Here Lies Gonou Chapter Five: Shattered Silence

[moonshadows]

               The next few days follow the same general routine. I spend the first part of the night reading by candle light, then when the candle burns low I go to my vine-choked garden to sleep until dawn. I bathe and dress in clean robes, then meet Sanzo and sometimes Goku for breakfast. I usually find a quiet corner somewhere to meditate or read in until lunch. Sometimes I have to go in search of Sanzo, and sometimes he has to search me out. After lunch he wanders off to a secluded spot somewhere; I tidy his room a bit, then find a secluded spot of my own. Occasionally one of us will bump into the other if we both chose the same little corner. One of us finds the other for dinner, which is usually taken to Sanzo’s room so that he can sip at his little cache of alcohol while eating. True to his word, he does eat more when he drinks. After dinner I go to the library and read until I’m sure that Sanzo has gone to bed, then under cover of darkness return to my little garden and whip myself in penance for my sins. The jarring pain that streaks down my back when I move during the day keeps me grounded and focused, reminding me of my failure and strengthening my resolve to maintain Right Speech and Right Action. When the whip fails to invoke a more intense pain, I select a small candle from the store room and keep to the letter of my word and read in my cell so that I won’t be spending the entire night outside. When the candle gutters and the specters of my past come out to try to break me, I return to my little garden and the cycle begins again. I don’t eat a whole lot at meals, and neither does Sanzo, but I eat enough to keep myself going and make sure that he does the same.

               The half a sheet I’ve been using to bandage my back is becoming more unsanitary every day; the mild soap used for bathing isn’t strong enough to clean it thoroughly, but getting my hands on anything stronger would surely arouse suspicions. There’s no place where I could simply get rid of it without it being found, and I am afraid of it being traced back to me. For this reason I have not tried to replace it with a cleaner cloth. Between the regular lashings I give myself and the state of the cloth I use to cover my back, I suspect the tiny cuts are becoming infected. Unhealthy-looking fluid residues stain the cloth when I take it off to wash it in the mornings, and the throbbing, burning ache on my back never fully subsides. The cold air and cold water feel good on the abused skin in the mornings. The rest of the day, the constant reminder of my penance gives me a sense of productivity. It is good that I’m in some measure of constant misery. My life should be misery. Each day that passes with this stinging reminder makes me feel that a tiny bit more of my sin has been atoned for, that perhaps one more youkai soul can rest in peace knowing that its murderer is in constant pain for his crimes.

               My goal of creating a mask, of pretending to live, is also progressing nicely. I am able to keep a friendly, bland smile on my face and in my voice at all times, and even the monks who previously looked at me with disdain now look at me with only minor annoyance. I am unfailingly polite and respectful, with a smile modeled after the Buddha’s and a tone that is mildly friendly, and most of the time the monks simply don’t notice me. Those that do are usually ones that have some task they want me to perform – usually something involving Sanzo. Running messages, fetching him something, performing some trivial matter related to him...I don’t mind. If it keeps them from bothering him, I’d gladly perform any task. My only worry is that Sanzo will see through my charade; he has seen entirely too much, and he knows more of what is in my heart than I wanted him to. On top of that, two days ago when I brought him breakfast, he looked at me with a glare so intense and piercing that I feared he suspected something. He didn’t say anything about it, and I put it out of my mind, but yesterday morning he did the same thing. Again he said nothing and again I put it out of my mind. Today, however, has been especially nerve-wracking for me. He keeps looking at me with that intent, piercing stare, and watching me thoughtfully when he thinks I’m not looking.

               “Hey.” His voice is cold and angry, but I understand now that his voice doesn’t always reflect his true mood.

               I pause at the door to his room, empty lunch dishes in one hand and the other outstretched to open the door. “Yes?” I ask mildly.

               “You go to the library and read after dinner, don’t you?” The accusing tone makes it a statement of fact; I nod in agreement. “Why don’t you just bring your book back here before dinner and take your time?” His glare turns into a sour smile. “You need to relax more.”

               “I will,” I say, allowing a bit of honest friendliness to show in my smile.

               My trip back to the kitchen is actually cheerful. So that’s what those looks had been about! I’d been scurrying off after meals, not wanting to disturb Sanzo by sticking around, but I guess my presence doesn’t disturb him. I take my current book to a sunny bench and read outside after lunch, careful to not get so caught up in it that I completely tune out the dinner bell, as I tend to do when reading. When the bell tolls, I carefully mark my page with a bit of ribbon and go cheerfully to Sanzo’s room. I knock, but there is no answer. Goku must have gotten here first and dragged Sanzo off. The door is unlocked, so I slip inside and set my book on the table.

               The door slams shut behind me and I hear the lock turn.

               I turn, startled, and Sanzo is standing in the corner behind the door. He’s glaring at me with the same cold anger as when he’d had me sentenced to life.

               “Sanzo?” My smile and tone are slipping. Something is very wrong here.

               “Show me your back.” Sanzo’s tone is grimly flat.

               “Ah...I can see you’re not feeling well. I’ll just let you be, this evening.” I move unthreateningly towards the door, but Sanzo moves to block my path. My pulse quickens and I try to focus and keep my breathing calm.

               “Show me your back.” It’s as though my words didn’t even register.

               “San—” the sound of his gun cocking and the sight of its distinctive barrel pointed at me stop me cold, and I can feel panic starting to claw its way through my mind.

