A Red-Haired Woman

Sanosuke was no stranger to the Tokyo underworld. As Zanza, he'd been a frequent visitor, arranging fights, researching opponents and taking down with relative ease numerous thugs that chose to try their skill. (Or, in most cases, his mercy.) Even with his fighting days now far behind him, he still came by once and awhile, usually to meet with old friends, catch up on gossip, or to gamble. This was why it came as such a surprise when he took some wrong turn and ended up lost.1

Not to say that he didn't know where he was, because he most certainly did. Only someone incredibly innocent to the world would not be able to recognize this place almost immediately. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a poor residential district, and had he seen only the empty doorways, he might have thought it was so, but now, just as dusk was beginning to settle with its shadows over the city, the women started to emerge. They wore an assortment of kimono with colors and overall condition that varied substantially from door to door, but there was a similarity that ran throughout: the careful tying of the obi, not in the back as most women would, but instead around the front. For ease of both removal and replacement, he reasoned flatly. Prostitutes.2

He wasn't the kind of man that would ever take advantage of the wares these women sold, and so to be suddenly surrounded by them gave him a good dose of healthy embarrassment. He cast his eyes bashfully downwards and thrust his hands deep into the gaps at the sides of his gobatake, trying desperately to make his body language loudly exclaim his lack of interest in their trade.3

The cat-calls came.4

"What a tall man!" they noted appreciatively in mock conversation with each other, "I bet he's well-equipped!" 5

They tittered with mischievous laughter as he passed by, the comments getting exponentially more lewd at each door. He wished he could just disappear, but there was no such luck. The blush on his cheeks spread down his face and neck and his ears veritably burned. They offered him services, complimented him in lilting tones and came up with an entire book of hardly appropriate nicknames. He kept walking the entire time, trying desperately to not make eye contact with any of them. Almost as though he were afraid they would enchant him just by meeting his gaze.6

He sighed with relief as he came nearer to the end of the street, quickening his pace and taking longer, more efficient strides. Just as he was about to escape his predicament, however, he slowed, and then stopped. In one of the very last doorways, half draped in shadow, stood a single, silent woman. When she caught him watching her, instead of making a suggestive comment or gesture as the others had, she simply inclined her head and delicately smiled. But it wasn't her silence that had stunned him so.7

Her hair was red. It wasn't just ruddy-toned, either, no. The colour was that of rust, vibrant and almost gaudy. He'd only met one other person in his life with hair like that: Kenshin. 8

If it wasn't for that kimono, he mused, looking the woman up and down with a discerning eye, I'd almost think that Kenshin was playing a prank on me. 9

So caught up in his musing, he didn't realize that he'd approached the woman and was standing only a few feet away from her. Nearly out of earshot, he heard another woman mutter, "Damn! She always gets the good ones!" 10

The red-haired woman smiled again, tilting her head toward her door invitation. "Are you going to come in?" she asked politely. 11

She didn't bother to peddle herself as the others had. It was her appearance that sold her, not suggestive words. As the meiji era had progressed, the original dislike and hatred for foreigners had faded into a certain hesitant curiosity. Most wouldn't care to admit it of course, but here in the darkest corner of Tokyo, they could indulge in their interest without scrutiny. She wasn't sought after for extraordinary beauty or skill behind closed doors, but instead as a novelty. As far as manner and language went she was as Japanese as they came, but to see her standing there, she was more a foreigner than the commander of the black ships himself. 12

"Hello?" she asked with uncertainty in her voice, waving a hand before his face. She was still smiling, obviously amused by the way he daydreamed. 13

He stepped forward again, this time purposefully, trying to get a clearer glimpse of her face. The shadows kept her disguised, even at a closer distance. It was a pretty futile hunch, he knew, but he just couldn't walk away from the prospect. That she would have hair like that but still be Japanese was just too much of a coincidence. His curiosity got the better of him. "I'll come in," he said quickly, closing the distance between himself and the woman with a nervous glance around.14

Once again she inclined her head, gesturing gracefully toward the door. "Welcome," was all she said. She lead him into a small, dim room, lit by a single candle whose light cast a romantic haze over the walls. It was meagerly furnished, containing only a plush red futon in one corner and a simple, black lacquered table with a cushion on either side and a still-steaming bottle of sake atop it. Two plain cups were stacked beside it in preparation of her first guest. A painting of two courtesans strolling adorned the wall beside the futon. It was obvious she was a popular entertainer; as far as run-of-the-mill prostitutes went, this sort of decoration in a room was unheard of.15

"Take a seat," he instructed quickly, desperate to make his platonic intentions known before she tried to make the first move. "I'm just here for some friendly conversation." He plopped himself down unceremoniously into one of the cushions, sprawling his legs. He reached for the sake and poured himself a cup, sipping from it. His eyes never left her form. She stood uncomfortably for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, before finally kneeling across from him.16

"I don't mind sociable meetings with clients," she began with a straight look, "but please understand that just because we aren't interacting does not mean that you aren't still my client. I expect you to pay me, understand?"17

