I don’t understand, Otousan. Why did we have to leave the monastery? Brother Shunkan only wanted to show me some of the scrolls. They talk about techniques and legends, things I like to learn about.”
“Brother Shunkan wanted you for himself,” the boy’s father snarled. “I know those monks, living off by themselves without women. Nothing they’d like better than to get their hands on a fresh young boy like you. Now that you’re growing up, you have to be careful. Filthy okama, worse than women, make you weak! Scrolls and legends… that’s no fit thing for a man! Being a man is about fighting, Genma! It’s about being the best! I saw him, wanting to touch you…”
The boy frowned, not understanding. “How can reading a few scrolls and poems make me weak, Otousan? Shouldn’t a martial artist know about more than just fighting?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, boy? He wanted to use you! Take his pleasure with you, as if you were a woman – with my son! Turn my son into a woman, make him weak…” the older man’s voice trailed off in incoherent muttering.
Genma Saotome still didn’t quite understand. Women were something a martial artist had to avoid, of course. They were weak, and contaminated everything they touched with weakness. That was why Otousan had taken him away, before Okaasan could corrupt him. But that there were men who could do the same thing… He had genuinely liked Brother Shunkan; the monk’s willingness to teach him and their shared interest in ancient lore had been one of the closest things he had ever known to friendship. He had looked forward to their meetings, had felt a kind of excitement when they talked. Could that have been what Otousan meant?
He didn’t ask, though. It wasn’t safe to ask Otousan stuff, especially at times like this when his eyes got that funny glitter in them and he started muttering the way he was doing. What was safest was to sneak off, but not if he got caught… he started to back away…
His father’s piledriver fist caught Genma on the side of the head. Dark stars flared across the boy’s vision; dimly he felt his pants being yanked down. When his sight cleared Kouma Saotome was standing over him holding a familiar object – the thick, supple leather strop he used to keep a keen edge on his old-fashioned straight razor. This was going to be very, very bad…
When Genma regained enough consciousness to crawl to the stream and clean himself, his father was snoring, an empty sake bottle beside him. It looked like he hadn’t even bothered to make anything to eat. Genma decided he still felt too nauseous to bother eating anyway, and simply crawled bare-assed into his bedroll, unable to bear the touch of clothing on his raw skin. He still didn’t really understand what he'd done that was so terrible…
He was running down a steep, wooded hillside, trying to keep from tumbling to the bottom in a heap, trying to keep the chains on the weights attached to his ankles from tangling with the sapling trees, when he noticed he wasn’t alone. Another boy, a skinny kid with long black hair, was running down the same hillside, probably a fellow martial artist to judge by his dark gi. He grinned and flashed a “V” sign as he ran past. Genma put on a burst of speed, calling on all the power in his stocky body as he tried to catch the newcomer. Otousan really didn’t like it when he lost, and he was still stiff from the last beating… The two boys reached the stream and separated, the newcomer heading upstream, the stocky boy down.
“You’re slow, boy!” roared his father when he got back to camp.
“I had to slow down on the hillsides, sir,” the boy replied, trying to keep his tone respectful.
“Enough of your excuses!” the older man roared. He struck, but his son moved back just a fraction, and the blow missed.
“There’s someone else training here, Father,” the boy said quickly. “There was another boy running with me.”
“What? Someone spying on us?”
“I don’t think so, Father. He went upstream, I went down.”
The older man calmed somewhat. “I hope he didn’t beat you, boy.”
“No sir. Even with the weights, I was as fast as him.”
This time the blow connected. “You have to be FASTER than him, Genma! If you’re not the BEST you’re not worthy to be my son!”
He met the boy again the next morning, gathering firewood. “Hi,” he said shyly.
“Hi,” the smaller boy replied.
“I’m Genma Saotome. I’m on a training journey, studying Saotome-ryuu martial arts with my father.”
“I’m Souun Tendou. I study Musabetsu-kakutou with Master Happousai. What happened to your face?”
“Otousan. I didn’t beat you runnin’ yesterday so he hit me. He does that if I don’t win.”
“That’s awful! Master Happousai’s pretty tough, but he doesn’t hit like that. Takes it out in training though.”
Genma shrugged. “Trainin’s okay. And sometimes I can block him. But he’s a lot bigger’n me.”
“Want to spar?”
Genma grinned. “I dunno. You got anything interesting?” The two boys began circling one another.
It was soon apparent that Genma and Souun were pretty evenly matched. Genma had the advantage in size, with longer reach and more power, and whenever one of his punches connected, the smaller boy went flying. He didn’t connect very often, though; Souun was fast and agile, and more than once dodged Genma’s attacks to strike with a flying kick that knocked the larger boy into the dirt. Both boys were bruised and sweat-soaked when they decided to call the match a draw.
“That was great!” gasped Souun, collapsing onto the ground.
