More Than Words Ch. 01

As always:

Thanks to "Alpineskier" for editing.

Thanks to "Doc" for writing Jim's character.

More than Words: Code, Honor, Discipline

"Upon my code of honor, with the discipline of my being, I am bound to serve and protect you with my life and sword"

*

My mother and I live as second class citizens in our own home. No, let me correct that. The maid, butler, and the chef live better than my mother and I. On the random day I see my father, it is usually from a distance and I receive a small wave and a quick smile. If on the oft chance our paths collide, I get a pat on my head and a cheery cordial greeting like, "Good morning Sara." I've never liked that nickname. I feel it's another way to Americanize me. I prefer my full name of Kisara.

My mother is Japanese in the strictest sense. Her name is Tsukiumi Akita and stands 4'9" with long, silky black hair that cascades down her slim body to her waist. Her brown eyes had a sharpness to them, as if they could pierce through cast iron. She spent the first nineteen years of her life in the "old" country, living more like a hermit with her family than civilized humans. We still live that way, as we have very few possessions.

My father, William Bancroft, is the polar opposite. He is 6'3", has an average build, and wears wire frame glasses. His black hair is always slicked back. He is the quintessential, successful L.A. executive.

I take after my mother in height and build as I'm only 4'7" and slender. I have shoulder length black hair and brown eyes like a hawk, but they are almost hidden behind my glasses. The rest of my face is seemingly American in its features.

My parents met when my father had a business meeting in Tokyo and two days later, one in Osaka. He decided to drive side roads to view the country, but then his rental car broke down in the middle of nowhere. My mother found him wandering around about a mile from her secluded family home and was immediately enthralled with him, having never seen such a sleek man. He visited her on the way back as well, stayed a couple days, and, despite the disapproval of her family, came with him to the United States. I came along eleven months later. I do not know much about their relationship other than he pays for everything and if my mother asks for something, and I mean anything, it is given immediately, no questions asked, despite their never being married. However, she rarely asks. I also know she works for him in an unusual way. Four or five times a year, she leaves on trips spanning between three days to two weeks at a time. I'm never told any details.

My father's estate is an expansive piece of property that has three buildings and an Olympic size swimming pool on it. The main building is a mansion where my father, his wife, a blonde-haired fake-breasted woman named Miranda, and his daughter, Danielle, who looks like her mother with a much smaller chest, stay in. The second largest building is for the help. The third, and easily the smallest, is where my mother and I live. We have two cramped bedrooms, a small kitchen and bathroom and an open area that only has a table that stands a foot off the floor. This room is used for our dining, training, and my home schooling. Right outside our home, we have a garden in which we cultivate our own vegetables.

From as early as I can remember, every day was a routine. I was schooled in the normal student studies of math, science, literature, music, art, and history. I was also to be fluent in English and Japanese. I was instructed in three unique subjects: Japanese culture, American culture, and Bushido. My mother did not want me to forget where I came from, didn't want me to be an outcast in the society in which I am in now, and definitely wanted me to know where she came from.

Bushido, also known as "The way of those who keep peace by literary or military means" or as Westerners call it "The way of the warrior", was easily my mother's favorite topic. My mother rarely smiled, only doing so if I did something that made her proud, but she always seemed to beam when we discussed Bushido.

After my schooling, I went through intensive training in Jujutsu, or "art of pliancy", which is beating your opponent by using their momentum against them, and Kenjutsu, or "science of the sword". I started with just a katana, but gradually advanced to Nitojutsu, or "two sword technique" with the second sword being a wakizashi. After training, we would spar with our bokkens, or wooden swords. I never had a day off. Holidays, birthdays, or special occasions; it didn't matter. I worked to sharpen my mind and body.

Once a week, my mother would take me into town and we would do all our necessary shopping. To my mother, these trips worked for two reasons. First, I would get human interaction with someone other than her. She would have me pay and talk to the cashiers. She would send me to random people and ask directions for places we weren't going or ask strangers opinions on products we weren't going to buy. The second reason was to test me. I was to be cognizant of everyone and everything. She would ask odd questions like "What was the fourth person we passed wearing?" or "What was the second thing you smelled after we arrived?" or "What did that teenager say on the phone and who were they most likely talking to?" My five senses were constantly tuned in to the passing world.