Sanosuke laughed at how forward she was. This wasn't the floating world, after all. He was not sitting across from a dainty, multi-talented geisha. This was a prostitute. He cleared his throat, regaining the businesslike composure. "I'll pay you for your time," he promised to the woman's apparent satisfaction.18

She tilted her head and refilled his cup with practiced ease. "So was there something in specific you wanted to know?" 19

"Your name, for starters," he prompted in a slightly more amiable tone, reminding himself that if he sounded too serious, she'd lie for sure. The last thing he wanted was to actually sound like he was gathering information. 20

"Kaede," she responded shortly before continuing, "and you're Zanza." He was a little taken aback at first, and in response to that, she flashed him a coy smile. "I've had men come to me to have their dignities nursed after making a purchase from you. It's that character on your jacket that gives you away." At this, she laughed. "But what's your real name?"21

"Sanosuke," he answered, "but my days as Zanza are over."22

Her interest was piqued. She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward a little. "Oh? Why is that?"23

He chuckled. As if he'd relate the whole sob-story to her within two moments of knowing her! "No more zanbatou, as you can see." He shrugged. He wanted badly to extract everything from her, but he knew that it wouldn't exactly be appropriate to bring up a prostitute's undoubtedly sorry past at the first meeting. But what else could he ask that might give him some hint as to her identity? 24

"What were your parents?" he finally asked, drinking again from the sake and hoping the question wouldn't hit too tender a spot.25

Surprisingly, she barely blinked when he asked the question. "They were farmers," she responded flatly.26

Sanosuke inwardly groaned with frustration. He'd been secretly hoping they'd had some sort of out-of-the-ordinary profession, one that would make her easily identifiable. As it was, all he had to go by now was the colour of her hair and her first name: Kaede. He made a mental note to remember that name so that he could ask about her later. Somebody had to know who she was. On a hunch, he finally asked her the question that was really burning him. "What about the rest of your family? Sisters, cousins, brothers?"27

For a moment, she was utterly silent, her expression pained. Finally she opened her mouth to speak but was, to Sanosuke's dismay, interrupted by a harsh knock at her door. She stood quickly, knocking the table with her knee and tipping the sake bottle over. Sanosuke practically flew from his seat in an attempt to avoid the hot liquid. "What?" he questioned in a harsh whisper, looking toward the door. 28

"It's time for you to go," Kaede told him in an urgent voice, ushering him to the door with both hands. 29

"If you've got a friend in there, get him to pull his pants up and get going. We're coming in!" Just moments after the warning was issued, the door crashed open and through it swaggered three men, all thugs with concealed swords at their hips. Sanosuke braced against Kaede's frequent nudges, wondering if perhaps it would be better if he stayed and contended with the three. They couldn't be up to any good. Kaede apparently sensed his inner turmoil, because she gave him a firmer push.30

"Just go, Sanosuke. I'll be fine." Her expression was confidant. "They're just here to collect their cut of my wages. I've got what they want." Another push, and then, just as he was about to slide through the door, she caught him by the sleeve. "Speaking of payment, where's mine?" she whispered hoarsely as the three men passed the both of them and entered her room. 31

Damn! Sanosuke hissed to himself. Damn, damn, damn! Hurriedly he responded, "I don't have it. I'll come back. If you need it sooner, stop by the Kamiya Dojo." Kaoru had a big enough heart that she'd pay the poor woman. He was pretty sure of that.32

Kenshin sat alone on the porch watching the moon, his sakabatou cradled gingerly against his shoulder. He wasn't overly worried about Sanosuke's absence, as the man had a tendency to come and go as he pleased, but even so, he felt a little sick in the pit of his stomach. It was rare for Sanosuke to have an eventless time gambling, after all. The wind was starting to pick up, now, and he pulled his clothing closer to his chest, wondering momentarily if he should head inside and at least grab his scarf if he planned to sit outside. No, it wouldn't be much longer he was sure, and he wasn't about to wait out all night anyway. After all, for the most part, Sano could take care of himself. He started to shift the blade from one shoulder to the other with a sigh, watching a cloud stretch lazily across the moon. 33

"You're still up, Kenshin?" came a voice from the shadows.34

"Oro?" He had to reach out three times to finally catch and bring the sakabatou back to rest on his shoulder after it fell away due to his surprise. "Oh it's you, Sanosuke! This one was just watching the moon, that he was!"35

"The moon you say?" Sanosuke dropped himself onto the porch beside Kenshin with a loud thud, looking up to the moon as well. "I didn't know you had a romantic side, Kenshin," he teased, patting the smaller man on the top of his head condescendingly. 36

"This one just couldn't sleep," Kenshin said, a little flustered. Sanosuke's ki was a little strange, tonight, making him feel a little bit like a spy. "Did you win?" he finally asked, turning toward his friend with an easy going smile.37

"I got lost on the way, actually," Sano began but then shook his head in dismay, "So I was a little late starting. And I played just awful. You really should come along next time."38

Kenshin shook his head with a nervous laugh. "Oh no, oh no, you know how Kaoru-dono feels about this one gambling."39