“Sure was!” Genma agreed. “I don’t get to spar with nobody but Otousan no more. We used to stay at temples sometimes, and I’d get to train with the novices, but Otousan quit doin’ that.” He broke off. His father’s reasons still didn’t make much sense to him, and trying to explain made him acutely uncomfortable.
“Master Happousai and I don’t go places like that either,” Souun confided. “Instead of sparring we usually run away from people who are mad at him.”
“Why?”
“Oh, restaurant owners he jumped bills on, and women he stole underwear from. He does that a lot.”
“Why would anybody steal girls’ underwear?”
“I dunno. But Master Happousai does it all the time.”
“Yuck, he sounds like some kinda pervert. Whatcha trainin’ with him for anyway?”
“’Cos nobody else would take me.”
“Why not? You’re pretty good.”
“Makiko-oneechan wouldn’t pay for me to train.”
“Who’s she? Your sister?”
“Yeah. My parents died a coupla years ago and Oneechan had to look after me. She… she always hated me anyway, on account of I’m a boy, and well, when she was little my folks didn’t have much money but then things got better, so she thinks I had it easy. She wanted to go to college, she’s real smart, but when Mom and Dad died she had to go to work instead. She was always pushin’ me to do stuff that would make money, sell things or somethin’, but I hated doin’ that, the only things I really liked were kempo and archery. Then I met Kimiko.”
“Who’s Kimiko?”
“She’s this girl, back home. Her dad’s a master, with his own dojo. I wanted to train with him, but Oneechan wouldn’t pay for it and made me drop out of the karate club at school. I want to marry Kimiko when I grow up, but I have to be a really good martial artist on account of she’s an only child and her dad won’t let her marry a guy who can’t carry on his dojo. So I ran away. I tried to practice on my own for a while, but it didn’t work very well, and then I ran into Master Happousai. So what’re you doing still putting up with your dad?
Genma shrugged. “Trainin’.”
“GENMA!”
Genma gulped. “Uh-oh.” He turned to run, but it was too late. Kouma Saotome lurched into the clearing. He caught sight of the two boys. Even from a distance of several meters away, Genma could smell the reek of stale sake.
“I CAUGHT YOU, you damned little pervert!” the drunken man roared. “Sneaking off to meet your little neko…” He was faster than he looked; he caught Genma with an open-handed blow and the boy flew across the clearing. Then he turned toward the smaller boy, who was trying to back away unobtrusively. “And now I’ll take care of YOU, little okama, turning my son into one of your filthy kind…” Souun’s agility and speed failed to save him from Kouma’s lightning grab. He yanked down the boy’s pants, tearing the sturdy fabric…
“IiiiiYAAAAA!” Kouma dropped his captive. It wasn’t a boy at all, it was a demon, a blue-skinned demon whose enormous head loomed over him, a snakelike tongue flickering out of the vast mouth…
“Get your hands off my student!”
Kouma blinked blearily in the blue light of battle aura that seethed around the newcomer. At the heart of the glow he could dimly perceive a tiny, wizened old man.
“You’re a disgrace to the Art and a disgrace to perversion,” the old man growled. “I've been around a long time and it takes a LOT to disgust me, but you manage it. Getting your pleasure from beating boys – your own son! How long since you’ve even pretended to train him?”
“Why you little…” Kouma snarled.
Souun picked himself up and scuttled over to where Genma had begun to stir. “You okay?”
“I’ve lived through worse.” Genma sat up. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Your dad’s taking on Master Happousai. Watch. This’ll be fun.”
The aura surrounding Happousai grew brighter, and the tiny old man seemed to grow larger and larger, until he loomed over his burly opponent. Kouma stared, wide-eyed, pale and sweating, not moving.
“Ever see a snake with a bird?” Souun whispered to Genma. “The Master can do that with his aura. If he really tries hard your dad won’t even be able to breathe.”
“Wow.” Genma had always assumed the stories of ki techniques he had heard were just that… stories. This old man was a legend brought to life! Maybe someday I can learn to do that!
Then, impossibly, Kouma Saotome moved! His fist clenched; his face contorted in a snarl. He took one step, then another, then sprang toward the frail-looking master.
“He broke free! Your dad’s strong!” Souun was impressed.
Happousai didn’t even move, just stood there glowering contemptuously, waiting for Kouma’s attack, his pipe in his hand. And then Kouma, for all his size, was sailing skyward, a spinning dot in the distance! Happousai puffed on his pipe and his aura subsided.
“That was great, Master!” cried Souun.
“M-master?” Genma stood up, with some difficulty.
“Eh? What do you want, boy?”
“Could you… could you teach me too?”
The little old man puffed on his pipe. “My training won’t be like anything you’ve ever known before.”
“That’s all right, sir.”
“I won’t go easy on you.”
Genma shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“All right then. Get your things and come along.”