               “Show me your back.” That dreadful gaze bores into me, demanding compliance. “You’re not getting out of this.” The tone is absolute, allowing no argument.

               I cannot withstand the simultaneous demands of Sanzo’s cold eyes and the panic that threatens my sanity. I turn my back to Sanzo, but the weight of his gaze does not lessen. My hands move to undo the ties of my robe, and the realization of what I am about to do hits me. I fumble with the ties of the stained sheet under my robe, and manage to get it to fall so that when I slip my arms out of the robe’s sleeves and let the robe fall, the cloth underneath won’t show. I am trembling uncontrollably; it takes what seems like forever before the top half of my robe falls open and the cool air in the room hits the hot pain on my back. Idly, the calculating corner of my mind observes that the guilt and worthlessness that I now feel seem to be keeping the blind panic at bay, and my eyes are mercifully dry.

               “Why are you doing this?” Sanzo’s voice is demanding, but not angry.

               I have to take several deep, shuddering breaths before I am able to scrape together enough control to speak clearly. “Because...I deserve it.” Another breath. “I’m atoning for my sins.” Raw pain creeps into my voice from between the cracks in m control. If I could have evaded the question, I would have, but Sanzo has left me no escape, and Right Speech demands I tell him the truth.

               “You’re already atoning...you don’t need to do this.” The words are somehow empty. There is no anger in his voice, but no other emotion is there to take its place. It sounds as if the words are being somehow pulled out of Sanzo against his will.

               “Yes, I do,” I counter, the certainty of my worthlessness the only thing keeping my tone steady. How am I atoning, except through the misery I inflict upon myself? “I deserve to suffer.” I don’t deserve to live, except to be in agony. My arms wrap around my body as if trying to control its trembling.

               “Not like this...this isn’t necessary.”

               The empty helplessness of Sanzo’s tone breaks something inside me. “Then what is?” Frustration and anguish fill my voice, and I discover that I’ve dropped to my knees, back protesting at being bent as I hunch over, arms still crossing over the angry red scar on my abdomen. “Tell me what I should do, if you have all the answers!” My life...my life has no purpose but to suffer for my sins and to obey the commands of Genjo Sanzo, for without his intervention I would be with Kanan...My masks are breaking; I concentrate on the air going in and out of my lungs, and focus my attention on listening for Sanzo’s voice. The voice that will dictate what I dedicate my undeserved life to. There is a long pause, then –

               “At least try to live.” The words are quiet, filled with pleading and...sadness?

               My earlier thoughts about what I would do if I met a man in my situation shriek triumphantly at me from the safety of memory. I mock myself with the knowledge that I was right; Sanzo wants me to life. The brief moment of hysteria passes, and the realization that I am going to fail Sanzo rips me apart. The only thing he is asking of me, and I can’t do it.

               “Why?” My eyes are clenched shut, and the despair born from being a failure makes my voice raw; I struggle to not break down in front of Sanzo. “What reason do I have to live, what did you save me for?”

               “I didn’t...couldn’t leave you like that...”  Sanzo’s muttered words are barely audible. “I made a promise...not to walk away...”

               The quiet words barely brush against my awareness; I can barely hear over my own harsh breathing, and before I can scrape the shards of my self-control back together enough to think about what he said, the sound of someone knocking on the door shatters my concentration. I can hear Sanzo unlock the door, and in a moment of startling rationality, I remember that my back is still exposed. I fumble for the sleeves, then pull the top portion of the robe over my shoulders like a cloak just as Sanzo opens the door. Again I try to focus and regain some level of composure. Behind me, Sanzo is quietly ordering someone to do something.

               “But-” Whoever it is, they are very reluctant.

               “DO IT!” The gun cocks again. There is a frightened sound, and the door closes. A chair scrapes and squeaks. Something rustles.

               The mostly-silent room provides no distraction, and I am able to calm my breathing. Resolutely, I empty my mind of all thoughts and emotions and focus on nothing at all. I am vaguely aware of movement and sound behind me as I kneel on the floor, eyes closed. The edges of my robe brush against my sides with each breath.

               Cold air hits my back, shocking me out of the semi-trance I’d achieved. A snort behind me, hot air on the raw skin; it jolts my brain into remembering where I am, and why, with all the abruptness of a bandage being ripped off a bleeding wound. I lurch forward in unthinking panic, but an iron hand on my right shoulder holds me back.

               “Don’t move,” Sanzo growls in my ear, irritation and anger once again filling his voice.

               I freeze, panic and guilt chasing each other through my mind. There is wet coldness on my back, spreading in short, gentle strokes. It takes away the burning ache, robbing me of the pain that is my validation, leaving me increasingly numb and empty. Sanzo’s short, angry breaths puff against my neck as he spreads the salve over my abused back with his left hand, the right hand still clamped onto my shoulder. The conflicting sensations of hot and cold only intensify the feelings of guilt and worthlessness that are steadily eroding what little coherence I managed to regain. The spreading numbness takes away the one bit of meaning my life had – punishing myself was the only thing I was managing to do without messing up, and now that is being denied me. Sanso’s breathing is a constant reminder that my failure and unworthiness are exposed before him, and the guilt of knowing that once again I have failed him tears into me gleefully.

