Guns and Roses (part III)

The dusky, dark blue of London’s bitter winter twilight bled like a stain across the brilliant gold and lilac of sunset, infecting the clouds like a terrible virus, turning them dark and vicious in countenance. Thunder rolled on the horizon, and the mischievous Eastern Wind played tricks on various passersby; catching up their hats in his gusty hands, or pulling poor ladies’ skirts to reveal what was hidden underneath. 1

As the sun was being banished from the earth and the darkness percolating the sky, the city’s finest day-creatures, the wealthy and the prosperous, escaped from the wind and looming ill weather in their sparkling horse-drawn carriages; leaving for the safety and brightness of their beautiful English homes and manors. But like rats, and other nocturnal beings, London’s poor and underprivileged were left to emerge from their miserable slum-houses and scurry about the city, quickly filling taverns and inns with a nightly, ritualistic commotion that the wealthy would never see nor understand. With the city in it’s crucial stages of industrialization, and immigrants quickly flocking to the great cities like vultures descending on rotten meat, the poor and wretched were left hung out to dry by the sheer cost of breathing, and found that their only comfort was being with each other in the soothing blanket of night and hoping for better times.2

But there was one . . . one who ignored the loud shrieks of laughter from promiscuous women in the brothel houses and sidestepped the taverns and inns, disregarding the brouhaha streaming loudly through the open windows. There was one who kept his dark amethyst eyes on the rough cobblestone path beneath his feet, the lamplights throwing large, dull circles of light around him.3

The youth stopped briefly, staring up at the sky to notice the lateness of the hour, and then walked more briskly towards his destination, pulling his tattered black coat tighter around his small frame and bowing his head against the wind. He walked for only a few blocks more, whereupon he came to a small tenant house, situated in-between two others of it’s kind, strings of laundry strung up and swinging like garlands from the walls between them. Eyeing the filthy place distastefully for a moment’s pause, the youth heaved a sigh clambered up the makeshift concrete-block steps to the door of one of the apartments, knocking deftly.4

He barely had time to straighten out his coat before a crooked-looking old man answered his knockings, opening up the door a crack to stare out at the lavender-haired youth suspiciously with bulging eyes—before recognition flashed across his misty orbs and he threw the door open all the way.5

“Wotcher, Misser Dark. Yeh’ve cum’ ter see Miss Harada, now, ain’t ye?”6

Dark restrained himself from leaning slightly away as the old man’s rancid, rotten breath filled his nostrils, and he forced a somewhat-pleasant smile upon his fair face.7

“Good ‘eve, Mr. Beverly. How is she?”8

Beverly’s already-sagging face drooped at Dark’s question, and a drippy sort of sadness settled around his wrinkles as he turned his back on the boy before him. Hobbling over to his chair and lowering himself creakily onto it, Beverly put his cane upon his lap and fingered it nervously. Dark’s kindness quickly became concern at that lack of response from the old man.9

“Mr. Beverly…?”10

“Boy, yeh’d best go in teh see ‘er,” the old man finally croaked out, moving his eyes to stare at the tense young man before him wearily. “Doctor’s sayin’ she’s not goin’ ter make it,” he added reluctantly.11

Dark did not linger in wake of such words. Spinning around, he dashed for the stairs, jumping them two at a time as his heart beat painfully in his chest. Horrid thoughts crept up on him, taking him unaware.12

‘Ms. Harada!! Oh, what if I am too late? What if she has already . . .?’13

Making an agitated noise in his throat, he shook his head violently to clear it of any further thought, and flew down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him. Nearly tumbling over a local tenant wife, Dark skidded around the corner and finally beheld his destination; an old, cedar door standing open and impending at the very end of the hall. Apartment number 2F, the Harada residence. Swallowing thickly, Dark paused on the landing, his eyes and thoughts morbidly drawn to the darkness surrounding the feeble light. How it seemed to swallow everything whole, he thought. The brave feeble rays, the cedar door and what lay beyond it, the hope … it ate everything up and swallowed it whole.14

Inching down the hall, and feeling as if he were asphyxiating, Dark reached out a long, slender hand and gently brushed his fingertips against the rough grain of the door. He stopped beside it, unable to pass the obstacle. His head reeled with dreadful thoughts. What awful sights lay in wait for him behind this door? Was it worth going any further?15

Dark exhaled noisily. What did it matter? He had an obligation to this family and a duty to Ms. Harada … and he would not bring in his own personal fears to add to the darkness that was already feasting on the sorrow and destroying the harmony of the place. No, he would rebel against the damn fates, and bear hope proudly in the face of uncertainty. And so steeling himself, he gave two short raps on the door and entered.16

Each apartment in the tenant house was only made of two rooms; a room where one lived and another where one slept. It was the same throughout the entire house, and certainly 2F was no different. The first room Dark walked into was the Harada living space. A card table was set up in the middle of the area, acting as the dinner table; around it were three pieces of sanded-down firewood, shaped to make benches for sitting. A fourth party had to sit on the family newspaper collection. Dark smiled fondly, remembering the many times he and Ms. Harada had cast lots to see who was stuck sitting on the papers for the evening meal—which had always resulted in an uncomfortable dinner for the amethyst-eyed boy a triumphant Ms. Harada goading him from across the table. Dark chuckled, wondering how he could have ever believed Ms. Harada to be playing fair when drawing lots. After all, he always lost …17

