Fine! There! Next update!
Dec. 10th, 2003 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynNow call off the Angel, Ikeshoji-san! I promise I'll finish you first!
"Nonsense. It's simply a very big piece of legislation that Mother introduced as a response to the car ban. Now hurry up, please, it's a long walk to the train station."
Well, that much was true. On a good day it was a twenty-minute walk, at least as far as Kiyoshi was concerned. Of course, he didn't usually try to get there at the same time as half of Osaka. There wasn't enough room on the pavement for the usually-ubiquitous scooter riders at this hour; everyone, everyone, was out to get to the trains and get about their business. The ones who weren't elbowing past the cluster of three towards the trains were lunging for this store or that. Had to get open early, after all. Had to attract the first flush of shoppers, the kids on the way to Saturday tutoring, the other shop workers on their way to their shops - oh, yes, the streets of Osaka in the morning were as much of a zoo gone mad as Beijing or Shanghai had ever been in their heyday. No wonder Haruka had been so insistent on leaving early.
There were two good things about the jostling, constant crowds, the way Kiyoshi saw it. The first was that nobody was going any faster than him. Haruka was a sweet girl, but she could be awfully impatient sometimes; the throngs around them made a much better target than the old man. Not even Daisuke could thread through a crowd like this without effort. The shuffling steps of a man well past ninety were positively speedy by comparison with the pace they were making now.
The other good thing, to Kiyoshi, was the questions. Specifically, Daisuke's questions. The boy was staring up at the buildings around them, examining them with a five-year-old's critical eye. "Did you ever work here, great-great-grandpa?" he asked as they passed a department store.
"No."
There was an office tower next door. "How about here?"
"No, not here either."
"What about there?" It was a much older building than the first two, a hotel with a peculiarly plain front and carefully canted roof.
Kiyoshi smiled. "Oh, yes. . . "
"What did you do?"
With a laugh, Kiyoshi said, "I built that building."
Daisuke stared. "The whole thing, all by yourself?"
"No, no, of course not. There were lots of other workers. I was in charge."
"Did you build that building?"
That building was even older, a narrow, tall structure with shops on the ground floor and apartments above. Kiyoshi thought for a moment; it had been so very, very long. . . "Part of it, yes," he said at last.
"Is it the biggest building you ever built?"
"Pretty close."
"Daisuke, why don't you leave your great-great grandfather alone?" That was Haruka.
Smiling, Kiyoshi shook his head. "It's all right, Haruka. I don't mind."
She let out an explosive sigh, fending off a wayward elbow from a passing grey-suited man. "Sorry, great-grandfather. It's just-" She waved at the crowd; Kiyoshi nodded. The frustration writ clear on her face needed no explanation.
Daisuke tugged at Kiyoshi's sleeve. "Great-great, look! Is that you?" The five-year-old was jumping up and down, fairly vibrating with excitement, pointing. Kiyoshi turned to look.
"Oh," he said after a while, "no, that's not." Daisuke's face fell, but brightened as Kiyoshi added, "That's my old sergeant."
It was a statue, a life-sized equestrian statue on a pedestal just in front of the municipal building. Kiyoshi knew that statue well; he came down here once a week to make sure it was clean and in decent shape, despite the constant assaults from weather and pollution. The horse had the stocky legs and muscular hindquarters Kiyoshi remembered so well from his own days in the saddle; the sculptor had gone for realism, right down to the raised lines of the brand on its rump that marked the horse as property of the Osaka detachment of the Imperial Japanese Mounted Police. Its rider had been treated with similar reverence and care, from the slight brow crease of habitual concentration to the lovingly detailed rank insignia carved into the sleeves of his hapi coat. True, some of the finer lines had been eroded over time, but there was no mistaking the statue for anyone but Sergeant Nukaga.
"How old is that statue?" Daisuke asked, eyes wide.
Kiyoshi chuckled. "That statue is eighty-five years old. They put it up when I was only twice your age-" Daisuke frowned a moment, counting rapidly on his fingers. "I was ten," Kiyoshi continued. "There was a terrible fire the year before. Sergeant Nukaga saved a lot of people's lives. He told the firemen where to go and what to do, and he used his horse to pull down some of the wooden buildings around the fire so that it couldn't spread any farther. He even rode his horse right into the worst-"
"That horse he's on?"