When my mother would leave for work, I had a strict regimen to follow, but those were also the times I interacted with other people on the estate. Bill, the overweight, grey haired chef, and a very humorous man, always tried to play jokes on me. I doubt I will ever meet a more kind hearted human being. Connie, the middle aged brunette maid acted as a surrogate mother during those times, always making sure I had everything I needed. Then there was Danielle, my step sister. We had nothing in common, but that didn't prevent our father from forcing her to play with me. I tried to get her to spar with me, but one little bruise on the forearm ended that quickly. She tried to get me to play Barbies which, from what I understand, is to take a doll and pretend to go into town or play house. I never got it. If you want to go to into town, let's go. If you want to play house, let's go inside and clean and cook. Wouldn't that be more productive?

As I got older and, despite our differences, Danielle still came over when mother was gone. I think our father had to bribe her. One time, shortly after my sixteenth birthday, she begged me to go on a double date with her. I got the distinct impression that our father would only let her go out if she took me with her. Poor Jack. We ate at the local diner and then went to a movie about a hero who dresses up as a spider. Really? Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of the hero and if you can be one, even better. But a spider? Just give me my katana and we'll see who wins that battle. Anyways, about half way through the movie, Jack yawned and stretched his arms. Then his right hand was heading for my shoulder. It never made it. Shouldn't Jack have known not to try to grab a woman from behind? Needless to say, Jack's wrist was going to be in a cast for many weeks. Idiot.

A month later, I made my first successful contact to my mother in a sparring match. She displayed the biggest smile I ever seen on her. I walked a little taller and prouder the rest of the day. I felt I was nearing my goal, being as fast and skillful as my mother. The next day I was truly humbled as my mother was twice as fast as ever before. All this time, she was only going half speed. She was taking it easy on me. I still had a long way to go.

It took over a year for Danielle to ask me to go on another double date. This time, the guy she's currently infatuated with, Dave, had a shy brother my age, Grant, and they wanted to give him a dating experience with no pressure. I agreed and then I had to promise not to break, throw, cut off, attack, or hurt him in any way. I answered "I promise" to 37 different asinine scenarios she offered. She assured me that Grant was shy, as if that mattered, and if I thought he was trying something, he wasn't. It would only be an accident because he's so clumsy and nervous.

Based on what Danielle told me about what qualities make a guy attractive, I knew immediately why he never had a date before. He was tall and gawky looking and his brown hair, though not long, it was definitely unkempt. Factor in that his younger brother's girlfriend had to get him a date; I also knew he had a major confidence issue. But like I said, none of that mattered to me.

Grant seemed hesitant to speak, but when he did, he was funny. He held every door open for me and asked me if he could hold my hand. At the end of the night, Dave, without warning, attacked Danielle's face with his. Instinct took over and Dave was mere inches away from losing his right knee when Danielle threw her arms around him and returned the kiss. I just rolled my eyes.

"Kisara, can I kiss you?" Grant's voice was timid.

"Yes." I replied knowing my code wouldn't let me break my promise to Danielle, but that didn't mean if Grant tried to do to me what Dave was doing to Danielle I couldn't make him severely uncomfortable.

In a quick motion, Grant kissed my cheek and pulled back, nervously waiting for my reaction. I thought it was sweet and I smiled.

Grant grinned. "Thank you Kisara. I had a lovely time."

"I did as well."

I liked Grant and as I entered my bedroom to change into my kimono, I wondered if I'd ever see him again. Would he have a significant other by the time my mother leaves on her job again? I'd have to ask Danielle for information. Finally we'll have something to talk about without one of us getting immediately bored.

The next day, my mother arrived home early in the morning and I was back on my normal routine. When it came time to spar, I made short work of it and successfully landed only my second blow to my mother, and for the second time in my life, I saw that smile.

"We're done for today."

I bowed toward her and she reciprocated.