Genma crawled into the tent he shared with Souun and collapsed on his bedroll, trembling and aching. It had been five days since he had left Otousan, and Master Happousai was pushing him harder than his father ever had, in spite of the now-healing welts and bruises that covered his body. But even as his body protested this new form of abuse, his soul sang because his new shishou didn’t beat him and because he was learning new stuff. New moves, new ways of putting old moves together. And there was Souun. That was best of all, having a friend his own age. Now if he could only move enough to get something to eat…
There was a soft rustle as Souun came into the tent. “I brought you some stuff for your back, and some food,” he said. “It’s only rice and cabbage, but…”
“Thanks,” Genma said. He sat up with some difficulty, wincing in pain as his body protested. Rice, cabbage, a little mayonnaise… more than he had gotten from Otousan at any one time in ages. It was gone in moments. He felt almost… full…
“Want me to put this on your back?”
“Huh? Whazzat?”
“Some salve. I swiped it from the doctor in the village.”
“You didn’t – what if you’d gotten caught?”
“I won’t. There’s this girl he likes, and all I have to do is wait till she comes by. Then he gets totally out of it, starts walking into trees and stuff.” Souun took a dollop of ointment and began to spread it on Genma’s back, and slowly a delightful tingle began to replace the aches.
“Mmm, that stuff’s pretty good. What’s Master doing?” He could hear a raucous, discordant voice.
“Drinking. He stole a lot of sake this afternoon.”
Genma froze. “D-drinking? Is he gonna… bother us?”
“Huh? Nah, he just yells and sings for a while, and then goes to sleep. The worst that ever happens is he’ll get a notion to take us on one of his expeditions.” Souun tugged at Genma’s pants. “Lemme get the rest…” He spread more of the balm on the welts on Genma’s buttocks. Most were healing, but two had split open from the day’s exertions. His fingers lingered a moment…
“Nani yo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Genma demanded. He jerked away from the younger boy and pulled his pants back up. “That’s what Otousan kept…lousy fucker!”
Souun was staring in hurt confusion, tears in his eyes. “I only wanted to make you feel…”
“Yeah, I’m sure you did.” Genma stormed off into the trees.
He stomped through the undergrowth, muttering to himself.
After a while he calmed down. Maybe it didn’t mean what I thought… maybe even if it did… but the thought of Tendou-kun’s fingers on his body was too close to his memories of Otousan… his mind shied away from the implications of that.
I wonder if we can still be friends after that. I hope so.
He found Souun by the river, staring numbly into the raging water. “Hey, Tendou-kun.”
He made no response. Genma put his hand on Souun’s shoulder, and the younger boy looked up, his eyes full of bleak misery. “Got some more you want to say, Saotome-kun?”
The stocky boy looked away, his face growing red. “Yeah. What you were doin’ – well, I just can’t. Not with another guy. Not after all the stuff Otousan did. But that don’t mean I hate ya.” He pulled the smaller boy into an awkward hug. “I don’t hate ya. You’re the best friend I ever had. ’Sides,” he went on in a lighter tone, “doncha want to save yourself for whatshername, Kimiko?”
Souun looked embarrassed. “I guess so.”
“Hey, man, marry her and you’ll be set for life! Your own dojo… Tendou-sensei!”
“And what will you do, Saotome-kun?”
“Aww, find some rich girl and marry her so’s I can keep on trainin’ on her money. Tell you what, if we have kids let’s marry ’em to each other. Then they can inherit your dojo and take care of both of us when we get old. Deal, Tendou-kun?”
“Deal, Saotome-kun!”
“Boys? Souun? Genma?”
“Uh-oh…”
“What’ll he do to us?”
“You’ll see.”
“Oh there you are!” cried Happousai. He looked up and down at the two boys, both with identical deer-caught-in-headlights expressions. “Hmm… Get your bath things, we’re going to the sentou!”
Souun groaned.
“What’s so bad about going to the baths?” Genma demanded.
“You’ll find out. Boy, will you ever find out!”
NOTES, EXPLANATIONS ETC.
I started this in response to a story contest that was running on Aestheticism, that I never got a chance to enter. I’d wanted to write about young Genma ever since I read Sandborn’s “The Cycle” – scary thought that Happousai might have been an improvement! Tzigane’s “Father Figure” made me wonder what made Genma such a bastard in the first place, and Rogue1’s “The Visitor” gave me a possible motivation for Souun. The idea of the father and son training at temples comes from Meiyo Ai Soshite Nikushimi; that could well be where Genma picked up the taste for obscure lore that has stood him in such mixed stead. The idea that the dojo once belonged to Mrs. Tendou’s family I lifted from Joseph Palmer.
“Neko” doesn’t exactly mean cat here; it derives from the kabuki term neru-ko (sleeping or lying down part) and refers to the passive partner in a homosexual relationship. Kouma (= violent horse) has a warped mind.
Happousai’s aura-paralysis technique is so similar to the “Shin no Ippou” (One-Sided Heart) used in Rurouni Kenshin that I gave it the second stage.
And finally, the doctor Souun filched the salve from is, of course, Toufuu-sensei’s father, trying to work up the nerve to propose to Miss Kin.