               “Why are you doing this?” I bite my lip; without the pain in my back to anchor my thoughts in, my composure is slipping away.

               “I didn’t save your life only to have you end it.” There is only the barest hint of anger in Sanzo’s tone; his words are as determined and unshakable as the hand that holds me in place.

               “But...” I protest weakly, blinking away tears and hoping more won’t follow them, “...they’re not life-threatening...” The rest of what I had been about to say is erased by the sudden pain of Sanzo’s fingers digging into my right shoulder as his grip tightens angrily.

               “Never. Do anything like this. Ever again.” The words are harsh, not quite a growl, but equal measures of anger and concern vie for intensity.

               “Why-” My voice catches, and I clamp my jaws together, hands and eyes clenched shut, telling myself that the tears in my eyes are from the iron grip Sanzo has on my shoulder.

               That cool numbness now covers my entire back. The gentle fingers that were spreading salve over my raw flesh now withdraw, along with the hand that was clamped tightly onto my shoulder. There is a rustle as Sanzo stands up, and a muted thump as he places the jar or pot of salve on the table. More footsteps and rustling; he must be in front of me now, but my eyes are still closed as I struggle to focus on the new pain in my shoulder and regain some measure of control. A soft breath and softer finger brush against the shoulder Sanzo had gripped. My eyes open in surprise, and to my astonishment, Sanzo is kneeling in front of me, one finger gently tracing the bruises forming where his fingers were. Misery and regret are visible on his face. Regret? I open my mouth to say something, but he looks at me with an expression that states clearly that he feels that he has failed me, and a look of abject apology in his eyes.

               “I’m sorry,” he mutters as he turns away, looking very disgusted with himself.

               The idea of Sanzo being concerned for me, I could handle. The abject apology...the idea that Sanzo would worry about failing me...I’m worthless! Nothing! An abomination, a murderer! Why would he be concerned about me? Why...? The fragile hold on my composure shatters, and I hide my face in my hands as I try to stifle the sobs that I don’t have the strength to choke back.

               “Why...why do you care so much...if I live or die?” I can barely get he words out; I make no attempt to control my voice, and it sounds bewildered and helpless to my ears.

               There is a strangled silence, broken only by my pathetic attempt to not weep.

               “...I can’t...” Sanzo’s voice is a harsh whisper, as though he is also struggling to not break down. “...won’t lose anyone else...” If he were not so close, I would not be able to hear him at all. “...not anymore.”

               The librarian’s account of Sanzo’s mentor comes back to me. “He was an annoying little brat, only speaking civilly to Master Sanzo.” Kanan’s death almost killed me, is still almost killing me. How much harder would this be on me if Kanan had been at the orphanage, if she had been in my life from the beginning? My life, by itself, is now a worthless thing with no inherent value. But –

               ~If I ever met a man in my situation...~

               “You...need me to live...” I keep my face covered; the words forced out between choked-back sobs.

               “If you die now...” Sanzo’s voice is still a strangled whisper. “Then I will have failed at everything important I have tried to accomplish in my life.”

               But...I’m not important...

               The apathy I’d felt when I first came to the temple resurfaces, bringing an island of stillness to my mind. Hopelessness wells up in my heart, and my hands drop to my knees in defeat. Even if I had the energy to open my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to face Sanzo.

               “My entire life has been a failure, I whisper dully. “If you save a failure, is it still a success?”

               Sanzo utters a sound of self-mocking determination. "I've already gone this far...made myself responsible for what happens to you."  

               Guilt stabs me sharply, following on the heels of the realization that if I die, Sanzo will take it as personally as if he had killed me himself.

               “The theory is that by giving you a new name, you are being given the chance to be something else.” The words are carefully neutral.

               Sudden despair burns through the apathy, and I can feel hot tears running down my face. There is a sharp, illogical longing for the time when those tears would have burned in my right eye. “No matter what I do or what name I bear,” I whisper brokenly, “the weight of my failure and my sins will never leave me.”

               Sanzo inhales sharply, and then there is a long silence. “Even so, you still have a chance. Please don’t throw it away...” His tone is pleading, as if he is trying to convince me...or himself.

               The calculating part of my mind that is rational at all times seizes on that thought. “What about you?” My voice is cold and hard, and if it didn’t bring memories of blood-splattered stone with it, I wouldn’t recognize it as mine. I don’t remember opening my eyes, but Sanzo is kneeling on the floor in front of me, looking at me in shock. “Sanzo...” I mutter, appalled at myself, and look away in shame.

               “As long as I’m still alive, you have to live, too.” The words sound as though they’re being ground out of Sanzo against his will.

               The crushing knowledge that I will most likely fail at this, too, drives all rational thought from my mind, and I close my eyes again in defeat. Live. That’s all he’s asking me for. It comes so easily to everyone else in the world, why is it so hard for me? I am crying again; tears of helpless despair running down my face and dripping into my upturned hands.

               “Promise me.” The quiet, pleading tone reminds me of the abject apology I’d seen in Sanzo’s eyes.

               ~I’ve already gone this far...made myself responsible for what happens to you.~

               “I promise.”

               There is a long silence, and my words echo inside my head. I’ve promised. As long as Sanzo is alive, I have to keep myself alive. That is the only directive Sanzo has given me. No, that’s not entirely true.