"Put our bokken's away and I'll make us some tea. We need to talk." Mother handed me her bokken and headed toward the kitchen.

I did as instructed and knelt at our table, patiently waiting for her return. I wasn't sure what to make of her words. Every day, after schooling, training, and sparring, we always talked. But this was different. This time she verbalized it. "We need to talk." This wasn't going to be one of our normal conversations. My mother came back into the room, set down the tea, and knelt across from me.

"There's something different about you today Kisara." My mother spoke to me in the same voice she always did. Her tone never wavered and her posture was that of stone. No one, not even myself, could ever know what emotions she was harboring by the sight or sound of her.

"What is it Mother?"

"My daughter, I can tell by your fighting spirit. You've added a certain passion. Can I assume this means your encounter with Grant Chambers went well?"

How did she know I was on a date? Apparently I am not made of marble because she read my mind based solely on my expression.

"At least you didn't break his wrist like you did Jack Sommers."

I lowered my head, feeling guilty for not telling about going out with boys.

"I'm not upset with you. I trust you Kisara."

I lifted my head. "I still should have told you."

"Perhaps, but I don't want to talk about why you felt you had to hide that from me. I already know your reasons. I only want to give you advice right now."

I listened intently for I knew my mother was going to impart to me some of her vast wisdom.

"Beware the Americans."

I wasn't expecting that sentence.

"Code. Honor. Discipline. These are more than words to us. They are a way of life. Our word is our bond. For Americans, words are a convenience, a means to get what they want. Every word can be said with conviction or used as a hollow promise. Any way to twist and manipulate another's soul to comply with their wishes. I felt an added presence in your heart today and all I want is for you to be cautious."

I was confused. "But Father is an American."

"I know."

My mother said it in the same fashion as everything else, but it was somehow different. And I knew. I suppose I always knew, due to the odd relationship of my parents, that something was amiss, but now I know my father hurt her emotionally and my mother never got over it. I was suddenly startled back from my thoughts.

"Would you like some more tea?"

With that, I knew this conversation was over. "Yes, thank you Mother." As she went to the kitchen, I got the distinct impression she felt she said too much. She knew the precise moment when to interfere with my train of thought to prevent me from asking follow up questions. To prevent me from over analyzing what was discussed. She was ordering me to let it go.

As if on cue, there came a knocking at the door. It could only be one person. My mother set the tea down and answered it and in walked my father. Normally at the sound of the knock, I was conditioned to go to my room. My parents had business to discuss. Not this time. I held firm, trying to show the same stone façade my mother displays as to hide the seething I'm feeling inside. I doubt I was successful.

"Good evening Sara." I could tell he was displeased I was still in the room in his presence.

My mother shot me a look and I made my way to my bedroom. Or, should I say, I made it appear I made my way to my bedroom. My first act of disobedience of my mother in my life. Sure she didn't say "Go to your room", but we both knew that's what she meant. I felt sick. My stomach was in knots, but I also knew if I didn't try to figure out my parent's relationship I would be haunted untill the end of my time with those two words "I know."

My father handed my mother a manila envelope. She opened it and pulled the contents only an inch over the top and thumbed through three pages. It was clear that one was a photograph. The guilt finally overtook me and I hustled to the bathroom and vomited. I dishonored myself by disobeying my mother and for what? To view a manila envelope that had a picture and two pieces of paper in it. If my mother wanted me to know, she'd tell me. I was drinking water from my palms to try to get the foul taste out of my mouth when the bathroom door opened.

I turned immediately and bowed. "Mother, please accept my apology. I watched you and Father behind your back for a couple minutes."

"I know." Mother paused. "I'll be leaving Saturday and will be gone four days. Grant's family is going on vacation Friday to New York and will be gone ten days. I know you would've wanted to see him, but don't let your despair in this matter interfere with your training or studies. As for eavesdropping, I'll consider it lesson learned.

Of course, the next day my Bushido education centered on obedience. Lesson learned indeed.

