Reclaimed – Chapter 17

The stadium roars in my head, voices overlapping, music playing, drums beating, animals talking. If it weren’t for the earplugs, I would be deaf. We edge along an empty row to our seats, and I swipe the heavy cream, green, and black kimono to the side to keep it out of the way. Kumo leads the way in front of me, following Rai, Sakai, and Arata. Himitsu moves from one shoulder to the other, clutching his beak to the collar of my kimono to steady himself as he jostles around the grip of Kazenoho. Nighttime is when he perks up, but today, he chatters away over all the people he sees in the streets, cafés, or bars. Maybe he’ll nap on my shoulder throughout the day.

Men and women rise and bow, and I take the time to dip my head to them, smile, and express my gratitude for being here today. I am lucky to be alive, lucky to have my sanity and my family, lucky to have my gift. I swing my head around to get my bearings and a strand of my short hair falls into my face, catching on the pink lipstick I’m wearing. I tuck it behind my ear and into the tortoiseshell clip Namika provided. She claimed she has no use for it anymore. “I’m never growing back my hair,” she said. “Too many men think of it as a leash.” I know this all too well.

We’re about a dozen rows from the action, a sumo wrestling tournament that will take place all day today with at least twenty bouts.

“Who are we rooting for?” I shout at Jiro, and he leans away and laughs before grabbing my face and kissing my cheek. My whole body bursts into a blush so hot I start to sweat. The people I walked past titter into their fans.

“Talk normally,” Jiro instructs, his lips at my plugged ear. “It’s not that loud in here.”

“Why did you kiss me?” I whisper and whack him on the shoulder. “People are watching.”

“I don’t care. I’m happy to have you back.” He takes my hand so I can sit in my sunken seat, then kisses my knuckles before sitting next to me. Charmer. The ladies behind me gasp and fan themselves, but Jiro sits down unaware he’s done anything out of the ordinary. Flirting comes naturally to him, probably from years of watching his father flirt with his mother. Yes, I’m definitely lucky.

“We can root for whomever we like, but I have my money on Yūjirō. Supposedly he was the first person to win the top division on his first attempt last year. Kamenosuke is favored to win tonight though.”

“Money?” I remember the things he sold the other night.

He leans over to my ear. “I’ve been building up a small coffer so we can afford to buy things without having to ask for them. Favors are nice but the return payment often smarts. Did you like the coffee this morning?”

“I did. It was smooth, a little acidic but hearty. Lucy would love it.” I’ve become a coffee snob since landing here and having so many blends to choose from.

“I picked it up at a general store the other night. I’ll have to buy more.” He nods and turns his eyes on the wrestling platform. I turn my face from him so I can wipe away a tear before he notices. He never hides anything from me. I’m not so sure I like the idea of him gambling with our money, though I suppose gambling is something I should get used to. Everyone in my life gambles, even me.

Down the row from me, the rest of our party takes their seats. Namika and Kentaro sit next to each other, Namika shielding their conversation with a fan. I elbow Jiro in the ribs and jerk my head at them.

“Have they…” I waggle my head. “You know…”

“I’m not sure. I heard her call him a pretentious asshole this morning, so maybe not yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Something’s bound to happen to bring them together.”

“Or tear them apart,” Jiro posits.

“I’m going to think positively on this. Kentaro deserves to find love too.”

Oyama heads our way with drinks right as action breaks out in the wrestling ring.

I get my beer from Oyama and sip cautiously. Only one of these tonight. I need to stay alert. “Here, Sanaa.” He hands me a bag of rice crackers and a bottle of water. “For later.”

“Whoooooo did Jiro bet money on?” Himitsu asks.

“Yūjirō, I think.”

“He’s a good bet. Trains all the time? Eats big meals? Hardly ever drinks? The other favorite is at the bar several times a week.”

I lean over to Jiro. “My little secret keeper thinks you bet well.”

“We shall see.”

Jiro strokes the top of Himitsu’s head with his index finger then scratches along the back of his wing. I wondered, once I got the chip, if Jiro would be jealous. I spend so much time talking to the animals and giving them attention. I worried, of course, it would be too much for Jiro to share me not only with the people but with them too. But he has his own relationships with the animals. He throws sticks for Kumo, brings treats to Kagemusha, pets and snuggles with Momo, and does the same for Himitsu. Each animal gets attention from him as well.

Himitsu puffs up and shakes before becoming a small owl again.

“I love that,” he says, his wide yellow eyes turned on Jiro.