               ~Never. Do anything like this. Ever again.~

               So. I am to live, and to do so in such a way that I don’t cause harm to myself. Is that limited to physical harm, or is my mental health included in that? A complex internal dispute rages for a while, and finally I decide to just admit defeat and default to whatever would not cause harm or trouble for Sanzo.

               There is a sharp knocking on the door, startling me into opening my eyes. Sanzo is looking at me; our eyes lock and we are frozen like that for a long minute while the knocking continues. The look of apology is still there, and I find that there is nothing I can say in the face of such a miserable expression.

               “Sanzo? Sanzo! Sanzo, you missed dinner...are you okay? Sanzo...” Goku’s voice goes from irritated to concerned, then fades away.

               Sanzo and I remain locked in our kneeling positions for a minute longer, then he sighs and looks away. Without his apologetic eyes driving all thoughts from my head, I discover that I am calm and sure of what I should do – for the moment, at least.

               “I should go get you something to eat,” I say quietly as I stand up.

               Sanzo stands up as well. “Don’t worry about it,” he says tiredly. “I should probably go myself.”

               “But it’s my fault-” Sanzo’s hand on my left shoulder stops me mid-sentence.

               “Don’t worry about me,” he says in a soft, commanding tone.

               I watch in silence as he moves slowly to the door, unlocking it and letting it drift not-quite-closed behind him. His footsteps are slow and unsteady as he moves down the hall, shuffling and echoing. I listen to those footsteps until even the echoes can no longer be heard.

               ~Don’t worry about me.~

               “How can I not?”

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

                There is too much in my head; I need to think, and I don’t wish to run into Sanzo. Absently, I close his door behind me and head back to my cell. Night has already fallen, and with Sanzo’s concern freshly-branded in my mind, spending the night in my little garden is not an option. As I select a tall candle from the store room, I realize that my book lies forgotten on Sanzo’s table. Well, I’m not going back for it, not tonight. The candle I’ve selected should last me most of the night, I just need to find someplace to light it. Mindlessly, I wander the corridors in search of a lit candle or lamp. I find myself before the doors of the Grand Hall, but can’t bring myself to enter. In one of the more frequently-traveled halls, a dying lamp provides me enough flame to light my candle and I carefully make my way back to my cell. Once there, I carefully undo the top part of my robe and remove the stained bit of sheet. That goes into the corner furthest away from me; I’ll figure out what to do with it later. I remove my eyepiece and clean it gently with a corner of my robe, then set it on my little table. With the salve on my back, lying down is out of the question, and so is sleep. I set the candle on the floor in front of me and seat myself in the lotus position. There is so much in my mind right now that I need to work out that I don’t think I’d be able to sleep, anyway.

               For once, the hallucinations leave me alone. The candle’s flame becomes the center of my universe, and soon my thoughts are focused inwards with such single-mindedness that the flame barely registers on my awareness.

               I need to live, and I need to not harm myself. What do I need in order to live? What do I need, to not harm myself?

               ~As long as I’m still alive, you have to live, too.~

               Sanzo. In order for me to live, Sanzo must be alive. In order for me to not harm myself, I must atone in some other way. Following the Noble Eightfold Path will only take me so far; I can use it to prevent myself from committing future sins, but it will not provide me with a way to atone for the ones I have already committed. I turn the problem over in my mind for some time. To atone for my past sins without harming myself, I must perform actions that are equal and opposite from the actions I am atoning for. What, exactly, are my sins? What are the actions that I should be reversing as penance?

               Kanan was abducted, raped, and tortured for two months while I was away. What was the action that allowed that to happen? My fault there lies with not realizing that something was wrong, and allowing harm to come to someone who was more important to me than my own life. The reversal is easy enough to figure out; to be attentive to the possibility of any problem and prevent harm from coming to anyone whose life is more important to me than my own. How am I going to determine if someone’s life is more important to me than my own? The candle flickers with my breath, making the shadows in the corners of the room jump. My hallucinations. The nightmarish visions of the youkai I’d killed are just memories replayed so strongly that they overpower what is around me. The hallucinations, on the other hand, are all of Kanan – and not mere memories. It is as if Kanan’s corpse had been raised and sent to torment me, as real as what I know to be my surroundings. I will use the hallucinations to judge how important someone is; I may be able to lie to myself, but they are true visions into the dark corners of my heart. In the event that a dead face that is not Kanan’s ever stares back at me from the silent darkness, I will dedicate my worthless life to keeping that person from harm and being attentive to any indication that anything is wrong.

               My awareness is suddenly on my surroundings, and it takes me a moment to realize that my candle has burned down to a puddle of wax and gone out. I wait, still seated, for the hallucinations, but the room is still. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve taken enough of a step towards my penance that my mind is at peace and I will be spared the nightly torments of Kanan’s dead accusations. Well, regardless, I have to do something about the filthy cloth I’d been using to cover my back. I stand slowly, stretching my stiff legs, and grope my way to the corner I’d dropped the cloth in. I kneel and reach for it in the darkness, and my hand encounters Kanan’s dead body. A bitter smile twists my lips; good to know that Kanan is still so important to me. My other hand gropes slowly for my eyepiece, and I slip it on. At the same time, I carefully close my hand around the cloth covering the hallucinatory corpse and stand up. When I fumble my door open, it is only the stained sheet that I am holding.