"Yes, that horse he's on. He rode it right into the fire to rescue some of the people who were trapped in their houses, when not even the firemen could get through."
"Wow," said Daisuke reverently. "Did you ever do that?"
Kiyoshi's mouth twitched a little, but he shook his head. "Not a fire, no," he said. "I was a Mountie during the War. I kept people safe from each other, instead of from fire."
"That's not fair, great-grandfather," murmured Haruka. "What about that air raid?"
Funny. Here it was, seventy-four years later and still the words were enough to wake the terrible smell of explosion in his nostrils, the trembling of his exhausted horse beneath him, the terrified grip of the Gods alone knew how many civilians who hadn't got themselves out in time-
"That wasn't a fire," he said at last. "It's not the same thing."
"No, but it's very close," Haruka insisted. "Daisuke, your great-great saved a lot of people, too. When the Allies bombed Osaka in 1945, he made sure everybody he could find got into shelters. Sometimes he even carried them on his very own horse because the bombers were too close for them to get to safety on foot."
"Really?"
"Really."
Kiyoshi glanced at the statue again. Down by the horse's hind legs, out of the way where people tended to miss it, the sculptor had carved Sergeant Nukaga's Akita dog, Kinpa. He felt a sudden pang; Kinpa reminded him very much of his own Kurogashi. He'd set Kurogashi free in the mountains after the surrender- a lot of Mounties had done that with their dogs, for the dogs' own safety. Sometimes he wondered how Kurogashi had managed on his own-
"Great-great?" asked Daisuke curiously. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Kiyoshi said slowly. "Yes, I'm fine."
Daisuke peered at his great-great grandfather for a moment, then said gently, "It's gonna be all right, great-great, you'll see. Look, we're almost at the train!"
Haruka gave him a sympathetic look, but before she could say anything, Daisuke had scampered away and all but vanished into the train station crowds. "Sorry, great-grandfather," she said. "Don't mind him, he's just excited today."
"So I see," Kiyoshi murmured.
"Nonsense. It's simply a very big piece of legislation that Mother introduced as a response to the car ban. Now hurry up, please, it's a long walk to the train station."
Well, that much was true. On a good day it was a twenty-minute walk, at least as far as Kiyoshi was concerned. Of course, he didn't usually try to get there at the same time as half of Osaka. There wasn't enough room on the pavement for the usually-ubiquitous scooter riders at this hour; everyone, everyone, was out to get to the trains and get about their business. The ones who weren't elbowing past the cluster of three towards the trains were lunging for this store or that. Had to get open early, after all. Had to attract the first flush of shoppers, the kids on the way to Saturday tutoring, the other shop workers on their way to their shops - oh, yes, the streets of Osaka in the morning were as much of a zoo gone mad as Beijing or Shanghai had ever been in their heyday. No wonder Haruka had been so insistent on leaving early.
There were two good things about the jostling, constant crowds, the way Kiyoshi saw it. The first was that nobody was going any faster than him. Haruka was a sweet girl, but she could be awfully impatient sometimes; the throngs around them made a much better target than the old man. Not even Daisuke could thread through a crowd like this without effort. The shuffling steps of a man well past ninety were positively speedy by comparison with the pace they were making now.
The other good thing, to Kiyoshi, was the questions. Specifically, Daisuke's questions. The boy was staring up at the buildings around them, examining them with a five-year-old's critical eye. "Did you ever work here, great-great-grandpa?" he asked as they passed a department store.
"No."
There was an office tower next door. "How about here?"
"No, not here either."
"What about there?" It was a much older building than the first two, a hotel with a peculiarly plain front and carefully canted roof.
Kiyoshi smiled. "Oh, yes. . . "
"What did you do?"
With a laugh, Kiyoshi said, "I built that building."
Daisuke stared. "The whole thing, all by yourself?"
"No, no, of course not. There were lots of other workers. I was in charge."
"Did you build that building?"