“He loves it,” I translate.

“I can tell.” Jiro laughs, and we click cups together.

The sumo wrestling begins with an elaborate ceremony including all the wrestlers circling the stage in traditional garb. I thought Oyama was big, but he’s minuscule compared to these men. Each wrestler is shirtless, naked from the waist up. They wear a colored loin cloth that does not cover their hind ends and a drape of cloth over the front from the waist down. On each drape, symbols are painted in white: a hawk, a rolling wave of ocean, a tree, a flower. These must be their sacred symbol, how they are identified amongst the contestants, like my chrysanthemums.

The last winner of the tournament has a white rope as thick as a tree branch around his waist and stands at the center for a moment before the judge comes forward to give a short speech. He highlights good game play, honor, and humility as the tenants of sumo wrestlers on Orihime before he turns and gestures to me. I swallow the beer I have in my mouth before choking.

“And we welcome Tennō Heika here tonight. May her presence bring us long life, health, and happiness.”

I force a smile and hope I appear sane.

“Wave,” Jiro prompts, so I lift my hand and wave at the crowd around me as they stand to applaud me. The hair on my head prickles, and my underarms drip sweat. This kind of attention is sure to be bad for me.

Once the actual fighting starts, the bouts of wrestling are over in a blink. The ramp up to the action is laborious, though. First the two wrestlers must perform a series of complex feints. They sit on either side of the platform from each other, wiping their faces with hot towels, cleansing their mouths with water from a temple, and before entering the bout circle, they grab handfuls of salt and toss them into the ring.

“What’s the salt for?” I ask Rai on my right.

“It wards off evil spirits from the match.”

“And now what are they doing?”

Each man faces the other and lifts one leg, bringing it down in a forceful stomp.

“Posturing. The stomping also wards off evil spirits, but they’ll do this about a dozen times before they actually fight.”

I sip on my beer as the players squat forward, stare each other down, get up and start the routine over. They wipe the sweat from their faces, grab and throw salt before facing each other again. The one sumo wrestler in the blue loin cloth is almost twice the size of the other one. A feeling of dread creeps over me, but Jiro laughs, rubs his hands together, and calls out the name of the larger one. I grab the paper program from Jiro and run my finger down the chart.

“Tamanishiki!” I root for the smaller one, hoping he doesn’t get crushed. After two more feints, salt throws, and stomps, the men finally launch at each other. The smaller one gets leverage on his side and uses the bulky weight of the larger one to topple him over. He hits the ring and rolls off the side smashing into someone sitting in the front row. Three men have to help him get up.

I burst into a laugh. Size doesn’t always matter.

“Why would anyone sit right there on the edge during a tournament like this?” I ask, waving my hand at the two people the loser almost flattened.

Rai shrugs his shoulders. “And ringside seats are expensive!” He laughs, slapping his knee. Rocky, his flying squirrel peeks out of his pocket, looks around, and burrows back in.

Kumo sniffs at my hand. “Rice crackers?”

“Want some?”

He responds by letting his long pink tongue fall out of his mouth. I open the bag and feed him a few. “How about some meat?” I signal to Oyama. “Can Kumo and I get some chicken yakitori?” I gesture to the people eating in front of us.

“Hungry?” Jiro asks. We clap as a new pair of wrestlers enter the stadium and prepare themselves for a bout.

“It’s meat on a stick. What could be better?”

“I thought for sure after the surgery you’d become a vegetarian again.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, of course.”

“Of course.” Jiro nods, his lips curled in a smirk.

“And I decided to stick to pigs and birds, if I eat meat. All the birds but Himi ignore me and whisper behind my back…”

Himitsu flaps his wings and swivels his head around. “Not very polite? Not many humans like birds?”

My eyes dance over the stadium. Seated amongst the spectators are plenty of dogs, cats, foxes, and other mammals, but I’m the only one with a bird in my section. Across the way, two parrots sit with a woman but that’s it.

“Smaller birds are hard to understand.”

Jiro’s eyebrows knit together.

“Look around.” I sweep my hand out. “Not many birds. Himi says they’re hard to understand and not many people like birds.”

“Rai did mention that the genetic manipulation was mostly with mammals.”

“What’s that?” Rai leans towards me, his large eyes on the wrestling. “I heard my name.”

“Birds. Avians.” I gesture at Himitsu. “Were they not manipulated like most of the mammals for speech?”