               My feet trace the familiar path to my vine-choked garden in the darkness; I’ve walked it so often in the dark that I don’t need light to find my way. The cold air hits me hard, and I reluctantly pull the top half of my robe back on. When I reach the garden, I stop. What am I doing here? I can’t sleep outside tonight with my back the way it is, and I have to do something with the half a sheet in my hand. The stone Buddha smiles benignly at me. I kneel before the Buddha for a moment, then reverently tip the statue on its side. The soil is cold and hard, but I wrap the sheet around my hands and manage to scrape out a shallow hole. I unwrap the sheet from around my hands and wad it into the hole, cover it with the dirt I’d displaced, and then spend the next hour trying to pack it down enough that the Buddha will sit upright on the spot again. The first grey light of dawn lightens the eastern sky when I finally stand up, and I automatically make my way to the bathing room and begin washing mechanically with the cold, unheated water. When the first drops hit my back, however, the cold bites into me instead of feeling good on my infected cuts. Remembering the salve Sanzo had carefully spread over my back and not wanting to have to repeat the experience, I avoid washing my back and carefully finish bathing.

               There is still a bit of time before the breakfast bell, so I arm myself with cleaning supplies and return to my cell to give it a thorough cleaning. There’s not much to clean; I’m rarely here for any amount of time. What little there is to be cleaned is, and with a vengeance. The bell is tolling by the time I’ve replaced the cleaning supplies, so I reluctantly return to Sanzo’s door. There is no answer to my knock, and Sanzo is not in the dining hall. The monks haven’t seen him, either. I get a tray and covering cloth from the one in charge of the kitchen, select a moderate assortment of breakfast foods I’ve seen Sanzo eat, and return to Sanzo’s room. The door is locked and he’s still not answering my knock. I don’t particularly want to face him, and he must feel the same way since my knocking has woken him up in the past. Quietly, I set the tray down beside the door and slip away.

               In the clear morning light, the vine-choked garden suddenly seems to be a representation of my own mind. The new growth is being strangled by what has already died, yet lingers. Focusing on the resemblance, I begin clearing the dead vines carefully and mindfully. I am aware of every sight, scent, sound, and sensation both internal and external. The rustling of the leaves and the sound of my own breathing mingles with the remembered screams of youkai and my harsh panting. The dead vines curl around the new ones as though trying to protect them from my hand, the scents of sap and blood overlap. My transgression was putting my own petty feelings and desires first, and causing harm to others by acting on them. I carefully free a delicate young vine from the grasp of several dead ones, taking care to watch the roots as I pull up the dead vines and add them to the growing pile by the Buddha. How can I reverse my actions and atone for the sin of murder? I find myself staring at my hands as though expecting them to be covered in blood, but they are covered instead with dirt, scratches, and the occasional streak of sap. Putting my own feelings and desires first was my sin. To reverse that, I must put the feelings and desires of others above my own. I begin unwinding another dead vine carefully, ignoring the stinging in my hands where the tiny thorns bite into my skin. How far should I go? Is there a point at which I should assert my feelings or desires? The conflicting concepts of selfish self-interest and penance through selflessness wrestle with each other as I mindfully untangle living vines from dead. The tolling of the lunch bell breaks me out of my internal argument, and without a second thought I turn to go to Sanzo’s room. No, I realize. My wants and needs will always be second place behind the wants and needs of others, and when in doubt, those of Genjo Sanzo will take precedence over anything else.

               The tray from breakfast is still outside Sanzo’s room; the food on it has not been touched. I eat a good portion of it on my way back to the kitchen, where I give my hands a quick wash and load the tray with lunch before returning to Sanzo’s room. There is still no answer to my knock, so again I leave the tray and go back to my mindful gardening. Barely one wall has been freed from the choking clutches of dead vines; it is soon finished, and I start on the back wall.

               The pile of dead vines in the center of the garden grows as the afternoon wears on. Each vine, to me, represents an action I took that resulted in harming another living being. Jealousy. Anger. Cruelty. The thrust of a knife where it would wound, but not kill quickly. As I untangle the dead vines, I identify the live ones with what I must do to atone for those sins. Be generous. Be selfless. Be kind. Do not kill, or if I must, kill quickly and cleanly. I do not pretend even to myself that I would not kill another, if that death would protect Sanzo. But I will never again cause a living thing to die a slow, agonizing death. The tiny bites of the thorns in my hands echo the guilt that gnaws at my heart; neither are the seas of agony I had inflicted on myself just the day before, but the stern harnessing of my thoughts and intentions feels every bit as productive as the burning pain had. The path is different, the channel into which my energy is being poured is not the same, but the result and the goal has not changed. I am actively atoning for the wrongs I have committed. I am purifying myself slowly.

               Progress is slow, both in structuring my mind and in separating the living vines from the dead. I am being excruciatingly careful with the vines, mindfully separating those with a chance to live from those that have already passed on, and the effort of such concentration and careful, controlled movements render me blind to the passage of time. When the bell for dinner rings, it comes as a complete surprise. I blink at the wall before me, realizing that I am now working on the third wall, and that my hands are filthy. The detour to the bathing room doesn’t take long, and with the dirt and dried blood washed off, my hands don’t look quite so scratched. All too soon, however, I am back before Sanzo’s door with my hand raised to knock. The covered tray is not outside the door; Sanzo must be awake. The anger and pain I saw in his eyes last night...I caused that pain, and I don’t know if I can ever find the action that will allow me to atone for that. My hand trembles slightly; I don’t want to knock. I don’t want Sanzo to look at me with apology in his eyes, I don’t think I could bear it. I have to knock. My hand connects weakly with the door, the resulting sound hesitant and uncertain. There is a pause, then the door opens and Sanzo is standing before me as disheveled as he looks every morning. The cold anger in his eyes is a sight I never thought I’d welcome. He glares at me for a long moment, then turns and retrieves something from the table behind him.