As soon as my mother left Saturday, I went looking for Danielle. She was in her room, listening to what she calls music. It's been a long while since I've been in her bedroom as father always sends her to me. I don't understand how she can complain of space when her closet is bigger than my whole bedroom, and I live comfortably. She confirmed what my mother told me about Grant's family. I went back to my regiment, feeling a little disheartened and wondering how my mother knew these things.

It was now Friday and my mother still wasn't home. Her trips have lasted up to two weeks, but she said four days, and her word is her bond. She wouldn't have said it unless she was certain. I've been trying to remain focused on my regimen and any extra time I had, I dedicated to meditation. I was hoping to release the worry from my body.

Come Sunday, I couldn't take it anymore and I sought out my father.

"Good afternoon Sara. I just want to say, despite what happened, you can stay here until you are eighteen."

"Why? What do you know?"

"Oh, that's right. I haven't told you. I received this three days ago." He pulled an envelope with no return address on it from the inside of his black suit jacket and handed it to me. "Now run along. I have business to attend to." He patted my head and walked away.

I trembled as I pulled out a Polaroid from the tattered envelope. I took a breath and flipped it over. I crumbled to my knees as I was faced with the reality of the picture. My mother was lying on the floor, in a pool of blood with her katana and wakizashi laying next to her. She had three bullet wounds in her chest and one in the center of her head. Under the caption were the words, "Is this your famed Akita?"

I don't know why, but I didn't cry. I just knelt there, staring at the photograph. Anger filled me. Anger at the world. Anger toward the people who did this. Anger at my father for putting my mother in this situation. Anger at the thought of not being able to see my mother for a lifetime. I feel so helpless. What could I do?

Dusk began to fall as my mourning subsided and a knew feeling began to take hold of my being. The need to know why. I rushed back to our small dwelling and went straight to her bedroom. It would have been the only place she could keep something undiscoverable from me. Her room looked exactly like mine. A futon mattress on the floor and one dresser with a lamp on it. I made short work of the dresser and found nothing, but was shocked at contents of her undergarment drawer. It had her regular underwear that I knew when I did laundry, but it also contained a slew of lacy, frilly bras and g-strings. The shroud of mystery that surrounded my mother grew.

I turned my attention to the closet only to find it had a lock. A quick inspection found this lock was only effective if a person cared about the integrity of the door. I didn't. A hard kick to the weakest point and I was in. My mother's hung clothes seemed separated with a gap between her kimonos and outfits I've never seen before. They ranged from business executive suits to sundresses to provocative clothes designed to only cover the "essential parts" of the female anatomy. On the floor of the closet were a plethora of notebooks, a stack of manila envelopes with dates written on them in my mother's handwriting, and two black bags, one considerably larger than the other.

I started with the manila envelopes, having an idea what was inside them. Each one had a picture of a person in it and a couple papers with typed information about the individual. On the back of these papers had hand written notes with dates, times, building information, and lastly, a location that was circled. I shuddered at what this information meant. Next, I unzipped the black bags. The smallest bag had numerous passports and identification cards in it. The surprise was they were not all for my mother. For each one my mother had, I had one too. United States, Japan, China, England, Italy, France, Russia, and countless others were all destinations I could go. If the passports surprised me, there is no way to describe how I felt when I opened the larger bag. Money. Lots of it.

Finally I went to the massive pile of notebooks, and I lived in that closet for the next two days. They were my mother's memoirs, her diaries for the past eighteen years, all written in Japanese. Inside, they held all the knowledge I craved. I found the truth of how my mother came to this country, and it sickened me.

My father was on his way to a business meeting and his car broke down. My mother found him wandering the countryside. She was impressed with him immediately. He was suave, handsome, and debonair; nothing like anyone she had ever met. He asked all kinds of poignant questions of her and was genuinely interested in her. When he returned a few days later, she was ecstatic. He was charming and romantic. After two days, he told her "I love you." She responded the best way should could. "Upon my code of honor, with the discipline of my being, I am bound to serve and protect you with my life and sword." She then explained that was the ultimate honor for the Akita clan, to find someone deserving and pledge themselves to them. Since she felt my father did so when he said "I love you", she was prepared with the ultimate self sacrifice. She entered an unbreakable bond with him. To her, it was a marriage.