“They were. The bird population increased so dramatically the first few years after planetfall, though, that the changes died out faster. Most of the mammals were domesticated and could be observed for several generations before they were let into the wild. Reintroduction of genetically enhanced birds has ramped up in the last twenty years. Your owl is one such lucky creature.”

A generations-long science experiment. I scratch Himitsu’s belly, glad I found him… Or that Kentaro found him for me. I lean forward and smile at him down the row. He lifts his glass to me before turning back to Namika.

We eat yakitori, drink, and watch bout after bout. I have to use the bathroom with Namika and Usagi in tow, but otherwise nothing feels wrong or out of place. A strong sense of community surrounds me as everyone laughs, chats, and shares with their neighbors and fellow animals.

While I wait in a short line to enter the stadium again, I speak with a few dogs and cats and their paired partners.

“We were waiting to see you.” A group of three foxes arrives at my feet and the lead animal, graying around her temples and silver striped down her tail, rises on her hind legs to put her paws on my kimono. “May I be blessed by the empress?”

I squat down, put my hand on her head, and bring my lips to her ear. “Sweet fox, you are already blessed. I am the fortunate one to be able to hear you.” She rubs her nose against my cheek and the other two in their turn do the same after I lay my hand on their heads one by one. They return to their stunned partners who smile and bow to me.

“You should be careful, cavorting with foxes, Sanaa. Kitsune are sometimes evil.” Namika shakes her head at the people who leave with their foxes. “And only fox people marry other fox people.”

“But sometimes foxes grant wishes or leave gifts on your doorstep. Yes, I know the folklore, and I’m not here to make enemies of animals.”

Back in our seats, the last two bouts are next. A champion will be determined tonight.

“How’s our guy? Yōjirō, right?”

Jiro points to him off to the side. “He looks good.”

The man who was at the bar with Jiro the other night stands next to Yōjirō, talking quietly to him, making gestures at the stage area and other gestures that make me think he’s giving him a quick strategy refresher. When Yōjirō takes his turn, climbing into the ring to face his opponent, I sit forward in my chair. This will be a good match.

The two men face-off, stomping and glaring each other down, but movement from the left-side of my vision catches my attention.

“Jiro…” Alarm in my voice makes Jiro’s head whip to the left. From the end of the aisle, Kazuo pushes through people to get to us. He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. He was supposed to be readying for our trip tomorrow with Julia back at the Oda estate. His face is filled with malice, an anger I haven’t seen in months, yet he steps over people to get to me faster.

Jiro stands up and blocks Kazuo, but Kazuo immediately squats down to get out of everyone’s way.

“Jiro, Sanaa, Yamato is under attack. Miura and Taira Clan have infiltrated the city with a bunch of natives. Half the city is on fire. We have to go.”

A cheer erupts around us, and the stadium shakes as Yōjirō’s opponent slams into the ring and rolls off the side. Yōjirō stands but doesn’t celebrate. He waits for his opponent in the ring, they bow to each other, and he solemnly squats down so the judge can declare him a winner.

“We need to go. Lucy is waiting.” I glance left and right, up and down the row, and everyone is looking at me. I swivel around and every eye in the stadium is turned to me as a huge silver cup is hoisted onto the stage.

Yamato, my home, is under attack. My aunts, my friends…

“Sanaa,” Rai whispers, tugging on my kimono, “they’re bringing out the Emperor’s Cup, and they’d like you to come down and present it.”

“Sanaa…” Jiro’s tone is insistent, but I’m unsure in which direction to go. Is this a moment where every second counts? Or will I arrive in Yamato to see my city burned to the ground and snub my brand-new allies in the process?

I stand up and sweep back my kimono sleeves, reaching to my shoulder for Himitsu. “Jiro, get everyone to the aisle so we can leave immediately.”

I deposit my owl on his shoulder, take Rai’s hand, and he leads me down to the stage. I smile politely and wave to the crowd on their feet applauding me. My hands are clammy and my arms shake, but to everyone watching, I’m the cool and regal empress they’ve heard tales about for the past two weeks. I bow to a photo of my great-times-thirty grandfather propped up on stage next to a giant silver trophy three times larger than I am and probably weighing half a metric ton.

Great-grandfather, please get us out of this alive. Turning to the judge and winner of the sumo wrestling tournament, I grasp the trophy with two hands and wait for the bigger man to pick it up, so I may present it to the winner.

My smile is wide as I congratulate Yōjirō, but my heart aches and the dragon in my chest seethes with fire.

It’s time to make Tomio Miura pay.