            “I’m out,” he snaps as he hands me a few coins. The tray is on the table, the food looks picked at, and the ceramic bottle next to it tells me what he’s run out of.

            I accept the money and bow; he glares at me in irritation I’m positive is feigned, then looks away in annoyance and shuts the door again. I can hear the lock turn. Somewhat relieved by this turn of events, I begin walking to the temple’s gate, using the trip to calm myself and focus on the task at hand. The monks who are stationed by the main gate are sure to be suspicious, and I don’t think the bread trick will work a second time. I’m still trying to figure out what to do when I reach the courtyard by the stairs, and a monk runs up to me. There is a cluster of monks behind him, all looking at something in the center and seeming unhappy about whatever it is.

            “Ah, thank you for coming!” The monk is looking at me in desperation and bowing subserviently to me. “Master Sanzo’s...ah...companion is...” he makes a tangled gesture that can be summed up as ‘get him out of here’. “Perhaps you could...?” He looks at me hopefully.

            “I’m afraid I don’t have any authority over Goku,” I say slowly, my astonishment falling under the steady blows of a forming idea. “I’m also just a companion of the honored Genjo Sanzo. He has asked me to fetch him something from town, however...” I pause, allowing my uncertainty to show on my face and in my voice. I’m not sure this will work, but I know that the monk is interpreting it as my being open to his urgings. “Perhaps...I could take him with me?” My voice is hesitant, as though asking the monk’s permission and looking for approval.

            It works; the monk turns to the cluster with an inflated air of authority. “You there!” The wall of beige robes parts at the pompous tone, and Goku blinks out at us.

            “Who, me?” He somehow manages to sound confused and annoyed at the same time.

            “This one-” the monk gestures imperiously towards me, “has been sent on an errand by Master Sanzo.” I do my best to look humble and obedient. “You will accompany him!”

            “I would be honored by your company.” Respectful tone and matching bow.

            “Um...okay...” Goku looks at me curiously, but says nothing else until we’re in the streets of Chang An. 

            “So, what was that really about?” Goku bounces happily beside me as we move out of sight of the temple. “Did Sanzo really send you out on an errand? Did he tell you to take me with you? He’s always leaving me here when he does stuff...” Goku lapses into silence. “Hey, what sort of errand is it, anyway?”

            After watching him babble at Sanzo a few times, I’m learning when Goku actually wants an answer and when he’s just voicing his thoughts. “He asked me to get him something to drink.” My words are carefully empty of any emotion but the warm friendliness Right Speech demands of me.

            “He gets really cranky when the monks don’t let him drink,” Goku nods in understanding. “Hey, how are you going to get it to him? They won’t let you just walk in with it.”

            “I hid it in a loaf of bread the first time, but I think they’ll suspect that if I try it again.”

            Goku’s face lights up. “Whoah! So that’s why Sanzo had that huge loaf of bread? Hey, maybe you should use a cake this time!” He looks at me hopefully, eyes flicking to the bakery we’re passing.

A chuckle slips out of me. “I don’t think they’d believe that Sanzo sent me out for a cake,” I gently reject the idea, then realize that Goku is not next to me. A quick look around shows him some fifteen feet behind me, looking longingly at a cart of fresh fruit.

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

The monks aren’t happy to see us return so soon, but they don’t say anything about it. They do, however, stop me and not-so-subtly pat me down to make sure I’m not bringing any “forbidden items” into the temple. The large, round loaf of brown bread attracts considerable suspicious attention, but it’s just bread and they reluctantly let us in. Goku throws an apple core down the steps and fishes another apple out of the bag he’s clutching to his chest. The monks flinch, but again say nothing, and we make it to Sanzo’s room with no further interruptions. The door opens at my knock, and Sanzo brusquely takes the bread from me. He pokes and pulls at it for several minutes, trying to find the clever cuts that will separate it and let him retrieve the alcohol inside. Goku wanders in and sits on the bed, still munching an apple, and I calmly close and lock the door.

Sanzo’s almost reached the point of cursing at the loaf he’s manhandling. With an almost visible effort he puts the bread down and glares at me with the unique anger of one who’s just been made a fool of.

“Where is it?” The low growl is a demand, not a question.

With a carefully bland smile, I reach into the bag of apples and pull out the all-important ceramic bottles, setting them one by one on the table. Sanzo stares at them blankly for a few seconds, then makes a sound of disgust and glares at me balefully. Customary smile firmly in place, I give a quick bow and move towards the door.

“Hey.”

The harsh word makes me pause; it’s not entirely angry, there are hints of apology in it. I turn to face Sanzo, afraid of what I might see in his eyes. There is only irritation there, however, as he hands me the book I’d left there the night before. Gratitude infuses my smile for a moment, and I quietly let myself out. I return the book to my cell before going back to my garden; the librarian would be horrified to have it exposed to such a quantity of dirt and leaves.