"Eh, suit yourself then," Sanosuke grunted with shrug, moving to stand. "Anyway, I'm off to bed. See you in the morning Kenshin."40

Kenshin waved weakly as the other man walked off. Sano hadn't really acted out of the ordinary, but there was still something suspicious about him. He shrugged with a self-depreciating laugh before standing and slipping into the dojo himself, figuring he could deal with the issue in the morning, if need be.41

He was awakened by the all too familiar sound of Kaoru and Yahiko arguing in the early hours of the next morning. 42

"Don't get bossy with me, ugly!" he heard Yahiko shout through at least three walls, "I told you already that I worked late last night at the Akabeko!"43

"Swordsmanship is about discipline," Kaoru countered, her voice strictly controlled. "If you want to become a skilled fighter, you have make some sacrifices along the way. And that includes losing a bit of sleep so you can get up early to train and take advantage of the entire day."44

"What would a lazy girl like you know about sacrifice or discipline, anyway?" Yahiko's tone was a bitter mutter. Kenshin could hear him rising from his futon. Kaoru, he noticed worriedly, had become utterly silent. It was during this silence that he finally caught hold of an unfamiliar ki hovering around the guest entrance to the dojo. He arose and dressed quickly, hurrying in that direction. He stopped just short of the closed gate.45

"Y'see, the truth is. . ," he heard Sanosuke's voice falteringly admit, "I don't have your money. I'm sorry." Kenshin could hear the unsure shuffling of feet.46

The person Sanosuke was in conversation with began to sputter furiously. "What do you mean, you don't have my money? I hate to break it to you, but I can't pay for my food and room with apologies!" The voice was female. Sanosuke wasn't the most trustworthy person in Japan and this woman wouldn't have been the first to hound him for unpaid bills, but there was an urgency in her voice that Kenshin hadn't heard before.47

"I have something better, though!" Sanosuke protested desperately. "I think I've found your brother!"48

Kenshin leaned forward, his curiosity overriding his moral qualms with eavesdropping. A quick glance to his right and left revealed to him that Kaoru and Yahiko were both as interested as himself in the goings on outside. 49

The unnamed woman let out an exasperated sigh. "Let me guess, he's got read hair like mine, right?" 50

Kaoru, Yahiko and Kenshin all reached to grab various fistfuls of his hair in reaction to her comment. Kenshin allowed an involuntary "Oro?" escape him. At this, the gate opened harshly and Sanosuke peered in at the three with a frown. 51

"You might as well come out, then," he grumbled in invitation, gesturing toward the street. Kenshin had finally came face to face with his supposed sister. 52

She did, in fact, have red hair. It hung loose around her face in thin wisps and at its longest length in the back, brushed where shoulder blades would be. Her eyes were a murky violet, lined with barely visible lashes the same colour as her hair. Her skin, pale and taut, stretched across her cheekbones in a manner that could not be deemed healthy. Her body was draped in a modest yukata of navy cotton. 53

"And my brother emerges!" the woman hissed, staring Kenshin down imperiously. "Let's make something clear, Sanosuke and friends. My brother is dead. He died a long time ago. Just because you know some idiot with red hair. . ." She looked directly at Kenshin, then, her expression flushed with an anger that ran deeper than that which could be caused by any amount of owed money. "They said the Hitokiri Battousai was my brother, too. If it were so, I'd commit suicide. All these years of prostitution would be nowhere near as dishonorable as ever admitting I was related to such a cold blooded murderer. No demon blood runs in my veins."54

It was as though Kenshin's scar had been set alight. The comments were too personal. The woman knew his identity, he was certain of it. Such hatred. Whether she was his sister or not was not really important. The importance was the sentiment behind the words she spoke. His trespasses were too many and too monstrous even for blood and kin to tolerate. He would never have a family. Even they would despise him for his actions. He would never belong. The accusation in that woman's eyes. . . He shrank beneath it and then reached into the front of his shirt, producing his wallet. He held it before him, ashamed, and then dropped it into the woman's hand. Somewhere far away, he thought he heard Kaoru timidly stutter through his name. The guilt was unbearable. "Don't worry, Kaoru-dono," he promised in a falsely steady voice, brushing past the woman with red hair and barely stumbling down the street, a hand curled around the hilt of his sakabatou. The disapproval of strangers was one thing, but to hear it from someone who considered herself possibly related to him? There was only one time where he had felt worse than this, where he had stumbled more aimlessly and hopelessly. That time, it had been snowing.55

Sanosuke held Kaoru back. After a few moments of struggling, she finally stood still beside him, a bitter expression on her tear streaked face. Yahiko was the first one to break the hostile silence that had settled over the group. "Why would you say something like that. . .?" he asked in a dire tone, strangely composed. His dirty hands tightened around the hilt of his shinai, which currently was pointed directly at the woman. 56

She looked shocked, as though she hadn't expected such a gracious response from the man she'd been so cruel to only a moment before. After a second of inner deliberation, however, her face hardened and she threw the wallet to the ground in a fury. "False generosity!" she exclaimed in a wild voice, "As if a half-empty wallet could ever make up for such heinous crimes!" At that, she turned and left without another word.57