make sure that I do not cause him any more trouble. To do this, I must maintain at least the appearance of embracing life. To be honest with myself, maintaining a façade may be the best I can do on that front. Any greater effort would undoubtedly be sabotaged by my inherent worthlessness. I don’t deserve this second chance Sanzo has given me; I have no reasons to try to live except for penance, both to the ones I’ve killed, and the ones I’ve failed. Well, I already have the tools I need in order to perfect my façade...I just need to devote myself more towards following the Noble Eightfold Path and the hardships and restrictions it imposes.