The half-cleared third wall is waiting patiently for me when I return to my quiet little garden, but the light fades before I am able to do much more than free a few more suffocating vines. Well, I’m sure I’ll have time for it tomorrow. The baths aren’t entirely empty; the few monks there look up as I enter but return to their bathing without a word. Moving mindfully so that my self-consciousness doesn’t show, I select a wooden-walled cubby that will hide me from their eyes and carefully begin washing the grime of my exertions from my body. As a compromise between cleanliness and consideration for the state of my back, I gently squeeze clean water from a sponge so that it rinses away dried sweat and dust without dislodging any of the delicate scabs that cover it.

Again, I select a tall candle from the store room and light it from a lamp in the hallway. My mind feels as tired from the day’s efforts as my body is, so by candle light I indulge myself and read until Kanan’s specter can be seen through the flickering shadows of the guttering candle. She’s sitting on my cot, dead body propped up against the wall, bleeding from wounds in her throat and abdomen. Hallucinatory blood pools beneath her left hand, and the gore-streaked knife winks accusingly at me from where it lies across her lap.

“Please don’t get up,” I say quietly in a moment of whimsy. “I’ll just let myself out. You’re more than welcome to the bed.” I bow to the dead image, a self-mocking smile replacing the mild one I usually wear, and close the door softly behind me as I make my way to the garden.

It is still to dark to work on the vines, and dawn is some ways away. My back still isn’t healed enough for sleep, so I kneel before the little stone Buddha and meditate until the bell for breakfast startles me out of my trance. My stomach complains at me; I only ate one meal yesterday, and that one wasn’t very big. Sanzo’s needs come before my own, however, and I calmly ignore my hunger as I make my way to his room. I knock, but there is no answer. Knock again.

“Just bring it here.” The cold edge of the words is clearly audible even through the door.

“As you wish,” I tell the door mildly, and go to the dining hall.

Not wanting to make two trips, I wrap some bread and cheese in a linen napkin and tuck it into my robes before preparing Sanzo’s breakfast on a tray and returning to his room. There is a muffled order to “Just leave it there” when I knock politely; I obey and leave the tray sitting just outside the door. My own breakfast is eaten in the company of the worn stone Buddha in my little garden, and then I once again throw myself into the separation of dead from living, worthy from unworthy, wrong from right. The third wall is cleared and half of the fourth is free of dead vines by the time the noon bell rings. The constant, deliberate exercise of body and mind is wearing at me slightly, slowing me down. I don’t mind, though. It just means I’m paying more attention to what I’m doing, engraving my decisions more deeply onto my heart.

A quick trip to wash my hands thoroughly, then peek down the hall to Sanzo’s door. The tray is empty and waiting by the door. As silently as possible, I slip down the hall to retrieve it, then glide away again. More easily-transportable food for me, wrapped in the linen napkin and tucked away. Lunch for Sanzo on the tray. Back to the hall outside Sanzo’s room, where I hesitate. I have to knock, but I don’t want to. Sanzo is awake, he will surely want company. It seems like all the things that have knocked me off-balance or shattered my perceptions since arriving here have come out of his mouth. The confrontation of two nights ago...I am still struggling to recover from that, and I think if I see that regret in his eyes again, it will break me past any hope of rebuilding.

            Several minutes pass as I stand silently before the door, hand raised but frozen inches away from the wooden surface. I have to knock and deliver Sanzo’s lunch, his wants and needs come before mine. I don’t want to face Sanzo again, don’t want him to invite me into his presence. He relaxes around me, slightly, placing the burden of his trust on these unworthy shoulders. And I betrayed that trust...Guilt drives my knuckles against Sanzo’s door. I betrayed his trust, my petty desires are forfeit. If Sanzo wishes me to keep him company, then I will do that. There is a shuffling sound from inside the room; the door opens and Sanzo takes the tray from me with a sullen, angry glare. The door closes, the lock turns. I sigh in relief and return to my little garden.

            It takes me until the dinner bell to get the last half a wall cleared; my state of mindfulness has turned into a half-trance and the vines seem to take on an unreal quality. They almost appear to be the manifestations of the concepts I am struggling with inside my mind. When the bell rings it is as though the ripples of sound make the whole world shimmer, and then I am standing in the corner by where I first started clearing, the last dead vine forgotten and dangling from one hand. Shaking my head slightly to clear the last remnants of my trance, I toss the vine onto the now-significant pile and go wash my hands.

            The tray is not outside Sanzo’s door, and there is no reply to my knock. I make my way to the dining hall, but the sound of a familiar growling voice stops me just before I enter. Listening carefully, I can hear the interweaving of Sanzo’s growl and Goku’s blithe stream of chatter. My hand brushes against the lunch I’d forgotten to eat, slightly squished but still wrapped securely and tucked into my robes. Guiltily, I slip away and find a quiet corner by the outer wall and eat there. The air is getting cooler, the shadows longer. Night will fall soon, and I will have to find some way of occupying myself. An accidental brush against the wall sends a wave of raw agony through my back. If I try to sleep, the pain will wake me as soon as I shift positions. Sanzo doesn’t want me to hurt myself. Also, I need to do something with those dead vines. The two trains of thought collide and intermingle, and a possible solution sprouts and blossoms. Quickly, while the monks are still eating, I go down to the store room and poke around until I find an unused brazier and a small sack of charcoal.