Positioned in the far right corner was a hearty wood stove, red-hot timbers smoldering and dying in it’s iron belly. Respectfully, Dark went over and stirred the charcoaled logs, stoking up a fire. He fed the rekindled flames with fresh firewood, and set the poker aside. Stalling for time, he reached out and warmed his hands by the heat of the flames.18

It was at this point he realized he was being observed. He whirled around, blinking—and saw a small head of tawny hair poking out from behind the woodpile on the other side of the room.19

Dark smiled. “Hello, Riko. You are getting big! Your mother will have her hands full with you, I bet,” he said kindly, bowing melodramatically in a way that he knew would make the little girl laugh.20

She did, putting her tiny fists up by her face and stepping out from behind the stacked wood. “Mr. Dark ….”21

Pleased by her reaction, he rushed to take hold of her small form; whisking her off her feet and twirling her around as if they were ballroom dancing. “My lady . . .! Thou art as pretty as a swan, and far more graceful,” he said languidly, and Riko shrieked in delight as he tossed her up into the air and caught her daringly. “You dance like a real princess.”22

Laughingly, he set her down and straightened. “But where is my Lady’s mother or your kind grandparents, King and Queen Harada? Did they leave the fair Princess Riko to guard the castle all on her own?”23

Riko, getting caught up in the older man’s charade, jumped back to her hiding spot. Her eyes suddenly sparkled with mock-fear, and she looked warily at the ceiling. “Yes! And dragons are flying overhead! They want to eat my Auntie Rika!!” Her big brown eyes turned to stare at Dark’s now-tense form. “But you won't let them, right Mr. Dark?” From her tone of voice, Dark could tell it was a serious and honest question. Smiling sadly, Dark swept the girl off the ground again and hugged her tightly.24

“If I can help it, little Riko … never.”25

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Riko pointed at a closed door on the far wall. “Auntie Rika’s in there. Papi is working, and Grammy and Mommy went to take measurements for the rich ladies. They won't be back until later,” the girl stated, wiggling in Dark’s arms until he put her down. Once safely on the floor, Riko skipped to their makeshift dinner table, and sat down on the pile of newspapers. She started drawing; ignoring the older man’s presence. Dark could tell, rather miffed, that he’d just been brushed off by a four-year-old.26

Shaking his head, Dark turned to face another obstacle. Another cedar door, matching the one that lay outside … he found himself hesitant once again, afraid of what he’d find inside. . . .27

Deciding that he’d dawdled long enough, Dark firmly grasped the handle to the second door and pulled.28

The room behind it was a small one; no bigger than six feet across and six high, with only one window set in the middle of the back wall, directly across from the door. The Haradas were not a wealthy family, but between the three working members of the family they brought in a sufficient amount of income as to not be labeled “poor” … They were comfortably lower middle-class, owning more than the average London family but not owning enough to hide themselves from the hardships and illnesses that seemed to define the city slums … no, they were every bit as susceptible to poverty as the lower class—if the young girl laying sickly on the cot in the corner of the room was anything to judge it by.29

Against the left-hand side of the room, sitting tensely on top of a faded, fraying brown couch, were the two owners of the tenant building and their son—Emiko, Kosuke, and little Daisuke Niwa. Another Niwa, the old man Daiki, sat on an uncomfortable-looking black metal chair at the foot of the girl’s bed, twiddling a black bowler between his hands nervously.30

All four looked up, startled, as Dark swiftly entered the bedroom.31

“Dark!” The three on the couch exclaimed simultaneously.32

Daiki gave out a great barking laugh, stamping his feet in happiness. “Dark, me boy! It’s been a while since these old eyes have laid sight on you …! How’ve ye been?”33

Dark smiled warmly at the family surrounding him. “Well! I am glad to be with familiar company, to say the honest truth. I’ve missed you all. I … I heard tell of Ms. Harada’s condition, and came as soon as possible. How is she?”34

The grins faded, and the eyes lost their joy. Pure sadness replaced what had been there before, and all four seemed to slump in their seats. Finally, it was Kosuke Niwa who spoke, his chin in his hand.35

“The doctor has only just taken his leave. There … there is nothing more he can do for her, he said. All we can do is wait; for she is not expected to live much longer. The cholera has too big of a hold on her …”36

Dark sighed with an internal pain that was simultaneously new and familiar to him … swallowing thickly, he gathered courage and finally turned to face the girl sleeping on the bed.37

And there, her tawny hair splayed about her face like a halo surrounding the head of a saint, was his dear Rika Harada. Her thin, pallid face was turned towards the ceiling in her sleep, as if she already had one foot through the gates of heaven; her dreams of paradise becoming a swift, golden reality …38

So pale, Dark thought, nearly drowning in his despair. Treading softly, Dark crossed the bare wood floor and kneeled at her bedside, ducking his head in revered prayer as he pleaded silently for those beautiful mahogany eyes to open ….39