That building was even older, a narrow, tall structure with shops on the ground floor and apartments above. Kiyoshi thought for a moment; it had been so very, very long. . . "Part of it, yes," he said at last.
"Is it the biggest building you ever built?"
"Pretty close."
"Daisuke, why don't you leave your great-great grandfather alone?" That was Haruka.
Smiling, Kiyoshi shook his head. "It's all right, Haruka. I don't mind."
She let out an explosive sigh, fending off a wayward elbow from a passing grey-suited man. "Sorry, great-grandfather. It's just-" She waved at the crowd; Kiyoshi nodded. The frustration writ clear on her face needed no explanation.
Daisuke tugged at Kiyoshi's sleeve. "Great-great, look! Is that you?" The five-year-old was jumping up and down, fairly vibrating with excitement, pointing. Kiyoshi turned to look.
"Oh," he said after a while, "no, that's not." Daisuke's face fell, but brightened as Kiyoshi added, "That's my old sergeant."
It was a statue, a life-sized equestrian statue on a pedestal just in front of the municipal building. Kiyoshi knew that statue well; he came down here once a week to make sure it was clean and in decent shape, despite the constant assaults from weather and pollution. The horse had the stocky legs and muscular hindquarters Kiyoshi remembered so well from his own days in the saddle; the sculptor had gone for realism, right down to the raised lines of the brand on its rump that marked the horse as property of the Osaka detachment of the Imperial Japanese Mounted Police. Its rider had been treated with similar reverence and care, from the slight brow crease of habitual concentration to the lovingly detailed rank insignia carved into the sleeves of his hapi coat. True, some of the finer lines had been eroded over time, but there was no mistaking the statue for anyone but Sergeant Nukaga.
"How old is that statue?" Daisuke asked, eyes wide.
Kiyoshi chuckled. "That statue is eighty-five years old. They put it up when I was only twice your age-" Daisuke frowned a moment, counting rapidly on his fingers. "I was ten," Kiyoshi continued. "There was a terrible fire the year before. Sergeant Nukaga saved a lot of people's lives. He told the firemen where to go and what to do, and he used his horse to pull down some of the wooden buildings around the fire so that it couldn't spread any farther. He even rode his horse right into the worst-"
"That horse he's on?"
"Yes, that horse he's on. He rode it right into the fire to rescue some of the people who were trapped in their houses, when not even the firemen could get through."
"Wow," said Daisuke reverently. "Did you ever do that?"
Kiyoshi's mouth twitched a little, but he shook his head. "Not a fire, no," he said. "I was a Mountie during the War. I kept people safe from each other, instead of from fire."
"That's not fair, great-grandfather," murmured Haruka. "What about that air raid?"
Funny. Here it was, seventy-four years later and still the words were enough to wake the terrible smell of explosion in his nostrils, the trembling of his exhausted horse beneath him, the terrified grip of the Gods alone knew how many civilians who hadn't got themselves out in time-
"That wasn't a fire," he said at last. "It's not the same thing."
"No, but it's very close," Haruka insisted. "Daisuke, your great-great saved a lot of people, too. When the Allies bombed Osaka in 1945, he made sure everybody he could find got into shelters. Sometimes he even carried them on his very own horse because the bombers were too close for them to get to safety on foot."
"Really?"
"Really."
Kiyoshi glanced at the statue again. Down by the horse's hind legs, out of the way where people tended to miss it, the sculptor had carved Sergeant Nukaga's Akita dog, Kinpa. He felt a sudden pang; Kinpa reminded him very much of his own Kurogashi. He'd set Kurogashi free in the mountains after the surrender- a lot of Mounties had done that with their dogs, for the dogs' own safety. Sometimes he wondered how Kurogashi had managed on his own-
"Great-great?" asked Daisuke curiously. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Kiyoshi said slowly. "Yes, I'm fine."
Daisuke peered at his great-great grandfather for a moment, then said gently, "It's gonna be all right, great-great, you'll see. Look, we're almost at the train!"
Haruka gave him a sympathetic look, but before she could say anything, Daisuke had scampered away and all but vanished into the train station crowds. "Sorry, great-grandfather," she said. "Don't mind him, he's just excited today."
"So I see," Kiyoshi murmured.