            The brazier is meant to sit on a table; it stands a mere foot tall, and the gently curved bowl is only slightly bigger than my two cupped hands. While I’m there, I take a small candle and slip it into my robe. Almost running, I return to my little garden and tuck my provisions behind the stone Buddha, then take a more leisurely pace to my cell. Kanan’s hallucinatory corpse is nowhere to be seen, of course, but I reflexively check the sheets for bloodstains that aren’t there. I stay only long enough to grab the book I’ve been reading, and then hide in a quiet corner of the library until dark. When I am done reading the book, the librarian is close to blowing out the lamps. I return the book to its spot on the shelf and slip out, lighting the candle from a lamp in passing.

            Night has fallen completely by the time I return to my garden, and I fumble with the brazier in the dark for several minutes before getting it set up with half a handful of charcoal in the bottom. Lighting it with a candle is going to be tricky. After almost putting the candle out, I chide myself for not thinking. A small coil of dead vine around the pile of charcoal lights easily enough, and with the flames dancing before me I blow the candle out. No sense in letting it burn unnecessarily. While the burning coil ignites the charcoal, I coil a second vine, ignoring the pricking of the thorns on my abused fingers. The first coil burns to ash in a few minutes, but the charcoal has caught and I gently place the second coil on the smoldering pile. It, too, ignites and by its light I coil a third. This vine represents harsh words, I tell myself as I coil it. By burning this vine, I am making a vow to not speak harshly. The second coil burns down, and I deftly place Harsh Words on the embers and watch in cold satisfaction as it burns.

One by one the vines are coiled, named, and burned. One by one, I erase actions from the range of possibility. Determination flares in me with each coil that ignites, and another thought, deed, action, or intention is forever banned from me. In the silent night, the darkness of my soul is exposed to the ones I have wronged: the spirits of my victims, and Kanan. Her specter watches me from the dancing shadows, bearing wordless testimony to my unspoken vows and binding me to them unconditionally. I have no choice, now. If I break these oaths made to myself and to her spirit, I am failing her. I will not do that again. My hands coil vines almost without conscious thought, smoothly placing each one on the ashes of the one before. Kanan watches me from across the brazier, and the flames of my vows almost seem to be the veil that divides living from dead. Tears of blood mark her cheeks, as though she were more than mere hallucination. As though her spirit truly sits mere feet from me, as though she wishes to cross that veil of fire since I have been forbidden from crossing to her.

The night is slowly devoured by the flames of my brazier; my heart is slowly devoured by the flames of my dedication. The ashes of both choke me, the smoke stings my eyes until I am weeping silently as my vows slice into my soul the way my knife sliced into youkai flesh. With each chunk of my bleeding psyche that is devoured by flames, hissing and spitting on the charcoal, Kanan wavers like a heat mirage and seems to retreat a little further from me. I am only able to see her as each blood-soaked coil ignites; she fades as the flames die down. The light of my self-mutilation reflects in her reproachful eyes. I do not wish to be the monster I have become. I do this so that I might be worthy of you again, Kanan. I will burn out the parts of me that are unworthy; I will mercilessly carve away everything I was and leave only the things you loved. I will be a hollow automaton for a thousand years if it means that you will not turn away from me when I finally return to your embrace.

My hand gropes blindly for the next vine to coil and encounters only dead leaves. Alarm jolts my eyes away from the flames, away from Kanan. Panicking, I rake both hands through the grass where the vines had been piled, looking frantically for a vine to coil and burn, but there is none. I grab a double-handful of dead leaves and recklessly dump them on the embers in the brazier, but when the flames jump up, Kanan is gone. A wordless cry of protest and loss tears itself out of my throat and hurls itself after her, leaving the charred shell of a man to kneel by an ash-choked brazier and weep until the embers in both the brass bowl and his heart are cold and dead.

The sun is burning into my eyes; the breakfast bell will surely ring soon. Mechanically, I scatter the ashes of my sins into the grass of my tiny garden and wipe the brazier clean. As I am returning the brazier and charcoal to the store room, the bell begins tolling. I should go to Sanzo’s room and bring him to breakfast, or at least bring breakfast to him. That’s what I should be doing, but my feet take me instead to the empty bathing room. One part of me reasons that I shouldn’t present myself to Sanzo as I am, streaked with dirt and ash. This logic is accepted by the rest of me, and the charred part that would have once been the selfish desire to sulk merely throbs with an echo of pain. I feel hollow; as I wash myself slowly and thoroughly, I am dully surprised that my body is whole. It should be missing huge chunks of flesh, to mirror the way my heart feels. My body is merely going through the motions without thought. Washing, drying, dressing...all are accomplished with cool detachment.

Sanzo must be at breakfast by now, the logical part points out calmly. There would be no point in going to his room. My feet carry me back to my cell for lack of a better destination, and it seems only logical to seat myself in the lotus position and empty my mind in meditation. Empty mind...empty heart...Gonou is dead; my soul must be empty. And if my soul were to leave my body, that would be empty as well. I wonder briefly what name I will be given that fits this empty life. Void, perhaps. I will bear an empty name down a succession of empty days until my body crumbles into dust. My thoughts flare and die, and I become Nothing inside a prison of flesh, and then I am no longer aware of anything.